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diff --git a/14851.txt b/14851.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..778d7b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/14851.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19608 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncle Silas, by J. S. LeFanu + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Uncle Silas + A Tale of Bartram-Haugh + +Author: J. S. LeFanu + +Release Date: January 31, 2005 [EBook #14851] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCLE SILAS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Bob McKillip and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: The spelling inconsistencies of the original have +been retained in this etext.] + + + +UNCLE SILAS + +A Tale of Bartram-Haugh + +By J. S. LeFanu + +1899 + + + +TO +THE RIGHT HON. +THE COUNTESS OF GIFFORD, +AS A TOKEN OF +RESPECT, SYMPATHY, AND ADMIRATION +_This Tale_ +IS INSCRIBED BY +THE AUTHOR + + + + +_A PRELIMINARY WORD_ + +The writer of this Tale ventures, in his own person, to address a very few +words, chiefly of explanation, to his readers. A leading situation in this +'Story of Bartram-Haugh' is repeated, with a slight variation, from a short +magazine tale of some fifteen pages written by him, and published long ago +in a periodical under the title of 'A Passage in the Secret History of an +Irish Countess,' and afterwards, still anonymously, in a small volume under +an altered title. It is very unlikely that any of his readers should have +encountered, and still more so that they should remember, this trifle. The +bare possibility, however, he has ventured to anticipate by this brief +explanation, lest he should be charged with plagiarism--always a disrespect +to a reader. + +May he be permitted a few words also of remonstrance against the +promiscuous application of the term 'sensation' to that large school of +fiction which transgresses no one of those canons of construction and +morality which, in producing the unapproachable 'Waverley Novels,' their +great author imposed upon himself? No one, it is assumed, would describe +Sir Walter Scott's romances as 'sensation novels;' yet in that marvellous +series there is not a single tale in which death, crime, and, in some form, +mystery, have not a place. + +Passing by those grand romances of 'Ivanhoe,' 'Old Mortality,' and +'Kenilworth,' with their terrible intricacies of crime and bloodshed, +constructed with so fine a mastery of the art of exciting suspense and +horror, let the reader pick out those two exceptional novels in the series +which profess to paint contemporary manners and the scenes of common life; +and remembering in the 'Antiquary' the vision in the tapestried chamber, +the duel, the horrible secret, and the death of old Elspeth, the drowned +fisherman, and above all the tremendous situation of the tide-bound party +under the cliffs; and in 'St. Ronan's Well,' the long-drawn mystery, the +suspicion of insanity, and the catastrophe of suicide;--determine whether +an epithet which it would be a profanation to apply to the structure of +any, even the most exciting of Sir Walter Scott's stories, is fairly +applicable to tales which, though illimitably inferior in execution, yet +observe the same limitations of incident, and the same moral aims. + +The author trusts that the Press, to whose masterly criticism and generous +encouragement he and other humble labourers in the art owe so much, will +insist upon the limitation of that degrading term to the peculiar type of +fiction which it was originally intended to indicate, and prevent, as they +may, its being made to include the legitimate school of tragic English +romance, which has been ennobled, and in great measure founded, by the +genius of Sir Walter Scott. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I. AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTER + +II. UNCLE SILAS + +III. A NEW FACE + +IV. MADAME DE LA ROUGIERRE + +V. SIGHTS AND NOISES + +VI. A WALK IN THE WOOD + +VII. CHURCH SCARSDALE + +VIII. THE SMOKER + +IX. MONICA KNOLLYS + +X. LADY KNOLLYS REMOVES A COVERLET + +XI. LADY KNOLLYS SEES THE FEATURES + +XII. A CURIOUS CONVERSATION + +XIII. BEFORE AND AFTER BREAKFAST + +XIV. ANGRY WORDS + +XV. A WARNING + +XVI. DOCTOR BRYERLY LOOKS IN + +XVII. AN ADVENTURE + +XVIII. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR + +XIX. AU REVOIR + +XX. AUSTIN RUTHYN SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY + +XXI. ARRIVALS + +XXII. SOMEBODY IN THE ROOM WITH THE COFFIN + +XXIII. I TALK WITH DOCTOR BRYERLY + +XXIV. THE OPENING OF THE WILL + +XXV. I HEAR FROM UNCLE SILAS + +XXVI. THE STORY OF UNCLE SILAS + +XXVII. MORE ABOUT TOM CHARKE'S SUICIDE + +XXVIII. I AM PERSUADED + +XXIX. HOW THE AMBASSADOR FARED + +XXX. ON THE ROAD + +XXXI. BARTRAM-HAUGH + +XXXII. UNCLE SILAS + +XXXIII. THE WINDMILL WOOD + +XXXIV. ZAMIEL + +XXXV. WE VISIT A ROOM IN THE SECOND STOREY + +XXXVI. AN ARRIVAL AT DEAD OF NIGHT + +XXXVII. DOCTOR BRYERLY EMERGES + +XXXVIII. A MIDNIGHT DEPARTURE + +XXXIX. COUSIN MONICA AND UNCLE SILAS MEET + +XL. IN WHICH I MAKE ANOTHER COUSIN'S ACQUAINTANCE + +XLI. MY COUSIN DUDLEY + +XLII. ELVERSTON AND ITS PEOPLE + +XLIII. NEWS AT BARTRAM GATE + +XLIV. A FRIEND ARISES + +XLV. A CHAPTER-FULL OF LOVERS + +XLVI. THE RIVALS + +XLVII. DOCTOR BRYERLY REAPPEARS + +XLVIII. QUESTION AND ANSWER + +XLIX. AN APPARITION + +L. MILLY'S FAREWELL + +LI. SARAH MATILDA COMES TO LIGHT + +LII. THE PICTURE OF A WOLF + +LIII. AN ODD PROPOSAL + +LIV. IN SEARCH OF MR. CHARKE'S SKELETON + +LV. THE FOOT OF HERCULES + +LVI. I CONSPIRE + +LVII. THE LETTER + +LVIII. LADY KNOLLYS' CARRIAGE + +LIX. A SUDDEN DEPARTURE + +LX. THE JOURNEY + +LXI. OUR BED-CHAMBER + +LXII. A WELL-KNOWN FACE LOOKS IN + +LXIII. SPICED CLARET + +LXIV. THE HOUR OF DEATH + +LXV. IN THE OAK PARLOUR + +CONCLUSION + + + + +UNCLE SILAS + +A Tale of Bartram-Haugh + + + + +CHAPTER I + +_AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTER_ + + +It was winter--that is, about the second week in November--and great gusts +were rattling at the windows, and wailing and thundering among our tall +trees and ivied chimneys--a very dark night, and a very cheerful fire +blazing, a pleasant mixture of good round coal and spluttering dry wood, in +a genuine old fireplace, in a sombre old room. Black wainscoting glimmered +up to the ceiling, in small ebony panels; a cheerful clump of wax candles +on the tea-table; many old portraits, some grim and pale, others pretty, +and some very graceful and charming, hanging from the walls. Few pictures, +except portraits long and short, were there. On the whole, I think you +would have taken the room for our parlour. It was not like our modern +notion of a drawing-room. It was a long room too, and every way capacious, +but irregularly shaped. + +A girl, of a little more than seventeen, looking, I believe, younger still; +slight and rather tall, with a great deal of golden hair, dark grey-eyed, +and with a countenance rather sensitive and melancholy, was sitting at the +tea-table, in a reverie. I was that girl. + +The only other person in the room--the only person in the house related to +me--was my father. He was Mr. Ruthyn, of Knowl, so called in his county, +but he had many other places, was of a very ancient lineage, who had +refused a baronetage often, and it was said even a viscounty, being of a +proud and defiant spirit, and thinking themselves higher in station and +purer of blood than two-thirds of the nobility into whose ranks, it was +said, they had been invited to enter. Of all this family lore I knew but +little and vaguely; only what is to be gathered from the fireside talk of +old retainers in the nursery. + +I am sure my father loved me, and I know I loved him. With the sure +instinct of childhood I apprehended his tenderness, although it was never +expressed in common ways. But my father was an oddity. He had been early +disappointed in Parliament, where it was his ambition to succeed. Though a +clever man, he failed there, where very inferior men did extremely well. +Then he went abroad, and became a connoisseur and a collector; took a part, +on his return, in literary and scientific institutions, and also in the +foundation and direction of some charities. But he tired of this mimic +government, and gave himself up to a country life, not that of a sportsman, +but rather of a student, staying sometimes at one of his places and +sometimes at another, and living a secluded life. + +Rather late in life he married, and his beautiful young wife died, leaving +me, their only child, to his care. This bereavement, I have been told, +changed him--made him more odd and taciturn than ever, and his temper also, +except to me, more severe. There was also some disgrace about his younger +brother--my uncle Silas--which he felt bitterly. + +He was now walking up and down this spacious old room, which, extending +round an angle at the far end, was very dark in that quarter. It was his +wont to walk up and down thus, without speaking--an exercise which used to +remind me of Chateaubriand's father in the great chamber of the Chateau +de Combourg. At the far end he nearly disappeared in the gloom, and then +returning emerged for a few minutes, like a portrait with a background of +shadow, and then again in silence faded nearly out of view. + +This monotony and silence would have been terrifying to a person less +accustomed to it than I. As it was, it had its effect. I have known my +father a whole day without once speaking to me. Though I loved him very +much, I was also much in awe of him. + +While my father paced the floor, my thoughts were employed about the events +of a month before. So few things happened at Knowl out of the accustomed +routine, that a very trifling occurrence was enough to set people wondering +and conjecturing in that serene household. My father lived in remarkable +seclusion; except for a ride, he hardly ever left the grounds of Knowl; and +I don't think it happened twice in the year that a visitor sojourned among +us. + +There was not even that mild religious bustle which sometimes besets the +wealthy and moral recluse. My father had left the Church of England for +some odd sect, I forget its name, and ultimately became, I was told, a +Swedenborgian. But he did not care to trouble me upon the subject. So the +old carriage brought my governess, when I had one, the old housekeeper, +Mrs. Rusk, and myself to the parish church every Sunday. And my father, in +the view of the honest rector who shook his head over him--'a cloud without +water, carried about of winds, and a wandering star to whom is reserved the +blackness of darkness'--corresponded with the 'minister' of his church, and +was provokingly contented with his own fertility and illumination; and +Mrs. Rusk, who was a sound and bitter churchwoman, said he fancied he saw +visions and talked with angels like the rest of that 'rubbitch.' + +I don't know that she had any better foundation than analogy and conjecture +for charging my father with supernatural pretensions; and in all points +when her orthodoxy was not concerned, she loved her master and was a loyal +housekeeper. + +I found her one morning superintending preparations for the reception of +a visitor, in the hunting-room it was called, from the pieces of tapestry +that covered its walls, representing scenes _a la Wouvermans_, of falconry, +and the chase, dogs, hawks, ladies, gallants, and pages. In the midst of +whom Mrs. Rusk, in black silk, was rummaging drawers, counting linen, and +issuing orders. + +'Who is coming, Mrs. Rusk?' + +Well, she only knew his name. It was a Mr. Bryerly. My papa expected him to +dinner, and to stay for some days. + +'I guess he's one of those creatures, dear, for I mentioned his name just +to Dr. Clay (the rector), and he says there _is_ a Doctor Bryerly, a great +conjurer among the Swedenborg sect--and that's him, I do suppose.' + +In my hazy notions of these sectaries there was mingled a suspicion of +necromancy, and a weird freemasonry, that inspired something of awe and +antipathy. + +Mr. Bryerly arrived time enough to dress at his leisure, before dinner. He +entered the drawing-room--a tall, lean man, all in ungainly black, with a +white choker, with either a black wig, or black hair dressed in imitation +of one, a pair of spectacles, and a dark, sharp, short visage, rubbing his +large hands together, and with a short brisk nod to me, whom he plainly +regarded merely as a child, he sat down before the fire, crossed his legs, +and took up a magazine. + +This treatment was mortifying, and I remember very well the resentment of +which _he_ was quite unconscious. + +His stay was not very long; not one of us divined the object of his visit, +and he did not prepossess us favourably. He seemed restless, as men of busy +habits do in country houses, and took walks, and a drive, and read in the +library, and wrote half a dozen letters. + +His bed-room and dressing-room were at the side of the gallery, directly +opposite to my father's, which had a sort of ante-room _en suite_, in which +were some of his theological books. + +The day after Mr. Bryerly's arrival, I was about to see whether my father's +water caraffe and glass had been duly laid on the table in this ante-room, +and in doubt whether he was there, I knocked at the door. + +I suppose they were too intent on other matters to hear, but receiving no +answer, I entered the room. My father was sitting in his chair, with his +coat and waistcoat off, Mr. Bryerly kneeling on a stool beside him, rather +facing him, his black scratch wig leaning close to my father's grizzled +hair. There was a large tome of their divinity lore, I suppose, open on +the table close by. The lank black figure of Mr. Bryerly stood up, and he +concealed something quickly in the breast of his coat. + +My father stood up also, looking paler, I think, than I ever saw him till +then, and he pointed grimly to the door, and said, 'Go.' + +Mr. Bryerly pushed me gently back with his hands to my shoulders, and +smiled down from his dark features with an expression quite unintelligible +to me. + +I had recovered myself in a second, and withdrew without a word. The last +thing I saw at the door was the tall, slim figure in black, and the dark, +significant smile following me: and then the door was shut and locked, and +the two Swedenborgians were left to their mysteries. + +I remember so well the kind of shock and disgust I felt in the certainty +that I had surprised them at some, perhaps, debasing incantation--a +suspicion of this Mr. Bryerly, of the ill-fitting black coat, and white +choker--and a sort of fear came upon me, and I fancied he was asserting +some kind of mastery over my father, which very much alarmed me. + +I fancied all sorts of dangers in the enigmatical smile of the lank +high-priest. The image of my father, as I had seen him, it might be, +confessing to this man in black, who was I knew not what, haunted me with +the disagreeable uncertainties of a mind very uninstructed as to the limits +of the marvellous. + +I mentioned it to no one. But I was immensely relieved when the sinister +visitor took his departure the morning after, and it was upon this +occurrence that my mind was now employed. + +Some one said that Dr. Johnson resembled a ghost, who must be spoken to +before it will speak. But my father, in whatever else he may have resembled +a ghost, did not in that particular; for no one but I in his household--and +I very seldom--dared to address him until first addressed by him. I had no +notion how singular this was until I began to go out a little among friends +and relations, and found no such rule in force anywhere else. + +As I leaned back in my chair thinking, this phantasm of my father came, and +turned, and vanished with a solemn regularity. It was a peculiar figure, +strongly made, thick-set, with a face large, and very stern; he wore a +loose, black velvet coat and waistcoat. It was, however, the figure of an +elderly rather than an old man--though he was then past seventy--but firm, +and with no sign of feebleness. + +I remember the start with which, not suspecting that he was close by me, I +lifted my eyes, and saw that large, rugged countenance looking fixedly on +me, from less than a yard away. + +After I saw him, he continued to regard me for a second or two; and then, +taking one of the heavy candlesticks in his gnarled hand, he beckoned me to +follow him; which, in silence and wondering, I accordingly did. + +He led me across the hall, where there were lights burning, and into a +lobby by the foot of the back stairs, and so into his library. + +It is a long, narrow room, with two tall, slim windows at the far end, now +draped in dark curtains. Dusky it was with but one candle; and he paused +near the door, at the left-hand side of which stood, in those days, an +old-fashioned press or cabinet of carved oak. In front of this he stopped. + +He had odd, absent ways, and talked more to himself, I believe, than to all +the rest of the world put together. + +'She won't understand,' he whispered, looking at me enquiringly. 'No, she +won't. _Will_ she?' + +Then there was a pause, during which he brought forth from his breast +pocket a small bunch of some half-dozen keys, on one of which he looked +frowningly, every now and then balancing it a little before his eyes, +between his finger and thumb, as he deliberated. + +I knew him too well, of course, to interpose a word. + +'They are easily frightened--ay, they are. I'd better do it another way.' + +And pausing, he looked in my face as he might upon a picture. + +'They _are_--yes--I had better do it another way--another way; yes--and +she'll not suspect--she'll not suppose.' + +Then he looked steadfastly upon the key, and from it to me, suddenly +lifting it up, and said abruptly, 'See, child,' and, after a second or two, +'_Remember_ this key.' + +It was oddly shaped, and unlike others. + +'Yes, sir.' I always called him 'sir.' + +'It opens that,' and he tapped it sharply on the door of the cabinet. 'In +the daytime it is always here,' at which word he dropped it into his pocket +again. 'You see?--and at night under my pillow--you hear me?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'You won't forget this cabinet--oak--next the door--on your left--you won't +forget?' + +'No, sir.' + +'Pity she's a girl, and so young--ay, a girl, and so young--no +sense--giddy. You say, you'll _remember_?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'It behoves you.' + +He turned round and looked full upon me, like a man who has taken a sudden +resolution; and I think for a moment he had made up his mind to tell me a +great deal more. But if so, he changed it again; and after another pause, +he said slowly and sternly--'You will tell nobody what I have said, under +pain of my displeasure.' + +'Oh! no, sir!' + +'Good child!' + +'_Except_,' he resumed, 'under one contingency; that is, in case I should +be absent, and Dr. Bryerly--you recollect the thin gentleman, in spectacles +and a black wig, who spent three days here last month--should come and +enquire for the key, you understand, in my absence.' + +'Yes, sir.' + +So he kissed me on the forehead, and said-- + +'Let us return.' + +Which, accordingly, we did, in silence; the storm outside, like a dirge on +a great organ, accompanying our flitting. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +_UNCLE SILAS_ + + +When we reached the drawing-room, I resumed my chair, and my father his +slow and regular walk to and fro, in the great room. Perhaps it was the +uproar of the wind that disturbed the ordinary tenor of his thoughts; but, +whatever was the cause, certainly he was unusually talkative that night. + +After an interval of nearly half an hour, he drew near again, and sat down +in a high-backed arm-chair, beside the fire, and nearly opposite to me, and +looked at me steadfastly for some time, as was his wont, before speaking; +and said he-- + +'This won't do--you must have a governess.' + +In cases of this kind I merely set down my book or work, as it might be, +and adjusted myself to listen without speaking. + +'Your French is pretty well, and your Italian; but you have no German. +Your music may be pretty good--I'm no judge--but your drawing might be +better--yes--yes. I believe there are accomplished ladies--finishing +governesses, they call them--who undertake more than any one teacher would +have professed in my time, and do very well. She can prepare you, and +next winter, then, you shall visit France and Italy, where you may be +accomplished as highly as you please.' + +'Thank you, sir.' + +'You shall. It is nearly six months since Miss Ellerton left you--too long +without a teacher.' + +Then followed an interval. + +'Dr. Bryerly will ask you about that key, and what it opens; you show all +that to _him_, and no one else.' + +'But,' I said, for I had a great terror of disobeying him in ever so minute +a matter, 'you will then be absent, sir--how am I to find the key?' + +He smiled on me suddenly--a bright but wintry smile--it seldom came, and +was very transitory, and kindly though mysterious. + +'True, child; I'm glad you are so wise; _that_, you will find, I have +provided for, and you shall know exactly where to look. You have remarked +how solitarily I live. You fancy, perhaps, I have not got a friend, and +you are nearly right--_nearly_, but not altogether. I have a very sure +friend--_one_--a friend whom I once misunderstood, but now appreciate.' + +I wondered silently whether it could be Uncle Silas. + +'He'll make me a call, some day soon; I'm not quite sure when. I won't tell +you his name--you'll hear that soon enough, and I don't want it talked of; +and I must make a little journey with him. You'll not be afraid of being +left alone for a time?' + +'And have you promised, sir?' I answered, with another question, my +curiosity and anxiety overcoming my awe. He took my questioning very +good-humouredly. + +'Well--_promise_?--no, child; but I'm under condition; he's not to be +denied. I must make the excursion with him the moment he calls. I have no +choice; but, on the whole, I rather like it--remember, I say, I rather +_like_ it.' + +And he smiled again, with the same meaning, that was at once stern and sad. +The exact purport of these sentences remained fixed in my mind, so that +even at this distance of time I am quite sure of them. + +A person quite unacquainted with my father's habitually abrupt and odd way +of talking, would have fancied that he was possibly a little disordered in +his mind. But no such suspicion for a moment troubled me. I was quite sure +that he spoke of a real person who was coming, and that his journey was +something momentous; and when the visitor of whom he spoke did come, and he +departed with him upon that mysterious excursion, I perfectly understood +his language and his reasons for saying so much and yet so little. + +You are not to suppose that all my hours were passed in the sort of +conference and isolation of which I have just given you a specimen; and +singular and even awful as were sometimes my _tete-a-tetes_ with my father, +I had grown so accustomed to his strange ways, and had so unbounded a +confidence in his affection, that they never depressed or agitated me in +the manner you might have supposed. I had a great deal of quite a different +sort of chat with good old Mrs. Rusk, and very pleasant talks with Mary +Quince, my somewhat ancient maid; and besides all this, I had now and then +a visit of a week or so at the house of some one of our country neighbours, +and occasionally a visitor--but this, I must own, very rarely--at Knowl. + +There had come now a little pause in my father's revelations, and my fancy +wandered away upon a flight of discovery. Who, I again thought, could this +intending visitor be, who was to come, armed with the prerogative to make +my stay-at-home father forthwith leave his household goods--his books and +his child--to whom he clung, and set forth on an unknown knight-errantry? +Who but Uncle Silas, I thought--that mysterious relative whom I had +never seen--who was, it had in old times been very darkly hinted to me, +unspeakably unfortunate or unspeakably vicious--whom I had seldom heard my +father mention, and then in a hurried way, and with a pained, thoughtful +look. Once only he had said anything from which I could gather my father's +opinion of him, and then it was so slight and enigmatical that I might have +filled in the character very nearly as I pleased. + +It happened thus. One day Mrs. Rusk was in the oak-room, I being then about +fourteen. She was removing a stain from a tapestry chair, and I watched the +process with a childish interest. She sat down to rest herself--she had +been stooping over her work--and threw her head back, for her neck was +weary, and in this position she fixed her eyes on a portrait that hung +before her. + +It was a full-length, and represented a singularly handsome young man, +dark, slender, elegant, in a costume then quite obsolete, though I believe +it was seen at the beginning of this century--white leather pantaloons and +top-boots, a buff waistcoat, and a chocolate-coloured coat, and the hair +long and brushed back. + +There was a remarkable elegance and a delicacy in the features, but also a +character of resolution and ability that quite took the portrait out of the +category of mere fops or fine men. When people looked at it for the first +time, I have so often heard the exclamation--'What a wonderfully handsome +man!' and then, 'What a clever face!' An Italian greyhound stood by him, +and some slender columns and a rich drapery in the background. But though +the accessories were of the luxurious sort, and the beauty, as I have said, +refined, there was a masculine force in that slender oval face, and a fire +in the large, shadowy eyes, which were very peculiar, and quite redeemed it +from the suspicion of effeminacy. + +'Is not that Uncle Silas?' said I. + +'Yes, dear,' answered Mrs. Rusk, looking, with her resolute little face, +quietly on the portrait. + +'He must be a very handsome man, Mrs. Rusk. Don't you think so?' I +continued. + +'He _was_, my dear--yes; but it is forty years since that was painted--the +date is there in the corner, in the shadow that comes from his foot, and +forty years, I can tell you, makes a change in most of us;' and Mrs. Rusk +laughed, in cynical good-humour. + +There was a little pause, both still looking on the handsome man in +top-boots, and I said-- + +'And why, Mrs. Rusk, is papa always so sad about Uncle Silas?' + +'What's that, child?' said my father's voice, very near. I looked round, +with a start, and flushed and faltered, receding a step from him. + +'No harm, dear. You have said nothing wrong,' he said gently, observing +my alarm. 'You said I was always sad, I think, about Uncle Silas. Well, +I don't know how you gather that; but if I were, I will now tell you, it +would not be unnatural. Your uncle is a man of great talents, great faults, +and great wrongs. His talents have not availed him; his faults are long ago +repented of; and his wrongs I believe he feels less than I do, but they are +deep. Did she say any more, madam?' he demanded abruptly of Mrs. Rusk. + +'Nothing, sir,' with a stiff little courtesy, answered Mrs. Rusk, who stood +in awe of him. + +'And there is no need, child,' he continued, addressing himself to me, +'that you should think more of him at present. Clear your head of Uncle +Silas. One day, perhaps, you will know him--yes, very well--and understand +how villains have injured him. + +Then my father retired, and at the door he said-- + +'Mrs. Rusk, a word, if you please,' beckoning to that lady, who trotted +after him to the library. + +I think he then laid some injunction upon the housekeeper, which was +transmitted by her to Mary Quince, for from that time forth I could never +lead either to talk with me about Uncle Silas. They let me talk on, but +were reserved and silent themselves, and seemed embarrassed, and Mrs. Rusk +sometimes pettish and angry, when I pressed for information. + +Thus curiosity was piqued; and round the slender portrait in the leather +pantaloons and top-boots gathered many-coloured circles of mystery, and the +handsome features seemed to smile down upon my baffled curiosity with a +provoking significance. + +Why is it that this form of ambition--curiosity--which entered into the +temptation of our first parent, is so specially hard to resist? Knowledge +is power--and power of one sort or another is the secret lust of human +souls; and here is, beside the sense of exploration, the undefinable +interest of a story, and above all, something forbidden, to stimulate the +contumacious appetite. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +_A NEW FACE_ + + +I think it was about a fortnight after that conversation in which my father +had expressed his opinion, and given me the mysterious charge about the +old oak cabinet in his library, as already detailed, that I was one night +sitting at the great drawing-room window, lost in the melancholy reveries +of night, and in admiration of the moonlighted scene. I was the only +occupant of the room; and the lights near the fire, at its farther end, +hardly reached to the window at which I sat. + +The shorn grass sloped gently downward from the windows till it met the +broad level on which stood, in clumps, or solitarily scattered, some of the +noblest timber in England. Hoar in the moonbeams stood those graceful +trees casting their moveless shadows upon the grass, and in the background +crowning the undulations of the distance, in masses, were piled those woods +among which lay the solitary tomb where the remains of my beloved mother +rested. + +The air was still. The silvery vapour hung serenely on the far horizon, +and the frosty stars blinked brightly. Everyone knows the effect of such a +scene on a mind already saddened. Fancies and regrets float mistily in +the dream, and the scene affects us with a strange mixture of memory and +anticipation, like some sweet old air heard in the distance. As my eyes +rested on those, to me, funereal but glorious woods, which formed the +background of the picture, my thoughts recurred to my father's mysterious +intimations and the image of the approaching visitor; and the thought of +the unknown journey saddened me. + +In all that concerned his religion, from very early association, there was +to me something of the unearthly and spectral. + +When my dear mamma died I was not nine years old; and I remember, two days +before the funeral, there came to Knowl, where she died, a thin little man, +with large black eyes, and a very grave, dark face. + +He was shut up a good deal with my dear father, who was in deep affliction; +and Mrs. Rusk used to say, 'It is rather odd to see him praying with that +little scarecrow from London, and good Mr. Clay ready at call, in the +village; much good that little black whipper-snapper will do him!' + +With that little black man, on the day after the funeral, I was sent out, +for some reason, for a walk; my governess was ill, I know, and there was +confusion in the house, and I dare say the maids made as much of a holiday +as they could. + +I remember feeling a sort of awe of this little dark man; but I was not +afraid of him, for he was gentle, though sad--and seemed kind. He led me +into the garden--the Dutch garden, we used to call it--with a balustrade, +and statues at the farther front, laid out in a carpet-pattern of +brilliantly-coloured flowers. We came down the broad flight of Caen stone +steps into this, and we walked in silence to the balustrade. The base was +too high at the spot where we reached it for me to see over; but holding my +hand, he said, 'Look through that, my child. Well, you can't; but _I_ can +see beyond it--shall I tell you what? I see ever so much. I see a cottage +with a steep roof, that looks like gold in the sunlight; there are tall +trees throwing soft shadows round it, and flowering shrubs, I can't say +what, only the colours are beautiful, growing by the walls and windows, and +two little children are playing among the stems of the trees, and we are on +our way there, and in a few minutes shall be under those trees ourselves, +and talking to those little children. Yet now to me it is but a picture in +my brain, and to you but a story told by me, which you believe. Come, dear; +let us be going.' + +So we descended the steps at the right, and side by side walked along the +grass lane between tall trim walls of evergreens. The way was in deep +shadow, for the sun was near the horizon; but suddenly we turned to the +left, and there we stood in rich sunlight, among the many objects he had +described. + +'Is this your house, my little men?' he asked of the children--pretty +little rosy boys--who assented; and he leaned with his open hand against +the stem of one of the trees, and with a grave smile he nodded down to me, +saying-- + +'You see now, and hear, and _feel_ for yourself that both the vision and +the story were quite true; but come on, my dear, we have further to go.' + +And relapsing into silence we had a long ramble through the wood, the same +on which I was now looking in the distance. Every now and then he made me +sit down to rest, and he in a musing solemn sort of way would relate some +little story, reflecting, even to my childish mind, a strange suspicion +of a spiritual meaning, but different from what honest Mrs. Rusk used +to expound to me from the Parables, and, somehow, startling in its very +vagueness. + +Thus entertained, though a little awfully, I accompanied the dark +mysterious little 'whipper-snapper' through the woodland glades. We came, +to me quite unexpectedly, in the deep sylvan shadows, upon the grey, +pillared temple, four-fronted, with a slanting pedestal of lichen-stained +steps, the lonely sepulchre in which I had the morning before seen poor +mamma laid. At the sight the fountains of my grief reopened, and I cried +bitterly, repeating, 'Oh! mamma, mamma, little mamma!' and so went on +weeping and calling wildly on the deaf and the silent. There was a stone +bench some ten steps away from the tomb. + +'Sit down beside me, my child,' said the grave man with the black eyes, +very kindly and gently. 'Now, what do you see there?' he asked, pointing +horizontally with his stick towards the centre of the opposite structure. + +'Oh, _that_--that place where poor mamma is?' + +'Yes, a stone wall with pillars, too high for either you or me to see over. +But----' + +Here he mentioned a name which I think must have been Swedenborg, from what +I afterwards learnt of his tenets and revelations; I only know that it +sounded to me like the name of a magician in a fairy tale; I fancied he +lived in the wood which surrounded us, and I began to grow frightened as he +proceeded. + +'But Swedenborg sees beyond it, over, and _through_ it, and has told me all +that concerns us to know. He says your mamma is not there.' + +'She is taken away!' I cried, starting up, and with streaming eyes, gazing +on the building which, though I stamped my feet in my distraction, I was +afraid to approach. 'Oh, _is_ mamma taken away? Where is she? Where have +they brought her to?' + +I was uttering unconsciously very nearly the question with which Mary, +in the grey of that wondrous morning on which she stood by the empty +sepulchre, accosted the figure standing near. + +'Your mamma is alive but too far away to see or hear us. Swedenborg, +standing here, can see and hear her, and tells me all he sees, just as I +told you in the garden about the little boys and the cottage, and the trees +and flowers which you could not see, but you believed in when _I_ told you. So +I can tell you now as I did then; and as we are both, I hope, walking on to +the same place just as we did to the trees and cottage. You will surely see +with your own eyes how true the description is which I give you.' + +I was very frightened, for I feared that when he had done his narrative we +were to walk on through the wood into that place of wonders and of shadows +where the dead were visible. + +He leaned his elbow on his knee, and his forehead on his hand, which +shaded his downcast eyes. In that attitude he described to me a beautiful +landscape, radiant with a wondrous light, in which, rejoicing, my mother +moved along an airy path, ascending among mountains of fantastic height, +and peaks, melting in celestial colouring into the air, and peopled with +human beings translated into the same image, beauty, and splendour. And +when he had ended his relation, he rose, took my hand, and smiling gently +down on my pale, wondering face, he said the same words he had spoken +before-- + +'Come, dear, let us go.' + +'Oh! no, no, _no_--not now,' I said, resisting, and very much frightened. + +'Home, I mean, dear. We cannot walk to the place I have described. We can +only reach it through the gate of death, to which we are all tending, young +and old, with sure steps.' + +'And where is the gate of death?' I asked in a sort of whisper, as we +walked together, holding his hand, and looking stealthily. He smiled sadly +and said-- + +'When, sooner or later, the time comes, as Hagar's eyes were opened in the +wilderness, and she beheld the fountain of water, so shall each of us see +the door open before us, and enter in and be refreshed.' + +For a long time following this walk I was very nervous; more so for the +awful manner in which Mrs. Rusk received my statement--with stern lips and +upturned hands and eyes, and an angry expostulation: 'I do wonder at +you, Mary Quince, letting the child walk into the wood with that limb of +darkness. It is a mercy he did not show her the devil, or frighten her out +of her senses, in that lonely place!' + +Of these Swedenborgians, indeed, I know no more than I might learn from +good Mrs. Rusk's very inaccurate talk. Two or three of them crossed in the +course of my early life, like magic-lantern figures, the disk of my very +circumscribed observation. All outside was and is darkness. I once tried to +read one of their books upon the future state--heaven and hell; but I grew +after a day or two so nervous that I laid it aside. It is enough for me +to know that their founder either saw or fancied he saw amazing visions, +which, so far from superseding, confirmed and interpreted the language of +the Bible; and as dear papa accepted their ideas, I am happy in thinking +that they did not conflict with the supreme authority of holy writ. + +Leaning on my hand, I was now looking upon that solemn wood, white and +shadowy in the moonlight, where, for a long time after that ramble with the +visionary, I fancied the gate of death, hidden only by a strange glamour, +and the dazzling land of ghosts, were situate; and I suppose these earlier +associations gave to my reverie about my father's coming visitor a wilder +and a sadder tinge. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +_MADAME DE LA ROUGIERRE_ + + +On a sudden, on the grass before me, stood an odd figure--a very tall woman +in grey draperies, nearly white under the moon, courtesying extraordinarily +low, and rather fantastically. + +I stared in something like a horror upon the large and rather hollow +features which I did not know, smiling very unpleasantly on me; and the +moment it was plain that I saw her, the grey woman began gobbling +and cackling shrilly--I could not distinctly hear _what_ through the +window--and gesticulating oddly with her long hands and arms. + +As she drew near the window, I flew to the fireplace, and rang the bell +frantically, and seeing her still there, and fearing that she might break +into the room, I flew out of the door, very much frightened, and met +Branston the butler in the lobby. + +'There's a woman at the window!' I gasped; 'turn her away, please.' + +If I had said a man, I suppose fat Branston would have summoned and sent +forward a detachment of footmen. As it was, he bowed gravely, with a-- + +'Yes, 'm--shall, 'm.' + +And with an air of authority approached the window. + +I don't think that he was pleasantly impressed himself by the first sight +of our visitor, for he stopped short some steps of the window, and demanded +rather sternly-- + +'What ye doin' there, woman?' + +To this summons, her answer, which occupied a little time, was inaudible to +me. But Branston replied-- + +'I wasn't aware, ma'am; I heerd nothin'; if you'll go round _that_ way, +you'll see the hall-door steps, and I'll speak to the master, and do as he +shall order.' + +The figure said something and pointed. + +'Yes, that's it, and ye can't miss the door.' + +And Mr. Branston returned slowly down the long room, and halted with +out-turned pumps and a grave inclination before me, and the faintest amount +of interrogation in the announcement-- + +'Please, 'm, she says she's the governess.' + +'The governess! _What_ governess?' + +Branston was too well-bred to smile, and he said thoughtfully-- + +'P'raps, 'm, I'd best ask the master?' + +To which I assented, and away strode the flat pumps of the butler to the +library. + +I stood breathless in the hall. Every girl at my age knows how much is +involved in such an advent. I also heard Mrs. Rusk, in a minute or two +more, emerge I suppose from the study. She walked quickly, and muttered +sharply to herself--an evil trick, in which she indulged when much 'put +about.' I should have been glad of a word with her; but I fancied she was +vexed, and would not have talked satisfactorily. She did not, however, come +my way; merely crossing the hall with her quick, energetic step. + +Was it really the arrival of a governess? Was that apparition which had +impressed me so unpleasantly to take the command of me--to sit alone with +me, and haunt me perpetually with her sinister looks and shrilly gabble? + +I was just making up my mind to go to Mary Quince, and learn something +definite, when I heard my father's step approaching from the library: so +I quietly re-entered the drawing-room, but with an anxious and throbbing +heart. + +When he came in, as usual, he patted me on the head gently, with a kind of +smile, and then began his silent walk up and down the room. I was yearning +to question him on the point that just then engrossed me so disagreeably; +but the awe in which I stood of him forbade. + +After a time he stopped at the window, the curtain of which I had drawn, +and the shutter partly opened, and he looked out, perhaps with associations +of his own, on the scene I had been contemplating. + +It was not for nearly an hour after, that my father suddenly, after his +wont, in a few words, apprised me of the arrival of Madame de la Rougierre +to be my governess, highly recommended and perfectly qualified. My heart +sank with a sure presage of ill. I already disliked, distrusted, and feared +her. + +I had more than an apprehension of her temper and fear of possibly abused +authority. The large-featured, smirking phantom, saluting me so oddly in +the moonlight, retained ever after its peculiar and unpleasant hold upon my +nerves. + +'Well, Miss Maud, dear, I hope you'll like your new governess--for it's +more than _I_ do, just at present at least,' said Mrs. Rusk, sharply--she +was awaiting me in my room. 'I hate them French-women; they're not natural, +I think. I gave her her supper in my room. She eats like a wolf, she does, +the great raw-boned hannimal. I wish you saw her in bed as I did. I put her +next the clock-room--she'll hear the hours betimes, I'm thinking. You never +saw such a sight. The great long nose and hollow cheeks of her, and oogh! +such a mouth! I felt a'most like little Red Riding-Hood--I did, Miss.' + +Here honest Mary Quince, who enjoyed Mrs. Rusk's satire, a weapon in which +she was not herself strong, laughed outright. + +'Turn down the bed, Mary. She's very agreeable--she is, just now--all +new-comers is; but she did not get many compliments from me, Miss--no, +I rayther think not. I wonder why honest English girls won't answer the +gentry for governesses, instead of them gaping, scheming, wicked furriners? +Lord forgi' me, I think they're all alike.' + +Next morning I made acquaintance with Madame de la Rougierre. She was tall, +masculine, a little ghastly perhaps, and draped in purple silk, with a +lace cap, and great bands of black hair, too thick and black, perhaps, to +correspond quite naturally with her bleached and sallow skin, her hollow +jaws, and the fine but grim wrinkles traced about her brows and eyelids. +She smiled, she nodded, and then for a good while she scanned me in silence +with a steady cunning eye, and a stern smile. + +'And how is she named--what is Mademoiselle's name?' said the tall +stranger. + +'_Maud_, Madame.' + +'Maud!--what pretty name! Eh bien! I am very sure my dear Maud she will +be very good little girl--is not so?--and I am sure I shall love you vary +moche. And what 'av you been learning, Maud, my dear cheaile--music, +French, German, eh?' + +'Yes, a little; and I had just begun the use of the globes when my +governess went away.' + +I nodded towards the globes, which stood near her, as I said this. + +'Oh! yes--the globes;' and she spun one of them with her great hand. 'Je +vous expliquerai tout cela a fond.' + +Madame de la Rougierre, I found, was always quite ready to explain +everything 'a fond;' but somehow her 'explications,' as she termed them, +were not very intelligible, and when pressed her temper woke up; so that I +preferred, after a while, accepting the expositions just as they came. + +Madame was on an unusually large scale, a circumstance which made some of +her traits more startling, and altogether rendered her, in her strange way, +more awful in the eyes of a nervous _child,_ I may say, such as I was. She +used to look at me for a long time sometimes, with the peculiar smile +I have mentioned, and a great finger upon her lip, like the Eleusinian +priestess on the vase. + +She would sit, too, sometimes for an hour together, looking into the fire +or out of the window, plainly seeing nothing, and with an odd, fixed look +of something like triumph--very nearly a smile--on her cunning face. + +She was by no means a pleasant _gouvernante_ for a nervous girl of my +years. Sometimes she had accesses of a sort of hilarity which frightened me +still more than her graver moods, and I will describe these by-and-by. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_SIGHTS AND NOISES_ + + +There is not an old house in England of which the servants and young people +who live in it do not cherish some traditions of the ghostly. Knowl has its +shadows, noises, and marvellous records. Rachel Ruthyn, the beauty of Queen +Anne's time, who died of grief for the handsome Colonel Norbrooke, who +was killed in the Low Countries, walks the house by night, in crisp and +sounding silks. She is not seen, only heard. The tapping of her high-heeled +shoes, the sweep and rustle of her brocades, her sighs as she pauses in the +galleries, near the bed-room doors; and sometimes, on stormy nights, her +sobs. + +There is, beside, the 'link-man', a lank, dark-faced, black-haired man, in +a sable suit, with a link or torch in his hand. It usually only smoulders, +with a deep red glow, as he visits his beat. The library is one of the +rooms he sees to. Unlike 'Lady Rachel,' as the maids called her, he is seen +only, never heard. His steps fall noiseless as shadows on floor and carpet. +The lurid glow of his smouldering torch imperfectly lights his figure and +face, and, except when much perturbed, his link never blazes. On those +occasions, however, as he goes his rounds, he ever and anon whirls it +around his head, and it bursts into a dismal flame. This is a fearful omen, +and always portends some direful crisis or calamity. It occurs, only once +or twice in a century. + +I don't know whether Madame had heard anything of these phenomena; but she +did report which very much frightened me and Mary Quince. She asked us who +walked in the gallery on which her bed-room opened, making a rustling with +her dress, and going down the stairs, and breathing long breaths here and +there. Twice, she said, she had stood at her door in the dark, listening to +these sounds, and once she called to know who it was. There was no answer, +but the person plainly turned back, and hurried towards her with an +unnatural speed, which made her jump within her door and shut it. + +When first such tales are told, they excite the nerves of the young and the +ignorant intensely. But the special effect, I have found, soon wears out +The tale simply takes it's place with the rest. It was with Madame's +narrative. + +About a week after its relation, I had my experience of a similar sort. +Mary Quince went down-stairs for a night-light, leaving me in bed, a candle +burning in the room, and being tired, I fell asleep before her return. +When I awoke the candle had been extinguished. But I heard a step softly +approaching. I jumped up--quite forgetting the ghost, and thinking only of +Mary Quince--and opened the door, expecting to see the light of her candle. +Instead, all was dark, and near me I heard the fall of a bare foot on the +oak floor. It was as if some one had stumbled. I said, 'Mary,' but no +answer came, only a rustling of clothes and a breathing at the other side +of the gallery, which passed off towards the upper staircase. I turned into +my room, freezing with horror, and clapt my door. The noise wakened Mary +Quince, who had returned and gone to her bed half an hour before. + +About a fortnight after this, Mary Quince, a very veracious spinster, +reported to me, that having got up to fix the window, which was rattling, +at about four o'clock in the morning, she saw a light shining from the +library window. She could swear to its being a strong light, streaming +through the chinks of the shutter, and moving. No doubt the link was waved +about his head by the angry 'link-man.' + +These strange occurrences helped, I think, just then to make me nervous, +and prepared the way for the odd sort of ascendency which, through my +sense of the mysterious and super-natural, that repulsive Frenchwoman was +gradually, and it seemed without effort, establishing over me. + +Some dark points of her character speedily emerged from the prismatic mist +with which she had enveloped it. + +Mrs. Rusk's observation about the agreeability of new-comers I found to be +true; for as Madame began to lose that character, her good-humour abated +very perceptibly, and she began to show gleams of another sort of temper, +that was lurid and dangerous. + +Notwithstanding this, she was in the habit of always having her Bible open +by her, and was austerely attentive at morning and evening services, and +asked my father, with great humility, to lend her some translations of +Swedenborg's books, which she laid much to heart. + +When we went out for our walk, if the weather were bad we generally made +our promenade up and down the broad terrace in front of the windows. Sullen +and malign at times she used to look, and as suddenly she would pat me on +the shoulder caressingly, and smile with a grotesque benignity, asking +tenderly, 'Are you fatigue, ma chere?' or 'Are you cold-a, dear Maud?' + +At first these abrupt transitions puzzled me, sometimes half frightened +me, savouring, I fancied, of insanity. The key, however, was accidentally +supplied, and I found that these accesses of demonstrative affection were +sure to supervene whenever my father's face was visible through the library +windows. + +I did not know well what to make of this woman, whom I feared with a vein +of superstitious dread. I hated being alone with her after dusk in the +school-room. She would sometimes sit for half an hour at a time, with her +wide mouth drawn down at the corners, and a scowl, looking into the fire. +If she saw me looking at her, she would change all this on the instant, +affect a sort of languor, and lean her head upon her hand, and ultimately +have recourse to her Bible. But I fancied she did not read, but pursued her +own dark ruminations, for I observed that the open book might often lie for +half an hour or more under her eyes and yet the leaf never turned. + +I should have been glad to be assured that she prayed when on her knees, or +read when that book was before her; I should have felt that she was more +canny and human. As it was, those external pieties made a suspicion of a +hollow contrast with realities that helped to scare me; yet it was but a +suspicion--I could not be certain. + +Our rector and the curate, with whom she was very gracious, and anxious +about my collects and catechism, had an exalted opinion of her. In public +places her affection for me was always demonstrative. + +In like manner she contrived conferences with my father. She was always +making excuses to consult him about my reading, and to confide in him her +sufferings, as I learned, from my contumacy and temper. The fact is, I was +altogether quiet and submissive. But I think she had a wish to reduce me +to a state of the most abject bondage. She had designs of domination and +subversion regarding the entire household, I now believe, worthy of the +evil spirit I sometimes fancied her. + +My father beckoned me into the study one day, and said he-- + +'You ought not to give poor Madame so much pain. She is one of the few +persons who take an interest in you; why should she have so often to +complain of your ill-temper and disobedience?--why should she be compelled +to ask my permission to punish you? Don't be afraid, I won't concede that. +But in so kind a person it argues much. Affection I can't command--respect +and obedience I may--and I insist on your rendering _both_ to Madame.' + +'But sir,' I said, roused into courage by the gross injustice of the +charge, 'I have always done exactly as she bid me, and never said one +disrespectful word to Madame.' + +'I don't think, child, _you_ are the best judge of that. Go, and _amend_.' +And with a displeased look he pointed to the door. My heart swelled with +the sense of wrong, and as I reached the door I turned to say another word, +but I could not, and only burst into tears. + +'There--don't cry, little Maud--only let us do better for the future. +There--there--there has been enough.' + +And he kissed my forehead, and gently put me out and closed the door. + +In the school-room I took courage, and with some warmth upbraided Madame. + +'Wat wicked cheaile!' moaned Madame, demurely. 'Read aloud those +three--yes, _those_ three chapters of the Bible, my dear Maud.' + +There was no special fitness in those particular chapters, and when they +were ended she said in a sad tone-- + +'Now, dear, you must commit to memory this pretty priaire for umility of +art.' + +It was a long one, and in a state of profound irritation I got through the +task. + +Mrs. Rusk hated her. She said she stole wine and brandy whenever the +opportunity offered--that she was always asking her for such stimulants and +pretending pains in her stomach. Here, perhaps, there was exaggeration; but +I knew it was true that I had been at different times despatched on that +errand and pretext for brandy to Mrs. Rusk, who at last came to her bedside +with pills and a mustard blister only, and was hated irrevocably ever +after. + +I felt all this was done to torture me. But a day is a long time to a +child, and they forgive quickly. It was always with a sense of danger that +I heard Madame say she must go and see Monsieur Ruthyn in the library, +and I think a jealousy of her growing influence was an ingredient in the +detestation in which honest Mrs. Rusk held her. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +_A WALK IN THE WOOD_ + + +Two little pieces of by-play in which I detected her confirmed my +unpleasant suspicion. From the corner of the gallery I one day saw her, +when she thought I was out and all quiet, with her ear at the keyhole of +papa's study, as we used to call the sitting-room next his bed-room. Her +eyes were turned in the direction of the stairs, from which only she +apprehended surprise. Her great mouth was open, and her eyes absolutely +goggled with eagerness. She was devouring all that was passing there. +I drew back into the shadow with a kind of disgust and horror. She was +transformed into a great gaping reptile. I felt that I could have thrown +something at her; but a kind of fear made me recede again toward my room. +Indignation, however, quickly returned, and I came back, treading briskly +as I did so. When I reached the angle of the gallery again. Madame, I +suppose, had heard me, for she was half-way down the stairs. + +'Ah, my dear Cheaile, I am so glad to find you, and you are dress to come +out. We shall have so pleasant walk.' + +At that moment the door of my father's study opened, and Mrs. Rusk, with +her dark energetic face very much flushed, stepped out in high excitement. + +'The Master says you may have the brandy-bottle, Madame and I'm glad to be +rid of it--_I_ am.' + +Madame courtesied with a great smirk, that was full of intangible hate and +insult. + +'Better your own brandy, if drink you must!' exclaimed Mrs. Rusk. 'You may +come to the store-room now, or the butler can take it.' + +And off whisked Mrs. Rusk for the back staircase. + +There had been no common skirmish on this occasion, but a pitched battle. + +Madame had made a sort of pet of Anne Wixted, an under-chambermaid, and +attached her to her interest economically by persuading me to make her +presents of some old dresses and other things. Anne was such an angel! + +But Mrs. Rusk, whose eyes were about her, detected Anne, with a +brandy-bottle under her apron, stealing up-stairs. Anne, in a panic, +declared the truth. Madame had commissioned her to buy it in the town, and +convey it to her bed-room. Upon this, Mrs. Rusk impounded the flask; and, +with Anne beside her, rather precipitately appeared before 'the Master.' He +heard and summoned Madame. Madame was cool, frank, and fluent. The brandy +was purely medicinal. She produced a document in the form of a note. Doctor +Somebody presented his compliments to Madame de la Rougierre, and ordered +her a table-spoonful of brandy and some drops of laudanum whenever the pain +of stomach returned. The flask would last a whole year, perhaps two. She +claimed her medicine. + +Man's estimate of woman is higher than woman's own. Perhaps in their +relations to men they are generally more trustworthy--perhaps woman's is +the juster, and the other an appointed illusion. I don't know; but so it is +ordained. + +Mrs. Rusk was recalled, and I saw, as you are aware, Madame's procedure +during the interview. + +It was a great battle--a great victory. Madame was in high spirits. The air +was sweet--the landscape charming--I, so good--everything so beautiful! +Where should we go? _this_ way? + +I had made a resolution to speak as little as possible to Madame, I was so +incensed at the treachery I had witnessed; but such resolutions do not last +long with very young people, and by the time we had reached the skirts of +the wood we were talking pretty much as usual. + +'I don't wish to go into the wood, Madame. + +'And for what?' + +'Poor mamma is buried there.' + +'Is _there_ the vault?' demanded Madame eagerly. + +I assented. + +'My faith, curious reason; you say because poor mamma is buried there you +will not approach! Why, cheaile, what would good Monsieur Ruthyn say if +he heard such thing? You are surely not so unkain', and I am with you. +_Allons_. Let us come--even a little part of the way.' + +And so I yielded, though still reluctant. + +There was a grass-grown road, which we easily reached, leading to the +sombre building, and we soon arrived before it. + +Madame de la Rougierre seemed rather curious. She sat down on the little +bank opposite, in her most languid pose--her head leaned upon the tips of +her fingers. + +'How very sad--how solemn!' murmured Madame. 'What noble tomb! How triste, +my dear cheaile, your visit 'ere must it be, remembering a so sweet maman. +There is new inscription--is it not new?' And so, indeed, it seemed. + +'I am fatigue--maybe you will read it aloud to me slowly and solemnly, my +dearest Maud?' + +As I approached, I happened to look, I can't tell why, suddenly, over my +shoulder; I was startled, for Madame was grimacing after me with a vile +derisive distortion. She pretended to be seized with a fit of coughing. But +it would not do: she saw that I had detected her, and she laughed aloud. + +'Come here, dear cheaile. I was just reflecting how foolish is all this +thing--the tomb--the epitaph. I think I would 'av none--no, no epitaph. We +regard them first for the oracle of the dead, and find them after only the +folly of the living. So I despise. Do you think your house of Knowl down +there is what you call haunt, my dear?' + +'Why?' said I, flushing and growing pale again. I felt quite afraid of +Madame, and confounded at the suddenness of all this. + +'Because Anne Wixted she says there is ghost. How dark is this place! and +so many of the Ruthyn family they are buried here--is not so? How high and +thick are the trees all round! and nobody comes near.' + +And Madame rolled her eyes awfully, as if she expected to see something +unearthly, and, indeed, looked very like it herself. + +'Come away, Madame,' I said, growing frightened, and feeling that if I were +once, by any accident, to give way to the panic that was gathering round +me, I should instantaneously lose all control of myself. 'Oh, come away! +do, Madame--I'm frightened.' + +'No, on the contrary, sit here by me. It is very odd, you will think, ma +chere--un gout bizarre, vraiment!--but I love very much to be near to the +dead people--in solitary place like this. I am not afraid of the dead +people, nor of the ghosts. 'Av you ever see a ghost, my dear?' + +'Do, Madame, _pray_ speak of something else.' + +'Wat little fool! But no, you are not afraid. I 'av seen the ghosts myself. +I saw one, for example, last night, shape like a monkey, sitting in the +corner, with his arms round his knees; very wicked, old, old man his face +was like, and white eyes so large.' + +'Come away, Madame! you are trying to frighten me,' I said, in the childish +anger which accompanies fear. Madame laughed an ugly laugh, and said-- + +'Eh bien! little fool!--I will not tell the rest if you are really +frightened; let us change to something else.' + +'Yes, yes! oh, do--pray do.' + +'Wat good man is your father!' + +'Very--the kindest darling. I don't know why it is, Madame, I am so afraid +of him, and never could tell him how much I love him.' + +This confidential talking with Madame, strange to say, implied no +confidence; it resulted from fear--it was deprecatory. I treated her as if +she had human sympathies, in the hope that they might be generated somehow. + +'Was there not a doctor from London with him a few months ago? Dr. Bryerly, +I think they call him.' + +'Yes, a Doctor Bryerly, who remained a few days. Shall we begin to walk +towards home, Madame? Do, pray.' + +'Immediately, cheaile; and does your father suffer much?' + +'No--I think not.' + +'And what then is his disease?' + +'Disease! he has _no_ disease. Have you heard anything about his health, +Madame?' I said, anxiously. + +'Oh no, ma foi--I have heard nothing; but if the doctor came, it was not +because he was quite well.' + +'But that doctor is a doctor in theology, I fancy. I know he is a +Swedenborgian; and papa is so well he _could_ not have come as a +physician.' + +'I am very glad, ma chere, to hear; but still you know your father is +old man to have so young cheaile as you. Oh, yes--he is old man, and so +uncertain life is. 'As he made his will, my dear? Every man so rich as he, +especially so old, aught to 'av made his will.' + +'There is no need of haste, Madame; it is quite time enough when his health +begins to fail.' + +'But has he really compose no will?' + +'I really don't know, Madame.' + +'Ah, little rogue! you will not tell--but you are not such fool as you +feign yourself. No, no; you know everything. Come, tell me all about--it is +for your advantage, you know. What is in his will, and when he wrote?' + +'But, Madame, I really know nothing of it. I can't say whether there is a +will or not. Let us talk of something else.' + +'But, cheaile, it will not kill Monsieur Ruthyn to make his will; he will +not come to lie here a day sooner by cause of that; but if he make no will, +you may lose a great deal of the property. Would not that be pity?' + +'I really don't know anything of his will. If papa has made one, he has +never spoken of it to me. I know he loves me--that is enough.' + +'Ah! you are not such little goose--you do know everything, of course. Come +tell me, little obstinate, otherwise I will break your little finger. Tell +me everything.' + +'I know nothing of papa's will. You don't know, Madame, how you hurt me. +Let us speak of something else.' + +'You do know, and you must tell, petite dure-tete, or I will break a your +little finger.' + +With which words she seized that joint, and laughing spitefully, she +twisted it suddenly back. I screamed while she continued to laugh. + +'Will you tell?' + +'Yes, yes! let me go,' I shrieked. + +She did not release it immediately however, but continued her torture and +discordant laughter. At last she finally released my finger. + +'So she is going to be good cheaile, and tell everything to her +affectionate gouvernante. What do you cry for, little fool?' + +'You've hurt me very much--you have broken my finger,' I sobbed. + +'Rub it and blow it and give it a kiss, little fool! What cross girl! I +will never play with you again--never. Let us go home.' + +Madame was silent and morose all the way home. She would not answer my +questions, and affected to be very lofty and offended. + +This did not last very long, however, and she soon resumed her wonted ways. +And she returned to the question of the will, but not so directly, and with +more art. + +Why should this dreadful woman's thoughts be running so continually upon my +father's will? How could it concern her? + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +_CHURCH SCARSDALE_ + + +I think all the females of our household, except Mrs. Rusk, who was at open +feud with her and had only room for the fiercer emotions, were more or less +afraid of this inauspicious foreigner. + +Mrs. Rusk would say in her confidences in my room-- + +'Where does she come from?--is she a French or a Swiss one, or is she a +Canada woman? I remember one of _them_ when I was a girl, and a nice limb +_she_ was, too! And who did she live with? Where was her last family? Not +one of us knows nothing about her, no more than a child; except, of course, +the Master--I do suppose he made enquiry. She's always at hugger-mugger +with Anne Wixted. I'll pack that _one_ about her business, if she doesn't +mind. Tattling and whispering eternally. It's not about her own business +she's a-talking. Madame de la Rougepot, I call her. She _does_ know how to +paint up to the ninety-nines--she does, the old cat. I beg your pardon, +Miss, but _that_ she is--a devil, and no mistake. I found her out first by +her thieving the Master's gin, that the doctor ordered him, and filling the +decanter up with water--the old villain; but she'll be found out yet, she +will; and all the maids is afraid on her. She's not right, they think--a +witch or a ghost--I should not wonder. Catherine Jones found her in her bed +asleep in the morning after she sulked with you, you know, Miss, with all +her clothes on, what-ever was the meaning; and I think she has frightened +_you,_ Miss and has you as nervous as anythink--I do,' and so forth. + +It was true. I _was_ nervous, and growing rather more so; and I think this +cynical woman perceived and intended it, and was pleased. I was always +afraid of her concealing herself in my room, and emerging at night to scare +me. She began sometimes to mingle in my dreams, too--always awfully; and +this nourished, of course, the kind of ambiguous fear in which, in waking +hours, I held her. + +I dreamed one night that she led me, all the time whispering something so +very fast that I could not understand her, into the library, holding +a candle in her other hand above her head. We walked on tiptoe, like +criminals at the dead of night, and stopped before that old oak cabinet +which my father had indicated in so odd a way to me. I felt that we were +about some contraband practice. There was a key in the door, which I +experienced a guilty horror at turning, she whispering in the same +unintelligible way, all the time, at my ear. I _did_ turn it; the door +opened quite softly, and within stood my father, his face white and +malignant, and glaring close in mine. He cried in a terrible voice, +'Death!' Out went Madame's candle, and at the same moment, with a scream, +I waked in the dark--still fancying myself in the library; and for an hour +after I continued in a hysterical state. + +Every little incident about Madame furnished a topic of eager discussion +among the maids. More or less covertly, they nearly all hated and feared +her. They fancied that she was making good her footing with 'the Master;' +and that she would then oust Mrs. Rusk--perhaps usurp her place--and so +make a clean sweep of them all. I fancy the honest little housekeeper did +not discourage that suspicion. + +About this time I recollect a pedlar--an odd, gipsified-looking man--called +in at Knowl. I and Catherine Jones were in the court when he came, and set +down his pack on the low balustrade beside the door. + +All sorts of commodities he had--ribbons, cottons, silks, stockings, +lace, and even some bad jewellry; and just as he began his display--an +interesting matter in a quiet country house--Madame came upon the ground. +He grinned a recognition, and hoped 'Madamasel' was well, and 'did not look +to see _her_ here.' + +'Madamasel' thanked him. 'Yes, vary well,' and looked for the first time +decidedly 'put out.' + +'Wat a pretty things!' she said. 'Catherine, run and tell Mrs. Rusk. She +wants scissars, and lace too--I heard her say.' + +So Catherine, with a lingering look, departed; and Madame said-- + +'Will you, dear cheaile, be so kind to bring here my purse, I forgot on the +table in my room; also, I advise you, bring _your_.' + +Catherine returned with Mrs. Rusk. Here was a man who could tell them +something of the old Frenchwoman, at last! Slyly they dawdled over his +wares, until Madame had made her market and departed with me. But when the +coveted opportunity came, the pedlar was quite impenetrable. 'He forgot +everything; he did not believe as he ever saw the lady before. He called a +Frenchwoman, all the world over, Madamasel--that wor the name on 'em all. +He never seed her in partiklar afore, as he could bring to mind. He liked +to see 'em always, 'cause they makes the young uns buy.' + +This reserve and oblivion were very provoking, and neither Mrs. Rusk nor +Catherine Jones spent sixpence with him;--he was a stupid fellow, or worse. + +Of course Madame had tampered with him. But truth, like murder, will out +some day. Tom Williams, the groom, had seen her, when alone with him, and +pretending to look at his stock, with her face almost buried in his silks +and Welsh linseys, talking as fast as she could all the time, and slipping +_money_, he did suppose, under a piece of stuff in his box. + +In the mean time, I and Madame were walking over the wide, peaty +sheep-walks that lie between Knowl and Church Scarsdale. Since our visit to +the mausoleum in the wood, she had not worried me so much as before. She +had been, indeed, more than usually thoughtful, very little talkative, and +troubled me hardly at all about French and other accomplishments. A walk +was a part of our daily routine. I now carried a tiny basket in my hand, +with a few sandwiches, which were to furnish our luncheon when we reached +the pretty scene, about two miles away, whither we were tending. + +We had started a little too late; Madame grew unwontedly fatigued and sat +down to rest on a stile before we had got half-way; and there she intoned, +with a dismal nasal cadence, a quaint old Bretagne ballad, about a lady +with a pig's head:-- + + 'This lady was neither pig nor maid, + And so she was not of human mould; + Not of the living nor the dead. + Her left hand and foot were warm to touch; + Her right as cold as a corpse's flesh! + And she would sing like a funeral bell, with a ding-dong tune. + The pigs were afraid, and viewed her aloof; + And women feared her and stood afar. + She could do without sleep for a year and a day; + She could sleep like a corpse, for a month and more. + No one knew how this lady fed-- + On acorns or on flesh. + Some say that she's one of the swine-possessed, + That swam over the sea of Gennesaret. + A mongrel body and demon soul. + Some say she's the wife of the Wandering Jew, + And broke the law for the sake of pork; + And a swinish face for a token doth bear, + That her shame is now, and her punishment coming.' + +And so it went on, in a gingling rigmarole. The more anxious I seemed to go +on our way, the more likely was she to loiter. I therefore showed no signs +of impatience, and I saw her consult her watch in the course of her ugly +minstrelsy, and slyly glance, as if expecting something, in the direction +of our destination. + +When she had sung to her heart's content, up rose Madame, and began to walk +onward silently. I saw her glance once or twice, as before, toward the +village of Trillsworth, which lay in front, a little to our left, and +the smoke of which hung in a film over the brow of the hill. I think she +observed me, for she enquired-- + +'Wat is that a smoke there?' + +'That is Trillsworth, Madame; there is a railway station there.' + +'Oh, le chemin de fer, so near! I did not think. Where it goes?' + +I told her, and silence returned. + +Church Scarsdale is a very pretty and odd scene. The slightly undulating +sheep-walk dips suddenly into a wide glen, in the lap of which, by a +bright, winding rill, rise from the sward the ruins of a small abbey, with +a few solemn trees scattered round. The crows' nests hung untenanted in the +trees; the birds were foraging far away from their roosts. The very cattle +had forsaken the place. It was solitude itself. + +Madame drew a long breath and smiled. + +'Come down, come down, cheaile--come down to the churchyard.' + +As we descended the slope which shut out the surrounding world, and the +scene grew more sad and lonely. Madame's spirits seemed to rise. + +'See 'ow many grave-stones--one, _two_ hundred. Don't you love the dead, +cheaile? I will teach you to love them. You shall see me die here to-day, +for half an hour, and be among them. That is what I love.' + +We were by this time at the little brook's side, and the low churchyard +wall with a stile, reached by a couple of stepping-stones, across the +stream, immediately at the other side. + +'Come, now!' cried Madame, raising her face, as if to sniff the air; 'we +are close to them. You will like them soon as I. You shall see five of +them. Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira! Come cross quickily! I am Madame la +Morgue--Mrs. Deadhouse! I will present you my friends, Monsieur Cadavre and +Monsieur Squelette. Come, come, leetle mortal, let us play. Ouaah!' And +she uttered a horrid yell from her enormous mouth, and pushing her wig and +bonnet back, so as to show her great, bald head. She was laughing, and +really looked quite mad. + +'No, Madame, I will not go with you,' I said, disengaging my hand with a +violent effort, receding two or three steps. + +'Not enter the churchyard! Ma foi--wat mauvais gout! But see, we are +already in shade. The sun he is setting soon--where well you remain, +cheaile? I will not stay long.' + +'I'll stay here,' I said, a little angrily--for I _was_ angry as well as +nervous; and through my fear was that indignation at her extravagances +which mimicked lunacy so unpleasantly, and were, I knew, designed to +frighten me. + +Over the stepping-stones, pulling up her dress, she skipped with her long, +lank legs, like a witch joining a Walpurgis. Over the stile she strode, and +I saw her head wagging, and heard her sing some of her ill-omened rhymes, +as she capered solemnly, with many a grin and courtesy, among the graves +and headstones, towards the ruin. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +_THE SMOKER_ + + +Three years later I learned--in a way she probably little expected, and +then did not much care about--what really occurred there. I learned even +phrases and looks--for the story was related by one who had heard it +told--and therefore I venture to narrate what at the moment I neither saw +nor suspected. While I sat, flushed and nervous, upon a flat stone by the +bank of the little stream, Madame looked over her shoulder, and perceiving +that I was out of sight, she abated her pace, and turned sharply towards +the ruin which lay at her left. It was her first visit, and she was merely +exploring; but now, with a perfectly shrewd and businesslike air, turning +the corner of the building, she saw, seated upon the edge of a grave-stone, +a rather fat and flashily-equipped young man, with large, light whiskers, a +jerry hat, green cutaway coat with gilt buttons, and waistcoat and trousers +rather striking than elegant in pattern. He was smoking a short pipe, and +made a nod to Madame, without either removing it from his lips or rising, +but with his brown and rather good-looking face turned up, he eyed her with +something of the impudent and sulky expression that was habitual to it. + +'Ha, Deedle, you are there! an' look so well. I am here, too, quite _a_lon; +but my friend, she wait outside the churchyard, by-side the leetle river, +for she must not think I know you--so I am come _a_lon.' + +'You're a quarter late, and I lost a fight by you, old girl, this morning,' +said the gay man, and spat on the ground; 'and I wish you would not call me +Diddle. I'll call you Granny if you do.' + +'Eh bien! _Dud,_ then. She is vary nice--wat you like. Slim waist, wite +teeth, vary nice eyes--dark--wat you say is best--and nice leetle foot and +ankle.' + +Madame smiled leeringly. + +Dud smoked on. + +'Go on,' said Dud, with a nod of command. + +'I am teach her to sing and play--she has such sweet voice! + +There was another interval here. + +'Well, that isn't much good. I hate women's screechin' about fairies and +flowers. Hang her! there's a scarecrow as sings at Curl's Divan. Such a +caterwauling upon a stage! I'd like to put my two barrels into her.' + +By this time Dud's pipe was out, and he could afford to converse. + +'You shall see her and decide. You will walk down the river, and pass her +by.' + +'That's as may be; howsoever, it would not do, nohow, to buy a pig in a +poke, you know. And s'pose I shouldn't like her, arter all?' + +Madame sneered, with a patois ejaculation of derision. + +'Vary good! Then some one else will not be so 'ard to please--as you will +soon find.' + +'Some one's bin a-lookin' arter her, you mean?' said the young man, with a +shrewd uneasy glance on the cunning face of the French lady. + +'I mean precisely--that which I mean,' replied the lady, with a teazing +pause at the break I have marked. + +'Come, old 'un, none of your d---- old chaff, if you want me to stay +here listening to you. Speak out, can't you? There's any chap as has bin +a-lookin' arter her--is there?' + +'Eh bien! I suppose some.' + +'Well, you _suppose,_ and _I_ suppose--we may _all_ suppose, I guess; but +that does not make a thing be, as wasn't before; and you tell me as how +the lass is kep' private up there, and will be till you're done educating +her--a precious good 'un that is!' And he laughed a little lazily, with +the ivory handle of his cane on his lip, and eyeing Madame with indolent +derision. + +Madame laughed, but looked rather dangerous. + +'I'm only chaffin', you know, old girl. _You_'ve bin chaffin'--w'y +shouldn't _I_? But I don't see why she can't wait a bit; and what's all the +d----d hurry for? _I_'m in no hurry. I don't want a wife on my back for a +while. There's no fellow marries till he's took his bit o' fun, and seen +life--is there! And why should I be driving with her to fairs, or to +church, or to meeting, by jingo!--for they say she's a Quaker--with a babby +on each knee, only to please them as will be dead and rotten when _I_'m +only beginning?' + +'Ah, you are such charming fellow; always the same--always sensible. So +I and my friend we will walk home again, and you go see Maggie Hawkes. +Good-a-by, Dud--good-a-by.' + +'Quiet, you fool!--can't ye?' said the young gentleman, with the sort of +grin that made his face vicious when a horse vexed him. 'Who ever said I +wouldn't go look at the girl? Why, you know that's just what I come here +for--don't you? Only when I think a bit, and a notion comes across me, why +shouldn't I speak out? I'm not one o' them shilly-shallies. If I like the +girl, I'll not be mug in and mug out about it. Only mind ye, I'll judge for +myself. Is that her a-coming?' + +'No; it was a distant sound.' + +Madame peeped round the corner. No one was approaching. + +'Well, you go round that a-way, and you only look at her, you know, for she +is such fool--so nairvous.' + +'Oh, is that the way with her?' said Dud, knocking out the ashes of his +pipe on a tombstone, and replacing the Turkish utensil in his pocket. +'Well, then, old lass, good-bye,' and he shook her hand. 'And, do ye see, +don't ye come up till I pass, for I'm no hand at play-acting; an' if you +called me "sir," or was coming it dignified and distant, you know, I'd be +sure to laugh, a'most, and let all out. So good-bye, d'ye see, and if you +want me again be sharp to time, mind. + +From habit he looked about for his dogs, but he had not brought one. He had +come unostentatiously by rail, travelling in a third-class carriage, for +the advantage of Jack Briderly's company, and getting a world of useful +wrinkles about the steeplechase that was coming off next week. + +So he strode away, cutting off the heads of the nettles with his cane as he +went; and Madame walked forth into the open space among the graves, where I +might have seen her, had I stood up, looking with the absorbed gaze of an +artist on the ruin. + +In a little while, along the path, I heard the clank of a step, and the +gentleman in the green cutaway coat, sucking his cane, and eyeing me +with an offensive familiar sort of stare the while, passed me by, rather +hesitating as he did so. I was glad when he turned the corner in the little +hollow close by, and disappeared. I stood up at once, and was reassured +by a sight of Madame, not very many yards away, looking at the ruin, and +apparently restored to her right mind. The last beams of the sun were by +this time touching the uplands, and I was longing to recommence our walk +home. I was hesitating about calling to Madame, because that lady had a +certain spirit of opposition within her, and to disclose a small wish +of any sort was generally, if it lay in her power, to prevent its +accomplishment. + +At this moment the gentleman in the green coat returned, approaching me +with a slow sort of swagger. + +'I say, Miss, I dropped a glove close by here. May you have seen it?' + +'No, sir,' I said, drawing back a little, and looking, I dare say, both +frightened and offended. + +'I do think I must 'a dropped it close by your foot, Miss.' + +'No, sir,' I repeated. + +'No offence, Miss, but you're sure you didn't hide it?' + +I was beginning to grow seriously uncomfortable. + +'Don't be frightened, Miss; it's only a bit o' chaff. I'm not going to +search.' + +I called aloud, 'Madame, Madame!' and he whistled through his fingers, and +shouted, 'Madame, Madame,' and added, 'She's as deaf as a tombstone, or +she'll hear that. Gi'e her my compliments, and say I said you're a beauty, +Miss;' and with a laugh and a leer he strode off. + +Altogether this had not been a very pleasant excursion. Madame gobbled up +our sandwiches, commending them every now and then to me. But I had been +too much excited to have any appetite left, and very tired I was when we +reached home. + +'So, there is lady coming to-morrow?' said Madame, who knew everything. +'Wat is her name? I forget.' + +'Lady Knollys,' I answered. + +'Lady Knollys--wat odd name! She is very young--is she not?' + +'Past fifty, I think.' + +'Helas! She's vary old, then. Is she rich?' + +'I don't know. She has a place in Derbyshire.' + +'Derbyshire--that is one of your English counties, is it not?' + +'Oh yes, Madame,' I answered, laughing. 'I have said it to you twice since +you came;' and I gabbled through the chief towns and rivers as catalogued +in my geography. + +'Bah! to be sure--of course, cheaile. And is she your relation?' + +'Papa's first cousin.' + +'Won't you present-a me, pray?--I would so like!' + +Madame had fallen into the English way of liking people with titles, as +perhaps foreigners would if titles implied the sort of power they do +generally with us. + +'Certainly, Madame.' + +'You will not forget?' + +'Oh no.' + +Madame reminded me twice, in the course of the evening, of my promise. +She was very eager on this point. But it is a world of disappointment, +influenza, and rheumatics; and next morning Madame was prostrate in her +bed, and careless of all things but flannel and James's powder. + +Madame was _desolee_; but she could not raise her head. She only murmured a +question. + +'For 'ow long time, dear, will Lady Knollys remain?' + +'A very few days, I believe.' + +'Helas! 'ow onlucky! maybe to-morrow I shall be better Ouah! my ear. The +laudanum, dear cheaile!' + +And so our conversation for that time ended, and Madame buried her head in +her old red cashmere shawl. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_MONICA KNOLLYS_ + + +Punctually Lady Knollys arrived. She was accompanied by her nephew, Captain +Oakley. + +They arrived a little before dinner; just in time to get to their rooms and +dress. But Mary Quince enlivened my toilet with eloquent descriptions of +the youthful Captain whom she had met in the gallery, on his way to his +room, with the servant, and told me how he stopped to let her pass, and how +'he smiled so 'ansom.' + +I was very young then, you know, and more childish even than my years; but +this talk of Mary Quince's interested me, I must confess, considerably. I +was painting all sort of portraits of this heroic soldier, while affecting, +I am afraid, a hypocritical indifference to her narration, and I know I was +very nervous and painstaking about my toilet that evening. When I went down +to the drawing-room, Lady Knollys was there, talking volubly to my father +as I entered--a woman not really old, but such as very young people fancy +aged--energetic, bright, saucy, dressed handsomely in purple satin, with a +good deal of lace, and a rich point--I know not how to call it--not a cap, +a sort of head-dress--light and simple, but grand withal, over her greyish, +silken hair. + +Rather tall, by no means stout, on the whole a good firm figure, with +something kindly in her look. She got up, quite like a young person, and +coming quickly to meet me with a smile-- + +'My young cousin!' she cried, and kissed me on both cheeks. 'You know who +I am? Your cousin Monica--Monica Knollys--and very glad, dear, to see you, +though she has not set eyes on you since you were no longer than that +paper-knife. Now come here to the lamp, for I must look at you. Who is she +like? Let me see. Like your poor mother, I think, my dear; but you've the +Aylmer nose--yes--not a bad nose either, and, come! very good eyes, upon +my life--yes, certainly something of her poor mother--not a bit like you, +Austin.' + +My father gave her a look as near a smile as I had seen there for a long +time, shrewd, cynical, but kindly too, and said he-- + +'So much the better, Monica, eh?' + +'It was not for me to say--but you know, Austin, you always were an ugly +creature. How shocked and indignant the little girl looks! You must not be +vexed, you loyal little woman, with Cousin Monica for telling the truth. +Papa was and will be ugly all his days. Come, Austin, dear, tell her--is +not it so?' + +'What! depose against myself! That's not English law, Monica.' + +'Well, maybe not; but if the child won't believe her own eyes, how is she +to believe me? She has long, pretty hands--you have--and very nice feet +too. How old is she?' + +'How old, child?' said my father to me, transferring the question. + +She recurred again to my eyes. + +'That is the true grey--large, deep, soft--very peculiar. Yes, dear, very +pretty--long lashes, and such bright tints! You'll be in the Book of +Beauty, my dear, when you come out, and have all the poet people writing +verses to the tip of your nose--and a very pretty little nose it is!' + +I must mention here how striking was the change in my father's spirit while +talking and listening to his odd and voluble old Cousin Monica. Reflected +from bygone associations, there had come a glimmer of something, not +gaiety, indeed, but like an appreciation of gaiety. The gloom and +inflexibility were gone, and there was an evident encouragement and +enjoyment of the incessant sallies of his bustling visitor. + +How morbid must have been the tendencies of his habitual solitude, I think, +appeared from the evident thawing and brightening that accompanied even +this transient gleam of human society. I was not a companion--more childish +than most girls of my age, and trained in all his whimsical ways, never to +interrupt a silence, or force his thoughts by unexpected question or remark +out of their monotonous or painful channel. + +I was as much surprised at the good-humour with which he submitted to +his cousin's saucy talk; and, indeed, just then those black-panelled and +pictured walls, and that quaint, misshapen room, seemed to have exchanged +their stern and awful character for something wonderfully pleasanter to me, +notwithstanding the unpleasantness of the personal criticism to which the +plain-spoken lady chose to subject me. + +Just at that moment Captain Oakley joined us. He was my first actual vision +of that awful and distant world of fashion, of whose splendours I had +already read something in the three-volumed gospel of the circulating +library. + +Handsome, elegant, with features almost feminine, and soft, wavy, black +hair, whiskers and moustache, he was altogether such a knight as I had +never beheld, or even fancied, at Knowl--a hero of another species, and +from the region of the demigods. I did not then perceive that coldness of +the eye, and cruel curl of the voluptuous lip--only a suspicion, yet enough +to indicate the profligate man, and savouring of death unto death. + +But I was young, and had not yet the direful knowledge of good and evil +that comes with years; and he was so very handsome, and talked in a way +that was so new to me, and was so much more charming than the well-bred +converse of the humdrum county families with whom I had occasionally +sojourned for a week at a time. + +It came out incidentally that his leave of absence was to expire the +day after to-morrow. A Lilliputian pang of disappointment followed this +announcement. Already I was sorry to lose him. So soon we begin to make a +property of what pleases us. + +I was shy, but not awkward. I was flattered by the attention of this +amusing, perhaps rather fascinating, young man of the world; and he plainly +addressed himself with diligence to amuse and please me. I dare say there +was more effort than I fancied in bringing his talk down to my humble +level, and interesting me and making me laugh about people whom I had never +heard of before, than I then suspected. + +Cousin Knollys meanwhile was talking to papa. It was just the conversation +that suited a man so silent as habit had made him, for her frolic fluency +left him little to supply. It was totally impossible, indeed, even in our +taciturn household, that conversation should ever flag while she was among +us. + +Cousin Knollys and I went into the drawing-room together, leaving the +gentlemen--rather ill-assorted, I fear--to entertain one another for a +time. + +'Come here, my dear, and sit near me,' said Lady Knollys, dropping into an +easy chair with an energetic little plump, 'and tell me how you and your +papa get on. I can remember him quite a cheerful man once, and rather +amusing--yes, indeed--and now you see what a bore he is--all by shutting +himself up and nursing his whims and fancies. Are those your drawings, +dear?' + +'Yes, very bad, I'm afraid; but there are a few, _better_, I think in the +portfolio in the cabinet in the hall.' + +'They are by _no_ means bad, my dear; and you play, of course?' + +'Yes--that is, a little--pretty well, I hope.' + +'I dare say. I must hear you by-and-by. And how does your papa amuse you? +You look bewildered, dear. Well, I dare say, amusement is not a frequent +word in this house. But you must not turn into a nun, or worse, into a +puritan. What is he? A Fifth-Monarchy-man, or something--I forget; tell me +the name, my dear.' + +'Papa is a Swedenborgian, I believe.' + +'Yes, yes--I forgot the horrid name--a Swedenborgian, that is it. I don't +know exactly what they think, but everyone knows they are a sort of pagans, +my dear. He's not making one of _you_, dear--is he?' + +'I go to church every Sunday.' + +'Well, that's a mercy; Swedenborgian is such an ugly name, and besides, +they are all likely to be damned, my dear, and that's a serious +consideration. I really wish poor Austin had hit on something else; I'd +much rather have no religion, and enjoy life while I'm in it, than choose +one to worry me here and bedevil me hereafter. But some people, my dear, +have a taste for being miserable, and provide, like poor Austin, for its +gratification in the next world as well as here. Ha, ha, ha! how grave the +little woman looks! Don't you think me very wicked? You know you do; and +very likely you are right. Who makes your dresses, my dear? You _are_ such +a figure of fun!' + +'Mrs. Rusk, I think, ordered _this_ dress. I and Mary Quince planned it. I +thought it very nice. We all like it very well.' + +There was something, I dare say, very whimsical about it, probably very +absurd, judged at least by the canons of fashion, and old Cousin Monica +Knollys, in whose eye the London fashions were always fresh, was palpably +struck by it as if it had been some enormity against anatomy, for she +certainly laughed very heartily; indeed, there were tears on her cheeks +when she had done, and I am sure my aspect of wonder and dignity, as her +hilarity proceeded, helped to revive her merriment again and again as it +was subsiding. + +'There, you mustn't be vexed with old Cousin Monica,' she cried, jumping +up, and giving me a little hug, and bestowing a hearty kiss on my forehead, +and a jolly little slap on my cheek. 'Always remember your cousin Monica is +an outspoken, wicked old fool, who likes you, and never be offended by her +nonsense. A council of three--you all sat upon it--Mrs. Rusk, you said, and +Mary Quince, and your wise self, the weird sisters; and Austin stepped in, +as Macbeth, and said, 'What is't ye do?' you all made answer together, 'A +something or other without a name!' Now, seriously, my dear, it is quite +unpardonable in Austin--your papa, I mean--to hand you over to be robed and +bedizened according to the whimsies of these wild old women--aren't they +old? If they know better, it's positively _fiendish._ I'll blow him up--I +will indeed, my dear. You know you're an heiress, and ought not to appear +like a jack-pudding.' + +'Papa intends sending me to London with Madame and Mary Quince, and going +with me himself, if Doctor Bryerly says he may make the journey, and then I +am to have dresses and everything.' + +'Well, that is better. And who is Doctor Bryerly--is your papa ill?' + +'Ill; oh no; he always seems just the same. You don't think him +ill--_looking_ ill, I mean?' I asked eagerly and frightened. + +'No, my dear, he looks very well for his time of life; but why is Doctor +What's-his-name here? Is he a physician, or a divine, or a horse-doctor? +and why is his leave asked?' + +'I--I really don't understand.' + +'Is he a what d'ye call'em--a Swedenborgian?' + +'I believe so.' + +'Oh, I see; ha, ha, ha! And so poor Austin must ask leave to go up to town. +Well, go he shall, whether his doctor likes it or not, for it would not do +to send you there in charge of your Frenchwoman, my dear. What's her name?' + +'Madame de la Rougierre.' + + + + +CHAPTER X + +_LADY KNOLLYS REMOVES A COVERLET_ + + +Lady Knollys pursued her enquiries. + +'And why does not Madame make your dresses, my dear? I wager a guinea the +woman's a milliner. Did not she engage to make your dresses?' + +'I--I really don't know; I rather think not. She is my governess--a +finishing governess, Mrs. Rusk says.' + +'Finishing fiddle! Hoity-toity! and my lady's too grand to cut out your +dresses and help to sew them? And what _does_ she do? I venture to say +she's fit to teach nothing but devilment--not that she has taught _you_ +much, my dear--_yet_ at least. I'll see her, my dear; where is she? Come, +let us visit Madame. I should so like to talk to her a little.' + +'But she is ill,' I answered, and all this time I was ready to cry for +vexation, thinking of my dress, which must be very absurd to elicit so much +unaffected laughter from my experienced relative, and I was only longing to +get away and hide myself before that handsome Captain returned. + +'Ill! is she? what's the matter?' + +'A cold--feverish and rheumatic, she says.' + +'Oh, a cold; is she up, or in bed?' + +'In her room, but not in bed.' + +'I should so like to see her, my dear. It is not mere curiosity, I assure +you. In fact, curiosity has nothing on earth to do with it. A governess may +be a very useful or a very useless person; but she may also be about the +most pernicious inmate imaginable. She may teach you a bad accent, and +worse manners, and heaven knows what beside. Send the housekeeper, my dear, +to tell her that I am going to see her.' + +'I had better go myself, perhaps,' I said, fearing a collision between Mrs. +Rusk and the bitter Frenchwoman. + +'Very well, dear.' + +And away I ran, not sorry somehow to escape before Captain Oakley returned. + +As I went along the passage, I was thinking whether my dress could be +so very ridiculous as my old cousin thought it, and trying in vain to +recollect any evidence of a similar contemptuous estimate on the part of +that beautiful and garrulous dandy. I could not--quite the reverse, indeed. +Still I was uncomfortable and feverish--girls of my then age will easily +conceive how miserable, under similar circumstances, such a misgiving would +make them. + +It was a long way to Madame's room. I met Mrs. Rusk bustling along the +passage with a housemaid. + +'How is Madame?' I asked. + +'Quite well, I believe,' answered the housekeeper, drily. 'Nothing the +matter that _I_ know of. She eat enough for two to-day. I wish _I_ could +sit in my room doing nothing.' + +Madame was sitting, or rather reclining, in a low arm-chair, when I entered +the room, close to the fire, as was her wont, her feet extended near to the +bars, and a little coffee equipage beside her. She stuffed a book hastily +between her dress and the chair, and received me in a state of langour +which, had it not been for Mrs. Rusk's comfortable assurances, would have +frightened me. + +'I hope you are better, Madame,' I said, approaching. + +'Better than I deserve, my dear cheaile, sufficiently well. The people +are all so good, trying me with every little thing, like a bird; here is +cafe--Mrs. Rusk-a, poor woman, I try to swallow a little to please her.' + +'And your cold, is it better?' + +She shook her head languidly, her elbow resting on the chair, and three +finger-tips supporting her forehead, and then she made a little sigh, +looking down from the corners of her eyes, in an interesting dejection. + +'Je sens des lassitudes in all the members--but I am quaite 'appy, and +though I suffer I am console and oblige des bontes, ma chere, que vous +avez tous pour moi;' and with these words she turned a languid glance of +gratitude on me which dropped on the ground. + +'Lady Knollys wishes very much to see you, only for a few minutes, if you +could admit her.' + +'Vous savez les malades see _never_ visitors,' she replied with a startled +sort of tartness, and a momentary energy. 'Besides, I cannot converse; je +sens de temps en temps des douleurs de tete--of head, and of the ear, the +right ear, it is parfois agony absolutely, and now it is here.' + +And she winced and moaned, with her eyes closed and her hand pressed to the +organ affected. + +Simple as I was, I felt instinctively that Madame was shamming. She was +over-acting; her transitions were too violent, and beside she forgot that +I knew how well she could speak English, and must perceive that she was +heightening the interest of her helplessness by that pretty tessellation +of foreign idiom. I therefore said with a kind of courage which sometimes +helped me suddenly-- + +'Oh, Madame, don't you really think you might, without much inconvenience, +see Lady Knollys for a very few minutes?' + +'Cruel cheaile! you know I have a pain of the ear which makes me 'orribly +suffer at this moment, and you demand me whether I will not converse +with strangers. I did not think you would be so unkain, Maud; but it is +impossible, you must see--quite impossible. I never, you _know_, refuse to +take trouble when I am able--never--_never_.' + +And Madame shed some tears, which always came at call, and with her hand +pressed to her ear, said very faintly, + +'Be so good to tell your friend how you see me, and how I suffer, and leave +me, Maud, for I wish to lie down for a little, since the pain will not +allow me to remain longer.' + +So with a few words of comfort which could not well be refused, but I dare +say betraying my suspicion that more was made of her sufferings than need +be, I returned to the drawing-room. + +'Captain Oakley has been here, my dear, and fancying, I suppose, that you +had left us for the evening, has gone to the billiard-room, I think,' said +Lady Knollys, as I entered. + +That, then, accounted for the rumble and smack of balls which I had heard +as I passed the door. + +'I have been telling Maud how detestably she is got up.' + +'Very thoughtful of you, Monica!' said my father. + +'Yes, and really, Austin, it is quite clear you ought to marry; you want +some one to take this girl out, and look after her, and who's to do it? +She's a dowdy--don't you see? Such a dust! And it _is_ really such a pity; +for she's a very pretty creature, and a clever woman could make her quite +charming.' + +My father took Cousin Monica's sallies with the most wonderful good-humour. +She had always, I fancy, been a privileged person, and my father, whom we +all feared, received her jolly attacks, as I fancy the grim Front-de-Boeufs +of old accepted the humours and personalities of their jesters. + +'Am I to accept this as an overture?' said my father to his voluble cousin. + +'Yes, you may, but not for myself, Austin--I'm not worthy. Do you remember +little Kitty Weadon that I wanted you to marry eight-and-twenty years ago, +or more, with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds? Well, you know, she +has got ever so much now, and she is really a most amiable old thing, and +though _you_ would not have her then, she has had her second husband since, +I can tell you.' + +'I'm glad I was not the first,' said my father. + +'Well, they really say her wealth is absolutely immense. Her last husband, +the Russian merchant, left her everything. She has not a human relation, +and she is in the best set.' + +'You were always a match-maker, Monica,' said my father, stopping, and +putting his hand kindly on hers. 'But it won't do. No, no, Monica; we must +take care of little Maud some other way.' + +I was relieved. We women have all an instinctive dread of second marriages, +and think that no widower is quite above or below that danger; and I +remember, whenever my father, which indeed was but seldom, made a visit to +town or anywhere else, it was a saying of Mrs. Rusk-- + +'I shan't wonder, neither need you, my dear, if he brings home a young wife +with him.' + +So my father, with a kind look at her, and a very tender one on me, went +silently to the library, as he often did about that hour. + +I could not help resenting my Cousin Knollys' officious recommendation of +matrimony. Nothing I dreaded more than a step-mother. Good Mrs. Rusk +and Mary Quince, in their several ways, used to enhance, by occasional +anecdotes and frequent reflections, the terrors of such an intrusion. I +suppose they did not wish a revolution and all its consequences at Knowl, +and thought it no harm to excite my vigilance. + +But it was impossible long to be vexed with Cousin Monica. + +'You know, my dear, your father is an oddity,' she said. 'I don't mind +him--I never did. You must not. Cracky, my dear, cracky--decidedly cracky!' + +And she tapped the corner of her forehead, with a look so sly and comical, +that I think I should have laughed, if the sentiment had not been so +awfully irreverent. + +'Well, dear, how is our friend the milliner?' + +'Madame is suffering so much from pain in her ear, that she says it would +be quite impossible to have the honour--' + +'Honour--fiddle! I want to see what the woman's like. Pain in her ear, you +say? Poor thing! Well, dear, I think I can cure that in five minutes. I +have it myself, now and then. Come to my room, and we'll get the bottles. + +So she lighted her candle in the lobby, and with a light and agile step +she scaled the stairs, I following; and having found the remedies, we +approached Madame's room together. + +I think, while we were still at the end of the gallery, Madame heard and +divined our approach, for her door suddenly shut, and there was a fumbling +at the handle. But the bolt was out of order. + +Lady Knollys tapped at the door, saying--'we'll come in, please, and see +you. I've some remedies, which I'm sure will do you good.' + +There was no answer; so she opened the door, and we both entered. Madame +had rolled herself in the blue coverlet, and was lying on the bed, with her +face buried in the pillow, and enveloped in the covering. + +'Perhaps she's asleep?' said Lady Knollys, getting round to the side of the +bed, and stooping over her. + +Madame lay still as a mouse. Cousin Monica set down her two little vials +on the table, and, stooping again over the bed, began very gently with +her fingers to lift the coverlet that covered her face. Madame uttered +a slumbering moan, and turned more upon her face, clasping the coverlet +faster about her. + +'Madame, it is Maud and Lady Knollys. We have come to relieve your ear. +Pray let me see it. She can't be asleep, she's holding the clothes so fast. +Do, pray, allow me to see it.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +_LADY KNOLLYS SEES THE FEATURES_ + + +Perhaps, if Madame had murmured, 'It is quite well--pray permit me to +sleep,' she would have escaped an awkwardness. But having adopted the role +of the exhausted slumberer, she could not consistently speak at the moment; +neither would it do by main force, to hold the coverlet about her face, and +so her presence of mind forsook her. Cousin Monica drew it back and hardly +beheld the profile of the sufferer, when her good-humoured face was lined +and shadowed with a dark curiosity and a surprise by no means pleasant. She +stood erect beside the bed, with her mouth firmly shut and drawn down at +the corners, in a sort of recoil and perturbation, looking down upon the +patient. + +'So that's Madame de la Rougierre?' at length exclaimed Lady Knollys, with +a very stately disdain. I think I never saw anyone look more shocked. + +Madame sat up, very flushed. No wonder, for she had been wrapped so close +in the coverlet. She did not look quite at Lady Knollys, but straight +before her, rather downward, and very luridly. + +I was very much frightened and amazed, and felt on the point of bursting +into tears. + +'So, Mademoiselle, you have married, it seems, since I had last the honour +of seeing you? I did not recognise Mademoiselle under her new name.' + +'Yes--I _am_ married, Lady Knollys; I thought everyone who knew me had +heard of that. Very respectably married, for a person of my rank. I shall +not need long the life of a governess. There is no harm, I hope?' + +'I hope not,' said Lady Knollys, drily, a little pale, and still looking +with a dark sort of wonder upon the flushed face and forehead of the +governess, who was looking downward, straight before her, very sulkily and +disconcerted. + +'I suppose you have explained everything satisfactorily to Mr. Ruthyn, in +whose house I find you?' said Cousin Monica. + +'Yes, certainly, everything he requires--in effect there is _nothing_ to +explain. I am ready to answer to any question. Let _him_ demand me.' + +'Very good, Mademoiselle.' + +'_Madame_, if you please.' + +'I forgot--_Madame_--yes, I shall apprise him of everything.' + +Madame turned upon her a peaked and malign look, smiling askance with a +stealthy scorn. + +'For myself, I have nothing to conceal. I have always done my duty. What +fine scene about nothing absolutely--what charming remedies for a sick +person! Ma foi! how much oblige I am for these so amiable attentions!' + +'So far as I can see, Mademoiselle--Madame, I mean--you don't stand very +much in need of remedies. Your ear and head don't seem to trouble you just +now. I fancy these pains may now be dismissed.' + +Lady Knollys was now speaking French. + +'Mi ladi has diverted my attention for a moment, but that does not prevent +that I suffer frightfully. I am, of course, only poor governess, and such +people perhaps ought not to have pain--at least to show when they suffer. +It is permitted us to die, but not to be sick.' + +'Come, Maud, my dear, let us leave the invalid to her repose and to nature. +I don't think she needs my chloroform and opium at present.' + +'Mi ladi is herself a physic which chases many things, and powerfully +affects the ear. I would wish to sleep, notwithstanding, and can but gain +that in silence, if it pleases mi ladi.' + +'Come, my dear,' said Lady Knollys, without again glancing at the scowling, +smiling, swarthy face in the bed; 'let us leave your instructress to her +_concforto_.' + +'The room smells all over of brandy, my dear--does she drink?' said Lady +Knollys, as she closed the door, a little sharply. + +I am sure I looked as much amazed as I felt, at an imputation which then +seemed to me so entirely incredible. + +'Good little simpleton!' said Cousin Monica, smiling in my face, and +bestowing a little kiss on my cheek; 'such a thing as a tipsy lady has +never been dreamt of in your philosophy. Well, we live and learn. Let us +have our tea in my room--the gentlemen, I dare say, have retired.' + +I assented, of course, and we had tea very cosily by her bedroom fire. + +'How long have you had that woman?' she asked suddenly, after, for her, a +very long rumination. + +'She came in the beginning of February--nearly ten months ago--is not it?' + +'And who sent her?' + +'I really don't know; papa tells me so little--he arranged it all himself, +I think.' + +Cousin Monica made a sound of acquiescence--her lips closed and a nod, +frowning hard at the bars. + +'It _is_ very odd!' she said; 'how people _can_ be such fools!' Here there +came a little pause. 'And what sort of person is she--do you like her?' + +'Very well--that is, _pretty_ well. You won't tell?--but she rather +frightens me. I'm sure she does not intend it, but somehow I am very much +afraid of her.' + +'She does not beat you?' said Cousin Monica, with an incipient frenzy in +her face that made me love her. + +'Oh no!' + +'Nor ill-use you in any way?' + +'No.' + +'Upon your honour and word, Maud?' + +'No, upon my honour.' + +'You know I won't tell her anything you say to me; and I only want to know, +that I may put an end to it, my poor little cousin.' + +'Thank you, Cousin Monica very much; but really and truly she does not +ill-use me.' + +'Nor threaten you, child?' + +'Well, _no_--no, she does not threaten.' + +'And how the plague _does_ she frighten you, child?' + +'Well, I really--I'm half ashamed to tell you--you'll laugh at me--and I +don't know that she wishes to frighten me. But there is something, is not +there, ghosty, you know, about her?' + +'_Ghosty_--is there? well, I'm sure I don't know, but I suspect there's +something devilish--I mean, she seems roguish--does not she? And I really +think she has had neither cold nor pain, but has just been shamming +sickness, to keep out of my way.' + +I perceived plainly enough that Cousin Monica's damnatory epithet referred +to some retrospective knowledge, which she was not going to disclose to me. + +'You knew Madame before,' I said. 'Who is she?' + +'She assures me she is Madame de la Rougierre, and, I suppose, in French +phrase she so calls herself,' answered Lady Knollys, with a laugh, but +uncomfortably, I thought. + +'Oh, dear Cousin Monica, do tell me--is she--is she very wicked? I am so +afraid of her!' + +'How should I know, dear Maud? But I do remember her face, and I don't very +much like her, and you may depend on it. I will speak to your father in the +morning about her, and don't, darling, ask me any more about her, for I +really have not very much to tell that you would care to hear, and the fact +is I _won't_ say any more about her--there!' + +And Cousin Monica laughed, and gave me a little slap on the cheek, and then +a kiss. + +'Well, just tell me this----' + +'Well, I _won't_ tell you this, nor anything--not a word, curious little +woman. The fact is, I have little to tell, and I mean to speak to your +father, and he, I am sure, will do what is right; so don't ask me any more, +and let us talk of something pleasanter.' + +There was something indescribably winning, it seemed to me, in Cousin +Monica. Old as she was, she seemed to me so girlish, compared with those +slow, unexceptionable young ladies whom I had met in my few visits at the +county houses. By this time my shyness was quite gone, and I was on the +most intimate terms with her. + +'You know a great deal about her, Cousin Monica, but you won't tell me.' + +'Nothing I should like better, if I were at liberty, little rogue; but you +know, after all, I don't really say whether I _do_ know anything about +her or not, or what sort of knowledge it is. But tell me what you mean by +ghosty, and all about it.' + +So I recounted my experiences, to which, so far from laughing at me, she +listened with very special gravity. + +'Does she write and receive many letters?' + +I had seen her write letters, and supposed, though I could only recollect +one or two, that she received in proportion. + +'Are _you_ Mary Quince?' asked my lady cousin. + +Mary was arranging the window-curtains, and turned, dropping a courtesy +affirmatively toward her. + +'You wait on my little cousin, Miss Ruthyn, don't you?' + +'Yes, 'm,' said Mary, in her genteelest way. + +'Does anyone sleep in her room?' + +'Yes, 'm, _I_--please, my lady.' + +'And no one else?' + +'No, 'm--please, my lady.' + +'Not even the _governess_, sometimes? + +'No, please, my lady.' + +'Never, you are quite sure, my dear?' said Lady Knollys, transferring the +question to me. + +'Oh, no, never,' I answered. + +Cousin Monica mused gravely, I fancied even anxiously, into the grate; then +stirred her tea and sipped it, still looking into the same point of our +cheery fire. + +'I like your face, Mary Quince; I'm sure you are a good creature,' she +said, suddenly turning toward her with a pleasant countenance. 'I'm very +glad you have got her, dear. I wonder whether Austin has gone to his bed +yet!' + +'I think not. I am certain he is either in the library or in his private +room--papa often reads or prays alone at night, and--and he does not like +to be interrupted.' + +'No, no; of course not--it will do very well in the morning.' + +Lady Knollys was thinking deeply, as it seemed to me. + +'And so you are afraid of goblins, my dear,' she said at last, with a faded +sort of smile, turning toward me; 'well, if _I_ were, I know what _I_ +should do--so soon as I, and good Mary Quince here, had got into my +bed-chamber for the night, I should stir the fire into a good blaze, and +bolt the door--do you see, Mary Quince?--bolt the door and keep a candle +lighted all night. You'll be very attentive to her, Mary Quince, for I--I +don't think she is very strong, and she must not grow nervous: so get to +bed early, and don't leave her alone--do you see?--and--and remember to +bolt the door, Mary Quince, and I shall be sending a little Christmas-box +to my cousin, and I shan't forget you. Good-night.' + +And with a pleasant courtesy Mary fluttered out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +_A CURIOUS CONVERSATION_ + + +We each had another cup of tea, and were silent for awhile. + +'We must not talk of ghosts now. You are a superstitious little woman, you +know, and you shan't be frightened.' + +And now Cousin Monica grew silent again, and looking briskly around the +room, like a lady in search of a subject, her eye rested on a small oval +portrait, graceful, brightly tinted, in the French style, representing +a pretty little boy, with rich golden hair, large soft eyes, delicate +features, and a shy, peculiar expression. + +'It is odd; I think I remember that pretty little sketch, very long ago. I +think I was then myself a child, but that is a much older style of dress, +and of wearing the hair, too, than I ever saw. I am just forty-nine now. Oh +dear, yes; that is a good while before I was _born_. What a strange, pretty +little boy! a mysterious little fellow. Is he quite sincere, I wonder? What +rich golden hair! It is very clever--a French artist, I dare say--and who +_is_ that little boy?' + +'I never heard. Some one a hundred years ago, I dare say. But there is a +picture down-stairs I am so anxious to ask you about!' + +'Oh!' murmured Lady Knollys, still gazing dreamily on the crayon. + +'It is the full-length picture of Uncle Silas--I want to ask you about +him.' + +At mention of his name, my cousin gave me a look so sudden and odd as to +amount almost to a start. + +'Your uncle Silas, dear? It is very odd, I was just thinking of him;' and +she laughed a little. + +'Wondering whether that little boy could be he.' + +And up jumped active Cousin Monica, with a candle in her hand, upon a +chair, and scrutinised the border of the sketch for a name or a date. + +'Maybe on the back?' said she. + +And so she unhung it, and there, true enough, not on the back of the +drawing, but of the frame, which was just as good, in pen-and-ink round +Italian letters, hardly distinguishable now from the discoloured wood, we +traced-- + +'_Silas Aylmer Ruthyn, AEtate_ viii. 15 _May_, 1779.' + +'It is very odd I should not have been told or remembered who it was. +I think if I had _ever_ been told I _should_ have remembered it. I do +recollect this picture, though, I am nearly certain. What a singular +child's face!' + +And my cousin leaned over it with a candle on each side, and her hand +shading her eyes, as if seeking by aid of these fair and half-formed +lineaments to read an enigma. + +The childish features defied her, I suppose; their secret was unfathomable, +for after a good while she raised her head, still looking at the portrait, +and sighed. + +'A very singular face,' she said, softly, as a person might who was looking +into a coffin. 'Had not we better replace it?' + +So the pretty oval, containing the fair golden hair and large eyes, the +pale, unfathomable sphinx, remounted to its nail, and the _funeste_ and +beautiful child seemed to smile down oracularly on our conjectures. + +'So is the face in the large portrait--_very_ singular--more, I think, than +that--handsomer too. This is a sickly child, I think; but the full-length +is so manly, though so slender, and so handsome too. I always think him a +hero and a mystery, and they won't tell me about him, and I can only dream +and wonder.' + +'He has made more people than you dream and wonder, my dear Maud. I don't +know what to make of him. He is a sort of idol, you know, of your father's, +and yet I don't think he helps him much. His abilities were singular; so +has been his misfortune; for the rest, my dear, he is neither a hero nor a +wonder. So far as I know, there are very few sublime men going about the +world.' + +'You really must tell me all you know about him, Cousin Monica. Now don't +refuse.' + +'But why should you care to hear? There is really nothing pleasant to +tell.' + +'That is just the reason I wish it. If it were at all pleasant, it would be +quite commonplace. I like to hear of adventures, dangers, and misfortunes; +and above all, I love a mystery. You know, papa will never tell me, and I +dare not ask him; not that he is ever unkind, but, somehow, I am afraid; +and neither Mrs. Rusk nor Mary Quince will tell me anything, although I +suspect they know a good deal.' + +'I don't see any good in telling you, dear, nor, to say the truth, any +great harm either.' + +'No--now that's _quite_ true--no harm. There _can't_ be, for I _must_ know +it all some day, you know, and better now, and from _you_, than perhaps +from a stranger, and in a less favourable way.' + +'Upon my word, it is a wise little woman; and really, that's not such bad +sense after all.' + +So we poured out another cup of tea each, and sipped it very comfortably by +the fire, while Lady Knollys talked on, and her animated face helped the +strange story. + +'It is not very much, after all. Your uncle Silas, you know, is living?' + +'Oh yes, in Derbyshire.' + +'So I see you do know something of him, sly girl! but no matter. You know +how very rich your father is; but Silas was the younger brother, and had +little more than a thousand a year. If he had not played, and did not care +to marry, it would have been quite enough--ever so much more than younger +sons of dukes often have; but he was--well, a _mauvais sujet_--you know +what that is. I don't want to say any ill of him--more than I really +know--but he was fond of his pleasures, I suppose, like other young men, +and he played, and was always losing, and your father for a long time paid +great sums for him. I believe he was really a most expensive and vicious +young man; and I fancy he does not deny that now, for they say he would +change the past if he could. + +I was looking at the pensive little boy in the oval frame--aged eight +years--who was, a few springs later, 'a most expensive and vicious young +man,' and was now a suffering and outcast old one, and wondering from what +a small seed the hemlock or the wallflower grows, and how microscopic are +the beginnings of the kingdom of God or of the mystery of iniquity in a +human being's heart. + +'Austin--your papa--was very kind to him--_very_; but then, you know, +he's an oddity, dear--he _is_ an oddity, though no one may have told you +before--and he never forgave him for his marriage. Your father, I suppose, +knew more about the lady than I did--I was young then--but there were +various reports, none of them pleasant, and she was not visited, and for +some time there was a complete estrangement between your father and your +uncle Silas; and it was made up, rather oddly, on the very occasion which +some people said ought to have totally separated them. Did you ever hear +anything--anything _very_ remarkable--about your uncle?' + +'No, never, they would not tell me, though I am sure they know. Pray go +on.' + +'Well, Maud, as I have begun, I'll complete the story, though perhaps it +might have been better untold. It was something rather shocking--indeed, +_very_ shocking; in fact, they insisted on suspecting him of having +committed a murder.' + +I stared at my cousin for some time, and then at the little boy, so +refined, so beautiful, so _funeste_, in the oval frame. + +'Yes, dear,' said she, her eyes following mine; 'who'd have supposed he +could ever have--have fallen under so horrible a suspicion?' + +'The wretches! Of course, Uncle Silas--of course, he's innocent?' I said at +last. + +'Of course, my dear,' said Cousin Monica, with an odd look; 'but you know +there are some things as bad almost to be suspected of as to have done, and +the country gentlemen chose to suspect him. They did not like him, you +see. His politics vexed them; and he resented their treatment of his +wife--though I really think, poor Silas, he did not care a pin about +her--and he annoyed them whenever he could. Your papa, you know, is very +proud of his family--_he_ never had the slightest suspicion of your uncle.' + +'Oh no!' I cried vehemently. + +'That's right, Maud Ruthyn,' said Cousin Monica, with a sad little smile +and a nod. 'And your papa was, you may suppose, very angry.' + +'Of course he was,' I exclaimed. + +'You have no idea, my dear, _how_ angry. He directed his attorney to +prosecute, by wholesale, all who had said a word affecting your uncle's +character. But the lawyers were against it, and then your uncle tried to +fight his way through it, but the men would not meet him. He was quite +slurred. Your father went up and saw the Minister. He wanted to have him a +Deputy-Lieutenant, or something, in his county. Your papa, you know, had a +very great influence with the Government. Beside his county influence, he +had two boroughs then. But the Minister was afraid, the feeling was so very +strong. They offered him something in the Colonies, but your father would +not hear of it--that would have been a banishment, you know. They would +have given your father a peerage to make it up, but he would not accept +it, and broke with the party. Except in that way--which, you know, was +connected with the reputation of the family--I don't think, considering his +great wealth, he has done very much for Silas. To say truth, however, he +was very liberal before his marriage. Old Mrs. Aylmer says he made a vow +_then_ that Silas should never have more than five hundred a year, which he +still allows him, I believe, and he permits him to live in the place. But +they say it is in a very wild, neglected state.' + +'You live in the same county--have you seen it lately, Cousin Monica?' + +'No, not very lately,' said Cousin Monica, and began to hum an air +abstractedly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +_BEFORE AND AFTER BREAKFAST_ + + +Next morning early I visited my favourite full-length portrait in the +chocolate coat and top-boots. Scanty as had been my cousin Monica's notes +upon this dark and eccentric biography, they were everything to me. A soul +had entered that enchanted form. Truth had passed by with her torch, and a +sad light shone for a moment on that enigmatic face. + +There stood the _roue_--the duellist--and, with all his faults, the hero +too! In that dark large eye lurked the profound and fiery enthusiasm of his +ill-starred passion. In the thin but exquisite lip I read the courage of +the paladin, who would have 'fought his way,' though single-handed, against +all the magnates of his county, and by ordeal of battle have purged the +honour of the Ruthyns. There in that delicate half-sarcastic tracery of the +nostril I detected the intellectual defiance which had politically isolated +Silas Ruthyn and opposed him to the landed oligarchy of his county, whose +retaliation had been a hideous slander. There, too, and on his brows and +lip, I traced the patience of a cold disdain. I could now see him as he +was--the prodigal, the hero, and the martyr. I stood gazing on him with a +girlish interest and admiration. There was indignation, there was pity, +there was hope. Some day it might come to pass that I, girl as I was, might +contribute by word or deed towards the vindication of that long-suffering, +gallant, and romantic prodigal. It was a flicker of the Joan of Arc +inspiration, common, I fancy, to many girls. I little then imagined how +profoundly and strangely involved my uncle's fate would one day become with +mine. + +I was interrupted by Captain Oakley's voice at the window. He was leaning +on the window-sill, and looking in with a smile--the window being open, the +morning sunny, and his cap lifted in his hand. + +'Good-morning, Miss Ruthyn. What a charming old place! quite the setting +for a romance; such timber, and this really _beautiful_ house. I _do_ so +like these white and black houses--wonderful old things. By-the-by, you +treated us very badly last night--you did, indeed; upon my word, now, it +really was too bad--running away, and drinking tea with Lady Knollys--so +she says. I really--I should not like to tell you how very savage I felt, +particularly considering how very short my time is.' + +I was a shy, but not a giggling country miss. I knew I was an heiress; I +knew I was somebody. I was not the least bit in the world conceited, but +I think this knowledge helped to give me a certain sense of security and +self-possession, which might have been mistaken for dignity or simplicity. +I am sure I looked at him with a fearless enquiry, for he answered my +thoughts. + +'I do really assure you, Miss Ruthyn, I am quite serious; you have no idea +how very much we have missed you.' + +There was a little pause, and, like a fool, I lowered my eyes, and blushed. + +'I--I was thinking of leaving today; I am so unfortunate--my leave is just +out--it is so unlucky; but I don't quite know whether my aunt Knollys will +allow me to go.' + +'_I_?--certainly, my dear Charlie, _I_ don't want you at all,' exclaimed a +voice--Lady Knollys's--briskly, from an open window close by; 'what could +put that in your head, dear?' + +And in went my cousin's head, and the window shut down. + +'She is _such_ an oddity, poor dear Aunt Knollys,' murmured the young +man, ever so little put out, and he laughed. 'I never know quite what she +wishes, or how to please her; but she's _so_ good-natured; and when she +goes to town for the season--she does not always, you know--her house is +really very gay--you can't think----' + +Here again he was interrupted, for the door opened, and Lady Knollys +entered. 'And you know, Charles,' she continued, 'it would not do to forget +your visit to Snodhurst; you wrote, you know, and you have only to-night +and to-morrow. You are thinking of nothing but that moor; I heard you +talking to the gamekeeper; I know he is--is not he, Maud, the brown man +with great whiskers, and leggings? I'm very sorry, you know, but I really +must spoil your shooting, for they do expect you at Snodhurst, Charlie; and +do not you think this window a little too much for Miss Ruthyn? Maud, my +dear, the air is very sharp; shut it down, Charles, and you'd better tell +them to get a fly for you from the town after luncheon. Come, dear,' she +said to me. 'Was not that the breakfast bell? Why does not your papa get a +gong?--it is so hard to know one bell from another.' + +I saw that Captain Oakley lingered for a last look, but I did not give it, +and went out smiling with Cousin Knollys, and wondering why old ladies are +so uniformly disagreeable. + +In the lobby she said, with an odd, goodnatured look-- + +'Don't allow any of his love-making, my dear. Charles Oakley has not a +guinea, and an heiress would be very convenient. Of course he has his eyes +about him. Charles is not by any means foolish; and I should not be at all +sorry to see him well married, for I don't think he will do much good +any other way; but there are degrees, and his ideas are sometimes very +impertinent.' + +I was an admiring reader of the _Albums_, the _Souvenirs_, the _Keepsakes_, +and all that flood of Christmas-present lore which yearly irrigated +England, with pretty covers and engravings; and floods of elegant +twaddle--the milk, not destitute of water, on which the babes of literature +were then fed. On this, my genius throve. I had a little album, enriched +with many gems of original thought and observation, which I jotted down in +suitable language. Lately, turning over these faded leaves of rhyme +and prose, I lighted, under this day's date, upon the following sage +reflection, with my name appended:-- + +'Is there not in the female heart an ineradicable jealousy, which, if it +sways the passions of the young, rules also the _advice_ of the _aged_? Do +they not grudge to youth the sentiments (though Heaven knows how _shadowed_ +with sorrow) which they can _no longer inspire_, perhaps even _experience_; +and does not youth, in turn, sigh over the envy which has _power to +blight_? + +MAUD AYLMER RUTHYN.' + +'He has not been making love to me,' I said rather tartly, 'and he does not +seem to me at all impertinent, and I really don't care the least whether he +goes or stays.' + +Cousin Monica looked in my face with her old waggish smile, and laughed. + +'You'll understand those London dandies better some day, dear Maud; they +are very well, but they like money--not to keep, of course--but still they +like it and know its value.' + +At breakfast my father told Captain Oakley where he might have shooting, or +if he preferred going to Dilsford, only half an hour's ride, he might have +his choice of hunters, and find the dogs there that morning. + +The Captain smiled archly at me, and looked at his aunt. There was a +suspense. I hope I did not show how much I was interested--but it would not +do. Cousin Monica was inexorable. + +'Hunting, hawking, fishing, fiddle-de-dee! You know, Charlie, my dear, it +is quite out of the question. He is going to Snodhurst this afternoon, and +without quite a rudeness, in which I should be involved too, he really +can't--you know you can't, Charles! and--and he _must_ go and keep his +engagement.' + +So papa acquiesced with a polite regret, and hoped another time. + +'Oh, leave all that to me. When you want him, only write me a note, and +I'll send him or bring him if you let me. I always know where to find +him--don't I, Charlie?--and we shall be only too happy.' + +Aunt Monica's influence with her nephew was special, for she 'tipped' him +handsomely every now and then, and he had formed for himself agreeable +expectations, besides, respecting her will. I felt rather angry at his +submitting to this sort of tutelage, knowing nothing of its motive; I was +also disgusted by Cousin Monica's tyranny. + +So soon as he had left the room, Lady Knollys, not minding me, said briskly +to papa, 'Never let that young man into your house again. I found him +making speeches, this morning, to little Maud here; and he really has not +two pence in the world--it is amazing impudence--and you know such absurd +things do happen.' + +'Come, Maud, what compliments did he pay you?' asked my father. + +I was vexed, and therefore spoke courageously. 'His compliments were not to +me; they were all to the house,' I said, drily. + +'Quite as it should be--the house, of course; it is that he's in love +with,' said Cousin Knollys. + + ''Twas on a widow's jointure land, + The archer, Cupid, took his stand.' + +'Hey! I don't quite understand,' said my father, slily. + +'Tut! Austin; you forget Charlie is my nephew.' + +'So I did,' said my father. + +'Therefore the literal widow in this case _can_ have no interest in view +but one, and that is yours and Maud's. I wish him well, but he shan't put +my little cousin and her expectations into his empty pocket--_not_ a bit of +it. And _there's_ another reason, Austin, why you should marry--you have no +eye for these things, whereas a clever _woman_ would see at a glance and +prevent mischief.' + +'So she would,' acquiesced my father, in his gloomy, amused way. 'Maud, you +must try to be a clever woman.' + +'So she will in her time, but that is not come yet; and I tell you, Austin +Ruthyn, if you won't look about and marry somebody, somebody may possibly +marry you.' + +'You were always an oracle, Monica; but _here_ I am lost in total +perplexity,' said my father. + +'Yes; sharks sailing round you, with keen eyes and large throats; and you +have come to the age precisely when men _are_ swallowed up alive like +Jonah.' + +'Thank you for the parallel, but you know that was not a happy union, even +for the fish, and there was a separation in a few days; not that I mean to +trust to that; but there's no one to throw me into the jaws of the monster, +and I've no notion of jumping there; and the fact is, Monica, there's no +monster at all.' + +'I'm not so sure.' + +'But I'm quite sure,' said my father, a little drily. 'You forget how old +I am, and how long I've lived alone--I and little Maud;' and he smiled and +smoothed my hair, and, I thought, sighed. + +'No one is ever too old to do a foolish thing,' began Lady Knollys. + +'Nor to say a foolish thing, Monica. This has gone on too long. Don't you +see that little Maud here is silly enough to be frightened at your fun.' + +So I was, but I could not divine how he guessed it. + +'And well or ill, wisely or madly, I'll _never_ marry; so put that out of +your head.' + +This was addressed rather to me, I think, than to Lady Knollys, who smiled +a little waggishly on me, and said-- + +'To be sure, Maud; maybe you are right; a stepdame is a risk, and I ought +to have asked you first what you thought of it; and upon my honour,' she +continued merrily but kindly, observing that my eyes, I know not exactly +from what feeling, filled with tears, 'I'll never again advise your papa to +marry, unless you first tell me you wish it.' + +This was a great deal from Lady Knollys, who had a taste for advising her +friends and managing their affairs. + +'I've a great respect for instinct. I believe, Austin, it is truer than +reason, and yours and Maud's are both against me, though I know I have +reason on my side.' + +My father's brief wintry smile answered, and Cousin Monica kissed me, and +said-- + +'I've been so long my own mistress that I sometimes forget there are such +things as fear and jealousy; and are you going to your governess, Maud?' + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +_ANGRY WORDS_ + + +I was going to my governess, as Lady Knollys said; and so I went. The +undefinable sense of danger that smote me whenever I beheld that woman had +deepened since last night's occurrence, and was taken out of the region +of instinct or prepossession by the strange though slight indications of +recognition and abhorrence which I had witnessed in Lady Knollys on that +occasion. + +The tone in which Cousin Monica had asked, 'are you going to your +governess?' and the curious, grave, and anxious look that accompanied the +question, disturbed me; and there was something odd and cold in the tone as +if a remembrance had suddenly chilled her. The accent remained in my ear, +and the sharp brooding look was fixed before me as I glided up the broad +dark stairs to Madame de la Rougierre's chamber. + +She had not come down to the school-room, as the scene of my studies was +called. She had decided on having a relapse, and accordingly had not made +her appearance down-stairs that morning. The gallery leading to her room +was dark and lonely, and I grew more nervous as I approached; I paused at +the door, making up my mind to knock. + +But the door opened suddenly, and, like a magic-lantern figure, presented +with a snap, appeared close before my eyes the great muffled face, with the +forbidding smirk, of Madame de la Rougierre. + +'Wat you mean, my dear cheaile?' she inquired with a malevolent shrewdness +in her eyes, and her hollow smile all the time disconcerting me more even +than the suddenness of her appearance; 'wat for you approach so softly? I +do not sleep, you see, but you feared, perhaps, to have the misfortune of +wakening me, and so you came--is it not so?--to leesten, and looke in very +gentily; you want to know how I was. Vous etes bien aimable d'avoir pense +a moi. Bah!' she cried, suddenly bursting through her irony. 'Wy could not +Lady Knollys come herself and leesten to the keyhole to make her report? +Fi donc! wat is there to conceal? Nothing. Enter, if you please. Every one +they are welcome!' and she flung the door wide, turned her back upon me, +and, with an ejaculation which I did not understand, strode into the room. + +'I did not come with any intention, Madame, to pry or to intrude--you +don't think so--you _can't_ think so--you can't possibly mean to insinuate +anything so insulting!' + +I was very angry, and my tremors had all vanished now. + +'No, not for _you_, dear cheaile; I was thinking to miladi Knollys, who, +without cause, is my enemy. Every one has enemy; you will learn all that so +soon as you are little older, and without cause she is mine. Come, Maud, +speak a the truth--was it not miladi Knollys who sent you here doucement, +doucement, so quaite to my door--is it not so, little rogue?' + +Madame had confronted me again, and we were now standing in the middle of +her floor. + +I indignantly repelled the charge, and searching me for a moment with her +oddly-shaped, cunning eyes, she said-- + +'That is good cheaile, you speak a so direct--I like that, and am glad to +hear; but, my dear Maud, that woman----' + +'Lady Knollys is papa's cousin,' I interposed a little gravely. + +'She does hate a me so, you av no idea. She as tryed to injure me several +times, and would employ the most innocent person, unconsciously you know, +my dear, to assist her malice.' + +Here Madame wept a little. I had already discovered that she could shed +tears whenever she pleased. I have heard of such persons, but I never met +another before or since. + +Madame was unusually frank--no one ever knew better when to be candid. At +present I suppose she concluded that Lady Knollys would certainly relate +whatever she knew concerning her before she left Knowl; and so Madame's +reserves, whatever they might be, were dissolving, and she growing +childlike and confiding. + +'Et comment va monsieur votre pere aujourd'hui?' + +'Very well,' I thanked her. + +'And how long miladi Knollys her visit is likely to be?' + +'I could not say exactly, but for some days.' + +'Eh bien, my dear cheaile, I find myself better this morning, and we must +return to our lessons. Je veux m'habiller, ma chere Maud; you will wait me +in the school-room.' + +By this time Madame, who, though lazy, could make an effort, and was +capable of getting into a sudden hurry, had placed herself before her +dressing-table, and was ogling her discoloured and bony countenance in the +glass. + +'Wat horror! I am so pale. Quel ennui! wat bore! Ow weak av I grow in two +three days!' + +And she practised some plaintive, invalid glances into the mirror. But on a +sudden there came a little sharp inquisitive frown as she looked over the +frame of the glass, upon the terrace beneath. It was only a glance, and she +sat down languidly in her arm-chair to prepare, I suppose, for the fatigues +of the toilet. + +My curiosity was sufficiently aroused to induce me to ask-- + +'But why, Madame, do you fancy that Lady Knollys dislikes you?' + +''Tis not fancy, my dear Maud. Ah ha, no! Mais c'est toute une +histoire--too tedious to tell now--some time maybe--and you will learn when +you are little older, the most violent hatreds often they are the most +without cause. But, my dear cheaile, the hours they are running from us, +and I must dress. Vite, vite! so you run away to the school-room, and I +will come after.' + +Madame had her dressing-case and her mysteries, and palpably stood in need +of repairs; so away I went to my studies. The room which we called the +school-room was partly beneath the floor of Madame's bed-chamber, and +commanded the same view; so, remembering my governess's peering glance from +her windows, I looked out, and saw Cousin Monica making a brisk promenade +up and down the terrace-walk. Well, that was quite enough to account for +it. I had grown very curious, and I resolved when our lessons were over to +join her and make another attempt to discover the mystery. + +As I sat over my books, I fancied I heard a movement outside the door. I +suspected that Madame was listening. I waited for a time, expecting to see +the door open, but she did not come; so I opened it suddenly myself, but +Madame was not on the threshold nor on the lobby. I heard a rustling, +however, and on the staircase over the banister I saw the folds of her silk +dress as she descended. + +She is going, I thought, to seek an interview with Lady Knollys. She +intends to propitiate that dangerous lady; so I amused some eight or ten +minutes in watching Cousin Monica's quick march and right-about face upon +the parade-ground of the terrace. But no one joined her. + +'She is certainly talking to papa,' was my next and more probable +conjecture. Having the profoundest distrust of Madame, I was naturally +extremely jealous of the confidential interviews in which deceit and malice +might make their representations plausibly and without answer. + +'Yes, I'll run down and see--see _papa_; she shan't tell lies behind my +back, horrid woman!' + +At the study-door I knocked, and forthwith entered. My father was sitting +near the window, his open book before him, Madame standing at the +other side of the table, her cunning eyes bathed in tears, and her +pocket-handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Her eyes glittered stealthily on +me for an instant: she was sobbing--_desolee_, in fact--that grim grenadier +lady, and her attitude was exquisitely dejected and timid. But she was, +notwithstanding, reading closely and craftily my father's face. He was not +looking at her, but rather upward toward the ceiling, reflectively leaning +on his hand, with an expression, not angry, but rather surly and annoyed. + +'I ought to have heard of this before, Madame,' my father was saying as I +came in; 'not that it would have made any difference--not the least; mind +that. But it was the kind of thing that I ought to have heard, and the +omission was not strictly right.' + +Madame, in a shrill and lamentable key, opened her voluble reply, but was +arrested by a nod from my father, who asked me if I wanted anything. + +'Only--only that I was waiting in the school-room for Madame, and did not +know where she was.' + +'Well, she is here, you see, and will join you up-stairs in a few minutes.' + +So back I went again, huffed, angry, and curious, and sat back in my chair +with a clouded countenance, thinking very little about lessons. + +When Madame entered, I did not lift my head or eyes. + +'Good cheaile! reading,' said she, as she approached briskly and reassured. + +'No,' I answered tartly; 'not good, nor a child either; I'm not reading, +I've been thinking.' + +'Tres-bien!' she said, with an insufferable smile, 'thinking is very good +also; but you look unhappy--very, poor cheaile. Take care you are not grow +jealous for poor Madame talking sometime to your papa; you must not, little +fool. It is only for a your good, my dear Maud, and I had no objection you +should stay.' + +'_You_! Madame!' I said loftily. I was very angry, and showed it through my +dignity, to Madame's evident satisfaction. + +'No--it was your papa, Mr. Ruthyn, who weesh to speak alone; for me I do +not care; there was something I weesh to tell him. I don't care who know, +but Mr. Ruthyn he is deeferent.' + +I made no remark. + +'Come, leetle Maud, you are not to be so cross; it will be much better you +and I to be good friends together. Why should a we quarrel?--wat nonsense! +Do you imagine I would anywhere undertake a the education of a young person +unless I could speak with her parent?--wat folly! I would like to be your +friend, however, my poor Maud, if you would allow--you and I together--wat +you say?' + +'People grow to be friends by liking, Madame, and liking comes of itself, +not by bargain; I like every one who is kind to me.' + +'And so I. You are like me in so many things, my dear Maud! Are you quaite +well to-day? I think you look fateague; so I feel, too, vary tire. I think +we weel put off the lessons to to-morrow. Eh? and we will come to play la +grace in the garden.' + +Madame was plainly in a high state of exultation. Her audience had +evidently been satisfactory, and, like other people, when things went well, +her soul lighted up into a sulphureous good-humour, not very genuine nor +pleasant, but still it was better than other moods. + +I was glad when our calisthenics were ended, and Madame had returned to her +apartment, so that I had a pleasant little walk with Cousin Monica. + +We women are persevering when once our curiosity is roused, but she gaily +foiled mine, and, I think, had a mischievous pleasure in doing so. As we +were going in to dress for dinner, however, she said, quite gravely-- + +'I am sorry, Maud, I allowed you to see that I have any unpleasant +impressions about that governess lady. I shall be at liberty some day to +explain all about it, and, indeed, it will be enough to tell your father, +whom I have not been able to find all day; but really we are, perhaps, +making too much of the matter, and I cannot say that I know anything +against Madame that is conclusive, or--or, indeed, at all; but that there +are reasons, and--you must not ask any more--no, you must not.' + +That evening, while I was playing the overture to Cenerentola, for the +entertainment of my cousin, there arose from the tea-table, where she and +my father were sitting, a spirited and rather angry harangue from Lady +Knollys' lips; I turned my eyes from the music towards the speakers; the +overture swooned away with a little hesitating babble into silence, and I +listened. + +Their conversation had begun under cover of the music which I was making, +and now they were too much engrossed to perceive its discontinuance. The +first sentence I heard seized my attention; my father had closed the book +he was reading, upon his finger, and was leaning back in his chair, as he +used to do when at all angry; his face was a little flushed, and I knew the +fierce and glassy stare which expressed pride, surprise, and wrath. + +'Yes, Lady Knollys, there's an animus; I know the spirit you speak in--it +does you no honour,' said my father. + +'And I know the spirit _you_ speak in, the spirit of _madness_,' retorted +Cousin Monica, just as much in earnest. 'I can't conceive how you _can_ be +so _demented_, Austin. What has perverted you? are you _blind_?' + +'_You_ are, Monica; your own unnatural prejudice--_unnatural_ prejudice, +blinds you. What is it all?--_nothing_. Were I to act as you say, I should +be a _coward_ and a traitor. I see, I _do_ see, all that's real. I'm no +Quixote, to draw my sword on illusions.' + +'There should be no halting here. How _can_ you--do you ever _think_? I +wonder if you can breathe. I feel as if the evil one were in the house.' + +A stern, momentary frown was my father's only answer, as he looked fixedly +at her. + +'People need not nail up horseshoes and mark their door-stones with charms +to keep the evil spirit out,' ran on Lady Knollys, who looked pale and +angry, in her way, 'but you open your door in the dark and invoke unknown +danger. How can you look at that child that's--she's _not_ playing,' said +Knollys, abruptly stopping. + +My father rose, muttering to himself, and cast a lurid glance at me, as he +went in high displeasure to the door. Cousin Monica, now flushed a little, +glanced also silently at me, biting the tip of her slender gold cross, and +doubtful how much I had heard. + +My father opened the door suddenly, which he had just closed, and looking +in, said, in a calmer tone-- + +'Perhaps, Monica, you would come for a moment to the study; I'm sure you +have none but kindly feelings towards me and little Maud, there; and +I thank you for your good-will; but you must see other things more +reasonably, and I think you will.' + +Cousin Monica got up silently and followed him, only throwing up her eyes +and hands as she did so, and I was left alone, wondering and curious more +than ever. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +_A WARNING_ + + +I sat still, listening and wondering, and wondering and listening; but +I ought to have known that no sound could reach me where I was from my +father's study. Five minutes passed and they did not return. Ten, fifteen. +I drew near the fire and made myself comfortable in a great arm-chair, +looking on the embers, but not seeing all the scenery and _dramatis +personae_ of my past life or future fortunes, in their shifting glow, +as people in romances usually do; but fanciful castles and caverns in +blood-red and golden glare, suggestive of dreamy fairy-land, salamanders, +sunsets, and palaces of fire-kings, and all this partly shaping and partly +shaped by my fancy, and leading my closing eyes and drowsy senses off into +dream-land. So I nodded and dozed, and sank into a deep slumber, from which +I was roused by the voice of my cousin Monica. On opening my eyes, I saw +nothing but Lady Knollys' face looking steadily into mine, and expanding +into a good-natured laugh as she watched the vacant and lack-lustre stare +with which I returned her gaze. + +'Come, dear Maud, it is late; you ought to have been in your bed an hour +ago.' + +Up I stood, and so soon as I had begun to hear and see aright, it struck me +that Cousin Monica was more grave and subdued than I had seen her. + +'Come, let us light our candles and go together.' + +Holding hands, we ascended, I sleepy, she silent; and not a word was spoken +until we reached my room. Mary Quince was in waiting, and tea made. + +'Tell her to come back in a few minutes; I wish to say a word to you,' said +Lady Knollys. + +The maid accordingly withdrew. + +Lady Knollys' eyes followed her till she closed the door behind her. + +'I'm going in the morning.' + +'So soon!' + +'Yes, dear; I could not stay; in fact, I should have gone to-night, but it +was too late, and I leave instead in the morning.' + +'I am so sorry--so _very_ sorry,' I exclaimed, in honest disappointment, +and the walls seemed to darken round me, and the monotony of the old +routine loomed more terrible in prospect. + +'So am I, dear Maud.' + +'But can't you stay a little longer; _won't_ you?' + +'No, Maud; I'm vexed with Austin--very much vexed with your father; in +short, I can't conceive anything so entirely preposterous, and dangerous, +and insane as his conduct, now that his eyes are quite opened, and I must +say a word to you before I go, and it is just this:--you must cease to be a +mere child, you must try and be a woman, Maud: now don't be frightened +or foolish, but hear me out. That woman--what does she call +herself--Rougierre? I have reason to believe is--in fact, from +circumstances, _must_ be your enemy; you will find her very deep, daring, +and unscrupulous, I venture to say, and you can't be too much on your +guard. Do you quite understand me, Maud?' + +'I do,' said I, with a gasp, and my eyes fixed on her with a terrified +interest, as if on a warning ghost. + +'You must bridle your tongue, mind, and govern your conduct, and command +even your features. It is hard to practise reserve; but you must--you must +be secret and vigilant. Try and be in appearance just as usual; don't +quarrel; tell her nothing, if you do happen to know anything, of your +father's business; be always on your guard when with her, and keep your eye +upon her everywhere. Observe everything, disclose nothing--do you see?' + +'Yes,' again I whispered. + +'You have good, honest servants about you, and, thank God, they don't like +her. But you must not repeat to them one word I am now saying to you. +Servants are fond of dropping hints, and letting things ooze out in that +way, and in their quarrels with her would compromise you--you understand +me?' + +'I do,' I sighed, with a wild stare. + +'And--and, Maud, don't let her meddle with your food.' + +Cousin Monica gave me a pale little nod, and looked away. + +I could only stare at her; and under my breath I uttered an ejaculation of +terror. + +'Don't be so frightened; you must not be foolish; I only wish you to be +upon your guard. I have my suspicions, but I may be quite wrong; your +father thinks I am a fool; perhaps I am--perhaps not; maybe he may come to +think as I do. But you must not speak to him on the subject; he's an +odd man, and never did and never will act wisely, when his passions and +prejudices are engaged.' + +'Has she ever committed any great crime?' I asked, feeling as if I were on +the point of fainting. + +'No, dear Maud, I never said anything of the kind; don't be so frightened: +I only said I have formed, from something I know, an ill opinion of her; +and an unprincipled person, under temptation, is capable of a great deal. +But no matter how wicked she may be, you may defy her, simply by assuming +her to be so, and acting with caution; she is cunning and selfish, and +she'll do nothing desperate. But I would give her no opportunity.' + +'Oh, dear! Oh, Cousin Monica, don't leave me.' + +'My dear, I _can't_ stay; your papa and I--we've had a quarrel. I know +I'm right, and he's wrong, and he'll come to see it soon, if he's left to +himself, and then all will be right. But just now he misunderstands me, and +we've not been civil to one another. I could not think of staying, and he +would not allow you to come away with me for a short visit, which I wished. +It won't last, though; and I do assure you, my dear Maud, I am quite happy +about you now that you are quite on your guard. Just act respecting that +person as if she were capable of any treachery, without showing distrust or +dislike in your manner, and nothing will remain in her power; and write to +me whenever you wish to hear from me, and if I can be of any real use, I +don't care, I'll come: so there's a wise little woman; do as I've said, and +depend upon it everything will go well, and I'll contrive before long to +get that nasty creature away.' + +Except a kiss and a few hurried words in the morning when she was leaving, +and a pencilled farewell for papa, there was nothing more from Cousin +Monica for some time. + +Knowl was dark again--darker than ever. My father, gentle always to me, was +now--perhaps it was contrast with his fitful return to something like the +world's ways, during Lady Knollys' stay--more silent, sad, and isolated +than before. Of Madame de la Rougierre I had nothing at first particular to +remark. Only, reader, if you happen to be a rather nervous and very young +girl, I ask you to conceive my fears and imaginings, and the kind of misery +which I was suffering. Its intensity I cannot now even myself recall. But +it overshadowed me perpetually--a care, an alarm. It lay down with me at +night and got up with me in the morning, tinting and disturbing my dreams, +and making my daily life terrible. I wonder now that I lived through +the ordeal. The torment was secret and incessant, and kept my mind in +unintermitting activity. + +Externally things went on at Knowl for some weeks in the usual routine. +Madame was, so far as her unpleasant ways were concerned, less tormenting +than before, and constantly reminded me of 'our leetle vow of friendship, +you remember, dearest Maud!' and she would stand beside me, and looked from +the window with her bony arm round my waist, and my reluctant hand drawn +round in hers; and thus she would smile, and talk affectionately and even +playfully; for at times she would grow quite girlish, and smile with +her great carious teeth, and begin to quiz and babble about the young +'faylows,' and tell bragging tales of her lovers, all of which were +dreadful to me. + +She was perpetually recurring, too, to the charming walk we had had +together to Church Scarsdale, and proposing a repetition of that delightful +excursion, which, you may be sure, I evaded, having by no means so +agreeable a recollection of our visit. + +One day, as I was dressing to go out for a walk, in came good Mrs. Rusk, +the housekeeper, to my room. + +'Miss Maud, dear, is not that too far for you? It is a long walk to Church +Scarsdale, and you are not looking very well.' + +'To Church Scarsdale?' I repeated; 'I'm not going to Church Scarsdale; who +said I was going to Church Scarsdale? There is nothing I should so much +dislike.' + +'Well, I never!' exclaimed she. 'Why, there's old Madame's been down-stairs +with me for fruit and sandwiches, telling me you were longing to go to +Church Scarsdale----' + +'It's quite untrue,' I interrupted. 'She knows I hate it.' + +'She does?' said Mrs. Rusk, quietly; 'and you did not tell her nothing +about the basket? Well--if there isn't a story! Now what may she be +after--what is it--what _is_ she driving at?' + +'I can't tell, but I won't go.' + +'No, of course, dear, you won't go. But you may be sure there's some scheme +in her old head. Tom Fowkes says she's bin two or three times to drink tea +at Farmer Gray's--now, could it be she's thinking to marry him?' And Mrs. +Rusk sat down and laughed heartily, ending with a crow of derision. + +'To think of a young fellow like that, and his wife, poor thing, not dead a +year--maybe she's got money?' + +'I don't know--I don't care--perhaps, Mrs. Rusk, you mistook Madame. I will +go down; I am going out.' + +Madame had a basket in her hand. She held it quietly by her capacious +skirt, at the far side, and made no allusion to the preparation, neither to +the direction in which she proposed walking, and prattling artlessly and +affectionately she marched by my side. + +Thus we reached the stile at the sheep-walk, and then I paused. + +'Now, Madame, have not we gone far enough in this direction?--suppose we +visit the pigeon-house in the park?' + +'Wat folly! my dear a Maud--you cannot walk so far.' + +'Well, towards home, then.' + +'And wy not a this way? We ave not walk enough, and Mr. Ruthyn he will not +be pleased if you do not take proper exercise. Let us walk on by the path, +and stop when you like.' + +'Where do you wish to go, Madame?' + +'Nowhere particular--come along; don't be fool, Maud.' + +'This leads to Church Scarsdale.' + +'A yes indeed! wat sweet place! bote we need not a walk all the way to +there.' + +'I'd rather not walk outside the grounds to-day, Madame.' + +'Come, Maud, you shall not be fool--wat you mean, Mademoiselle?' said the +stalworth lady, growing yellow and greenish with an angry mottling, and +accosting me very gruffly. + +'I don't care to cross the stile, thank you, Madame. I shall remain at this +side.' + +'You shall do wat I tell you!' exclaimed she. + +'Let go my arm, Madame, you hurt me,' I cried. + +She had griped my arm very firmly in her great bony hand, and seemed +preparing to drag me over by main force. + +'Let me go,' I repeated shrilly, for the pain increased. + +'La!' she cried with a smile of rage and a laugh, letting me go and shoving +me backward at the same time, so that I had a rather dangerous tumble. + +I stood up, a good deal hurt, and very angry, notwithstanding my fear of +her. + +'I'll ask papa if I am to be so ill-used.' + +'Wat av I done?' cried Madame, laughing grimly from her hollow jaws; I did +all I could to help you over--'ow could I prevent you to pull back and +tumble if you would do so? That is the way wen you petites Mademoiselles +are naughty and hurt yourself they always try to make blame other people. +Tell a wat you like--you think I care?' + +'Very well, Madame.' + +'Are a you coming?' + +'No.' + +She looked steadily in my face and very wickedly. I gazed at her as with +dazzled eyes--I suppose as the feathered prey do at the owl that glares on +them by night. I neither moved back nor forward, but stared at her quite +helplessly. + +'You are nice pupil--charming young person! So polite, so obedient, so +amiable! I will walk towards Church Scarsdale,' she continued, suddenly +breaking through the conventionalism of her irony, and accosting me +in savage accents. 'You weel stay behind if you dare. I tell you to +accompany--do you hear?' + +More than ever resolved against following her, I remained where I was, +watching her as she marched fiercely away, swinging her basket as though in +imagination knocking my head off with it. + +She soon cooled, however, and looking over her shoulder, and seeing me +still at the other side of the stile, she paused, and beckoned me grimly +to follow her. Seeing me resolutely maintain my position, she faced about, +tossed her head, like an angry beast, and seemed uncertain for a while what +course to take with me. + +She stamped and beckoned furiously again. I stood firm. I was very much +frightened, and could not tell to what violence she might resort in her +exasperation. She walked towards me with an inflamed countenance, and a +slight angry wagging of the head; my heart fluttered, and I awaited the +crisis in extreme trepidation. She came close, the stile only separating +us, and stopped short, glaring and grinning at me like a French grenadier +who has crossed bayonets, but hesitates to close. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +_DOCTOR BRYERLY LOOKS IN_ + + +What had I done to excite this ungovernable fury? We had often before had +such small differences, and she had contented herself with being sarcastic, +teasing, and impertinent. + +'So, for future you are gouvernante and I the cheaile for you to +command--is not so?--and you must direct where we shall walk. Tres-bien! +we shall see; Monsieur Ruthyn he shall know everything. For me I do not +care--not at all--I shall be rather pleased, on the contrary. Let him +decide. If I shall be responsible for the conduct and the health of +Mademoiselle his daughter, it must be that I shall have authority to direct +her wat she must do--it must be that she or I shall obey. I ask only witch +shall command for the future--voila tout!' + +I was frightened, but resolute--I dare say I looked sullen and +uncomfortable. At all events, she seemed to think she might possibly +succeed by wheedling; so she tried coaxing and cajoling, and patted my +cheek, and predicted that I would be 'a good cheaile,' and not 'vex poor +Madame,' but do for the future 'wat she tell a me.' + +She smiled her wide wet grin, smoothed my hand, and patted my cheek, and +would in the excess of her conciliatory paroxysm have kissed me; but I +withdrew, and she commented only with a little laugh, and a 'Foolish little +thing! but you will be quite amiable just now.' + +'Why, Madame,' I asked, suddenly raising my head and looking her straight +in the face, 'do you wish me to walk to Church Scarsdale so particularly +to-day?' + +She answered my steady look with a contracted gaze and an unpleasant frown. + +'Wy do I?--I do not understand a you; there is _no_ particular day--wat +folly! Wy I like Church Scarsdale? Well, it is such pretty place. There is +all! Wat leetle fool! I suppose you think I want to keel a you and bury you +in the churchyard?' + +And she laughed, and it would not have been a bad laugh for a ghoul. + +'Come, my dearest Maud, you are not a such fool to say, if _you_ tell me me +go thees a way, I weel go that; and if you say, go that a way, I weel go +thees--you are rasonable leetle girl--come along--_alons donc_--we shall av +soche agreeable walk--weel a you?' + +But I was immovable. It was neither obstinacy nor caprice, but a profound +fear that governed me. I was then afraid--yes, _afraid_. Afraid of _what_? +Well, of going with Madame de la Rougierre to Church Scarsdale that day. +That was all. And I believe that instinct was true. + +She turned a bitter glance toward Church Scarsdale, and bit her lip. She +saw that she must give it up. A shadow hung upon her drab features. A +little scowl--a little sneer--wide lips compressed with a false smile, and +a leaden shadow mottling all. Such was the countenance of the lady who only +a minute or two before had been smiling and murmuring over the stile so +amiably with her idiomatic 'blarney,' as the Irish call that kind of +blandishment. + +There was no mistaking the malignant disappointment that hooked and warped +her features--my heart sank--a tremendous fear overpowered me. Had she +intended poisoning me? What was in that basket? I looked in her dreadful +face. I felt for a minute quite frantic. A feeling of rage with my father, +with my Cousin Monica, for abandoning me to this dreadful rogue, took +possession of me, and I cried, helplessly wringing my hands-- + +'Oh! it is a shame--it is a shame--it is a shame!' + +The countenance of the gouvernante relaxed. I think she in turn was +frightened at my extreme agitation. It might have worked unfavourably with +my father. + +'Come, Maud, it is time you should try to control your temper. You shall +not walk to Church Scarsdale if you do not like--I only invite. _There_! +It is quite as you please, where we shall walk then? Here to the +peegeon-house? I think you say. Tout bien! Remember I concede you +everything. Let us go.' + +We went, therefore, towards the pigeon-house, through the forest trees; I +not speaking as the children in the wood did with their sinister conductor, +but utterly silent and scared; she silent also, meditating, and sometimes +with a sharp side-glance gauging my progress towards equanimity. Her own +was rapid; for Madame was a philosopher, and speedily accommodated herself +to circumstances. We had not walked a quarter of an hour when every trace +of gloom had left her face, which had assumed its customary brightness, and +she began to sing with a spiteful hilarity as we walked forward, and indeed +seemed to be approaching one of her waggish, frolicsome moods. But her fun +in these moods was solitary. The joke, whatever it was, remained in her +own keeping. When we approached the ruined brick tower--in old times a +pigeon-house--she grew quite frisky, and twirled her basket in the air, and +capered to her own singing. + +Under the shadow of the broken wall, and its ivy, she sat down with a +frolicsome _plump_, and opened her basket, inviting me to partake, which +I declined. I must do her justice, however, upon the suspicion of poison, +which she quite disposed of by gobbling up, to her own share, everything +which the basket contained. + +The reader is not to suppose that Madame's cheerful demeanour indicated +that I was forgiven. Nothing of the kind. One syllable more, on our walk +home, she addressed not to me. And when we reached the terrace, she said-- + +'You will please, Maud, remain for two--three minutes in the Dutch garden, +while I speak with Mr. Ruthyn in the study.' + +This was spoken with a high head and an insufferable smile; and I more +haughtily, but quite gravely, turned without disputing, and descended the +steps to the quaint little garden she had indicated. + +I was surprised and very glad to see my father there. I ran to him, and +began, 'Oh! papa!' and then stopped short, adding only, 'may I speak to you +now?' + +He smiled kindly and gravely on me. + +'Well, Maud, say your say.' + +'Oh, sir, it is only this: I entreat that our walks, mine and Madame's may +be confined to the grounds.' + +'And why?' + +'I--I'm afraid to go with her.' + +'_Afraid!_' he repeated, looking hard at me. 'Have you lately had a letter +from Lady Knollys?' + +'No, papa, not for two months or more.' + +There was a pause. + +'And why _afraid_, Maud?' + +'She brought me one day to Church Scarsdale; you know what a solitary place +it is, sir; and she frightened me so that I was afraid to go with her into +the churchyard. But she went and left me alone at the other side of the +stream, and an impudent man passing by stopped and spoke to me, and seemed +inclined to laugh at me, and altogether frightened me very much, and he did +not go till Madame happened to return.' + +'What kind of man--young or old?' + +'A young man; he looked like a farmer's son, but very impudent, and stood +there talking to me whether I would or not; and Madame did not care at +all, and laughed at me for being frightened; and, indeed, I am very +uncomfortable with her.' + +He gave me another shrewd look, and then looked down cloudily and thought. + +'You say you are uncomfortable and frightened. How is this--what causes +these feelings?' + +'I don't know, sir; she likes frightening me; I am afraid of her--we are +all afraid of her, I think. The servants, I mean, as well as I.' + +My father nodded his head contemptuously, twice or thrice, and muttered, 'A +pack of fools!' + +'And she was so very angry to-day with me, because I would not walk again +with her to Church Scarsdale. I am very much afraid of her. I--' and quite +unpremeditatedly I burst into tears. + +'There, there, little Maud, you must not cry. She is here only for your +good. If you are afraid--even _foolishly_ afraid--it is enough. Be it as +you say; your walks are henceforward confined to the grounds; I'll tell her +so.' + +I thanked him through my tears very earnestly. + +'But, Maud, beware of prejudice; women are unjust and violent in their +judgments. Your family has suffered in some of its members by such +injustice. It behoves us to be careful not to practise it.' + +That evening in the drawing-room my father said, in his usual abrupt way-- + +'About my departure, Maud: I've had a letter from London this morning, and +I think I shall be called away sooner than I at first supposed, and for a +little time we must manage apart from one another. Do not be alarmed. You +shall not be in Madame de la Rougierre's charge, but under the care of a +relation; but even so, little Maud will miss her old father, I think.' + +His tone was very tender, so were his looks; he was looking down on me with +a smile, and tears were in his eyes. This softening was new to me. I felt a +strange thrill of surprise, delight, and love, and springing up, I threw my +arms about his neck and wept in silence. He, I think, shed tears also. + +'You said a visitor was coming; some one, you mean, to go away with. Ah, +yes, you love him better than me.' + +'No, dear, no; but I _fear_ him; and I am sorry to leave you, little Maud.' + +'It won't be very long,' I pleaded. + +'No, dear,' he answered with a sigh. + +I was tempted almost to question him more closely on the subject, but he +seemed to divine what was in my mind, for he said-- + +'Let us speak no more of it, but only bear in mind, Maud, what I told you +about the oak cabinet, the key of which is here,' and he held it up as +formerly: 'you remember what you are to do in case Doctor Bryerly should +come while I am away?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +His manner had changed, and I had returned to my accustomed formalities. + +It was only a few days later that Dr. Bryerly actually did arrive at Knowl, +quite unexpectedly, except, I suppose, by my father. He was to stay only +one night. + +He was twice closeted in the little study up-stairs with my father, who +seemed to me, even for him, unusually dejected, and Mrs. Rusk inveighing +against 'them rubbitch,' as she always termed the Swedenborgians, told me +'they were making him quite shaky-like, and he would not last no time, if +that lanky, lean ghost of a fellow in black was to keep prowling in and out +of his room like a tame cat.' + +I lay awake that night, wondering what the mystery might be that connected +my father and Dr. Bryerly. There was something more than the convictions +of their strange religion could account for. There was something that +profoundly agitated my father. It may not be reasonable, but so it is. The +person whose presence, though we know nothing of the cause of that effect, +is palpably attended with pain to anyone who is dear to us, grows odious, +and I began to detest Doctor Bryerly. + +It was a grey, dark morning, and in a dark pass in the gallery, near the +staircase, I came full upon the ungainly Doctor, in his glossy black suit. + +I think, if my mind had been less anxiously excited on the subject of +his visit, or if I had not disliked him so much, I should not have found +courage to accost him as I did. There was something sly, I thought, in his +dark, lean face; and he looked so low, so like a Scotch artisan in his +Sunday clothes, that I felt a sudden pang of indignation, at the thought +that a great gentleman, like my father, should have suffered under his +influence, and I stopped suddenly, instead of passing him by with a mere +salutation, as he expected, 'May I ask a question, Doctor Bryerly?' + +'Certainly' + +'Are you the friend whom my father expects?' + +'I don't quite see.' + +'The friend, I mean, with whom he is to make an expedition to some +distance, I think, and for some little time?' + +'No,' said the Doctor, with a shake of his head. + +'And who is he?' + +'I really have not a notion, Miss.' + +'Why, he said that _you knew_,' I replied. + +The Doctor looked honestly puzzled. + +'Will he stay long away? pray tell me.' + +The Doctor looked into my troubled face with inquiring and darkened eyes, +like one who half reads another's meaning; and then he said a little +briskly, but not sharply-- + +'Well, _I_ don't know, I'm sure, Miss; no, indeed, you must have mistaken; +there's nothing that _I_ know.' + +There was a little pause, and he added-- + +'No. He never mentioned any friend to me.' I fancied that he was made +uncomfortable by my question, and wanted to hide the truth. Perhaps I was +partly right. + +'Oh! Doctor Bryerly, pray, _pray_ who is the friend, and where is he +going?' + +'I do _assure_ you,' he said, with a strange sort of impatience, 'I don't +know; it is all nonsense.' + +And he turned to go, looking, I think, annoyed and disconcerted. + +A terrific suspicion crossed my brain like lightning. + +'Doctor, one word,' I said, I believe, quite wildly. 'Do you--do you think +his mind is at all affected?' + +'Insane?' he said, looking at me with a sudden, sharp inquisitiveness, that +brightened into a smile. 'Pooh, pooh! Heaven forbid! not a saner man in +England.' + +Then with a little nod he walked on, carrying, as I believed, +notwithstanding his disclaimer, the secret with him. In the afternoon +Doctor Bryerly went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +_AN ADVENTURE_ + + +For many days after our quarrel, Madame hardly spoke to me. As for lessons, +I was not much troubled with them. It was plain, too, that my father had +spoken to her, for she never after that day proposed our extending our +walks beyond the precincts of Knowl. + +Knowl, however, was a very considerable territory, and it was possible +for a much better pedestrian than I to tire herself effectually, without +passing its limits. So we took occasionally long walks. + +After some weeks of sullenness, during which for days at a time she hardly +spoke to me, and seemed lost in dark and evil abstraction, she once more, +and somewhat suddenly, recovered her spirits, and grew quite friendly. Her +gaieties and friendliness were not reassuring, and in my mind presaged +approaching mischief and treachery. The days were shortening to the wintry +span. The edge of the red sun had already touched the horizon as Madame and +I, overtaken at the warren by his last beams, were hastening homeward. + +A narrow carriage-road traverses this wild region of the park, to which a +distant gate gives entrance. On descending into this unfrequented road, I +was surprised to see a carriage standing there. A thin, sly postilion, +with that pert, turned-up nose which the old caricaturist Woodward used to +attribute to the gentlemen of Tewkesbury, was leaning on his horses, and +looked hard at me as I passed. A lady who sat within looked out, with an +extra-fashionable bonnet on, and also treated us to a stare. Very pink and +white cheeks she had, very black glossy hair and bright eyes--fat, bold, +and rather cross, she looked--and in her bold way she examined us curiously +as we passed. + +I mistook the situation. It had once happened before that an intending +visitor at Knowl had entered the place by that park-road, and lost several +hours in a vain search for the house. + +'Ask him, Madame, whether they want to go to the house; I dare say they +have missed their way,' whispered I. + +'_Eh bien,_ they will find again. I do not choose to talk to post-boys; +_allons_!' + +But I asked the man as we passed, 'Do you want to reach the house?' + +By this time he was at the horses' heads, buckling the harness. + +'Noa,' he said in a surly tone, smiling oddly on the winkers, but, +recollecting his politeness, he added, 'Noa, thankee, misses, it's what +they calls a picnic; we'll be takin' the road now.' + +He was smiling now on a little buckle with which he was engaged. + +'Come--nonsense!' whispered Madame sharply in my ear, and she whisked me by +the arm, so we crossed the little stile at the other side. + +Our path lay across the warren, which undulates in little hillocks. The sun +was down by this time, blue shadows were stretching round us, colder in the +splendid contrast of the burnished sunset sky. + +Descending over these hillocks we saw three figures a little in advance of +us, not far from the path we were tracing. Two were standing smoking and +chatting at intervals: one tall and slim, with a high chimney-pot, worn a +little on one side, and a white great-coat buttoned up to the chin; the +other shorter and stouter, with a dark-coloured wrapper. These gentlemen +were facing rather our way as we came over the edge of the eminence, but +turned their backs on perceiving our approach. As they did so, I remember +so well each lowered his cigar suddenly with the simultaneousness of a +drill. The third figure sustained the picnic character of the group, for he +was repacking a hamper. He stood suddenly erect as we drew near, and a very +ill-looking person he was, low-browed, square-chinned, and with a broad, +broken nose. He wore gaiters, and was a little bandy, very broad, and had +a closely-cropped bullet head, and deep-set little eyes. The moment I saw +him, I beheld the living type of the burglars and bruisers whom I had so +often beheld with a kind of scepticism in _Punch_. He stood over his hamper +and scowled sharply at us for a moment; then with the point of his foot he +jerked a little fur cap that lay on the ground into his hand, drew it tight +over his lowering brows, and called to his companions, just as we passed +him--'Hallo! mister. How's this?' + +'All right,' said the tall person in the white great-coat, who, as he +answered, shook his shorter companion by the arm, I thought angrily. + +This shorter companion turned about. He had a muffler loose about his neck +and chin. I thought he seemed shy and irresolute, and the tall man gave him +a great jolt with his elbow, which made him stagger, and I fancied a little +angry, for he said, as it seemed, a sulky word or two. + +The gentleman in the white surtout, however, standing direct in our way, +raised his hat with a mock salutation, placing his hand on his breast, +and forthwith began to advance with an insolent grin and an air of tipsy +frolic. + +'Jist in time, ladies; five minutes more and we'd a bin off. Thankee, Mrs. +Mouser, ma'am, for the honour of the meetin', and more particular for the +pleasure of making your young lady's acquaintance--niece, ma'am? daughter, +ma'am? granddaughter, by Jove, is it? Hallo! there, mild 'n, I say, stop +packin'.' This was to the ill-favoured person with the broken nose. 'Bring +us a couple o' glasses and a bottle o' curacoa; what are you fear'd on, my +dear? this is Lord Lollipop, here, a reg'lar charmer, wouldn't hurt a fly, +hey Lolly? Isn't he pretty, Miss? and I'm Sir Simon Sugarstick--so called +after old Sir Simon, ma'am; and I'm so tall and straight, Miss, and +slim--ain't I? and ever so sweet, my honey, when you come to know me, just +like a sugarstick; ain't I, Lolly, boy?' + +'I'm Miss Ruthyn, tell them, Madame,' I said, stamping on the ground, and +very much frightened. + +'Be quaite, Maud. If you are angry, they will hurt us; leave me to speak,' +whispered the gouvernante. + +All this time they were approaching from separate points. I glanced back, +and saw the ruffianly-looking man within a yard or two, with his arm raised +and one finger up, telegraphing, as it seemed, to the gentlemen in front. + +'Be quaite, Maud,' whispered Madame, with an awful adjuration, which I do +not care to set down. 'They are teepsy; don't seem 'fraid.' + +I _was_ afraid--terrified. The circle had now so narrowed that they might +have placed their hands on my shoulders. + +'Pray, gentlemen, wat you want? _weel_ a you 'av the goodness to permit us +to go on?' + +I now observed for the first time, with a kind of shock, that the shorter +of the two men, who prevented our advance, was the person who had accosted +me so offensively at Church Scarsdale. I pulled Madame by the arm, +whispering, 'Let us run.' + +'Be quaite, my dear Maud,' was her only reply. + +'I tell you what,' said the tall man, who had replaced his high hat more +jauntily than before on the side of his head, 'We've caught you now, fair +game, and we'll let you off on conditions. You must not be frightened, +Miss. Upon my honour and soul, I mean no mischief; do I, Lollipop? I call +him Lord Lollipop; it's only chaff, though; his name's Smith. Now, Lolly, +I vote we let the prisoners go, when we just introduce them to Mrs. Smith; +she's sitting in the carriage, and keeps Mr. S. here in precious good +order, I promise you. There's easy terms for you, eh, and we'll have a +glass o' curacoa round, and so part friends. Is it a bargain? Come!' + +'Yes, Maud, we must go--wat matter?' whispered Madame vehemently. + +'You shan't,' I said, instinctively terrified. + +'You'll go with Ma'am, young 'un, won't you?' said Mr. Smith, as his +companion called him. + +Madame was holding my arm, but I snatched it from her, and would have run; +the tall man, however, placed his arms round me and held me fast with an +affectation of playfulness, but his grip was hard enough to hurt me a good +deal. Being now thoroughly frightened, after an ineffectual struggle, +during which I heard Madame say, 'You fool, Maud, weel you come with me? +see wat you are doing,' I began to scream, shriek after shriek, which the +man attempted to drown with loud hooting, peals of laughter, forcing +his handkerchief against my mouth, while Madame continued to bawl her +exhortations to 'be quaite' in my ear. + +'I'll lift her, I say!' said a gruff voice behind me. + +But at this instant, wild with terror, I distinctly heard other voices +shouting. The men who surrounded me were instantly silent, and all looked +in the direction of the sound, now very near, and I screamed with redoubled +energy. The ruffian behind me thrust his great hand over my mouth. + +'It is the gamekeeper,' cried Madame. '_Two_ gamekeepers--we are +safe--thank Heaven!' and she began to call on Dykes by name. + +I only remember, feeling myself at liberty--running a few steps--seeing +Dykes' white furious face--clinging to his arm, with which he was bringing +his gun to a level, and saying, 'Don't fire--they'll murder us if you do.' + +Madame, screaming lustily, ran up at the same moment. + +'Run on to the gate and lock it--I'll be wi' ye in a minute,' cried he to +the other gamekeeper; who started instantly on this mission, for the three +ruffians were already in full retreat for the carriage. + +Giddy--wild--fainting--still terror carried me on. + +'Now, Madame Rogers--s'pose you take young Misses on--I must run and len' +Bill a hand.' + +'No, no; you moste not,' cried Madame. 'I am fainting myself, and more +villains they may be near to us.' + +But at this moment we heard a shot, and, muttering to himself and grasping +his gun, Dykes ran at his utmost speed in the direction of the sound. + +With many exhortations to speed, and ejaculations of alarm, Madame hurried +me on toward the house, which at length we reached without further +adventure. + +As it happened, my father met us in the hall. He was perfectly transported +with fury on hearing from Madame what had happened, and set out at once, +with some of the servants, in the hope of intercepting the party at the +park-gate. + +Here was a new agitation; for my father did not return for nearly three +hours, and I could not conjecture what might be occurring during the period +of his absence. My alarm was greatly increased by the arrival in the +interval of poor Bill, the under-gamekeeper, very much injured. + +Seeing that he was determined to intercept their retreat, the three men had +set upon him, wrested his gun, which exploded in the struggle, from him, +and beat him savagely. I mention these particulars, because they convinced +everybody that there was something specially determined and ferocious in +the spirit of the party, and that the fracas was no mere frolic, but the +result of a predetermined plan. + +My father had not succeeded in overtaking them. He traced them to the +Lugton Station, where they had taken the railway, and no one could tell him +in what direction the carriage and posthorses had driven. + +Madame was, or affected to be, very much shattered by what had occurred. +Her recollection and mine, when my father questioned us closely, differed +very materially respecting many details of the _personnel_ of the +villanous party. She was obstinate and clear; and although the gamekeeper +corroborated my description of them, still my father was puzzled. Perhaps +he was not sorry that some hesitation was forced upon him, because although +at first he would have gone almost any length to detect the persons, on +reflection he was pleased that there was not evidence to bring them into +a court of justice, the publicity and annoyance of which would have been +inconceivably distressing to me. + +Madame was in a strange state--tempestuous in temper, talking +incessantly--every now and then in floods of tears, and perpetually on +her knees pouring forth torrents of thanksgiving to Heaven for our joint +deliverance from the hands of those villains. Notwithstanding our community +of danger and her thankfulness on my behalf, however, she broke forth into +wrath and railing whenever we were alone together. + +'Wat fool you were! so disobedient and obstinate; if you 'ad done wat _I_ +say, then we should av been quaite safe; those persons they were tipsy, and +there is nothing so dangerous as to quarrel with tipsy persons; I would +'av brought you quaite safe--the lady she seem so nice and quaite, and we +should 'av been safe with her--there would 'av been nothing absolutely; but +instead you would scream and pooshe, and so they grow quite wild, and all +the impertinence and violence follow of course; and that a poor Bill--all +his beating and danger to his life it is cause entairely by you.' + +And she spoke with more real virulence than that kind of upbraiding +generally exhibits. + +'The beast!' exclaimed Mrs. Rusk, when she, I, and Mary Quince were in my +room together, 'with all her crying and praying, I'd like to know as much +as she does, maybe, about them rascals. There never was sich like about the +place, long as I remember it, till she came to Knowl, old witch! with them +unmerciful big bones of hers, and her great bald head, grinning here, and +crying there, and her nose everywhere. The old French hypocrite!' + +Mary Quince threw in an observation, and I believe Mrs. Rusk rejoined, but +I heard neither. For whether the housekeeper spoke with reflection or not, +what she said affected me strangely. Through the smallest aperture, for +a moment, I had had a peep into Pandemonium. Were not peculiarities of +Madame's demeanour and advice during the adventure partly accounted for by +the suggestion? Could the proposed excursion to Church Scarsdale have had +any purpose of the same sort? What was proposed? How was Madame interested +in it? Were such immeasurable treason and hypocrisy possible? I could not +explain nor quite believe in the shapeless suspicion that with these light +and bitter words of the old housekeeper had stolen so horribly into my +mind. + +After Mrs. Rusk was gone I awoke from my dismal abstraction with something +like a moan and a shudder, with a dreadful sense of danger. + +'Oh! Mary Quince,' I cried, 'do you think she really knew?' + +'_Who_, Miss Maud?' + +'Do you think Madame knew of those dreadful people? Oh, no--say you +don't--you don't believe it--tell me she did not. I'm distracted, Mary +Quince, I'm frightened out of my life.' + +'There now, Miss Maud, dear--there now, don't take on so--why should +she?--no sich a thing. Mrs. Rusk, law bless you, she's no more meaning in +what she says than the child unborn.' + +But I was really frightened. I was in a horrible state of uncertainty as to +Madame de la Rougierre's complicity with the party who had beset us at the +warren, and afterwards so murderously beat our poor gamekeeper. How was +I ever to get rid of that horrible woman? How long was she to enjoy her +continual opportunities of affrighting and injuring me? + +'She hates me--she hates me, Mary Quince; and she will never stop until she +has done me some dreadful injury. Oh! will no one relieve me--will no one +take her away? Oh, papa, papa, papa! you will be sorry when it is too +late.' + +I was crying and wringing my hands, and turning from side to side, at my +wits' ends, and honest Mary Quince in vain endevoured to quiet and comfort +me. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +_A MIDNIGHT VISITOR_ + + +The frightful warnings of Lady Knollys haunted me too. Was there no escape +from the dreadful companion whom fate had assigned me? I made up my mind +again and again to speak to my father and urge her removal. In other things +he indulged me; here, however, he met me drily and sternly, and it was +plain that he fancied I was under my cousin Monica's influence, and also +that he had secret reasons for persisting in an opposite course. Just then +I had a gay, odd letter from Lady Knollys, from some country house in +Shropshire. Not a word about Captain Oakley. My eye skimmed its pages in +search of that charmed name. With a peevish feeling I tossed the sheet upon +the table. Inwardly I thought how ill-natured and unwomanly it was. + +After a time, however, I read it, and found the letter very good-natured. +She had received a note from papa. He had 'had the impudence to forgive +_her_ for _his_ impertinence.' But for my sake she meant, notwithstanding +this aggravation, really to pardon him; and whenever she had a disengaged +week, to accept his invitation to Knowl, from whence she was resolved to +whisk me off to London, where, though I was too young to be presented at +Court and come out, I might yet--besides having the best masters and a good +excuse for getting rid of Medusa--see a great deal that would amuse and +surprise me. + +'Great news, I suppose, from Lady Knollys?' said Madame, who always knew +who in the house received letters by the post, and by an intuition from +whom they came. + +'Two letters--you and your papa. She is quite well, I hope?' + +'Quite well, thank you, Madame.' + +Some fishing questions, dropped from time to time, fared no better. And +as usual, when she was foiled even in a trifle, she became sullen and +malignant. + +That night, when my father and I were alone, he suddenly closed the book he +had been reading, and said-- + +'I heard from Monica Knollys to-day. I always liked poor Monnie; and though +she's no witch, and very wrong-headed at times, yet now and then she does +say a thing that's worth weighing. Did she ever talk to you of a time, +Maud, when you are to be your own mistress?' + +'No,' I answered, a little puzzled, and looking straight in his rugged, +kindly face. + +'Well, I thought she might--she's a rattle, you know--always _was_ a +rattle, and that sort of people say whatever comes uppermost. But that's a +subject for me, and more than once, Maud, it has puzzled me.' + +He sighed. + +'Come with me to the study, little Maud.' + +So, he carrying a candle, we crossed the lobby, and marched together +through the passage, which at night always seemed a little awesome, darkly +wainscoted, uncheered by the cross-light from the hall, which was lost at +the turn, leading us away from the frequented parts of the house to that +misshapen and lonely room about which the traditions of the nursery and the +servants' hall had had so many fearful stories to recount. + +I think my father had intended making some disclosure to me on reaching +this room. If so, he changed his mind, or at least postponed his intention. + +He had paused before the cabinet, respecting the key of which he had given +me so strict a charge, and I think he was going to explain himself more +fully than he had done. But he went on, instead, to the table where his +desk, always jealously locked, was placed, and having lighted the candles +which stood by it, he glanced at me, and said-- + +'You must wait a little, Maud; I shall have something to say to you. Take +this candle and amuse yourself with a book meanwhile.' + +I was accustomed to obey in silence. I chose a volume of engravings, +and ensconced myself in a favourite nook in which I had often passed a +half-hour similarly. This was a deep recess by the fireplace, fenced on the +other side by a great old escritoir. Into this I drew a stool, and, with +candle and book, I placed myself snugly in the narrow chamber. Every now +and then I raised my eyes and saw my father either writing or ruminating, +as it seemed to me, very anxiously at his desk. + +Time wore on--a longer time than he had intended, and still he continued +absorbed at his desk. Gradually I grew sleepy, and as I nodded, the book +and room faded away, and pleasant little dreams began to gather round me, +and so I went off into a deep slumber. + +It must have lasted long, for when I wakened my candle had burnt out; my +father, having quite forgotten me, was gone, and the room was dark and +deserted. I felt cold and a little stiff, and for some seconds did not know +where I was. + +I had been wakened, I suppose, by a sound which I now distinctly heard, to +my great terror, approaching. There was a rustling; there was a breathing. +I heard a creaking upon the plank that always creaked when walked upon in +the passage. I held my breath and listened, and coiled myself up in the +innermost recess of my little chamber. + +Sudden and sharp, a light shone in from the nearly-closed study door. It +shone angularly on the ceiling like a letter L reversed. There was a pause. +Then some one knocked softly at the door, which after another pause was +slowly pushed open. I expected, I think, to see the dreaded figure of +the linkman. I was scarcely less frightened to see that of Madame de la +Rougierre. She was dressed in a sort of grey silk, which she called her +Chinese silk--precisely as she had been in the daytime. In fact, I do not +think she had undressed. She had no shoes on. Otherwise her toilet was +deficient in nothing. Her wide mouth was grimly closed, and she stood +scowling into the room with a searching and pallid scrutiny, the candle +held high above her head at the full stretch of her arm. + +Placed as I was in a deep recess, and in a seat hardly raised above the +level of the floor, I escaped her, although it seemed to me for some +seconds, as I gazed on this spectre, that our eyes actually met. + +I sat without breathing or winking, staring upon the formidable image which +with upstretched arm, and the sharp lights and hard shadows thrown upon her +corrugated features, looked like a sorceress watching for the effect of a +spell. + +She was plainly listening intensely. Unconsciously she had drawn her lower +lip altogether between her teeth, and I well remember what a deathlike and +idiotic look the contortion gave her. My terror lest she should discover me +amounted to positive agony. She rolled her eyes stealthily from corner to +corner of the room, and listened with her neck awry at the door. + +Then to my father's desk she went. To my great relief, her back was towards +me. She stooped over it, with the candle close by; I saw her try a key--it +could be nothing else--and I heard her blow through the wards to clear +them. + +Then, again, she listened at the door, candle in hand, and then with long +tiptoe steps came back, and papa's desk in another moment was open, and +Madame cautiously turning over the papers it contained. + +Twice or thrice she paused, glided to the door, and listened again intently +with her head near the ground, and then returned and continued her search, +peeping into papers one after another, tolerably methodically, and reading +some quite through. + +While this felonious business was going on, I was freezing with fear lest +she should accidentally look round and her eyes light on me; for I could +not say what she might not do rather than have her crime discovered. + +Sometimes she would read a paper twice over; sometimes a whisper no louder +than the ticking of a watch, sometimes a brief chuckle under her breath, +bespoke the interest with which here and there a letter or a memorandum was +read. + +For about half an hour, I think, this went on; but at the time it seemed to +me all but interminable. On a sudden she raised her head and listened for a +moment, replaced the papers deftly, closed the desk without noise, except +for the tiny click of the lock, extinguished the candle, and rustled +stealthily out of the room, leaving in the darkness the malign and hag-like +face on which the candle had just shone still floating filmy in the dark. + +Why did I remain silent and motionless while such an outrage was being +committed? If, instead of being a very nervous girl, preoccupied with +an undefinable terror of that wicked woman, I had possessed courage and +presence of mind, I dare say I might have given an alarm, and escaped from +the room without the slightest risk. But so it was; I could no more stir +than the bird who, cowering under its ivy, sees the white owl sailing back +and forward under its predatory cruise. + +Not only during her presence, but for more than an hour after, I remained +cowering in my hiding-place, and afraid to stir, lest she might either be +lurking in the neighborhood, or return and surprise me. + +You will not be astonished, that after a night so passed I was ill and +feverish in the morning. To my horror, Madame de la Rougierre came to visit +me at my bedside. Not a trace of guilty consciousness of what had passed +during the night was legible in her face. She had no sign of late watching, +and her toilet was exemplary. + +As she sat smiling by me, full of anxious and affectionate enquiry, +and smoothed the coverlet with her great felonious hand, I could quite +comprehend the dreadful feeling with which the deceived husband in the +'Arabian Nights' met his ghoul wife, after his nocturnal discovery. + +Ill as I was, I got up and found my father in that room which adjoined his +bedchamber. He perceived, I am sure, by my looks, that something unusual +had happened. I shut the door, and came close beside his chair. + +'Oh, papa, I have such a thing to tell you!' I forgot to call him 'Sir.' 'A +secret; and you won't say who told you? Will you come down to the study?' + +He looked hard at me, got up, and kissing my forehead, said--'Don't be +frightened, Maud; I venture to say it is a mare's nest; at all events, my +child, we will take care that no danger reaches you; come, child.' + +And by the hand he led me to the study. When the door was shut, and we had +reached the far end of the room next the window, I said, but in a low tone, +and holding his arm fast-- + +'Oh, sir, you don't know what a dreadful person we have living with +us--Madame de la Rougierre, I mean. Don't let her in if she comes; she +would guess what I am telling you, and one way or another I am sure she +would kill me.' + +'Tut, tut, child. You _must_ know that's nonsense,' he said, looking pale +and stern. + +'Oh no, papa. I am horribly frightened, and Lady Knollys thinks so too.' + +'Ha! I dare say; one fool makes many. We all know what Monica thinks.' + +'But I _saw_ it, papa. She stole your key last night, and opened your desk, +and read all your papers.' + +'Stole my key!' said my father, staring at me perplexed, but at the same +instant producing it. 'Stole it! Why here it is!' + +'She unlocked your desk; she read your papers for ever so long. Open it +now, and see whether they have not been stirred.' + +He looked at me this time in silence, with a puzzled air; but he did unlock +the desk, and lifted the papers curiously and suspiciously. As he did so +he uttered a few of those inarticulate interjections which are made with +closed lips, and not always intelligible; but he made no remark. + +Then he placed me on a chair beside him, and sitting down himself, told +me to recollect myself, and tell him distinctly all I had seen. This +accordingly I did, he listening with deep attention. + +'Did she remove any paper?' asked my father, at the same time making a +little search, I suppose, for that which he fancied might have been stolen. + +'No; I did not see her take anything.' + +'Well, you are a good girl, Maud. Act discreetly. Say nothing to +anyone--not even to your cousin Monica.' + +Directions which, coming from another person would have had no great +weight, were spoken by my father with an earnest look and a weight of +emphasis that made them irresistibly impressive, and I went away with the +seal of silence upon my lips. + +'Sit down, Maud, _there_. You have not been very happy with Madame de la +Rougierre. It is time you were relieved. This occurrence decides it.' + +He rang the bell. + +'Tell Madame de la Rougierre that I request the honour of seeing her for a +few minutes here.' + +My father's communications to her were always equally ceremonious. In a +few minutes there was a knock at the door, and the same figure, smiling, +courtesying, that had scared me on the threshold last night, like the +spirit of evil, presented itself. + +My father rose, and Madame having at his request taken a chair opposite, +looking, as usual in his presence, all amiability, he proceeded at once to +the point. + +'Madame de la Rougierre, I have to request you that you will give me the +key now in your possession, which unlocks this desk of mine.' + +With which termination he tapped his gold pencil-case suddenly on it. + +Madame, who had expected something very different, became instantly so +pale, with a dull purplish hue upon her forehead, that, especially when she +had twice essayed with her white lips, in vain, to answer, I expected to +see her fall in a fit. + +She was not looking in his face; her eyes were fixed lower, and her mouth +and cheek sucked in, with a strange distortion at one side. + +She stood up suddenly, and staring straight in his face, she succeeded in +saying, after twice clearing her throat-- + +'I cannot comprehend, Monsieur Ruthyn, unless you intend to insult me.' + +'It won't do, Madame; I must have that false key. I give you the +opportunity of surrendering it quietly here and now.' + +'But who dares to say I possess such thing?' demanded Madame, who, having +rallied from her momentary paralysis, was now fierce and voluble as I had +often seen her before. + +'You know, Madame, that you can rely on what I say, and I tell you that you +were seen last night visiting this room, and with a key in your possession, +opening this desk, and reading my letters and papers contained in it. +Unless you forthwith give me that key, and any other false keys in your +possession--in which case I shall rest content with dismissing you +summarily--I will take a different course. You know I am a magistrate;--and +I shall have you, your boxes, and places up-stairs, searched forthwith, +and I will prosecute you criminally. The thing is clear; you aggravate by +denying; you must give me that key, if you please, instantly, otherwise I +ring this bell, and you shall see that I mean what I say.' + +There was a little pause. He rose and extended his hand towards the +bell-rope. Madame glided round the table, extended her hand to arrest his. + +'I will do everything, Monsieur Ruthyn--whatever you wish.' + +And with these words Madame de la Rougierre broke down altogether. She +sobbed, she wept, she gabbled piteously, all manner of incomprehensible +roulades of lamentation and entreaty; coyly, penitently, in a most +interesting agitation, she produced the very key from her breast, with a +string tied to it. My father was little moved by this piteous tempest. He +coolly took the key and tried it in the desk, which it locked and unlocked +quite freely, though the wards were complicated. He shook his head and +looked her in the face. + +'Pray, who made this key? It is a new one, and made expressly to pick this +lock.' + +But Madame was not going to tell any more than she had expressly bargained +for; so she only fell once more into her old paroxysm of sorrow, +self-reproach, extenuation, and entreaty. + +'Well,' said my father,' I promised that on surrendering the key you should +go. It is enough. I keep my word. You shall have an hour and a half to +prepare in. You must then be ready to depart. I will send your money to you +by Mrs. Rusk; and if you look for another situation, you had better not +refer to me. Now be so good as to leave me.' + +Madame seemed to be in a strange perplexity. She bridled up, dried her eyes +fiercely, and dropped a great courtesy, and then sailed away towards the +door. Before reaching it she stopped on the way, turning half round, with +a peaked, pallid glance at my father, and she bit her lip viciously as she +eyed him. At the door the same repulsive pantomime was repeated, as she +stood for a moment with her hand upon the handle. But she changed her +bearing again with a sniff, and with a look of scorn, almost heightened to +a sneer, she made another very low courtesy and a disdainful toss of her +head, and so disappeared, shutting the door rather sharply behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +_AU REVOIR_ + + +Mrs. Rusk was fond of assuring me that Madame 'did not like a bone in my +skin.' Instinctively I knew that she bore me no good-will, although I +really believe it was her wish to make me think quite the reverse. At all +events I had no desire to see Madame again before her departure, especially +as she had thrown upon me one momentary glance in the study, which seemed +to me charged with very peculiar feelings. + +You may be very sure, therefore, that I had no desire for a formal +leave-taking at her departure. I took my hat and cloak, therefore, and +stole out quietly. + +My ramble was a sequestered one, and well screened, even at this late +season, with foliage; the pathway devious among the stems of old trees, and +its flooring interlaced and groined with their knotted roots. Though near +the house, it was a sylvan solitude; a little brook ran darkling and +glimmering through it, wild strawberries and other woodland plants strewed +the ground, and the sweet notes and flutter of small birds made the shadow +of the boughs cheery. + +I had been fully an hour in this picturesque solitude when I heard in the +distance the ring of carriage-wheels, announcing to me that Madame de la +Rougierre had fairly set out upon her travels. I thanked heaven; I could +have danced and sung with delight; I heaved a great sigh and looked up +through the branches to the clear blue sky. + +But things are oddly timed. Just at this moment I heard Madame's voice +close at my ear, and her large bony hand was laid on my shoulder. We were +instantly face to face--I recoiling, and for a moment speechless with +fright. + +In very early youth we do not appreciate the restraints which act upon +malignity, or know how effectually fear protects us where conscience is +wanting. Quite alone, in this solitary spot, detected and overtaken with an +awful instinct by my enemy, what might not be about to happen to me at that +moment? + +'Frightened as usual, Maud,' she said quietly, and eyeing me with a +sinister smile, 'and with cause you think, no doubt. Wat 'av you done to +injure poor Madame? Well, I think I know, little girl, and have quite +discover the cleverness of my sweet little Maud. Eh--is not so? Petite +carogne--ah, ha, ha!' + +I was too much confounded to answer. + +'You see, my dear cheaile,' she said, shaking her uplifted finger with a +hideous archness at me, 'you could not hide what you 'av done from poor +Madame. You cannot look so innocent but I can see your pretty little +villany quite plain--you dear little diablesse. + +'Wat I 'av done I 'av no reproach of myself for it. If I could explain, +your papa would say I 'av done right, and you should thank me on your +knees; but I cannot explain yet.' + +She was speaking, as it were, in little paragraphs, with a momentary pause +between each, to allow its meaning to impress itself. + +'If I were to choose to explain, your papa he would implore me to remain. +But no--I would not--notwithstanding your so cheerful house, your charming +servants, your papa's amusing society, and your affectionate and sincere +heart, my sweet little maraude. + +'I am to go to London first, where I 'av, oh, so good friends! next I will +go abroad for some time; but be sure, my sweetest Maud, wherever I may +'appen to be, I will remember you--ah, ha! Yes; _most certainly_, I will +remember you. + +'And although I shall not be always near, yet I shall know everything +about my charming little Maud; you will not know how, but I shall indeed, +_everything_. And be sure, my dearest cheaile, I will some time be able to +give you the sensible proofs of my gratitude and affection--you understand. + +'The carriage is waiting at the yew-tree stile, and I must go on. You did +not expect to see me--here; I will appear, perhaps, as suddenly another +time. It is great pleasure to us both--this opportunity to make our adieux. +Farewell! my dearest little Maud. I will never cease to think of you, and +of some way to recompense the kindness you 'av shown for poor Madame.' + +My hand hung by my side, and she took, not it, but my thumb, and shook +it, folded in her broad palm, and looking on me as she held it, as if +meditating mischief. Then suddenly she said-- + +'You will always remember Madame, I _think_, and I will remind you of me +beside; and for the present farewell, and I hope you may be as 'appy as you +deserve.' + +The large sinister face looked on me for a second with its latent sneer, +and then, with a sharp nod and a spasmodic shake of my imprisoned thumb, +she turned, and holding her dress together, and showing her great bony +ankles, she strode rapidly away over the gnarled roots into the perspective +of the trees, and I did not awake, as it were, until she had quite +disappeared in the distance. + +Events of this kind made no difference with my father; but every other face +in Knowl was gladdened by the removal. My energies had returned, my spirits +were come again. The sunlight was happy, the flowers innocent, the songs +and flutter of the birds once more gay, and all nature delightful and +rejoicing. + +After the first elation of relief, now and then a filmy shadow of Madame de +la Rougierre would glide across the sunlight, and the remembrance of her +menace return with an unexpected pang of fear. + +'Well, if _there_ isn't impittens!' cried Mrs. Rusk. 'But never you trouble +your head about it, Miss. Them sort's all alike--you never saw a rogue yet +that was found out and didn't threaten the honest folk as he was leaving +behind with all sorts; there was Martin the gamekeeper, and Jervis the +footman, I mind well how hard they swore all they would not do when they +was a-going, and who ever heard of them since? They always threatens that +way--them sort always does, and none ever the worse--not but she would if +she could, mind ye, but there it is; she can't do nothing but bite her +nails and cuss us--not she--ha, ha, ha!' + +So I was comforted. But Madame's evil smile, nevertheless, from time to +time, would sail across my vision with a silent menace, and my spirits +sank, and a Fate, draped in black, whose face I could not see, took me by +the hand, and led me away, in the spirit, silently, on an awful exploration +from which I would rouse myself with a start, and Madame was gone for a +while. + +She had, however, judged her little parting well. She contrived to leave +her glamour over me, and in my dreams she troubled me. + +I was, however, indescribably relieved. I wrote in high spirits to Cousin +Monica; and wondered what plans my father might have formed about me, and +whether we were to stay at home, or go to London, or go abroad. Of the +last--the pleasantest arrangement, in some respects--I had nevertheless an +occult horror. A secret conviction haunted me that were we to go abroad, we +should there meet Madame, which to me was like meeting my evil genius. + +I have said more than once that my father was an odd man; and the reader +will, by this time, have seen that there was much about him not easily +understood. I often wonder whether, if he had been franker, I should have +found him less odd than I supposed, or more odd still. Things that moved me +profoundly did not apparently affect him at all. The departure of Madame, +under the circumstances which attended it, appeared to my childish mind an +event of the vastest importance. No one was indifferent to the occurrence +in the house but its master. He never alluded again to Madame de la +Rougierre. But whether connected with her exposure and dismissal, I could +not say, there did appear to be some new care or trouble now at work in my +father's mind. + +'I have been thinking a great deal about you, Maud. I am anxious. I have +not been so troubled for years. Why has not Monica Knollys a little more +sense?' + +This oracular sentence he spoke, having stopped me in the hall; and then +saying, 'We shall see,' he left me as abruptly as he appeared. + +Did he apprehend any danger to me from the vindictiveness of Madame? + +A day or two afterwards, as I was in the Dutch garden, I saw him on the +terrace steps. He beckoned to me, and came to meet me as I approached. + +'You must be very solitary, little Maud; it is not good. I have written to +Monica: in a matter of detail she is competent to advise; perhaps she will +come here for a short visit.' + +I was very glad to hear this. + +'_You_ are more interested than for my time _I_ can be, in vindicating his +character.' + +'Whose character, sir?' I ventured to enquire during the pause that +followed. + +One trick which my father had acquired from his habits of solitude and +silence was this of assuming that the context of his thoughts was legible +to others, forgetting that they had not been spoken. + +'Whose?--your uncle Silas's. In the course of nature he must survive me. He +will then represent the family name. Would you make some sacrifice to clear +that name, Maud?' + +I answered briefly; but my face, I believe, showed my enthusiasm. + +He turned on me such an approving smile as you might fancy lighting up the +rugged features of a pale old Rembrandt. + +'I can tell you, Maud; if my life could have done it, it should not have +been undone--_ubi lapsus, quid feci_. But I had almost made up my mind to +change my plan, and leave all to time--_edax rerum_--to illuminate or +to _consume_. But I think little Maud would like to contribute to the +restitution of her family name. It may cost you something--are you willing +to buy it at a sacrifice? Is there--I don't speak of fortune, that is not +involved--but is there any other honourable sacrifice you would shrink from +to dispel the disgrace under which our most ancient and honourable name +must otherwise continue to languish?' + +'Oh, none--none indeed, sir--I am delighted!' + +Again I saw the Rembrandt smile. + +'Well, Maud, I am sure there is _no_ risk; but you are to suppose there is. +Are you still willing to accept it?' + +Again I assented. + +'You are worthy of your blood, Maud Ruthyn. It will come soon, and it won't +last long. But you must not let people like Monica Knollys frighten you.' + +I was lost in wonder. + +'If you allow them to possess you with their follies, you had better recede +in time--they may make the ordeal as terrible as hell itself. You have +zeal--have you nerve?' I thought in such a cause I had nerve for anything. + +'Well, Maud, in the course of a few months--and it may be sooner--there +must be a change. I have had a letter from London this morning that assures +me of that. I must then leave you for a time; in my absence be faithful to +the duties that will arise. To whom much is committed, of him will much be +required. You shall promise me not to mention this conversation to Monica +Knollys. If you are a talking girl, and cannot trust yourself, say so, and +we will not ask her to come. Also, don't invite her to talk about your +uncle Silas--I have reasons. Do you quite understand my conditions?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Your uncle Silas,' he said, speaking suddenly in loud and fierce tones +that sounded from so old a man almost terrible, 'lies under an intolerable +slander. I don't correspond with him; I don't sympathise with him; I never +quite did. He has grown religious, and that's well; but there are things in +which even religion should not bring a man to acquiesce; and from what +I can learn, he, the person primarily affected--the cause, though the +innocent cause--of this great calamity--bears it with an easy apathy which +is mistaken, and liable easily to be mistaken, and such as no Ruthyn, under +the circumstances, ought to exhibit. I told him what he ought to do, and +offered to open my purse for the purpose; but he would not, or _did_ not; +indeed, he _never_ took my advice; he followed his own, and a foul and +dismal shoal he has drifted on. It is not for his sake--why should I?-that +I have longed and laboured to remove the disgraceful slur under which +his ill-fortune has thrown us. He troubles himself little about it, I +believe--he's meek, meeker than I. He cares less about his children than I +about you, Maud; he is selfishly sunk in futurity--a feeble visionary. I am +not so. I believe it to be a duty to take care of others beside myself. The +character and influence of an ancient family is a peculiar heritage--sacred +but destructible; and woe to him who either destroys or suffers it to +perish!' + +This was the longest speech I ever heard my father speak before or after. +He abruptly resumed-- + +'Yes, we will, Maud--you and I--we'll leave one proof on record, which, +fairly read, will go far to convince the world.' + +He looked round, but we were alone. The garden was nearly always solitary, +and few visitors ever approached the house from that side. + +'I have talked too long, I believe; we are children to the last. Leave me, +Maud. I think I know you better than I did, and I am pleased with you. Go, +child--I'll sit here.' + +If he had acquired new ideas of me, so had I of him from that interview. I +had no idea till then how much passion still burned in that aged frame, nor +how full of energy and fire that face, generally so stern and ashen, could +appear. As I left him seated on the rustic chair, by the steps, the traces +of that storm were still discernible on his features. His gathered brows, +glowing eyes, and strangely hectic face, and the grim compression of his +mouth, still showed the agitation which, somehow, in grey old age, shocks +and alarms the young. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +_AUSTIN RUTHYN SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEY_ + + +The Rev. William Fairfield, Doctor Clay's somewhat bald curate, a mild, +thin man, with a high and thin nose, who was preparing me for confirmation, +came next day; and when our catechetical conference was ended, and before +lunch was announced, my father sent for him to the study, where he remained +until the bell rang out its summons. + +'We have had some interesting--I may say _very_ interesting--conversation, +your papa and I, Miss Ruthyn,' said my reverend _vis-a-vis_, so soon as +nature was refreshed, smiling and shining, as he leaned back in his chair, +his hand upon the table, and his finger curled gently upon the stem of his +wine-glass. 'It never was your privilege, I believe, to see your uncle, Mr. +Silas Ruthyn, of Bartram-Haugh?' + +'No--never; he leads so retired--so _very_ retired a life.' + +'Oh, no,--of course, no; but I was going to remark a likeness--I mean, +of course, a _family_ likeness--only _that_ sort of thing--you +understand--between him and the profile of Lady Margaret in the +drawing-room--is not it Lady Margaret?--which you were so good as to show +me on Wednesday last. There certainly _is_ a likeness. I _think_ you would +agree with me, if you had the pleasure of seeing your uncle.' + +'You know him, then? I have never seen him.' + +'Oh dear, yes--I am happy to say, I know him very well. I have that +privilege. I was for three years curate of Feltram, and I had the honour of +being a pretty constant visitor at Bartram-Haugh during that, I may say, +protracted period; and I think it really never has been my privilege and +happiness, I may say, to enjoy the acquaintance and society of so very +experienced a Christian, as my admirable friend, I may call him, Mr. +Ruthyn, of Bartram-Haugh. I look upon him, I do assure you, quite in the +light of a saint; not, of course, in the Popish sense, but in the very +highest, you will understand me, which _our_ Church allows,--a man built up +in faith--full of faith--faith and grace--altogether exemplary; and I +often ventured to regret, Miss Ruthyn, that Providence in its mysterious +dispensations should have placed him so far apart from his brother, your +respected father. His influence and opportunities would, no doubt, we may +venture to hope, at least have been blessed; and, perhaps, we--my valued +rector and I--might possibly have seen more of him at church, than, I +deeply regret, we _have_ done.' He shook his head a little, as he smiled +with a sad complacency on me through his blue steel spectacles, and then +sipped a little meditative sherry. + +'And you saw a good deal of my uncle?' + +'Well, a _good_ deal, Miss Ruthyn--I may say a _good_ deal--principally at +his own house. His health is wretched--miserable health--a sadly afflicted +man he has been, as, no doubt, you are aware. But afflictions, my dear Miss +Ruthyn, as you remember Doctor Clay so well remarked on Sunday last, though +birds of ill omen, yet spiritually resemble the ravens who supplied the +prophet; and when they visit the faithful, come charged with nourishment +for the soul. + +'He is a good deal embarrassed pecuniarily, I should say,' continued the +curate, who was rather a good man than a very well-bred one. 'He found a +difficulty--in fact it was not in his power--to subscribe generally to our +little funds, and--and objects, and I used to say to him, and I really felt +it, that it was more gratifying, such were his feeling and his power of +expression, to be refused by him than assisted by others.' + +'Did papa wish you to speak to me about my uncle?' I enquired, as a sudden +thought struck me; and then I felt half ashamed of my question. + +He looked surprised. + +'No, Miss Ruthyn, certainly not. Oh dear, no. It was merely a conversation +between Mr. Ruthyn and me. He never suggested my opening that, or indeed +any other point in my interview with you, Miss Ruthyn--not the least.' + +'I was not aware before that Uncle Silas was so religious.' + +He smiled tranquilly, not quite up to the ceiling, but gently upward, and +shook his head in pity for my previous ignorance, as he lowered his eyes-- + +'I don't say that there may not be some little matters in a few points of +doctrine which we could, perhaps, wish otherwise. But these, you know, +are speculative, and in all essentials he is Church--not in the perverted +modern sense; far from it--unexceptionably Church, strictly so. Would there +were more among us of the same mind that is in him! Ay, Miss Ruthyn, even +in the highest places of the Church herself.' + +The Rev. William Fairfield, while fighting against the Dissenters with his +right hand, was, with his left, hotly engaged with the Tractarians. A good +man I am sure he was, and I dare say sound in doctrine, though naturally, I +think, not very wise. This conversation with him gave me new ideas about my +uncle Silas. It quite agreed with what my father had said. These principles +and his increasing years would necessarily quiet the turbulence of his +resistance to injustice, and teach him to acquiesce in his fate. + +You would have fancied that one so young as I, born to wealth so vast, and +living a life of such entire seclusion, would have been exempt from care. +But you have seen how troubled my life was with fear and anxiety during the +residence of Madame de la Rougierre, and now there rested upon my mind a +vague and awful anticipation of the trial which my father had announced, +without defining it. + +An 'ordeal' he called it, requiring not only zeal but nerve, which might +possibly, were my courage to fail, become frightful, and even intolerable. +What, and of what nature, could it be? Not designed to vindicate the fair +fame of the meek and submissive old man--who, it seemed, had ceased to care +for his bygone wrongs, and was looking to futurity--but the reputation of +our ancient family. + +Sometimes I repented my temerity in having undertaken it. I distrusted my +courage. Had I not better retreat, while it was yet time? But there was +shame and even difficulty in the thought. How should I appear before my +father? Was it not important--had I not deliberately undertaken it--and was +I not bound in conscience? Perhaps he had already taken steps in the matter +which committed _him_. Besides, was I sure that, even were I free again, I +would not once more devote myself to the trial, be it what it might? +You perceive I had more spirit than courage. I think I had the mental +attributes of courage; but then I was but a hysterical girl, and in so far +neither more nor less than a coward. + +No wonder I distrusted myself; no wonder also my will stood out against +my timidity. It was a struggle, then; a proud, wild resolve against +constitutional cowardice. + +Those who have ever had cast upon them more than their strength +seemed framed to bear--the weak, the aspiring, the adventurous and +self-sacrificing in will, and the faltering in nerve--will understand the +kind of agony which I sometimes endured. + +But, again, consolation would come, and it seemed to me that I must be +exaggerating my risk in the coming crisis; and certain at least, if my +father believed it attended with real peril, he would never have wished +to see me involved in it. But the silence under which I was bound was +terrifying--double so when the danger was so shapeless and undivulged. + +I was soon to understand it all--soon, too, to know all about my father's +impending journey, whither, with what visitor, and why guarded from me with +so awful a mystery. + +That day there came a lively and goodnatured letter from Lady Knollys. She +was to arrive at Knowl in two or three days' time. I thought my father +would have been pleased, but he seemed apathetic and dejected. + +'One does not always feel quite equal to Monica. But for you--yes, thank +God. I wish she could only stay, Maud, for a month or two; I may be going +then, and would be glad--provided she talks about suitable things--very +glad, Maud, to leave her with you for a week or so.' + +There was something, I thought, agitating my father secretly that day. He +had the strange hectic flush I had observed when he grew excited in our +interview in the garden about Uncle Silas. There was something painful, +perhaps even terrible, in the circumstances of the journey he was about +to make, and from my heart I wished the suspense were over, the annoyance +past, and he returned. + +That night my father bid me good-night early and went upstairs. After I +had been in bed some little time, I heard his hand-bell ring. This was not +usual. Shortly after I heard his man, Ridley, talking with Mrs. Rusk in +the gallery. I could not be mistaken in their voices. I knew not why I was +startled and excited, and had raised myself to listen on my elbow. But they +were talking quietly, like persons giving or taking an ordinary direction, +and not in the haste of an unusual emergency. + +Then I heard the man bid Mrs. Rusk good-night and walk down the gallery +to the stairs, so that I concluded he was wanted no more, and all must +therefore be well. So I laid myself down again, though with a throbbing at +my heart, and an ominous feeling of expectation, listening and fancying +footsteps. + +I was going to sleep when I heard the bell ring again; and, in a few +minutes, Mrs. Rusk's energetic step passed along the gallery; and, +listening intently, I heard, or fancied, my father's voice and hers in +dialogue. All this was very unusual, and again I was, with a beating heart, +leaning with my elbow on my pillow. + +Mrs. Rusk came along the gallery in a minute or so after, and stopping at +my door, began to open it gently. I was startled, and challenged my visitor +with-- + +'Who's there?' + +'It's only Rusk, Miss. Dearie me! and are you awake still?' + +'Is papa ill?' + +'Ill! not a bit ill, thank God. Only there's a little black book as I took +for your prayer-book, and brought in here; ay, here it is, sure enough, and +he wants it. And then I must go down to the study, and look out this one, +"C, 15;" but I can't read the name, noways; and I was afraid to ask him +again; if you be so kind to read it, Miss--I suspeck my eyes is a-going.' + +I read the name; and Mrs. Rusk was tolerably expert at finding out books, +as she had often been employed in that way before. So she departed. + +I suppose that this particular volume was hard to find, for she must have +been a long time away, and I had actually fallen into a doze when I was +roused in an instant by a dreadful crash and a piercing scream from Mrs. +Rusk. Scream followed scream, wilder and more terror-stricken. I shrieked +to Mary Quince, who was sleeping in the room with me:--'Mary, do you hear? +what is it? It is something dreadful.' + +The crash was so tremendous that the solid flooring even of my room +trembled under it, and to me it seemed as if some heavy man had burst +through the top of the window, and shook the whole house with his descent. +I found myself standing at my own door, crying, 'Help, help! murder! +murder!' and Mary Quince, frightened half out of her wits, by my side. + +I could not think what was going on. It was plainly something most +horrible, for Mrs. Rusk's screams pealed one after the other unabated, +though with a muffled sound, as if the door was shut upon her; and by this +time the bells of my father's room were ringing madly. + +'They are trying to murder him!' I cried, and I ran along the gallery to +his door, followed by Mary Quince, whose white face I shall never forget, +though her entreaties only sounded like unmeaning noises in my ears. + +'Here! help, help, help!' I cried, trying to force open the door. + +'Shove it, shove it, for God's sake! he's across it,' cried Mrs. Rusk's +voice from within; 'drive it in. I can't move him.' + +I strained all I could at the door, but ineffectually. We heard steps +approaching. The men were running to the spot, and shouting as they did +so-- + +'Never mind; hold on a bit; here we are; all right;' and the like. + +We drew back, as they came up. We were in no condition to be seen. We +listened, however, at my open door. + +Then came the straining and bumping at the door. Mrs. Rusk's voice subsided +to a sort of wailing; the men were talking all together, and I suppose the +door opened, for I heard some of the voices, on a sudden, as if in the +room; and then came a strange lull, and talking in very low tones, and not +much even of that. + +'What is it, Mary? what _can_ it be?' I ejaculated, not knowing what horror +to suppose. And now, with a counterpane about my shoulders, I called loudly +and imploringly, in my horror, to know what had happened. + +But I heard only the subdued and eager talk of men engaged in some +absorbing task, and the dull sounds of some heavy body being moved. + +Mrs. Rusk came towards us looking half wild, and pale as a spectre, and +putting her thin hands to my shoulders, she said--'Now, Miss Maud, darling, +you must go back again; 'tisn't no place for you; you'll see all, my +darling, time enough--you will. There now, there, like a dear, do get into +your room.' + +What was that dreadful sound? Who had entered my father's chamber? It was +the visitor whom we had so long expected, with whom he was to make the +unknown journey, leaving me alone. The intruder was Death! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +_ARRIVALS_ + + +My father was dead--as suddenly as if he had been murdered. One of those +fearful aneurisms that lie close to the heart, showing no outward sign of +giving way in a moment, had been detected a good time since by Dr. Bryerly. +My father knew what must happen, and that it could not be long deferred. +He feared to tell me that he was soon to die. He hinted it only in the +allegory of his journey, and left in that sad enigma some words of true +consolation that remained with me ever after. Under his rugged ways was +hidden a wonderful tenderness. I could not believe that he was actually +dead. Most people for a minute or two, in the wild tumult of such a shock, +have experienced the same skepticism. I insisted that the doctor should be +instantly sent for from the village. + +'Well, Miss Maud, dear, I _will_ send to please you, but it is all to no +use. If only you saw him yourself you'd know that. Mary Quince, run you +down and tell Thomas, Miss Maud desires he'll go down this minute to the +village for Dr. Elweys.' + +Every minute of the interval seemed to me like an hour. I don't know what +I said, but I fancied that if he were not already dead, he would lose his +life by the delay. I suppose I was speaking very wildly, for Mrs. Rusk +said-- + +'My dear child, you ought to come in and see him; indeed but you should, +Miss Maud. He's quite dead an hour ago. You'd wonder all the blood that's +come from him--you would indeed; it's soaked through the bed already.' + +'Oh, don't, don't, _don't_, Mrs. Rusk.' + +'Will you come in and see him, just? + +'Oh, no, no, no, no!' + +'Well, then, my dear, don't of course, if you don't like; there's no need. +Would not you like to lie down, Miss Maud? Mary Quince, attend to her. I +must go into the room for a minute or two.' + +I was walking up and down the room in distraction. It was a cool night; but +I did not feel it. I could only cry:--'Oh, Mary, Mary! what shall I do? Oh, +Mary Quince! what shall I do?' + +It seemed to me it must be near daylight by the time the Doctor arrived. I +had dressed myself. I dared not go into the room where my beloved father +lay. + +I had gone out of my room to the gallery, where I awaited Dr. Elweys, when +I saw him walking briskly after the servant, his coat buttoned up to his +chin, his hat in his hand, and his bald head shining. I felt myself grow +cold as ice, and colder and colder, and with a sudden sten my heart seemed +to stand still. + +I heard him ask the maid who stood at the door, in that low, decisive, +mysterious tone which doctors cultivate-- + +'In _here_?' + +And then, with a nod, I saw him enter. + +'Would not you like to see the Doctor, Miss Maud?' asked Mary Quince. + +The question roused me a little. + +'Thank you, Mary; yes, I must see him.' + +And so, in a few minutes, I did. He was very respectful, very sad, +semi-undertakerlike, in air and countenance, but quite explicit. I heard +that my dear father 'had died palpably from the rupture of some great +vessel near the heart.' The disease had, no doubt, been 'long established, +and is in its nature incurable.' It is 'consolatory in these cases that in +the act of dissolution, which is instantaneous, there can be no suffering.' +These, and a few more remarks, were all he had to offer; and having had his +fee from Mrs. Rusk, he, with a respectful melancholy, vanished. + +I returned to my room, and broke into paroxysms of grief, and after an hour +or more grew more tranquil. + +From Mrs. Rusk I learned that he had seemed very well--better than usual, +indeed--that night, and that on her return from the study with the book +he required, he was noting down, after his wont, some passages which +illustrated the text on which he was employing himself. He took the book, +detaining her in the room, and then mounting on a chair to take down +another book from a shelf, he had fallen, with the dreadful crash I had +heard, dead upon the floor. He fell across the door, which caused the +difficulty in opening it. Mrs. Rusk found she had not strength to force it +open. No wonder she had given way to terror. I think I should have almost +lost my reason. + +Everyone knows the reserved aspect and the taciturn mood of the house, one +of whose rooms is tenanted by that mysterious guest. + +I do not know how those awful days, and more awful nights, passed over. The +remembrance is repulsive. I hate to think of them. I was soon draped in the +conventional black, with its heavy folds of crape. Lady Knollys came, and +was very kind. She undertook the direction of all those details which were +to me so inexpressibly dreadful. She wrote letters for me beside, and was +really most kind and useful, and her society supported me indescribably. +She was odd, but her eccentricity was leavened with strong common sense; +and I have often thought since with admiration and gratitude of the tact +with which she managed my grief. + +There is no dealing with great sorrow as if it were under the control of +our wills. It is a terrible phenomenon, whose laws we must study, and to +whose conditions we must submit, if we would mitigate it. Cousin Monica +talked a great deal of my father. This was easy to her, for her early +recollections were full of him. + +One of the terrible dislocations of our habits of mind respecting the dead +is that our earthly future is robbed of them, and we thrown exclusively +upon retrospect. From the long look forward they are removed, and every +plan, imagination, and hope henceforth a silent and empty perspective. But +in the past they are all they ever were. Now let me advise all who would +comfort people in a new bereavement to talk to them, very freely, all they +can, in this way of the dead. They will engage in it with interest, they +will talk of their own recollections of the dead, and listen to yours, +though they become sometimes pleasant, sometimes even laughable. I found it +so. It robbed the calamity of something of its supernatural and horrible +abruptness; it prevented that monotony of object which is to the mind what +it is to the eye, and prepared the faculty for those mesmeric illusions +that derange its sense. + +Cousin Monica, I am sure, cheered me wonderfully. I grow to love her more +and more, as I think of all her trouble, care, and kindness. + +I had not forgotten my promise to dear papa about the key, concerning which +he had evinced so great an anxiety. It was found in the pocket where he had +desired me to remember he always kept it, except when it was placed, while +he slept, under his pillow. + +'And so, my dear, that wicked woman was actually found picking the lock of +your poor papa's desk. I _wonder_ he did not punish her--you know that is +_burglary_.' + +'Well, Lady Knollys, you know she is gone, and so I care no more about +her--that is, I mean, I need not fear her.' + +'No, my dear, but you must call me Monica--do you mind--I'm your cousin, +and you call me Monica, unless you wish to vex me. No, of course, you need +not be afraid of her. And she's gone. But I'm an old thing, you know, and +not so tender-hearted as you; and I confess I should have been very glad to +hear that the wicked old witch had been sent to prison and hard labour--I +should. And what do you suppose she was looking for--what did she want to +steal? I think I can guess--what do _you_ think?' + +'To read the papers; maybe to take bank-notes--I'm not sure,' I answered. + +'Well, I think most likely she wanted to get at your poor papa's +_will_--that's _my_ idea. + +'There is nothing surprising in the supposition, dear,' she resumed. 'Did +not you read the curious trial at York, the other day? There is nothing +so valuable to steal as a will, when a great deal of property is to be +disposed of by it. Why, you would have given her ever so much money to get +it back again. Suppose you go down, dear--I'll go with you, and open the +cabinet in the study.' + +'I don't think I can, for I promised to give the key to Dr. Bryerly, and +the meaning was that _he_ only should open it.' + +Cousin Monica uttered an inarticulate 'H'm!' of surprise or disapprobation. + +'Has he been written to?' + +'No, I do not know his address.' + +'Not know his address! come, that is curious,' said Knollys, a little +testily. + +I could not--no one now living in the house could furnish even a +conjecture. There was even a dispute as to which train he had gone +by--north or south--they crossed the station at an interval of five +minutes. If Dr. Bryerly had been an evil spirit, evoked by a secret +incantation, there could not have been more complete darkness as to the +immediate process of his approach. + +'And how long do you mean to wait, my dear? No matter; at all events you +may open the _desk_; you may find papers to direct you--you may find Dr. +Bryerly's address--you may find, heaven knows what.' + +So down we went--I assenting--and we opened the desk. How dreadful the +desecration seems--all privacy abrogated--the shocking compensation for the +silence of death! + +Henceforward all is circumstantial evidence--all conjectural--except the +_litera scripta_, and to this evidence every note-book, and every scrap of +paper and private letter, must contribute--ransacked, bare in the light of +day--what it can. + +At the top of the desk lay two notes sealed, one to Cousin Monica, the +other to me. Mine was a gentle and loving little farewell--nothing +more--which opened afresh the fountains of my sorrow, and I cried and +sobbed over it bitterly and long. The other was for 'Lady Knollys.' I did +not see how she received it, for I was already absorbed in mine. But in +awhile she came and kissed me in her girlish, goodnatured way. Her eyes +used to fill with tears at sight of my paroxysms of grief. Then she would +begin, 'I remember it was a saying of his,' and so she would repeat +it--something maybe wise, maybe playful, at all events consolatory--and the +circumstances in which she had heard him say it, and then would follow the +recollections suggested by these; and so I was stolen away half by him, and +half by Cousin Monica, from my despair and lamentation. + +Along with these lay a large envelope, inscribed with the words 'Directions +to be complied with immediately on my death.' One of which was, 'Let the +event be _forthwith_ published in the _county_ and principal _London_ +papers.' This step had been already taken. We found no record of Dr. +Bryerly's address. + +We made search everywhere, except in the cabinet, which I would on no +account permit to be opened except, according to his direction, by Dr. +Bryerly's hand. But nowhere was a will, or any document resembling one, to +be found. I had now, therefore, no doubt that his will was placed in the +cabinet. + +In the search among my dear father's papers we found two sheafs of letters, +neatly tied up and labelled--these were from my uncle Silas. + +My cousin Monica looked down upon these papers with a strange smile; was it +satire--was it that indescribable smile with which a mystery which covers a +long reach of years is sometimes approached? + +These were odd letters. If here and there occurred passages that were +querulous and even abject, there were also long passages of manly and +altogether noble sentiment, and the strangest rodomontade and maunderings +about religion. Here and there a letter would gradually transform itself +into a prayer, and end with a doxology and no signature; and some of them +expressed such wild and disordered views respecting religion, as I imagine +he can never have disclosed to good Mr. Fairfield, and which approached +more nearly to the Swedenborg visions than to anything in the Church of +England. + +I read these with a solemn interest, but my cousin Monica was not similarly +moved. She read them with the same smile--faint, serenely contemptuous, +I thought--with which she had first looked down upon them. It was the +countenance of a person who amusedly traces the working of a character that +is well understood. + +'Uncle Silas is very religious?' I said, not quite liking Lady Knollys' +looks. + +'Very,' she said, without raising her eyes or abating her old bitter smile, +as she glanced over a passage in one of his letters. + +'You don't think he _is_, Cousin Monica?' said I. She raised her head and +looked straight at me. + +'Why do you say that, Maud?' + +'Because you smile incredulously, I think, over his letters.' + +'Do I?' said she; 'I was not thinking--it was quite an accident. The fact +is, Maud, your poor papa quite mistook me. I had no prejudice respecting +him--no theory. I never knew what to think about him. I do not think +Silas a product of nature, but a child of the Sphinx, and I never could +understand him--that's all.' + +'I always felt so too; but that was because I was left to speculation, and +to glean conjectures as I might from his portrait, or anywhere. Except what +you told me, I never heard more than a few sentences; poor papa did not +like me to ask questions about him, and I think he ordered the servants to +be silent.' + +'And much the same injunction this little note lays upon me--not quite, but +something like it; and I don't know the meaning of it.' + +And she looked enquiringly at me. + +'You are not to be _alarmed_ about your uncle Silas, because your being +afraid would unfit you for an _important service_ which you have undertaken +for your family, the nature of which I shall soon understand, and which, +although it is quite _passive_, would be made very sad if _illusory fears_ +were allowed to _steal into your mind_.' + +She was looking into the letter in poor papa's handwriting, which she had +found addressed to her in his desk, and emphasised the words, I suppose, +which she quoted from it. + +'Have you any idea, Maud, darling, what this _service_ may be?' she +enquired, with a grave and anxious curiosity in her countenance. + +'None, Cousin Monica; but I have thought long over my undertaking to do +it, or submit to it, be it what it may; and I will keep the promise I +voluntarily made, although I know what a coward I am, and often distrust my +courage.' + +'Well, I am not to frighten you.' + +'How could you? Why should I be afraid? _Is_ there anything frightful to be +disclosed? Do tell me--you _must_ tell me.' + +'No, darling, I did not mean _that_--I don't mean that;--I could, if I +would; I--I don't know exactly what I meant. But your poor papa knew him +better than I--in fact, I did not know him at all--that is, ever quite +understood him--which your poor papa, I see, had ample opportunities of +doing.' And after a little pause, she added--'So you do not know what you +are expected to do or to undergo.' + +'Oh! Cousin Monica, I know you think he committed that murder,' I cried, +starting up, I don't know why, and I felt that I grew deadly pale. + +'I don't believe any such thing, you little fool; you must not say such +horrible things, Maud,' she said, rising also, and looking both pale and +angry. 'Shall we go out for a little walk? Come, lock up these papers, +dear, and get your things on; and if that Dr. Bryerly does not turn up +to-morrow, you must send for the Rector, good Doctor Clay, and let him make +search for the will--there may be directions about many things, you know; +and, my dear Maud, you are to remember that Silas is _my_ cousin as well as +your uncle. Come, dear, put on your hat.' + +So we went out together for a little cloistered walk. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +_SOMEBODY IN THE ROOM WITH THE COFFIN_ + + +When we returned, a 'young' gentleman had arrived. We saw him in the +parlour as we passed the window. It was simply a glance, but such a one +as suffices to make a photograph, which we can study afterwards, at our +leisure. I remember him at this moment--a man of six-and-thirty--dressed in +a grey travelling suit, not over-well made; light-haired, fat-faced, +and clumsy; and he looked both dull and cunning, and not at all like a +gentleman. + +Branston met us, announced the arrival, and handed me the stranger's +credentials. My cousin and I stopped in the passage to read them. + +'_That's_ your uncle Silas's,' said Lady Knollys, touching one of the two +letters with the tip of her finger. + +'Shall we have lunch, Miss?' + +'Certainly.' So Branston departed. + +'Read it with me, Cousin Monica,' I said. And a very curious letter it was. +It spoke as follows:-- + +'How can I thank my beloved niece for remembering her aged and forlorn +kinsman at such a moment of anguish?' + +I had written a note of a few, I dare say, incoherent words by the next +post after my dear father's death. + +'It is, however, in the hour of bereavement that we most value the ties +that are broken, and yearn for the sympathy of kindred.' + +Here came a little distich of French verse, of which I could only read +_ciel_ and _l'amour_. + +'Our quiet household here is clouded with a new sorrow. How inscrutable are +the ways of Providence! I--though a few years younger--how much the more +infirm--how shattered in energy and in mind--how mere a burden--how +entirely _de trop_--am spared to my sad place in a world where I can be no +longer useful, where I have but one business--prayer, but one hope--the +tomb; and he--apparently so robust--the centre of so much good--so +necessary to you--so necessary, alas! to me--is taken! He is gone to his +rest--for us, what remains but to bow our heads, and murmur, "His will be +done"? I trace these lines with a trembling hand, while tears dim my +old eyes. I did not think that any earthly event could have moved me so +profoundly. From the world I have long stood aloof. I once led a life of +pleasure--alas! of wickedness--as I now do one of austerity; but as I never +was rich, so my worst enemy will allow I never was avaricious. My sins, I +thank my Maker, have been of a more reducible kind, and have succumbed to +the discipline which Heaven has provided. To earth and its interests, as +well as to its pleasures, I have long been dead. For the few remaining +years of my life I ask but quiet--an exemption from the agitations and +distractions of struggle and care, and I trust to the Giver of all Good for +my deliverance--well knowing, at the same time, that whatever befalls will, +under His direction, prove best. Happy shall I be, my dearest niece, if in +your most interesting and, in some respects, forlorn situation, I can be +of any use to you. My present religious adviser--of whom I ventured to ask +counsel on your behalf--states that I ought to send some one to represent +me at the melancholy ceremony of reading the will which my beloved and now +happy brother has, no doubt, left behind; and the idea that the experience +and professional knowledge possessed by the gentleman whom I have selected +may possibly be of use to you, my dearest niece, determines me to place +him at your disposal. He is the junior partner in the firm of Archer and +Sleigh, who conduct any little business which I may have from time to time; +may I entreat your hospitality for him during a brief stay at Knowl? I +write, even for a moment, upon these small matters of business with +an effort--a painful one, but necessary. Alas! my brother! The cup of +bitterness is now full. Few and evil must the remainder of my old days be. +Yet, while they last, I remain always for my beloved niece, that which all +her wealth and splendour cannot purchase--a loving and faithful kinsman and +friend, + +SILAS RUTHYN.' + +'Is not it a kind letter?' I said, while tears stood in my eyes. + +'Yes,' answered Lady Knollys, drily. + +'But don't you think it so, really?' + +'Oh! kind, very kind,' she answered in the same tone, 'and perhaps a little +cunning.' + +'Cunning!--how?' + +'Well, you know I'm a peevish old Tabby, and of course I scratch now and +then, and see in the dark. I dare say Silas is sorry, but I don't think he +is in sackcloth and ashes. He has reason to be sorry and anxious, and I say +I think he is both; and you know he pities you very much, and also himself +a good deal; and he wants money, and you--his beloved niece--have a great +deal--and altogether it is an affectionate and prudent letter: and he has +sent his attorney here to make a note of the will; and you are to give the +gentleman his meals and lodging; and Silas, very thoughtfully, invites you +to confide your difficulties and troubles to _his_ solicitor. It is very +kind, but not imprudent.' + +'Oh, Cousin Monica, don't you think at such a moment it is hardly natural +that he should form such petty schemes, even were he capable at other times +of practising so low? Is it not judging him hardly? and you, you know, so +little acquainted with him.' + +'I told you, dear, I'm a cross old thing--and there's an end; and I really +don't care two pence about him; and of the two I'd much rather he were no +relation of ours.' + +Now, was not this prejudice? I dare say in part it was. So, too, was +my vehement predisposition in his favour. I am afraid we women are +factionists; we always take a side, and nature has formed us for advocates +rather than judges; and I think the function, if less dignified, is more +amiable. + +I sat alone at the drawing-room window, at nightfall, awaiting my cousin +Monica's entrance. + +Feverish and frightened I felt that night. It was a sympathy, I fancy, with +the weather. The sun had set stormily. Though the air was still, the sky +looked wild and storm-swept. The crowding clouds, slanting in the attitude +of flight, reflected their own sacred aspect upon my spirits. My grief +darkened with a wild presaging of danger, and a sense of the supernatural +fell upon me. It was the saddest and most awful evening that had come since +my beloved father's death. + +All kinds of shapeless fears environed me in silence. For the first time, +dire misgivings about the form of faith affrighted me. Who were these +Swedenborgians who had got about him--no one could tell how--and held +him so fast to the close of his life? Who was this bilious, bewigged, +black-eyed Doctor Bryerly, whom none of us quite liked and all a little +feared; who seemed to rise out of the ground, and came and went, no one +knew whence or whither, exercising, as I imagined, a mysterious authority +over him? Was it all good and true, or a heresy and a witchcraft? Oh, my +beloved father! was it all well with you? + +When Lady Knollys entered, she found me in floods of tears, walking +distractedly up and down the room. She kissed me in silence; she walked +back and forward with me, and did her best to console me. + +'I think, Cousin Monica, I would wish to see him once more. Shall we go +up?' + +'Unless you really wish it very much, I think, darling, you had better not +mind it. It is happier to recollect them as they were; there's a change, +you know, darling, and there is seldom any comfort in the sight.' + +'But I do wish it _very_ much. Oh! won't you come with me?' + +And so I persuaded her, and up we went hand in hand, in the deepening +twilight; and we halted at the end of the dark gallery, and I called Mrs. +Rusk, growing frightened. + +'Tell her to let us in, Cousin Monica,' I whispered. + +'She wishes to see him, my lady--does she?' enquired Mrs. Rusk, in an +under-tone, and with a mysterious glance at me, as she softly fitted the +key to the lock. + +'Are you quite sure, Maud, dear?' + +'Yes, yes.' + +But when Mrs. Rusk entered bearing the candle, whose beam mixed dismally +with the expiring twilight, disclosing a great black coffin standing upon +trestles, near the foot of which she took her stand, gazing sternly into +it, I lost heart again altogether and drew back. + +'No, Mrs. Rusk, she won't; and I am very glad, dear,' she added to me. +'Come, Mrs. Rusk, come away. Yes, darling,' she continued to me, 'it is +much better for you;' and she hurried me away, and down-stairs again. But +the awful outlines of that large black coffin remained upon my imagination +with a new and terrible sense of death. + +I had no more any wish to see him. I felt a horror even of the room, and +for more than an hour after a kind of despair and terror, such as I have +never experienced before or since at the idea of death. + +Cousin Monica had had her bed placed in my room, and Mary Quince's moved to +the dressing-room adjoining it. For the first time the superstitious awe +that follows death, but not immediately, visited me. The idea of seeing my +father enter the room, or open the door and look in, haunted me. After Lady +Knollys and I were in bed, I could not sleep. The wind sounded mournfully +outside, and the small sounds, the rattlings, and strainings that responded +from within, constantly startled me, and simulated the sounds of steps, of +doors opening, of knockings, and so forth, rousing me with a palpitating +heart as often as I fell into a doze. + +At length the wind subsided, and these ambiguous noises abated, and I, +fatigued, dropped into a quiet sleep. I was awakened by a sound in the +gallery--which I could not define. A considerable time had passed, for the +wind was now quite lulled. I sat up in my bed a good deal scared, listening +breathlessly for I knew not what. + +I heard a step moving stealthily along the gallery. I called my cousin +Monica softly; and we both heard the door of the room in which my father's +body lay unlocked, some one furtively enter, and the door shut. + +'What can it be? Good Heavens, Cousin Monica, do you hear it?' + +'Yes, dear; and it is two o'clock.' + +Everyone at Knowl was in bed at eleven. We knew very well that Mrs. Rusk +was rather nervous, and would not, for worlds, go alone, and at such an +hour, to the room. We called Mary Quince. We all three listened, but we +heard no other sound. I set these things down here because they made so +terrible an impression upon me at the time. + +It ended by our peeping out, all three in a body, upon the gallery. Through +each window in the perspective came its blue sheet of moonshine; but the +door on which our attention was fixed was in the shade, and we thought we +could discern the glare of a candle through the key-hole. While in whispers +we were debating this point together, the door opened, the dusky light of +a candle emerged, the shadow of a figure crossed it within, and in another +moment the mysterious Doctor Bryerly--angular, ungainly, in the black cloth +coat that fitted little better than a coffin--issued from the chamber, +candle in hand; murmuring, I suppose, a prayer--it sounded like a +farewell--as much frightened as if I had just seen a sorcerer stealing +stepped cautiously upon the gallery floor, shutting and locking the door +upon the dead; and then having listened for a second, the saturnine figure, +casting a gigantic and distorted shadow upon the ceiling and side-wall from +the lowered candle, strode lightly down the long dark passage, away from +us. + +I can only speak for myself, and I can honestly say that I felt as much +frightened as if I had just seen a sorcerer stealing from his unhallowed +business. I think Cousin Monica was also affected in the same way, for she +turned the key on the inside of the door when we entered. I do not think +one of us believed at the moment that what we had seen was a Doctor Bryerly +of flesh and blood, and yet the first thing we spoke of in the morning was +Doctor Bryerly's arrival. The mind is a different organ by night and by +day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +_I TALK WITH DOCTOR BRYERLY_ + + +Doctor Bryerly had, indeed, arrived at half-past twelve o'clock at night. +His summons at the hall-door was little heard at our remote side of the old +house of Knowl; and when the sleepy, half-dressed servant opened the +door, the lank Doctor, in glossy black clothing, was standing alone, his +portmanteau on its end upon the steps, and his vehicle disappearing in the +shadows of the old trees. + +In he came, sterner and sharper of aspect than usual. + +'I've been expected? I'm Doctor Bryerly. Haven't I? So, let whoever is in +charge of the body be called. I must visit it forthwith.' + +So the Doctor sat in the back drawing-room, with a solitary candle; and +Mrs. Rusk was called up, and, grumbling much and very peevish, dressed and +went down, her ill-temper subsiding in a sort of fear as she approached the +visitor. + +'How do you do, Madam? A sad visit this. Is anyone watching in the room +where the remains of your late master are laid?' + +'No.' + +'So much the better; it is a foolish custom. Will you please conduct me to +the room? I must pray where he lies--no longer _he_! And be good enough to +show me my bedroom, and so no one need wait up, and I shall find my way.' + +Accompanied by the man who carried his valise, Mrs. Rusk showed him to his +apartment; but he only looked in, and then glanced rapidly about to take +'the bearings' of the door. + +'Thank you--yes. Now we'll proceed, here, along here? Let me see. A turn to +the right and another to the left--yes. He has been dead some days. Is he +yet in his coffin?' + +'Yes, sir; since yesterday afternoon.' + +Mrs. Rusk was growing more and more afraid of this lean figure sheathed in +shining black cloth, whose eyes glittered with a horrible sort of cunning, +and whose long brown fingers groped before him, as if indicating the way by +guess. + +'But, of course, the lid's not on; you've not screwed him down, hey?' + +'No, sir.' + +'That's well. I must look on the face as I pray. He is in his place; I here +on earth. He in the spirit; I in the flesh. The neutral ground lies there. +So are carried the vibrations, and so the light of earth and heaven +reflected back and forward--apaugasma, a wonderful though helpless engine, +the ladder of Jacob, and behold the angels of God ascending and descending +on it. Thanks, I'll take the key. Mysteries to those who _will_ live +altogether in houses of clay, no mystery to such as will use their eyes and +read what is revealed. _This_ candle, it is the longer, please; no--no need +of a pair, thanks; just this, to hold in my hand. And remember, all depends +upon the willing mind. Why do you look frightened? Where is your faith? +Don't you know that spirits are about us at all times? Why should you +fear to be near the body? The spirit is everything; the flesh profiteth +nothing.' + +'Yes, sir,' said Mrs. Rusk, making him a great courtesy in the threshold. + +She was frightened by his eerie talk, which grew, she fancied, more voluble +and energetic as they approached the corpse. + +'Remember, then, that when you fancy yourself alone and wrapt in darkness, +you stand, in fact, in the centre of a theatre, as wide as the starry floor +of heaven, with an audience, whom no man can number, beholding you under a +flood of light. Therefore, though your body be in solitude and your mortal +sense in darkness, remember to walk as being in the light, surrounded with +a cloud of witnesses. Thus walk; and when the hour comes, and you pass +forth unprisoned from the tabernacle of the flesh, although it still has +its relations and its rights'--and saying this, as he held the solitary +candle aloft in the doorway, he nodded towards the coffin, whose large +black form was faintly traceable against the shadows beyond--'you will +rejoice; and being clothed upon with your house from on high, you will not +be found naked. On the other hand, he that loveth corruption shall have +enough thereof. Think upon these things. Good-night.' + +And the Swedenborgian Doctor stepped into the room, taking the candle with +him, and closed the door upon the shadowy still-life there, and on his own +sharp and swarthy visage, leaving Mrs. Rusk in a sort of panic in the dark +alone, to find her way to her room the best way she could. + +Early in the morning Mrs. Rusk came to my room to tell me that Doctor +Bryerly was in the parlour, and begged to know whether I had not a message +for him. I was already dressed, so, though it was dreadful seeing a +stranger in my then mood, taking the key of the cabinet in my hand, I +followed Mrs. Rusk downstairs. + +Opening the parlour door, she stepped in, and with a little courtesy +said,-- + +'Please, sir, the young mistress--Miss Ruthyn.' + +Draped in black and very pale, tall and slight, 'the young mistress' +was; and as I entered I heard a newspaper rustle, and the sound of steps +approaching to meet me. + +Face to face we met, near the door; and, without speaking, I made him a +deep courtesy. + +He took my hand, without the least indication on my part, in his hard lean +grasp, and shook it kindly, but familiarly, peering with a stern sort of +curiosity into my face as he continued to hold it. His ill-fitting, glossy +black cloth, ungainly presence, and sharp, dark, vulpine features had in +them, as I said before, the vulgarity of a Glasgow artisan in his Sabbath +suit. I made an instantaneous motion to withdraw my hand, but he held it +firmly. + +Though there was a grim sort of familiarity, there was also decision, +shrewdness, and, above all, kindness, in his dark face--a gleam on the +whole of the masterly and the honest--that along with a certain paleness, +betraying, I thought, restrained emotion, indicated sympathy and invited +confidence. + +'I hope, Miss, you are pretty well?' He pronounced 'pretty' as it is spelt. +'I have come in consequence of a solemn promise exacted more than a year +since by your deceased father, the late Mr. Austin Ruthyn of Knowl, for +whom I cherished a warm esteem, being knit besides with him in spiritual +bonds. It has been a shock to you, Miss?' + +'It has, indeed, sir.' + +'I've a doctor's degree, I have--Doctor of Medicine, Miss. Like St. Luke, +preacher and doctor. I was in business once, but this is better. As one +footing fails, the Lord provides another. The stream of life is black and +angry; how so many of us get across without drowning, I often wonder. The +best way is not to look too far before--just from one stepping-stone to +another; and though you may wet your feet, He won't let you drown--He has +not allowed me.' + +And Doctor Bryerly held up his head, and wagged it resolutely. + +'You are born to this world's wealth; in its way a great blessing, though a +great trial, Miss, and a great trust; but don't suppose you are destined +to exemption from trouble on that account, any more than poor Emmanuel +Bryerly. As the sparks fly upwards, Miss Ruthyn! Your cushioned carriage +may overturn on the highroad, as I may stumble and fall upon the footpath. +There are other troubles than debt and privation. Who can tell how +long health may last, or when an accident may happen the brain; what +mortifications may await you in your own high sphere; what unknown enemies +may rise up in your path; or what slanders may asperse your name--ha, ha! +It is a wonderful equilibrium--a marvellous dispensation--ha, ha!' and he +laughed with a shake of his head, I thought a little sarcastically, as if +he was not sorry my money could not avail to buy immunity from the general +curse. + +'But what money can't do, _prayer_ can--bear that in mind, Miss Ruthyn. We +can all pray; and though thorns and snares, and stones of fire lie strewn +in our way, we need not fear them. He will give His angels charge over us, +and in their hands they will bear us up, for He hears and sees everywhere, +and His angels are innumerable.' + +He was now speaking gently and solemnly, and paused. But another vein of +thought he had unconsciously opened in my mind, and I said-- + +'And had my dear papa no other medical adviser?' + +He looked at me sharply, and flushed a little under his dark tint. His +medical skill was, perhaps, the point on which his human vanity vaunted +itself, and I dare say there was something very disparaging in my tone. + +'And if he _had_ no other, he might have done worse. I've had many critical +cases in my hands, Miss Ruthyn. I can't charge myself with any miscarriage +through ignorance. My diagnosis in Mr. Ruthyn's case has been verified by +the result. But I was _not_ alone; Sir Clayton Barrow saw him, and took my +view; a note will reach him in London. But this, excuse me, is not to the +present purpose. The late Mr. Ruthyn told me I was to receive a key +from you, which would open a cabinet where he had placed his will--ha! +thanks,--in his study. And, I think, as there may be directions about +the funeral, it had better be read forthwith. Is there any gentleman--a +relative or man of business--near here, whom you would wish sent for?' + +'No, none, thank you; I have confidence in you, sir.' + +I think I spoke and looked frankly, for he smiled very kindly, though with +closed lips. + +'And you may be sure, Miss Ruthyn, your confidence shall not be +disappointed.' Here was a long pause. 'But you are very young, and you must +have some one by in your interest, who has some experience in business. Let +me see. Is not the Rector, Dr. Clay, at hand? In the town?--very good; and +Mr. Danvers, who manages the estate, _he_ must come. And get Grimston--you +see I know all the names--Grimston, the attorney; for though he was not +employed about this will, he has been Mr. Ruthyn's solicitor a great many +years: we must have Grimston; for, as I suppose you know, though it is a +short will, it is a very strange one. I expostulated, but you know he was +very decided when he took a view. He read it to you, eh?' + +'No, sir.' + +'Oh, but he told you so much as relates to you and your uncle, Mr. Silas +Ruthyn, of Bartram-Haugh?' + +'No, indeed, sir.' + +'Ha! I wish he had.' + +And with these words Doctor Bryerly's countenance darkened. + +'Mr. Silas Ruthyn is a religious man?' + +'Oh, _very_!' said I. + +'You've seen a good deal of him?' + +'No, I never saw him,' I answered. + +'H'm? Odder and odder! But he's a good man, isn't he?' + +'Very good, indeed, sir--a very religious man.' + +Doctor Bryerly was watching my countenance as I spoke, with a sharp and +anxious eye; and then he looked down, and read the pattern of the carpet +like bad news, for a while, and looking again in my face, askance, he +said-- + +'He was very near joining _us_--on the point. He got into correspondence +with Henry Voerst, one of our best men. They call us Swedenborgians, you +know; but I dare say that won't go much further, now. I suppose, Miss +Ruthyn, one o'clock would be a good hour, and I am sure, under the +circumstances, the gentlemen will make a point of attending.' + +'Yes, Dr. Bryerly, the notes shall be sent, and my cousin, Lady Knollys, +would I am sure attend with me while the will is being read--there would be +no objection to her presence?' + +'None in the world. I can't be quite sure who are joined with me as +executors. I'm almost sorry I did not decline; but it is too late +regretting. One thing you must believe Miss Ruthyn: in framing the +provisions of the will I was never consulted--although I expostulated +against the only very unusual one it contains when I heard it. I did +so strenuously, but in vain. There was one other against which I +protested--having a right to do so--with better effect. In no other way +does the will in any respect owe anything to my advice or dissuasion. You +will please believe this; also that I am your friend. Yes, indeed, it is my +duty.' + +The latter words he spoke looking down again, as it were in soliloquy; and +thanking him, I withdrew. + +When I reached the hall, I regretted that I had not asked him to state +distinctly what arrangements the will made so nearly affecting, as it +seemed, my relations with my uncle Silas, and for a moment I thought of +returning and requesting an explanation. But then, I bethought me, it was +not very long to wait till one o'clock--so _he_, at least, would think. I +went up-stairs, therefore, to the 'school-room,' which we used at present +as a sitting-room, and there I found Cousin Monica awaiting me. + +'Are you quite well, dear?' asked Lady Knollys, as she came to meet and +kiss me. + +'Quite well, Cousin Monica.' + +'No nonsense, Maud! you're as white as that handkerchief--what's the +matter? Are you ill--are you frightened? Yes, you're trembling--you're +terrified, child.' + +'I believe I _am_ afraid. There _is_ something in poor papa's will about +Uncle Silas--about _me_. I don't know--Doctor Bryerly says, and he seems so +uncomfortable and frightened himself, I am sure it is something very bad. I +am _very_ much frightened--I am--I _am_. Oh, Cousin Monica! you won't leave +me?' + +So I threw my arms about her neck, clasping her very close, and we kissed +one another, I crying like a frightened child--and indeed in experience of +the world I was no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +_THE OPENING OF THE WILL_ + + +Perhaps the terror with which I anticipated the hour of one, and the +disclosure of the unknown undertaking to which I had bound myself, was +irrational and morbid. But, honestly, I doubt it; my tendency has always +been that of many other weak characters, to act impetuously, and afterwards +to reproach myself for consequences which I have, perhaps, in reality, had +little or no share in producing. + +It was Doctor Bryerly's countenance and manner in alluding to a particular +provision in my father's will that instinctively awed me. I have seen faces +in a nightmare that haunted me with an indescribable horror, and yet I +could not say wherein lay the fascination. And so it was with his--an omen, +a menace, lurked in its sallow and dismal glance. + +'You must not be so frightened, darling,' said Cousin Monica. 'It is +foolish; it _is, really_; they can't cut off your head, you know: they +can't really harm you in any essential way. If it involved a risk of a +little money, you would not mind it; but men are such odd creatures--they +measure all sacrifices by money. Doctor Bryerly would look just as you +describe, if you were doomed to lose 500_l_., and yet it would not kill +you.' + +A companion like Lady Knollys is reassuring; but I could not take her +comfort altogether to heart, for I felt that she had no great confidence in +it herself. + +There was a little French clock over the mantelpiece in the school-room, +which I consulted nearly every minute. It wanted now but ten minutes of +one. + +'Shall we go down to the drawing-room, dear?' said Cousin Knollys, who was +growing restless like me. + +So down-stairs we went, pausing by mutual consent at the great window at +the stair-head, which looks out on the avenue. Mr. Danvers was riding his +tall, grey horse at a walk, under the wide branches toward the house, and +we waited to see him get off at the door. In his turn he loitered there, +for the good Rector's gig, driven by the Curate, was approaching at a smart +ecclesiastical trot. + +Doctor Clay got down, and shook hands with Mr. Danvers; and after a word +or two, away drove the Curate with that upward glance at the windows from +which so few can refrain. + +I watched the Rector and Mr. Danvers loitering on the steps as a patient +might the gathering of surgeons who are to perform some unknown operation. +They, too, glanced up at the window as they turned to enter the house, and +I drew back. Cousin Monica looked at her watch. + +'Four minutes only. Shall we go to the drawing-room?' + +Waiting for a moment to let the gentlemen get by on the way to the study, +we, accordingly, went down, and I heard the Rector talk of the dangerous +state of Grindleston bridge, and wondered how he could think of such things +at a time of sorrow. Everything about those few minutes of suspense remains +fresh in my recollection. I remember how they loitered and came to a halt +at the corner of the oak passage leading to the study, and how the Rector +patted the marble head and smoothed the inflexible tresses of William Pitt, +as he listened to Mr. Danvers' details about the presentment; and then, +as they went on, I recollect the boisterous nose-blowing that suddenly +resounded from the passage, and which I then referred, and still refer, +intuitively to the Rector. + +We had not been five minutes in the drawing-room when Branston entered, to +say that the gentlemen I had mentioned were all assembled in the study. + +'Come, dear,' said Cousin Monica; and leaning on her arm I reached the +study door. I entered, followed by her. The gentlemen arrested their talk +and stood up, those who were sitting, and the Rector came forward very +gravely, and in low tones, and very kindly, greeted me. There was nothing +emotional in this salutation, for though my father never quarrelled, yet an +immense distance separated him from all his neighbours, and I do not think +there lived a human being who knew him at more than perhaps a point or two +of his character. + +Considering how entirely he secluded himself, my father was, as many people +living remember, wonderfully popular in his county. He was neighbourly +in everything except in seeing company and mixing in society. He had +magnificent shooting, of which he was extremely liberal. He kept a pack of +hounds at Dollerton, with which all his side of the county hunted through +the season. He never refused any claim upon his purse which had the +slightest show of reason. He subscribed to every fund, social, charitable, +sporting, agricultural, no matter what, provided the honest people of +his county took an interest in it, and always with a princely hand; and +although he shut himself up, no one could say that he was inaccessible, +for he devoted hours daily to answering letters, and his checque-book +contributed largely in those replies. He had taken his turn long ago as +High Sheriff; so there was an end of that claim before his oddity and +shyness had quite secluded him. He refused the Lord-Lieutenancy of his +county; he declined every post of personal distinction connected with it. +He could write an able as well as a genial letter when he pleased; and his +appearances at public meetings, dinners, and so forth were made in +this epistolary fashion, and, when occasion presented, by magnificent +contributions from his purse. + +If my father had been less goodnatured in the sporting relations of his +vast estates, or less magnificent in dealing with his fortune, or even if +he had failed to exhibit the intellectual force which always characterised +his letters on public matters, I dare say that his oddities would have +condemned him to ridicule, and possibly to dislike. But every one of the +principal gentlemen of his county, whose judgment was valuable, has told me +that he was a remarkably able man, and that his failure in public life +was due to his eccentricities, and in no respect to deficiency in those +peculiar mental qualities which make men feared and useful in Parliament. + +I could not forbear placing on record this testimony to the high mental +and the kindly qualities of my beloved father, who might have passed for +a misanthrope or a fool. He was a man of generous nature and powerful +intellect, but given up to the oddities of a shyness which grew with +years and indulgence, and became inflexible with his disappointments and +affliction. + +There was something even in the Rector's kind and ceremonious greeting +which oddly enough reflected the mixed feelings in which awe was not +without a place, with which his neighbours had regarded my dear father. + +Having done the honours--I am sure looking woefully pale--I had time to +glance quietly at the only figure there with which I was not tolerably +familiar. This was the junior partner in the firm of Archer and Sleigh who +represented my uncle Silas--a fat and pallid man of six-and-thirty, with +a sly and evil countenance, and it has always seemed to me, that ill +dispositions show more repulsively in a pale fat face than in any other. + +Doctor Bryerly, standing near the window, was talking in a low tone to Mr. +Grimston, our attorney. + +I heard good Dr. Clay whisper to Mr. Danvers-- + +'Is not that Doctor Bryerly--the person with the black--the black--it's a +wig, I think--in the window, talking to Abel Grimston?' + +'Yes; that's he.' + +'Odd-looking person--one of the Swedenborg people, is not he?' continued +the Rector. + +'So I am told.' + +'Yes,' said the Rector, quietly; and he crossed one gaitered leg over the +other, and, with fingers interlaced, twiddled his thumbs, as he eyed +the monstrous sectary under his orthodox old brows with a stern +inquisitiveness. I thought he was meditating theologic battle. + +But Dr. Bryerly and Mr. Grimston, still talking together, began to walk +slowly from the window, and the former said in his peculiar grim tones-- + +'I beg pardon, Miss Ruthyn; perhaps you would be so good as to show us +which of the cabinets in this room your late lamented father pointed out as +that to which this key belongs.' + +I indicated the oak cabinet. + +'Very good, ma'am--very good,' said Doctor Bryerly, as he fumbled the key +into the lock. + +Cousin Monica could not forbear murmuring-- + +'Dear! what a brute!' + +The junior partner, with his dumpy hands in his pocket, poked his fat face +over Mr. Grimston's shoulder, and peered into the cabinet as the door +opened. + +The search was not long. A handsome white paper enclosure, neatly tied up +in pink tape, and sealed with large red seals, was inscribed in my dear +father's hand:--'Will of Austin R. Ruthyn, of Knowl.' Then, in smaller +characters, the date, and in the corner a note--'This will was drawn from +my instructions by Gaunt, Hogg, and Hatchett, Solicitors, Great Woburn +Street, London, A.R.R.' + +'Let _me_ have a squint at that indorsement, please, gentlemen,' half +whispered the unpleasant person who represented my uncle Silas. + +''_Tisn't_ an indorsement. There, look--a memorandum on an envelope,' said +Abel Grimston, gruffly. + +'Thanks--all right--that will do,' he responded, himself making a +pencil-note of it, in a long clasp-book which he drew from his coat-pocket. + +The tape was carefully cut, and the envelope removed without tearing the +writing, and forth came the will, at sight of which my heart swelled and +fluttered up to my lips, and then dropped down dead as it seemed into its +place. + +'Mr. Grimston, you will please to read it,' said Doctor Bryerly, who took +the direction of the process. 'I will sit beside you, and as we go along +you will be good enough to help us to understand technicalities, and give +us a lift where we want it.' 'It's a short will,' said Mr. Grimston, +turning over the sheets '_very_--considering. Here's a codicil.' + +'I did not see that,' said Doctor Bryerly. + +'Dated only a month ago.' + +'Oh!' said Doctor Bryerly, putting on his spectacles. Uncle Silas's +ambassador, sitting close behind, had insinuated his face between Doctor +Bryerly's and the reader's of the will. + +'On behalf of the surviving brother of the testator,' interposed the +delegate, just as Abel Grimston had cleared his voice to begin, 'I take +leave to apply for a copy of this instrument. It will save a deal of +trouble, if the young lady as represents the testator here has no +objection.' + +'You can have as many copies as you like when the will is proved,' said Mr. +Grimston. + +'I know that; but supposing as all's right, where's the objection?' + +'Just the objection there always is to acting irregular,' replied Mr. +Grimston. + +'You don't object to act disobliging, it seems.' + +'You can do as I told you,' replied Mr. Grimston. + +'Thank you for nothing,' murmured Mr. Sleigh. + +And the reading of the will proceeded, while he made elaborate notes of its +contents in his capacious pocket-book. + +'I, Austin Alymer Ruthyn Ruthyn, being, I thank God, of sound mind and +perfect recollection,' &c, &c.; and then came a bequest of all his +estates real, chattels real, copyrights, leases, chattels, money, rights, +interests, reversions, powers, plate, pictures, and estates and possessions +whatsoever, to four persons--Lord Ilbury, Mr. Penrose Creswell of Creswell, +Sir William Aylmer, Bart., and Hans Emmanuel Bryerly, Doctor of Medicine, +'to have and to hold,' &c. &c. Whereupon my Cousin Monica ejaculated 'Eh?' +and Doctor Bryerly interposed-- + +'Four trustees, ma'am. We take little but trouble--you'll see; go on.' + +Then it came out that all this multifarious splendour was bequeathed in +trust for me, subject to a bequest of 15,000_l_. to his only brother, Silas +Aylmer Ruthyn, and 3,500_l_. each to the two children of his said brother; +and lest any doubt should arise by reason of his, the testator's decease +as to the continuance of the arrangement by way of lease under which +he enjoyed his present habitation and farm, he left him the use of the +mansion-house and lands of Bartram-Haugh, in the county of Derbyshire, and +of the lands of so-and-so and so-and-so, adjoining thereto, in the said +county, for the term of his natural life, on payment of a rent of 5_s_. +per annum, and subject to the like conditions as to waste, &c., as are +expressed in the said lease. + +'By your leave, may I ask is them dispositions all the devises to my +client, which is his only brother, as it seems to me you've seen the will +before?' enquired Mr. Sleigh. + +'Nothing more, unless there is something in the codicil,' answered Dr. +Bryerly. + +But there was no mention of him in the codicil. + +Mr. Sleigh threw himself back in his chair, and sneered, with the end of +his pencil between his teeth. I hope his disappointment was altogether for +his client. Mr. Danvers fancied, he afterwards said, that he had probably +expected legacies which might have involved litigation, or, at all events, +law costs, and perhaps a stewardship; but this was very barren; and Mr. +Danvers also remarked, that the man was a very low practitioner, and +wondered how my uncle Silas could have commissioned such a person to +represent him. + +So far the will contained nothing of which my most partial friend could +have complained. The codicil, too, devised only legacies to servants, and +a sum of 1,000_l_., with a few kind words, to Monica, Lady Knollys, and +a further sum of 3,000_l_. to Dr. Bryerly, stating that the legatee had +prevailed upon him to erase from the draft of his will a bequest to him to +that amount, but that, in consideration of all the trouble devolving +upon him as trustee, he made that bequest by his codicil; and with these +arrangements the permanent disposition of his property was completed. + +But that direction to which he and Doctor Bryerly had darkly alluded, was +now to come, and certainly it was a strange one. It appointed my uncle +Silas my sole guardian, with full parental authority over me until I should +have reached the age of twenty-one, up to which time I was to reside under +his care at Bartram-Haugh, and it directed the trustees to pay over to him +yearly a sum of 2,000_l_. during the continuance of the guardianship for my +suitable maintenance, education, and expenses. + +You have now a sufficient outline of my father's will. The only thing I +painfully felt in this arrangement was, the break-up--the dismay that +accompanies the disappearance of home. Otherwise, there was something +rather pleasurable in the idea. As long as I could remember, I had always +cherished the same mysterious curiosity about my uncle, and the same +longing to behold him. This was about to be gratified. Then there was my +cousin Milicent, about my own age. My life had been so lonely, that I +had acquired none of those artificial habits that induce the fine-lady +nature--a second, and not always a very amiable one. She had lived a +solitary life, like me. What rambles and readings we should have together! +what confidences and castle-buildings! and then there was a new country +and a fine old place, and the sense of interest and adventure that always +accompanies change in our early youth. + +There were four letters all alike with large, red seals, addressed +respectively to each of the trustees named in the will. There was also one +addressed to Silas Alymer Ruthyn, Esq., Bartram-Haugh Manor, &c. &c., which +Mr. Sleigh offered to deliver. But Doctor Bryerly thought the post-office +was the more regular channel. Uncle Silas's representative was questioning +Doctor Bryerly in an under-tone. + +I turned my eyes on my cousin Monica--I felt so inexpressibly +relieved--expecting to see a corresponding expression in her countenance. +But I was startled. She looked ghastly and angry. I stared in her face, not +knowing what to think. Could the will have personally disappointed her? +Such doubts, though we fancy in after-life they belong to maturity and +experience only, do sometimes cross our minds in youth. But the suggestion +wronged Lady Knollys, who neither expected nor wanted anything, being rich, +childless, generous, and frank. It was the unexpected character of +her countenance that scared me, and for a moment the shock called up +corresponding moral images. + +Lady Knollys, starting up, raised her head, so as to see over Mr. Sleigh's +shoulder, and biting her pale lip, she cleared her voice and demanded-- + +'Doctor Bryerly, pray, sir, is the reading concluded?' + +'Concluded? Quite. Yes, nothing more,' he answered with a nod, and +continued his talk with Mr. Danvers and Abel Grimston. + +'And to whom,' said Lady Knollys, with an effort, 'will the property +belong, in case--in case my little cousin here should die before she comes +of age?' + +'Eh? Well--wouldn't it go to the heir-at-law and next of kin?' said Doctor +Bryerly, turning to Abel Grimston. + +'Ay--to be sure,' said the attorney, thoughtfully. + +'And who is that?' pursued my cousin. + +'Well, her uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn. He's both heir-at-law and next of kin,' +pursued Abel Grimston. + +'Thank you,' said Lady Knollys. + +Doctor Clay came forward, bowing very low, in his standing collar and +single-breasted coat, and graciously folded my hand in his soft wrinkled +grasp-- + +'Allow me, my dear Miss Ruthyn, while expressing my regret that we are to +lose you from among our little flock--though I trust but for a short, +a very short time--to say how I rejoice at the particular arrangement +indicated by the will we have just heard read. My curate, William +Fairfield, resided for some years in the same spiritual capacity in the +neighbourhood of your, I will say, admirable uncle, with occasional +intercourse with whom he was favoured--may I not say blessed?--a true +Christian Churchman--a Christian gentleman. Can I say more? A most happy, +happy choice.' A very low bow here, with eyes nearly closed, and a shake of +the head. 'Mrs. Clay will do herself the honour of waiting upon you, to pay +her respects, before you leave Knowl for your temporary sojourn in another +sphere.' + +So, with another deep bow--for I had become a great personage all at +once--he let go my hand cautiously and delicately, as if he were setting +down a curious china tea-cup. And I courtesied low to him, not knowing +what to say, and then to the assembly generally, who all bowed. And Cousin +Monica whispered, briskly, 'Come away,' and took my hand with a very cold +and rather damp one, and led me from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +_I HEAR FROM UNCLE SILAS_ + + +Without saying a word, Cousin Monica accompanied me to the school-room, and +on entering she shut the door, not with a spirited clang, but quietly and +determinedly. + +'Well, dear,' she said, with the same pale, excited countenance, 'that +certainly is a sensible and charitable arrangement. I could not have +believed it possible, had I not heard it with my ears.' + +'About my going to Bartram-Haugh?' + +'Yes, exactly so, under Silas Ruthyn's guardianship, to spend +two--_three_--of the most important years of your education and your life +under that roof. Is _that_, my dear, what was in your mind when you were so +alarmed about what you were to be called upon to do, or undergo?' + +'No, no, indeed. I had no notion what it might be. I was afraid of +something serious,' I answered. + +'And, my dear Maud, did not your poor father speak to you as if it _was_ +something serious?' said she. 'And so it _is_, I can tell you, something +serious, and _very_ serious; and I think it ought to be prevented, and I +certainly _will_ prevent it if I possibly can.' + +I was puzzled utterly by the intensity of Lady Knollys' protest. I looked +at her, expecting an explanation of her meaning; but she was silent, +looking steadfastly on the jewels on her right-hand fingers, with which she +was drumming a staccato march on the table, very pale, with gleaming eyes, +evidently thinking deeply. I began to think she _had_ a prejudice against +my uncle Silas. + +'He is not very rich,' I commenced. + +'Who?' said Lady Knollys. + +'Uncle Silas,' I replied. + +'No, certainly; he's in debt,' she answered. 'But then, how very highly +Doctor Clay spoke of him!' I pursued. + +'Don't talk of Doctor Clay. I do think that man is the greatest goose I +ever heard talk. I have no patience with such men,' she replied. + +I tried to remember what particular nonsense Doctor Clay had uttered, and I +could recollect nothing, unless his eulogy upon my uncle were to be classed +with that sort of declamation. + +'Danvers is a very proper man and a good accountant, I dare say; but he +is either a very deep person, or a fool--_I_ believe a fool. As for your +attorney, I suppose he knows his business, and also his interest, and I +have no doubt he will consult it. I begin to think he best man among them, +the shrewdest and the most reliable, is that vulgar visionary in the black +wig. I saw him look at you, Maud, and I liked his face, though it is +abominably ugly and vulgar, and cunning, too; but I think he's a just man, +and I dare say with right feelings--I'm _sure_ he has.' + +I was quite at a loss to divine the gist of my cousin's criticism. + +'I'll have some talk with Dr. Bryerly; I feel convinced he takes my view, +and we must really think what had best be done.' + +'Is there anything in the will, Cousin Monica, that does not appear?' I +asked, for I was growing very uneasy. 'I wish you would tell me. What view +do you mean?' + +'No view in particular; the view that a desolate old park, and the house of +a _neglected_ old man, who is very poor, and has been desperately foolish, +is not the right place for you, particularly at your years. It is quite +shocking, and I _will_ speak to Doctor Bryerly. May I ring the bell, dear?' + +'Certainly;' and I rang it. + +'When does he leave Knowl?' + +I could not tell. Mrs. Rusk, however, was sent for, and she could tell +us that he had announced his intention of taking the night train from +Drackleton, and was to leave Knowl for that station at half-past six +o'clock. + +'May Rusk give or send him a message from me, dear?' asked Lady Knollys. + +Of course she might. + +'Then please let him know that I request he will be so good as to allow me +a very few minutes, just to say a word before he goes.' + +'You kind cousin!' I said, placing my two hands on her shoulders, and +looking earnestly in her face; 'you are anxious about me, more than you +say. Won't you tell me why? I am much more unhappy, really, in ignorance, +than if I understood the cause.' + +'Well, dear, haven't I told you? The two or three years of your life which +are to form you are destined to be passed in utter loneliness, and, I am +sure, neglect. You can't estimate the disadvantage of such an arrangement. +It is full of disadvantages. How it could have entered the head of poor +Austin--although I should not say that, for I am sure I do understand +it,--but how he could for any purpose have directed such a measure is quite +inconceivable. I never heard of anything so foolish and abominable, and I +will prevent it if I can.' + +At that moment Mrs. Rusk announced that Doctor Bryerly would see Lady +Knollys at any time she pleased before his departure. + +'It shall be this moment, then,' said the energetic lady, and up she stood, +and made that hasty general adjustment before the glass, which, no matter +under what circumstances, and before what sort of creature one's appearance +is to be made, is a duty that every woman owes to herself. And I heard her +a moment after, at the stair-head, directing Branston to let Dr. Bryerly +know that she awaited him in the drawing-room. + +And now she was gone, and I began to wonder and speculate. Why should +my cousin Monica make all this fuss about, after all, a very natural +arrangement? My uncle, whatever he might have been, was now a good man--a +religious man--perhaps a little severe; and with this thought a dark streak +fell across my sky. + +A cruel disciplinarian! had I not read of such characters?--lock and +key, bread and water, and solitude! To sit locked up all night in a dark +out-of-the-way room, in a great, ghosty, old-fashioned house, with no one +nearer than the other wing. What years of horror in one such night! Would +not this explain my poor father's hesitation, and my cousin Monica's +apparently disproportioned opposition? When an idea of terror presents +itself to a young person's mind, it transfixes and fills the vision, +without respect of probabilities or reason. + +My uncle was now a terrible old martinet, with long Bible lessons, +lectures, pages of catechism, sermons to be conned by rote, and an awful +catalogue of punishments for idleness, and what would seem to him impiety. +I was going, then, to a frightful isolated reformatory, where for the first +time in my life I should be subjected to a rigorous and perhaps barbarous +discipline. + +All this was an exhalation of fancy, but it quite overcame me. I threw +myself, in my solitude, on the floor, upon my knees, and prayed for +deliverance--prayed that Cousin Monica might prevail with Doctor Bryerly, +and both on my behalf with the Lord Chancellor, or the High Sheriff, or +whoever else my proper deliverer might be; and when my cousin returned, she +found me quite in an agony. + +'Why, you little fool! what fancy has taken possession of you now?' she +cried. + +And when my new terror came to light, she actually laughed a little to +reassure me, and she said-- + +'My dear child, your uncle Silas will never put you through your duty to +your neighbour; all the time you are under his roof you'll have idleness +and liberty enough, and too much, I fear. It is neglect, my dear, not +discipline, that I'm afraid of.' + +'I think, dear Cousin Monica, you are afraid of something more than +neglect,' I said, relieved, however. + +'I _am_ afraid of more than neglect,' she replied promptly; 'but I hope my +fears may turn out illusory, and that possibly they may be avoided. And +now, for a few hours at least, let us think of something else. I rather +like that Doctor Bryerly. I could not get him to say what I wanted. I don't +think he's Scotch, but he is very cautious, and I am sure, though he would +not say so, that he thinks of the matter exactly as I do. He says that +those fine people, who are named as his co-trustees, won't take any +trouble, and will leave everything to him, and I am sure he is right. So +we must not quarrel with him, Maud, nor call him hard names, although +he certainly is intolerably vulgar and ugly, and at times very nearly +impertinent--I suppose without knowing, or indeed very much caring.' + +We had a good deal to think of, and talked incessantly. There were bursts +and interruptions of grief, and my kind cousin's consolations. I have +often since been so lectured for giving way to grief, that I wonder at the +patience exercised by her during this irksome visit. Then there was some +reading of that book whose claims are always felt in the terrible days of +affliction. After that we had a walk in the yew garden, that quaint little +cloistered quadrangle--the most solemn, sad, and antiquated of gardens. + +'And now, my dear, I must really leave you for two or three hours. I have +ever so many letters to write, and my people must think I'm dead by this +time.' + +So till tea-time I had poor Mary Quince, with her gushes of simple prattle +and her long fits of vacant silence, for my companion. And such a one, who +can con over by rote the old friendly gossip about the dead, talk about +their ways, and looks, and likings, without much psychologic refinement, +but with a simple admiration and liking that never measured them +critically, but always with faith and love, is in general about as +comfortable a companion as one can find for the common moods of grief. + +It is not easy to recall in calm and happy hours the sensations of an acute +sorrow that is past. Nothing, by the merciful ordinance of God, is more +difficult to remember than pain. One or two great agonies of that time I do +remember, and they remain to testify of the rest, and convince me, though I +can see it no more, how terrible all that period was. + +Next day was the funeral, that appalling necessity; smuggled away in +whispers, by black familiars, unresisting, the beloved one leaves home, +without a farewell, to darken those doors no more; henceforward to lie +outside, far away, and forsaken, through the drowsy heats of summer, +through days of snow and nights of tempest, without light or warmth, +without a voice near. Oh, Death, king of terrors! The body quakes and the +spirit faints before thee. It is vain, with hands clasped over our eyes, to +scream our reclamation; the horrible image will not be excluded. We have +just the word spoken eighteen hundred years ago, and our trembling faith. +And through the broken vault the gleam of the Star of Bethlehem. + +I was glad in a sort of agony when it was over. So long as it remained to +be done, something of the catastrophe was still suspended. Now it was all +over. + +The house so strangely empty. No owner--no master! I with my strange +momentary liberty, bereft of that irreplaceable love, never quite prized +until it is lost. Most people have experienced the dismay that underlies +sorrow under such circumstances. + +The apartment of the poor outcast from life is now dismantled. Beds and +curtains taken down, and furniture displaced; carpets removed, windows open +and doors locked; the bedroom and anteroom were henceforward, for many a +day, uninhabited. Every shocking change smote my heart like a reproach. + +I saw that day that Cousin Monica had been crying for the first time, I +think, since her arrival at Knowl; and I loved her more for it, and felt +consoled. My tears have often been arrested by the sight of another person +weeping, and I never could explain why. But I believe that many persons +experience the same odd reaction. + +The funeral was conducted, in obedience to his brief but peremptory +direction, very privately and with little expense. But of course there was +an attendance, and the tenants of the Knowl estate also followed the hearse +to the mausoleum, as it is called, in the park, where he was laid beside my +dear mother. And so the repulsive ceremonial of that dreadful day was over. +The grief remained, but there was rest from the fatigue of agitation, and a +comparative calm supervened. + +It was now the stormy equinoctial weather that sounds the wild dirge of +autumn, and marches the winter in. I love, and always did, that grand +undefinable music, threatening and bewailing, with its strange soul of +liberty and desolation. + +By this night's mail, as we sat listening to the storm, in the drawing-room +at Knowl, there reached me a large letter with a great black seal, and a +wonderfully deep-black border, like a widow's crape. I did not recognise +the handwriting; but on opening the funereal missive, it proved to be from +my uncle Silas, and was thus expressed:-- + +'MY DEAREST NIECE,--This letter will reach you, probably, on the day which +consigns the mortal remains of my beloved brother, Austin, your dear +father, to the earth. Sad ceremony, from taking my mournful part in which +I am excluded by years, distance, and broken health. It will, I trust, at +this season of desolation, be not unwelcome to remember that a substitute, +imperfect--unworthy--but most affectionately zealous, for the honoured +parent whom you have just lost, has been appointed, in me, your uncle, by +his will. I am aware that you were present during the reading of it, but +I think it will be for our mutual satisfaction that our new and more +affectionate relations should be forthwith entered upon. My conscience and +your safety, and I trust convenience, will thereby be consulted. You will, +my dear niece, remain at Knowl, until a few simple arrangements shall have +been completed for your reception at this place. I will then settle +the details of your little journey to us, which shall be performed as +comfortably and easily as possible. I humbly pray that this affliction may +be sanctified to us all, and that in our new duties we may be supported, +comforted, and directed. I need not remind you that I now stand to you _in +loco parentis_, which means in the relation of father, and you will not +forget that you are to remain at Knowl until you hear further from me. + +'I remain, my dear niece, your most affectionate uncle and guardian, + +SILAS RUTHYN.' + +'P.S.--Pray present my respects to Lady Knollys, who, I understand, is +sojourning at Knowl. I would observe that a lady who cherishes, I have +reason to fear, unfriendly feelings against your uncle, is not the most +desirable companion for his ward. But upon the express condition that I am +not made the subject of your discussions--a distinction which could not +conduce to your forming a just and respectful estimate of me--I do not +interpose my authority to bring your intercourse to an immediate close.' + +As I read this postscript, my cheek tingled as if I had received a box on +the ear. Uncle Silas was as yet a stranger. The menace of authority was new +and sudden, and I felt with a pang of mortification the full force of the +position in which my dear father's will had placed me. + +I was silent, and handed the letter to my cousin, who read it with a +kind of smile until she came, as I supposed, to the postscript, when her +countenance, on which my eyes were fixed, changed, and with flushed cheeks +she knocked the hand that held the letter on the table before her, and +exclaimed-- + +'Did I ever hear! Well, if this isn't impertinence! _What_ an old man that +is!' + +There was a pause, during which Lady Knollys held her head high with a +frown, and sniffed a little. + +'I did not intend to talk about him, but now I _will_. I'll talk away just +whatever I like; and I'll stay here just as long as you let me, Maud, and +you need not be one atom afraid of him. Our intercourse to an "immediate +close," indeed! I only wish he were here. He should hear something!' + +And Cousin Monica drank off her entire cup of tea at one draught, and then +she said, more in her own way-- + +'I'm better!' and drew a long breath, and then she laughed a little in a +waggish defiance. 'I wish we had him here, Maud, and _would_ not we give +him a bit of our minds! And this before the poor will is so much as +proved!' + +'I am almost glad he wrote that postscript; for although I don't think he +has any authority in that matter while I am under my own roof,' I said, +extemporising a legal opinion, 'and, therefore, shan't obey him, it has +somehow opened my eyes to my real situation.' + +I sighed, I believe, very desolately, for Lady Knollys came over and kissed +me very gently and affectionately. + +'It really seems, Maud, as if he had a supernatural sense, and heard things +through the air over fifty miles of heath and hill. You remember how, just +as he was probably writing that very postscript yesterday, I was urging you +to come and stay with me, and planning to move Dr. Bryerly in our favour. +And so I will, Maud, and to me you _shall_ come--my guest, mind--I should +be so delighted; and really if Silas is under a cloud, it has been his own +doing, and I don't see that it is your business to fight his battle. He +can't live very long. The suspicion, whatever it is dies with him, and what +could poor dear Austin prove by his will but what everybody knew quite well +before--his own strong belief in Silas's innocence? What an awful storm! +The room trembles. Don't you like the sound? What they used to call +'wolving' in the old organ at Dorminster!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +_THE STORY OF UNCLE SILAS_ + + +And so it was like the yelling of phantom hounds and hunters, and the +thunder of their coursers in the air--a furious, grand and supernatural +music, which in my fancy made a suitable accompaniment to the discussion of +that enigmatical person--martyr--angel--demon--Uncle Silas--with whom my +fate was now so strangely linked, and whom I had begun to fear. + +'The storm blows from that point,' I said, indicating it with my hand and +eye, although the window shutters and curtains were closed. 'I saw all the +trees bend that way this evening. That way stands the great lonely wood, +where my darling father and mother lie. Oh, how dreadful on nights like +this, to think of them--a vault!--damp, and dark, and solitary--under the +storm.' + +Cousin Monica looked wistfully in the same direction, and with a short sigh +she said-- + +'We think too much of the poor remains, and too little of the spirit which +lives for ever. I am sure they are happy.' And she sighed again. 'I wish +I dare hope as confidently for myself. Yes, Maud, it is sad. We are such +materialists, we can't help feeling so. We forget how well it is for us +that our present bodies are not to last always. They are constructed for a +time and place of trouble--plainly mere temporary machines that wear out, +constantly exhibiting failure and decay, and with such tremendous capacity +for pain. The body lies alone, and so it ought, for it is plainly its good +Creator's will; it is only the tabernacle, not the person, who is clothed +upon after death, Saint Paul says, "with a house which is from heaven." So +Maud, darling, although the thought will trouble us again and again, there +is nothing in it; and the poor mortal body is only the cold ruin of a +habitation which _they_ have forsaken before we do. So this great wind, you +say, is blowing toward us from the wood there. If so, Maud, it is blowing +from Bartram-Haugh, too, over the trees and chimneys of that old place, and +the mysterious old man, who is quite right in thinking I don't like him; +and I can fancy him an old enchanter in his castle, waving his familiar +spirits on the wind to fetch and carry tidings of our occupations here.' + +I lifted my head and listened to the storm, dying away in the distance +sometimes--sometimes swelling and pealing around and above us--and through +the dark and solitude my thoughts sped away to Bartram-Haugh and Uncle +Silas. + +'This letter,' I said at last, 'makes me feel differently. I think he is a +stern old man--is he?' + +'It is twenty years, now, since I saw him,' answered Lady Knollys. 'I did +not choose to visit at his house.' + +'Was that before the dreadful occurrence at Bartram-Haugh?' + +'Yes--before, dear. He was not a reformed rake, but only a ruined one then. +Austin was very good to him. Mr. Danvers says it is quite unaccountable how +Silas can have made away with the immense sums he got from his brother from +time to time without benefiting himself in the least. But, my dear, he +played; and trying to help a man who plays, and is unlucky--and some men +are, I believe, habitually unlucky--is like trying to fill a vessel that +has no bottom. I think, by-the-by, my hopeful nephew, Charles Oakley, +plays. Then Silas went most unjustifiably into all manner of speculations, +and your poor father had to pay everything. He lost something quite +astounding in that bank that ruined so many country gentlemen--poor Sir +Harry Shackleton, in Yorkshire, had to sell half his estate. But your kind +father went on helping him, up to his marriage--I mean in that extravagant +way which was really totally useless.' + +'Has my aunt been long dead?' + +'Twelve or fifteen years--more, indeed--she died before your poor mamma. +She was very unhappy, and I am sure would have given her right hand she had +never married Silas.' + +'Did you like her?' + +'No, dear; she was a coarse, vulgar woman.' + +'Coarse and vulgar, and Uncle Silas's wife!' I echoed in extreme surprise, +for Uncle Silas was a man of fashion--a beau in his day--and might have +married women of good birth and fortune, I had no doubt, and so I expressed +myself. 'Yes, dear; so he might, and poor dear Austin was very anxious he +should, and would have helped him with a handsome settlement, I dare say, +but he chose to marry the daughter of a Denbigh innkeeper.' + +'How utterly incredible!' I exclaimed. + +'Not the least incredible, dear--a kind of thing not at all so uncommon as +you fancy.' + +'What!--a gentleman of fashion and refinement marry a person--' + +'A barmaid!--just so,' said Lady Knollys. 'I think I could count half a +dozen men of fashion who, to my knowledge, have ruined themselves just in a +similar way.' + +'Well, at all events, it must be allowed that in this he proved himself +altogether unworldly.' + +'Not a bit unworldly, but very vicious,' replied Cousin Monica, with a +careless little laugh. 'She was very beautiful, curiously beautiful, for +a person in her station. She was very like that Lady Hamilton who was +Nelson's sorceress--elegantly beautiful, but perfectly low and stupid. +I believe, to do him justice, he only intended to ruin her; but she was +cunning enough to insist upon marriage. Men who have never in all their +lives denied themselves the indulgence of a single fancy, cost what it +may, will not be baulked even by that condition if the _penchant_ be only +violent enough.' + +I did not half understand this piece of worldly psychology, at which Lady +Knollys seemed to laugh. + +'Poor Silas, certainly he struggled honestly against the consequences, +for he tried after the honeymoon to prove the marriage bad. But the Welsh +parson and the innkeeper papa were too strong for him, and the young lady +was able to hold her struggling swain fast in that respectable noose--and a +pretty prize he proved!' + +'And she died, poor thing, broken-hearted, I heard.' + +'She died, at all events, about ten years after her marriage; but I really +can't say about her heart. She certainly had enough ill-usage, I believe, +to kill her; but I don't know that she had feeling enough to die of it, if +it had not been that she drank: I am told that Welsh women often do. There +was jealousy, of course, and brutal quarrelling, and all sorts of horrid +stories. I visited at Bartram-Haugh for a year or two, though no one else +would. But when that sort of thing began, of course I gave it up; it was +out of the question. I don't think poor Austin ever knew how bad it was. +And then came that odious business about wretched Mr. Charke. You know +he--he committed suicide at Bartram.' + +'I never heard about that,' I said; and we both paused, and she looked +sternly at the fire, and the storm roared and ha-ha-ed till the old house +shook again. + +'But Uncle Silas could not help that,' I said at last. + +'No, he could not help it,' she acquiesced unpleasantly. + +'And Uncle Silas was'--I paused in a sort of fear. + +'He was suspected by some people of having killed him'--she completed the +sentence. + +There was another long pause here, during which the storm outside bellowed +and hooted like an angry mob roaring at the windows for a victim. An +intolerable and sickening sensation overpowered me. + +'But _you_ did not suspect him, Cousin Knollys?' I said, trembling very +much. + +'No,' she answered very sharply. 'I told you so before. Of course I did +not.' + +There was another silence. + +'I wish, Cousin Monica,' I said, drawing close to her, 'you had not said +_that_ about Uncle Silas being like a wizard, and sending his spirits +on the wind to listen. But I'm very glad you never suspected him.' I +insinuated my cold hand into hers, and looked into her face I know not with +what expression. She looked down into mine with a hard, haughty stare, I +thought. + +'Of _course_ I never suspected him; and _never_ ask me _that_ question +again, Maud Ruthyn.' + +Was it family pride, or what was it, that gleamed so fiercely from her eyes +as she said this? I was frightened--I was wounded--I burst into tears. + +'What is my darling crying for? I did not mean to be cross. _Was_ I +cross?' said this momentary phantom of a grim Lady Knollys, in an instant +translated again into kind, pleasant Cousin Monica, with her arms about my +neck. + +'No, no, indeed--only I thought I had vexed you; and, I believe, thinking +of Uncle Silas makes me nervous, and I can't help thinking of him nearly +always.' 'Nor can I, although we might both easily find something better to +think of. Suppose we try?' said Lady Knollys. + +'But, first, I must know a little more about that Mr. Charke, and what +circumstances enabled Uncle Silas's enemies to found on his death that +wicked slander, which has done no one any good, and caused some persons so +much misery. There is Uncle Silas, I may say, ruined by it; and we all know +how it darkened the life of my dear father.' + +'People will talk, my dear. Your uncle Silas had injured himself before +that in the opinion of the people of his county. He was a black sheep, +in fact. Very bad stories were told and believed of him. His marriage +certainly was a disadvantage, you know, and the miserable scenes that went +on in his disreputable house--all that predisposed people to believe ill of +him.' + +'How long is it since it happened?' + +'Oh, a long time; I think before you were born,' answered she. + +'And the injustice still lives--they have not forgotten it yet?' said I, +for such a period appeared to me long enough to have consigned anything in +its nature perishable to oblivion. + +Lady Knollys smiled. + +'Tell me, like a darling cousin, the whole story as well as you can +recollect it. Who was Mr. Charke?' + +'Mr. Charke, my dear, was a gentleman on the turf--that is the phrase, I +think--one of those London men, without birth or breeding, who merely in +right of their vices and their money are admitted to associate with young +dandies who like hounds and horses, and all that sort of thing. That set +knew him very well, but of course no one else. He was at the Matlock +races, and your uncle asked him to Bartram-Haugh; and the creature, Jew +or Gentile, whatever he was, fancied there was more honour than, perhaps, +there really was in a visit to Bartram-Haugh.' + +'For the kind of person you describe, it _was_, I think, a rather unusual +honour to be invited to stay in the house of a man of Uncle Ruthyn's +birth.' + +'Well, so it was perhaps; for though they knew him very well on the course, +and would ask him to their tavern dinners, they would not, of course, admit +him to the houses where ladies were. But Silas's wife was not much regarded +at Bartram-Haugh. Indeed, she was very little seen, for she was every +evening tipsy in her bedroom, poor woman!' + +'How miserable!' I exclaimed. + +'I don't think it troubled Silas very much, for she drank gin, they said, +poor thing, and the expense was not much; and, on the whole, I really think +he was glad she drank, for it kept her out of his way, and was likely to +kill her. At this time your poor father, who was thoroughly disgusted at +his marriage, had stopped the supplies, you know, and Silas was very poor, +and as hungry as a hawk, and they said he pounced upon this rich London +gamester, intending to win his money. I am telling you now all that was +said afterwards. The races lasted I forget how many days, and Mr. Charke +stayed at Bartram-Haugh all this time and for some days after. It was +thought that poor Austin would pay all Silas's gambling debts, and so this +wretched Mr. Charke made heavy wagers with him on the races, and they +played very deep, besides, at Bartram. He and Silas used to sit up at night +at cards. All these particulars, as I told you, came out afterwards, for +there was an inquest, you know, and then Silas published what he called his +"statement," and there was a great deal of most distressing correspondence +in the newspapers.' + +'And why did Mr. Charke kill himself?' I asked. + +'Well, I will tell you first what all are agreed about. The second night +after the races, your uncle and Mr. Charke sat up till between two and +three o'clock in the morning, quite by themselves, in the parlour. Mr. +Charke's servant was at the Stag's Head Inn at Feltram, and therefore could +throw no light upon what occurred at night at Bartram-Haugh; but he was +there at six o'clock in the morning, and very early at his master's door by +his direction. He had locked it, as was his habit, upon the inside, and the +key was in the lock, which turned out afterwards a very important point. +On knocking he found that he could not awaken his master, because, as it +appeared when the door was forced open, his master was lying dead at his +bedside, not in a pool, but a perfect pond of blood, as they described it, +with his throat cut.' + +'How horrible!' cried I. + +'So it was. Your uncle Silas was called up, and greatly shocked of course, +and he did what I believe was best. He had everything left as nearly as +possible in the exact state in which it had been found, and he sent his +own servant forthwith for the coroner, and, being himself a justice of +the peace, he took the depositions of Mr. Charke's servant while all the +incidents were still fresh in his memory.' + +'Could anything be more straightforward, more right and wise?' I said. + +'Oh, nothing of course,' answered Lady Knollys, I thought a little drily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +_MORE ABOUT TOM CHARKE'S SUICIDE_ + + +So the inquest was held, and Mr. Manwaring, of Wail Forest, was the only +juryman who seemed to entertain the idea during the inquiry that Mr. Charke +had died by any hand but his own. + +'And how _could_ he fancy such a thing?' I exclaimed indignantly. + +'Well, you will see the result was quite enough to justify them in saying +as they did, that he died by his own hand. The window was found fastened +with a screw on the inside, as it had been when the chambermaid had +arranged it at nine o'-clock; no one could have entered through it. +Besides, it was on the third story, and the rooms are lofty, so it stood +at a great height from the ground, and there was no ladder long enough +to reach it. The house is built in the form of a hollow square, and Mr. +Charke's room looked into the narrow court-yard within. There is but one +door leading into this, and it did not show any sign of having been open +for years. The door was locked upon the inside, and the key in the lock, +so that nobody could have made an entrance that way either, for it was +impossible, you see, to unlock the door from the outside.' 'And how could +they affect to question anything so clear?' I asked. + +'There did come, nevertheless, a kind of mist over the subject, which +gave those who chose to talk unpleasantly an opportunity of insinuating +suspicions, though they could not themselves find the clue of the mystery. +In the first place, it appeared that he had gone to bed very tipsy, and +that he was heard singing and noisy in his room while getting to bed--not +the mood in which men make away with themselves. Then, although his own +razor was found in that dreadful blood (it is shocking to have to hear all +this) near his right hand, the fingers of his left were cut to the bone. +Then the memorandum book in which his bets were noted was nowhere to be +found. That, you know, was very odd. His keys were there attached to a +chain. He wore a great deal of gold and trinkets. I saw him, wretched +man, on the course. They had got off their horses. He and your uncle were +walking on the course.' + +'Did he look like a gentleman?' I inquired, as I dare say, other young +ladies would. + +'He looked like a Jew, my dear. He had a horrid brown coat with a velvet +cape, curling black hair over his collar, and great whiskers, very high +shoulders, and he was puffing a cigar straight up into the air. I was +shocked to see Silas in such company.' + +'And did his keys discover anything?' I asked. + +'On opening his travelling desk and a small japanned box within it a vast +deal less money was found than was expected--in fact, very little. Your +uncle said that he had won some of it the night before at play, and +that Charke complained to him when tipsy of having had severe losses to +counterbalance his gains on the races. Besides, he had been paid but a +small part of those gains. About his book it appeared that there were +little notes of bets on the backs of letters, and it was said that +he sometimes made no other memorandum of his wagers--but this was +disputed--and among those notes there was not one referring to Silas. But, +then, there was an omission of all allusion to his transactions with two +other well-known gentlemen. So that was not singular.' + +'No, certainly; that was quite accounted for,' said I. + +'And then came the question,' continued she, 'what motive could Mr. Charke +possibly have had for making away with himself.' + +'But is not that very difficult to make out in many cases?' I interposed. + +'It was said that he had some mysterious troubles in London, at which he +used to hint. Some people said that he really was in a scrape, but others +that there was no such thing, and that when he talked so he was only +jesting. There was no suspicion during the inquest that your uncle Silas +was involved, except those questions of Mr. Manwaring's.' + +'What were they?' I asked. + +'I really forget; but they greatly offended your uncle, and there was a +little scene in the room. Mr. Manwaring seemed to think that some one had +somehow got into the room. Through the door it could not be, nor down the +chimney, for they found an iron bar across the flue, near the top in the +masonry. The window looked into a court-yard no bigger than a ball-room. +They went down and examined it, but, though the ground beneath was moist, +they could not discover the slightest trace of a footprint. So far as they +could make out, Mr. Charke had hermetically sealed himself into his room, +and then cut his throat with his own razor.' + +'Yes,' said I, 'for it was all secured--that is, the window and the +door--upon the inside, and no sign of any attempt to get in.' + +'Just so; and when the walls were searched, and, as your uncle Silas +directed, the wainscoting removed, some months afterwards, when the scandal +grew loudest, then it was evident that there was no concealed access to the +room.' + +'So the answer to all those calumnies was simply that the crime was +impossible,' said I. 'How dreadful that such a slander should have required +an answer at all!' + +'It was an unpleasant affair even then, although I cannot say that anyone +supposed Silas guilty; but you know the whole thing was disreputable, that +Mr. Charke was a discreditable inmate, the occurrence was horrible, and +there was a glare of publicity which brought into relief the scandals of +Bartram-Haugh. But in a little time it became, all on a sudden, a great +deal worse.' + +My cousin paused to recollect exactly. + +'There were very disagreeable whispers among the sporting people in London. +This person, Charke, had written two letters. Yes--two. They were published +about two months after, by the villain to whom they were written; he wanted +to extort money. They were first talked of a great deal among that set in +town; but the moment they were published they produced a sensation in the +country, and a storm of newspaper commentary. The first of these was of no +great consequence, but the second was very startling, embarrassing, and +even alarming.' + +'What was it, Cousin Monica?' I whispered. + +'I can only tell you in a general way, it is so very long since I read +it; but both were written in the same kind of slang, and parts as hard to +understand as a prize fight. I hope you never read those things.' + +I satisfied this sudden educational alarm, and Lady Knollys proceeded. + +'I am afraid you hardly hear me, the wind makes such an uproar. Well, +listen. The letter said distinctly, that he, Mr. Charke, had made a very +profitable visit to Bartram-Haugh, and mentioned in exact figures for how +much he held your uncle Silas's I.O.U.'s, for he could not pay him. I can't +say what the sum was. I only remember that it was quite frightful. It took +away my breath when I read it.' + +'Uncle Silas had lost it?' I asked. + +'Yes, and owed it; and had given him those papers called I.O.U.'s promising +to pay, which, of course, Mr. Charke had locked up with his money; and the +insinuation was that Silas had made away with him, to get rid of this debt, +and that he had also taken a great deal of his money. + +'I just recollect these points which were exactly what made the +impression,' continued Lady Knollys, after a short pause; 'the letter was +written in the evening of the last day of the wretched man's life, so that +there had not been much time for your uncle Silas to win back his money; +and he stoutly alleged that he did not owe Mr. Charke a guinea. It +mentioned an enormous sum as being actually owed by Silas; and it cautioned +the man, an agent, to whom he wrote, not to mention the circumstance, as +Silas could only pay by getting the money from his wealthy brother, who +would have the management; and he distinctly said that he had kept the +matter very close at Silas's request. That, you know, was a very awkward +letter, and all the worse that it was written in brutally high spirits, and +not at all like a man meditating an exit from the world. You can't imagine +what a sensation the publication of these letters produced. In a moment +the storm was up, and certainly Silas did meet it bravely--yes, with great +courage and ability. What a pity he did not early enter upon some career of +ambition! Well, well, it is idle regretting. He suggested that the letters +were forgeries. He alleged that Charke was in the habit of boasting, and +telling enormous falsehoods about his gambling transactions, especially in +his letters. He reminded the world how often men affect high animal spirits +at the very moment of meditating suicide. He alluded, in a manly and +graceful way, to his family and their character. He took a high and +menacing tone with his adversaries, and he insisted that what they dared to +insinuate against him was physically impossible.' + +I asked in what form this vindication appeared. + +'It was a letter, printed as a pamphlet; everybody admired its ability, +ingenuity, and force, and it was written with immense rapidity.' + +'Was it at all in the style of his letters?' I innocently asked. + +My cousin laughed. + +'Oh, dear, no! Ever since he avowed himself a religious character, he had +written nothing but the most vapid and nerveless twaddle. Your poor dear +father used to send his letters to me to read, and I sometimes really +thought that Silas was losing his faculties; but I believe he was only +trying to write in character.' + +'I suppose the general feeling was in his favour?' I said. + +'I don't think it was, anywhere; but in his own county it was certainly +unanimously against him. There is no use in asking why; but so it was, and +I think it would have been easier for him with his unaided strength to +uproot the Peak than to change the convictions of the Derbyshire gentlemen. +They were all against him. Of course there were predisposing causes. Your +uncle published a very bitter attack upon them, describing himself as the +victim of a political conspiracy: and I recollect he mentioned that from +the hour of the shocking catastrophe in his house, he had forsworn the turf +and all pursuits and amusements connected with it. People sneered, and said +he might as well go as wait to be kicked out.' + +'Were there law-suits about all this?' I asked. + +'Everybody expected that there would, for there were very savage things +printed on both sides, and I think, too, that the persons who thought worst +of him expected that evidence would yet turn up to convict Silas of the +crime they chose to impute; and so years have glided away, and many of the +people who remembered the tragedy of Bartram-Haugh, and took the strongest +part in the denunciation, and ostracism that followed, are dead, and no new +light had been thrown upon the occurrence, and your uncle Silas remains an +outcast. At first he was quite wild with rage, and would have fought the +whole county, man by man, if they would have met him. But he had since +changed his habits and, as he says, his aspirations altogether.' + +'He has become religious.' + +'The only occupation remaining to him. He owes money; he is poor; he is +isolated; and he says, sick and religious. Your poor father, who was +very decided and inflexible, never helped him beyond the limit he had +prescribed, after Silas's _mesalliance_. He wanted to get him into +Parliament, and would have paid his expenses, and made him an allowance; +but either Silas had grown lazy, or he understood his position better than +poor Austin, or he distrusted his powers, or possibly he really is in +ill-health; but he objected his religious scruples. Your poor papa thought +self-assertion possible, where an injured man has right to rely upon, but +he had been very long out of the world, and the theory won't do. Nothing is +harder than to get a person who has once been effectually slurred, received +again. Silas, I think, was right. I don't think it was practicable. + +'Dear child, how late it is!' exclaimed Lady Knollys suddenly, looking at +the Louis Quatorze clock, that crowned the mantelpiece. + +It was near one o'clock. The storm had a little subsided, and I took a less +agitated and more confident view of Uncle Silas than I had at an earlier +hour of that evening. + +'And what do you think of him?' I asked. + +Lady Knollys drummed on the table with her finger points as she looked into +the fire. + +'I don't understand metaphysics, my dear, nor witchcraft. I sometimes +believe in the supernatural, and sometimes I don't. Silas Ruthyn is himself +alone, and I can't define him, because I don't understand him. Perhaps +other souls than human are sometimes born into the world, and clothed in +flesh. It is not only about that dreadful occurrence, but nearly always +throughout his life; early and late he has puzzled me. I have tried in vain +to understand him. But at one time of his life I am sure he was awfully +wicked--eccentric indeed in his wickedness--gay, frivolous, secret, and +dangerous. At one time I think he could have made poor Austin do almost +anything; but his influence vanished with his marriage, never to return +again. No; I don't understand him. He always bewildered me, like a shifting +face, sometimes smiling, but always sinister, in an unpleasant dream.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +_I AM PERSUADED_ + + +So now at last I had heard the story of Uncle Silas's mysterious disgrace. +We sat silent for a while, and I, gazing into vacancy, sent him in a +chariot of triumph, chapletted, ringed, and robed through the city of +imagination, crying after him, 'Innocent! innocent! martyr and crowned!' +All the virtues and honesties, reason and conscience, in myriad +shapes--tier above tier of human faces--from the crowded pavement, crowded +windows, crowded roofs, joined in the jubilant acclamation, and trumpeters +trumpeted, and drums rolled, and great organs and choirs through open +cathedral gates, rolled anthems of praise and thanksgiving, and the bells +rang out, and cannons sounded, and the air trembled with the roaring +harmony; and Silas Ruthyn, the full-length portrait, stood in the burnished +chariot, with a proud, sad, clouded face, that rejoiced not with the +rejoicers, and behind him the slave, thin as a ghost, white-faced, and +sneering something in his ear: while I and all the city went on crying +'Innocent! innocent! martyr and crowned!' And now the reverie was ended; +and there were only Lady Knollys' stern, thoughtful face, with the pale +light of sarcasm on it, and the storm outside thundering and lamenting +desolately. + +It was very good of Cousin Monica to stay with me so long. It must have +been unspeakably tiresome. And now she began to talk of business at home, +and plainly to prepare for immediate flight, and my heart sank. + +I know that I could not then have defined my feelings and agitations. I am +not sure that I even now could. Any misgiving about Uncle Silas was, in my +mind, a questioning the foundations of my faith, and in itself an impiety. +And yet I am not sure that some such misgiving, faint, perhaps, and +intermittent, may not have been at the bottom of my tribulation. + +I was not very well. Lady Knollys had gone out for a walk. She was not +easily tired, and sometimes made a long excursion. The sun was setting now, +when Mary Quince brought me a letter which had just arrived by the post. My +heart throbbed violently. I was afraid to break the broad black seal. It +was from Uncle Silas. I ran over in my mind all the unpleasant mandates +which it might contain, to try and prepare myself for a shock. At last +I opened the letter. It directed me to hold myself in readiness for the +journey to Bartram-Haugh. It stated that I might bring two maids with me if +I wished so many, and that his next letter would give me the details of my +route, and the day of my departure for Derbyshire; and he said that I ought +to make arrangements about Knowl during my absence, but that he was hardly +the person properly to be consulted on that matter. Then came a prayer that +he might be enabled to acquit himself of his trust to the full satisfaction +of his conscience, and that I might enter upon my new relations in a spirit +of prayer. + +I looked round my room, so long familiar, and now so endeared by the idea +of parting and change. The old house--dear, dear Knowl, how could I leave +you and all your affectionate associations, and kind looks and voices, for +a strange land! + +With a great sigh I took Uncle Silas's letter, and went down stairs to the +drawing-room. From the lobby window, where I loitered for a few moments, +I looked out upon the well-known forest-trees. The sun was down. It was +already twilight, and the white vapours of coming night were already +filming their thinned and yellow foliage. Everything looked melancholy. +How little did those who envied the young inheritrex of a princely fortune +suspect the load that lay at her heart, or, bating the fear of death, how +gladly at that moment she would have parted with her life! + +Lady Knollys had not yet returned, and it was darkening rapidly; a mass of +black clouds stood piled in the west, through the chasms of which was still +reflected a pale metallic lustre. + +The drawing-room was already very dark; but some streaks of this cold light +fell upon a black figure, which would otherwise have been unseen, leaning +beside the curtains against the window frame. + +It advanced abruptly, with creaking shoes; it was Doctor Bryerly. + +I was startled and surprised, not knowing how he had got there. I stood +staring at him in the dusk rather awkwardly, I am afraid. + +'How do you do, Miss Ruthyn?' said he, extending his hand, long, hard, and +brown as a mummy's, and stooping a little so as to approach more nearly, +for it was not easy to see in the imperfect light. 'You're surprised, I +dare say, to see me here so soon again?' + +'I did not know you had arrived. I am glad to see you, Doctor Bryerly. +Nothing unpleasant, I hope, has happened?' + +'No, nothing unpleasant, Miss. The will has been lodged, and we shall have +probate in due course; but there has been something on my mind, and I'm +come to ask you two or three questions which you had better answer very +considerately. Is Miss Knollys still here?' + +'Yes, but she is not returned from her walk.' + +'I am glad she is here. I think she takes a sound view, and women +understand one another better. As for me, it is plainly my duty to put it +before you as it strikes me, and to offer all I can do in accomplishing, +should you wish it, a different arrangement. You don't know your uncle, you +said the other day?' + +'No, I've never seen him.' + +'You understand your late father's intention in making you his ward?' + +'I suppose he wished to show his high opinion of my uncle's fitness for +such a trust.' + +'That's quite true; but the nature of the trust in this instance is +extraordinary.' + +'I don't understand.' + +'Why, if you die before you come to the age of twenty-one, the entire of +the property will go to him--do you see?--and he has the custody of your +person in the meantime; you are to live in his house, under his care and +authority. You see now, I think, how it is; and I did not like it when your +father read the will to me, and I said so. Do _you_?' + +I hesitated to speak, not sure that I quite comprehended him. + +'And the more I think of it, the less I like it, Miss,' said Doctor +Bryerly, in a calm, stern tone. + +'Merciful Heaven! Doctor Bryerly, you can't suppose that I should not be +as safe in my uncle's house as in the Lord Chancellor's?' I ejaculated, +looking full in his face. + +'But don't you see, Miss, it is not a fair position to put your uncle in,' +replied he, after a little hesitation. + +'But suppose _he_ does not think so. You know, if he does, he may decline +it.' + +'Well that's true--but he won't. Here is his letter'--and he produced +it--'announcing officially that he means to accept the office; but I think +he ought to be told it is not _delicate_, under all circumstances. +You know, Miss, that your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, was talked about +unpleasantly once.' + +'You mean'--I began. + +'I mean about the death of Mr. Charke, at Bartram-Haugh.' + +'Yes, I have heard that,' I said; he was speaking with a shocking _aplomb_. + +'We assume, of course, _unjustly_; but there are many who think quite +differently.' + +'And possibly, Doctor Bryerly, it was for that very reason that my dear +papa made him my guardian.' + +'There can be no doubt of that, Miss; it was to purge him of that scandal.' + +'And when he has acquitted himself honourably of that trust, don't you +think such a proof of confidence so honourably fulfilled must go far to +silence his traducers?' + +'Why, if all goes well, it may do a little; but a great deal less than you +fancy. But take it that you happen to _die_, Miss, during your minority. We +are all mortal, and there are three years and some months to go; how will +it be then? Don't you see? Just fancy how people will talk.' + +'I think you know that my uncle is a religious man?' said I. + +'Well, Miss, what of that?' he asked again. + +'He is--he has suffered intensely,' I continued. 'He has long retired from +the world; he is very religious. Ask our curate, Mr. Fairfield, if you +doubt it.' + +'But I am not disputing it, Miss; I'm only supposing what may happen--an +accident, we'll call it small-pox, diphtheria, _that's_ going very much. +Three years and three months, you know, is a long time. You proceed to +Bartram-Haugh, thinking you have much goods laid up for many years; but +your Creator, you know, may say, "Thou fool, this day is thy soul required +of thee." You go--and what pray is thought of your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, +who walks in for the entire inheritance, and who has long been abused like +a pickpocket, or worse, in his own county, I'm told?' + +'You are a religious man, Doctor Bryerly, according to your lights?' I +said. + +The Swedenborgian smiled. + +'Well, knowing that he is so too, and having yourself experienced the power +of religion, do not you think him deserving of every confidence? Don't you +think it well that he should have this opportunity of exhibiting both his +own character and the reliance which my dear papa reposed on it, and that +we should leave all consequences and contingencies in the hands of Heaven?' + +'It appears to have been the will of Heaven hitherto,' said Doctor +Bryerly--I could not see with what expression of face, but he was looking +down, and drawing little diagrams with his stick on the dark carpet, and +spoke in a very low tone--'that your uncle should suffer under this ill +report. In countervailing the appointment of Providence, we must employ our +reason, with conscientious diligence, as to the means, and if we find that +they are as likely to do mischief as good, we have no right to expect a +special interposition to turn our experiment into an ordeal. I think you +ought to weigh it well--I am sure there are reasons against it. If you make +up your mind that you would rather be placed under the care, say of Lady +Knollys, I will endeavour all I can to effect it.' + +'That could not be done without his consent, could it?' said I. + +'No, but I don't despair of getting that--on terms, of course,' remarked +he. + +'I don't quite understand,' I said. + +'I mean, for instance, if he were allowed to keep the allowance for your +maintenance--eh?' + +'I mistake my uncle Silas very much,' I said, 'if that allowance is any +object whatever to him compared with the moral value of the position. If he +were deprived of that, I am sure he would decline the other.' + +'We might try him at all events,' said Doctor Bryerly, on whose dark sinewy +features, even in this imperfect light, I thought I detected a smile. + +'Perhaps,' said I, 'I appear very foolish in supposing him actuated by any +but sordid motives; but he is my near relation, and I can't help it, sir.' + +'That is a very serious thing, Miss Ruthyn,' he replied. 'You are very +young, and cannot see it at present, as you will hereafter. He is very +religious, you say, and all that, but his house is not a proper place for +you. It is a solitude--its master an outcast, and it has been the repeated +scene of all sorts of scandals, and of one great crime; and Lady Knollys +thinks your having been domesticated there will be an injury to you all the +days of your life.' + +'So I do, Maud,' said Lady Knollys, who had just entered the room +unperceived,--'How do you do, Doctor Bryerly?--a serious injury. You have +no idea how entirely that house is condemned and avoided, and the very name +of its inmates tabooed.' + +'How monstrous--how cruel!' I exclaimed. + +'Very unpleasant, my dear, but perfectly natural. You are to recollect that +quite independently of the story of Mr. Charke, the house was talked about, +and the county people had cut your uncle Silas long before that adventure +was dreamed of; and as to the circumstance of your being placed in his +charge by his brother, who took, from strong family feeling, a totally +one-sided view of the affair from the first, having the slightest effect in +restoring his position in the county, you must quite give that up. Except +me, if he will allow me, and the clergyman, not a soul in the country will +visit at Bartram-Haugh. They may pity you, and think the whole thing the +climax of folly and cruelty; but they won't visit at Bartram, or know +Silas, or have anything to do with his household.' + +'They will see, at all events, what my dear papa's opinion was.' + +'They know that already,' answered she, 'and it has not, and ought not to +have, the slightest weight with them. There are people there who think +themselves just as great as the Ruthyns, or greater; and your poor father's +idea of carrying it by a demonstration was simply the dream of a man who +had forgotten the world, and learned to exaggerate himself in his long +seclusion. I know he was beginning himself to hesitate; and I think if he +had been spared another year that provision of his will would have been +struck out.' + +Doctor Bryerly nodded, and he said-- + +'And if he had the power to dictate _now_, would he insist on that +direction? It is a mistake every way, injurious to you, his child; and +should you happen to die during your sojourn under your uncle's care, it +would woefully defeat the testator's object, and raise such a storm of +surmise and inquiry as would awaken all England, and send the old scandal +on the wing through the world again.' + +'Doctor Bryerly will, I have no doubt, arrange it all. In fact, I do not +think it would be very difficult to bring Silas to terms; and if you do not +consent to his trying, Maud, mark my words, you will live to repent it.' + +Here were two persons viewing the question from totally different points; +both perfectly disinterested; both in their different ways, I believe, +shrewd and even wise; and both honourable, urging me against it, and in a +way that undefinably alarmed my imagination, as well as moved my reason. I +looked from one to the other--there was a silence. By this time the candles +had come, and we could see one another. + +'I only wait your decision, Miss Ruthyn,' said the trustee, 'to see +your uncle. If his advantage was the chief object contemplated in this +arrangement, he will be the best judge whether his interest is really best +consulted by it or no; and I think he will clearly see that it is _not_ so, +and will answer accordingly.' + +'I cannot answer now--you must allow me to think it over--I will do my +best. I am very much obliged, my dear Cousin Monica, you are so very good, +and you too, Doctor Bryerly.' + +Doctor Bryerly by this time was looking into his pocket-book, and did not +acknowledge my thanks even by a nod. + +'I must be in London the day after to-morrow. Bartram-Haugh is nearly sixty +miles from here, and only twenty of that by rail, I find. Forty miles of +posting over those Derbyshire mountains is slow work; but if you say _try_, +I'll see him to-morrow morning.' + +'You must say try--you _must_, my dear Maud.' + +'But how can I decide in a moment? Oh, dear Cousin Monica, I am so +distracted!' + +'But _you_ need not decide at all; the decision rests with _him_. Come; he +is more competent than you. You _must_ say yes.' + +Again I looked from her to Doctor Bryerly, and from him to her again. I +threw my arms about her neck, and hugging her closely to me, I cried-- + +'Oh, Cousin Monica, dear Cousin Monica, advise me. I am a wretched +creature. You must advise me.' + +I did not know till now how irresolute a character was mine. + +I knew somehow by the tone of her voice that she was smiling as she +answered-- + +'Why, dear, I have advised you; I _do_ advise you;' and then she added, +impetuously, 'I entreat and implore, if you really think I love you, that +you will _follow_ my advice. It is your duty to leave your uncle Silas, +whom you believe to be more competent than you are, to decide, after full +conference with Doctor Bryerly, who knows more of your poor father's views +and intentions in making that appointment than either you or I.' + +'Shall I say, yes?' I cried, drawing her close, and kissing her +helplessly.' Oh, tell me--tell me to say, yes.' + +'Yes, of course, _yes_. She agrees, Doctor Bryerly, to your kind proposal.' + +'I am to understand so?' he asked. + +'Very well--yes, Doctor Bryerly,' I replied. + +'You have resolved wisely and well,' said he, briskly, like a man who has +got a care off his mind. + +'I forgot to say, Doctor Bryerly--it was very rude--that you must stay here +to-night.' + +'He _can't_, my dear,' interposed Lady Knolly's; 'it is a long way.' + +'He will dine. Won't you, Doctor Bryerly?' + +'No; he can't. You know you can't, sir,' said my cousin, peremptorily. 'You +must not worry him, my dear, with civilities he can't accept. He'll bid us +good-bye this moment. Good-bye, Doctor Bryerly. You'll write immediately; +don't wait till you reach town. Bid him good-bye, Maud. I'll say a word to +you in the hall.' + +And thus she literally hurried him out of the room, leaving me in a state +of amazement and confusion, not able to review my decision--unsatisfied, +but still unable to recall it. + +I stood where they had left me, looking after them, I suppose, like a fool. + +Lady Knollys returned in a few minutes. If I had been a little cooler I was +shrewd enough to perceive that she had sent poor Doctor Bryerly away upon +his travels, to find board and lodging half-way to Bartram, to remove +him forthwith from my presence, and thus to make my decision--if mine it +was--irrevocable. + +'I applaud you, my dear,' said Cousin Knollys, in her turn embracing me +heartily. 'You are a sensible little darling, and have done exactly what +you ought to have done.' + +'I hope I have,' I faltered. + +'Hope? fiddle! stuff! the thing's as plain as a pikestaff.' + +And in came Branston to say that dinner was served. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +_HOW THE AMBASSADOR FARED_ + + +Lady Knollys, I could plainly see, when we got into the brighter lights at +the dinner table, was herself a good deal excited; she was relieved +and glad, and was garrulous during our meal, and told me all her early +recollections of dear papa. Most of them I had heard before; but they could +not be told too often. + +Notwithstanding my mind sometimes wandered, _often_ indeed, to the +conference so unexpected, so suddenly decisive, possibly so momentous; and +with a dismayed uncertainly, the question--had I done right?--was always +before me. + +I dare say my cousin understood my character better, perhaps, after all my +honest self-study, then I do even now. Irresolute, suddenly reversing my +own decisions, impetuous in action as she knew me, she feared, I am sure, +a revocation of my commission to Doctor Bryerly, and thought of the +countermand I might send galloping after him. + +So, kind creature, she laboured to occupy my thoughts, and when one theme +was exhausted found another, and had always her parry prepared as often as +I directed a reflection or an enquiry to the re-opening of the question +which she had taken so much pains to close. + +That night I was troubled. I was already upbraiding myself. I could not +sleep, and at last sat up in bed, and cried. I lamented my weakness in +having assented to Doctor Bryerly's and my cousin's advice. Was I not +departing from my engagement to my dear papa? Was I not consenting that +my Uncle Silas should be induced to second my breach of faith by a +corresponding perfidy? + +Lady Knollys had done wisely in despatching Doctor Bryerly so promptly; +for, most assuredly, had he been at Knowl next morning when I came down I +should have recalled my commission. + +That day in the study I found four papers which increased my perturbation. +They were in dear papa's handwriting, and had an indorsement in these +words--'Copy of my letter addressed to ----, one of the trustees named in +my will.' Here, then, were the contents of those four sealed letters which +had excited mine and Lady Knollys' curiosity on the agitating day on which +the will was read. + +It contained these words:-- + +'I name my oppressed and unhappy brother, Silas Ruthyn, residing at my +house of Bartram-Haugh, as guardian of the person of my beloved child, to +convince the world if possible, and failing that, to satisfy at least all +future generations of our family, that his brother, who knew him best, +had implicit confidence in him, and that he deserved it. A cowardly and +preposterous slander, originating in political malice, and which never have +been whispered had he not been poor and imprudent, is best silenced by this +ordeal of purification. All I possess goes to him if my child dies under +age; and the custody of her person I commit meanwhile to him alone, knowing +that she is as safe in his as she could have been under my own care. I rely +upon your remembrance of our early friendship to make this known wherever +an opportunity occurs, and also to say what your sense of justice may +warrant.' + +The other letters were in the same spirit. My heart sank like lead as I +read them. I quaked with fear. What had I done? My father's wise and noble +vindication of our dishonoured name I had presumed to frustrate. I had, +like a coward, receded from my easy share in the task; and, merciful +Heaven, I had broken my faith with the dead! + +With these letters in my hand, white with fear, I flew like a shadow to the +drawing-room where Cousin Monica was, and told her to read them. I saw by +her countenance how much alarmed she was by my looks, but she said nothing, +only read the letters hurriedly, and then exclaimed-- + +'Is this all, my dear child? I really fancied you had found a second will, +and had lost everything. Why, my dearest Maud, we knew all this before. +We quite understood poor dear Austin's motive. Why are you so easily +disturbed?' + +'Oh, Cousin Monica, I think he was right; it all seems quite reasonable +now; and I--oh, what a crime!--it must be stopped.' + +'My dear Maud, listen to reason. Doctor Bryerly has seen your uncle at +Bartram at least two hours ago. You _can't_ stop it, and why on earth +should you if you could? Don't you think your uncle should be consulted?' +said she. + +'But he has _decided_. I have his letter speaking of it as settled; and +Doctor Bryerly--oh, Cousin Monica, he's gone _to tempt him_.' + +'Nonsense, girl! Doctor Bryerly is a good and just man, I do believe, and +has, beside, no imaginable motive to pervert either his conscience or his +judgment. He's not gone to tempt him--stuff!--but to unfold the facts and +invite his consideration; and I say, considering how thoughtlessly such +duties are often undertaken, and how long Silas has been living in lazy +solitude, shut out from the world, and unused to discuss anything, I do +think it only conscientious and honourable that he should have a fair and +distinct view of the matter in all its bearings submitted to him before he +indolently incurs what may prove the worst danger he was ever involved in.' + +So Lady Knollys argued, with feminine energy, and I must confess, with a +good deal of the repetition which I have sometimes observed in logicians of +my own sex, and she puzzled without satisfying me. + +'I don't know why I went to that room,' I said, quite frightened; 'or why I +went to that press; how it happened that these papers, which we never saw +there before, were the first things to strike my eye to-day.' + +'What do you mean, dear?' said Lady Knollys. + +'I mean this--I think I was _brought_ there, and that _there_ is poor +papa's appeal to me, as plain as if his hand came and wrote it upon the +wall.' I nearly screamed the conclusion of this wild confession. + +'You are nervous, my darling; your bad nights have worn you out. Let us go +out; the air will do you good; and I do assure you that you will very soon +see that we are quite right, and rejoice conscientiously that you have +acted as you did.' + +But I was not to be satisfied, although my first vehemence was quieted. In +my prayers that night my conscience upbraided me. When I lay down in bed +my nervousness returned fourfold. Everybody at all nervously excitable +has suffered some time or another by the appearance of ghastly features +presenting themselves in every variety of contortion, one after another, +the moment the eyes are closed. This night my dear father's face troubled +me--sometimes white and sharp as ivory, sometimes strangely transparent +like glass, sometimes all hanging in cadaverous folds, always with the same +unnatural expression of diabolical fury. + +From this dreadful vision I could only escape by sitting up and staring +at the light. At length, worn out, I dropped asleep, and in a dream I +distinctly heard papa's voice say sharply outside the bed-curtain:--'Maud, +we shall be late at Bartram-Haugh.' + +And I awoke in a horror, the wall, as it seemed, still ringing with the +summons, and the speaker, I fancied, standing at the other side of the +curtain. + +A miserable night I passed. In the morning, looking myself like a ghost, I +stood in my night-dress by Lady Knollys' bed. + +'I have had my warning,' I said. 'Oh, Cousin Monica, papa has been with me, +and ordered me to Bartram-Haugh; and go I will.' + +She stared in my face uncomfortably, and then tried to laugh the matter +off; but I know she was troubled at the strange state to which agitation +and suspense had reduced me. + +'You're taking too much for granted, Maud,' said she; 'Silas Ruthyn, +most likely, will refuse his consent, and insist on your going to +Bartram-Haugh.' + +'Heaven grant!' I exclaimed; 'but if he doesn't, it is all the same to me, +go I will. He may turn me out, but I'll go, and try to expiate the breach +of faith that I fear is so horribly wicked.' + +We had several hours still to wait for the arrival of the post. For both of +us the delay was a suspense; for me an almost agonising one. At length, +at an unlooked-for moment, Branston did enter the room with the post-bag. +There was a large letter, with the Feltram post-mark, addressed to Lady +Knollys--it was Doctor Bryerly's despatch; we read it together. It was +dated on the day before, and its purport was thus:-- + +'RESPECTED MADAM,--I this day saw Mr. Silas Ruthyn at Bartram-Haugh, and +he peremptorily refuses, on any terms, to vacate the guardianship, or to +consent to Miss Ruthyn's residing anywhere but under his own immediate +care. As he bases his refusal, first upon a conscientious difficulty, +declaring that he has no right, through fear of personal contingencies, to +abdicate an office imposed in so solemn a way, and so naturally devolving +on him as only brother to the deceased; and secondly upon the effect such a +withdrawal, at the instance of the acting trustee, would have upon his own +character, amounting to a public self-condemnation; and as he refused to +discuss these positions with me, I could make no way whatsoever with him. +Finding, therefore, that his mind was quite made up, after a short time I +took my leave. He mentioned that preparations for his niece's reception are +being completed, and that he will send for her in a few days; so that I +think it will be advisable that I should go down to Knowl, to assist Miss +Ruthyn with any advice she may require before her departure, to discharge +servants, get inventories made, and provide for the care of the place and +grounds during her minority. + +'I am, respected Madam, yours truly, + +HANS E. BRYERLY.' + +I can't describe to you how chapfallen and angry my cousin looked. She +sniffed once or twice, and then said, rather bitterly, in a subdued tone:-- + +'Well, _now_; I hope you are pleased?' + +'No, no, no; you _know_ I'm not--grieved to the heart, my only friend, my +dear Cousin Monica; but my conscience is at rest; you don't know what a +sacrifice it is; I am a most unhappy creature. I feel an indescribable +foreboding. I am frightened; but you won't forsake me, Cousin Monica.' + +'No, darling, never,' she said, sadly. + +'And you'll come and see me, won't you, as often as you can?' + +'Yes, dear; that is if Silas allows me; and I'm sure he will,' she added +hastily, seeing, I suppose, my terror in my face. 'All I can do, you may be +sure I will, and perhaps he will allow you to come to me, now and then, for +a short visit. You know I am only six miles away--little more than half an +hour's drive, and though I hate Bartram, and detest Silas--Yes, I _detest +Silas_,' she repeated in reply to my surprised gaze--'I _will_ call at +Bartram--that is, I say, if he allows me; for, you know, I haven't been +there for a quarter of a century; and though I never understood Silas, I +fancy he forgives no sins, whether of omission or commission.' + +I wondered what old grudge could make my cousin judge Uncle Silas always +so hardly--I could not suppose it was justice. I had seen my hero indeed +lately so disrespectfully handled before my eyes, that he had, as idols +will, lost something of his sacredness. But as an article of faith, I still +cultivated my trust in his divinity, and dismissed every intruding doubt +with an exorcism, as a suggestion of the evil one. But I wronged Lady +Knollys in suspecting her of pique, or malice, or anything more than that +tendency to take strong views which some persons attribute to my sex. + +So, then, the little project of Cousin Monica's guardianship, which, had it +been poor papa's wish, would have made me so very happy, was quite knocked +on the head, to revive no more. I comforted myself, however, with her +promise to re-open communications with Bartram-Haugh, and we grew resigned. + +I remember, next morning, as we sat at a very late breakfast, Lady Knollys, +reading a letter, suddenly made an exclamation and a little laugh, and read +on with increased interest for a few minutes, and then, with another little +laugh, she looked up, placing her hand, with the open letter in it, beside +her tea-cup. + +'You'll not guess whom I've been reading about,' said she, with her head +the least thing on one side, and an arch smile. + +I felt myself blushing--cheeks, forehead, even down to the tips of my +fingers. I anticipated the name I was to hear. She looked very much amused. +Was it possible that Captain Oakley was married? + +'I really have not the least idea,' I replied, with that kind of overdone +carelessness which betrays us. + +'No, I see quite plainly you have not; but you can't think how prettily you +blush,' answered she, very much diverted. + +'I really don't care,' I replied, with some little dignity, and blushing +deeper and deeper. + +'Will you make a guess?' she asked. + +'I _can't_ guess.' + +'Well, shall I tell you?' + +'Just as you please.' + +'Well, I will--that is, I'll read a page of my letter, which tells it all. +Do you know Georgina Fanshawe?' she asked. + +'Lady Georgina? No.' + +'Well, no matter; she's in Paris now, and this letter is from her, and +she says--let me see the place--"Yesterday, what do you think?--quite an +apparition!--you shall hear. My brother Craven yesterday insisted on my +accompanying him to Le Bas' shop in that odd little antique street near the +Greve; it is a wonderful old curiosity shop. I forget what they call them +here. When we went into this place it was very nearly deserted, and there +were so many curious things to look at all about, that for a minute or two +I did not observe a tall woman, in a grey silk and a black velvet mantle, +and quite a nice new Parisian bonnet. You will be _charmed_, by-the-by, +with the new shape--it is only out three weeks, and is quite +_indescribably_ elegant, _I_ think, at least. They have them, I am sure, by +this time at Molnitz's, so I need say no more. And now that I am on this +subject of dress, I have got your lace; and I think you will be very +ungrateful if you are not _charmed_ with it." Well, I need not read all +that--here is the rest;' and she read-- + +'"But you'll ask about my mysterious _dame_ in the new bonnet and velvet +mantle; she was sitting on a stool at the counter, not buying, but +evidently selling a quantity of stones and trinkets which she had in a +card-box, and the man was picking them up one by one, and, I suppose, +valuing them. I was near enough to see such a darling little pearl cross, +with at least half a dozen really good pearls in it, and had begun to covet +them for my set, when the lady glanced over my shoulder, and she +knew me--in fact, we knew one another--and who do you think she was? +Well--you'll not guess in a week, and I can't wait so long; so I may as +well tell you at once--she was that horrid old Mademoiselle Blassemare whom +you pointed out to me at Elverston; and I never forgot her face since--nor +she, it seems, mine, for she turned away very quickly, and when I next saw +her, her veil was down."' + +'Did not you tell me, Maud, that you had lost your pearl cross while that +dreadful Madame de la Rougierre was here?' + +'Yes; but--' + +'I know; but what has she to do with Mademoiselle de Blassemare, you were +going to say--they are one and the same person.' + +'Oh, I perceive,' answered I, with that dim sense of danger and dismay with +which one hears suddenly of an enemy of whom one has lost sight for a time. + +'I'll write and tell Georgie to buy that cross. I wager my life it is +yours,' said Lady Knollys, firmly. + +The servants, indeed, made no secret of their opinion of Madame de la +Rougierre, and frankly charged her with a long list of larcenies. Even Anne +Wixted, who had enjoyed her barren favour while the gouvernante was here, +hinted privately that she had bartered a missing piece of lace belonging to +me with a gipsy pedlar, for French gloves and an Irish poplin. + +'And so surely as I find it is yours, I'll set the police in pursuit.' + +'But you must not bring me into court,' said I, half amused and half +alarmed. + +'No occasion, my dear; Mary Quince and Mrs. Rusk can prove it perfectly.' + +'And why do you dislike her so very much?' I asked. + +Cousin Monica leaned back in her chair, and searched the cornice from +corner to corner with upturned eyes for the reason, and at last laughed a +little, amused at herself. + +'Well, really, it is not easy to define, and, perhaps, it is not quite +charitable; but I know I hate her, and I know, you little hypocrite, you +hate her as much as I;' and we both laughed a little. + +'But you must tell me all you know of her history.' + +'Her history?' echoed she. 'I really know next to nothing about it; only +that I used to see her sometimes about the place that Georgina mentions, +and there were some unpleasant things said about her; but you know they may +be all lies. The worst I _know_ of her is her treatment of you, and her +robbing the desk'--(Cousin Monica always called it her _robbery_)--'and I +think that's enough to hang her. Suppose we go out for a walk?' + +So together we went, and I resumed about Madame; but no more could I +extract--perhaps there was not much more to hear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +_ON THE ROAD_ + + +All at Knowl was indicative of the break-up that was so near at hand. +Doctor Bryerly arrived according to promise. He was in a whirl of business +all the time. He and Mr. Danvers conferred about the management of the +estate. It was agreed that the grounds and gardens should be let, but not +the house, of which Mrs. Rusk was to take the care. The gamekeeper remained +in office, and some out-door servants. But the rest were to go, except Mary +Quince, who was to accompany me to Bartram-Haugh as my maid. + +'Don't part with Quince,' said Lady Knollys, peremptorily 'they'll want +you, but _don't_.' + +She kept harping on this point, and recurred to it half a dozen times every +day. + +'They'll say, you know, that she is not fit for a lady's maid, as she +certainly is _not_, if it in the least signified in such a wilderness as +Bartram-Haugh; but she is attached, trustworthy, and honest; and those are +qualities valuable everywhere, especially in a solitude. Don't allow them +to get you a wicked young French milliner in her stead.' + +Sometimes she said things that jarred unpleasantly on my nerves, and left +an undefined sense of danger. Such as:-- + +'I know she's true to you, and a good creature; but is she shrewd enough?' + +Or, with an anxious look:-- + +'I hope Mary Quince is not easily frightened.' + +Or, suddenly:-- + +'Can Mary Quince write, in case you were ill?' + +Or, + +'Can she take a message exactly?' + +Or, + +'Is she a person of any enterprise and resource, and cool in an emergency?' + +Now, these questions did not come all in a string, as I write them down +here, but at long intervals, and were followed quickly by ordinary talk; +but they generally escaped from my companion after silence and gloomy +thought; and though I could extract nothing more defined than these +questions, yet they seemed to me to point at some possible danger +contemplated in my good cousin's dismal ruminations. + +Another topic that occupied my cousin's mind a good deal was obviously the +larceny of my pearl cross. She made a note of the description furnished by +the recollection, respectively, of Mary Quince, Mrs. Rusk, and myself. I +had fancied her little vision of the police was no more than the result of +a momentary impulse; but really, to judge by her methodical examinations of +us, I should have fancied that she had taken it up in downright earnest. + +Having learned that my departure from Knowl was to be so very soon, she +resolved not to leave me before the day of my journey to Bartram-Haugh; and +as day after day passed by, and the hour of our leave-taking approached, +she became more and more kind and affectionate. A feverish and sorrowful +interval it was to me. + +Of Doctor Bryerly, though staying in the house, we saw almost nothing, +except for an hour or so at tea-time. He breakfasted very early, and dined +solitarily, and at uncertain hours, as business permitted. + +The second evening of his visit, Cousin Monica took occasion to introduce +the subject of his visit to Bartram-Haugh. + +'You saw him, of course?' said Lady Knollys. + +'Yes, he saw me; he was not well. On hearing who I was, he asked me to go +to his room, where he sat in a silk dressing-gown and slippers.' + +'About business principally,' said Cousin Monica, laconically. + +'That was despatched in very few words; for he was quite resolved, and +placed his refusal upon grounds which it was difficult to dispute. But +difficult or no, mind you, he intimated that he would hear nothing more on +the subject--so that was closed.' + +'Well; and what is his religion now?' inquired she, irreverently. + +'We had some interesting conversation on the subject. He leans much to what +we call the doctrine of correspondents. He is read rather deeply in the +writings of Swedenborg, and seemed anxious to discuss some points with one +who professes to be his follower. To say truth, I did not expect to find +him either so well read or so deeply interested in the subject.' + +'Was he angry when it was proposed that he should vacate the guardianship?' + +'Not at all. Contrariwise, he said he had at first been so minded himself. +His years, his habits, and something of the unfitness of the situation, the +remoteness of Bartram-Haugh from good teachers, and all that, had struck +him, and nearly determined him against accepting the office. But then came +the views which I stated in my letter, and they governed him; and nothing +could shake them, he said, or induce him to re-open the question in his own +mind.' + +All the time Doctor Bryerly was relating his conference with the head of +the family at Bartram-Haugh my cousin commented on the narrative with a +variety of little 'pishes' and sneers, which I thought showed more of +vexation than contempt. + +I was glad to hear all that Doctor Bryerly related. It gave me a kind +of confidence; and I experienced a momentary reaction. After all, could +Bartram-Haugh be more lonely than I had found Knowl? Was I not sure of the +society of my Cousin Millicent, who was about my own age? Was it not quite +possible that my sojourn in Derbyshire might turn out a happy though very +quiet remembrance through all my after-life? Why should it not? What time +or place would be happy if we gave ourselves over to dismal imaginations? + +So the summons reached me from Uncle Silas. The hours at Knowl were +numbered. + +The evening before I departed I visited the full-length portrait of Uncle +Silas, and studied it for the last time carefully, with deep interest, for +many minutes; but with results vaguer than ever. + +With a brother so generous and so wealthy, always ready to help him +forward; with his talents; with his lithe and gorgeous beauty, the shadow +of which hung on that canvas--what might he not have accomplished? whom +might he not have captivated? And yet where and what was he? A poor and +shunned old man, occupying a lonely house and place that did not belong to +him, married to degradation, with a few years of suspected and solitary +life before him, and then swift oblivion his best portion. + +I gazed on the picture, to fix it well and vividly in my remembrance. I +might still trace some of its outlines and tints in its living original, +whom I was next day to see for the first time in my life. + +So the morning came--my last for many a day at Knowl--a day of partings, a +day of novelty and regrets. The travelling carriage and post horses were +at the door. Cousin Monica's carriage had just carried her away to the +railway. We had embraced with tears; and her kind face was still before me, +and her words of comfort and promise in my ears. The early sharpness +of morning was still in the air; the frosty dew still glistened on the +window-panes. We had made a hasty breakfast, my share of which was a single +cup of tea. The aspect of the house how strange! Uncarpeted, uninhabited, +doors for the most part locked, all the servants but Mrs. Rusk and Branston +departed. The drawing-room door stood open, and a charwoman was washing the +bare floor. I was looking my last--for who could say how long?--on the old +house, and lingered. The luggage was all up. I made Mary Quince get in +first, for every delay was precious; and now the moment was come. I hugged +and kissed Mrs. Rusk in the hall. + +'God bless you, Miss Maud, darling. You must not fret; mind, the time won't +be long going over--_no_ time at all; and you'll be bringing back a fine +young gentleman--who knows? as great as the Duke of Wellington, for your +husband; and I'll take the best of care of everything, and the birds and +the dogs, till you come back; and I'll go and see you and Mary, if you'll +allow, in Derbyshire;' and so forth. + +I got into the carriage, and bid Branston, who shut the door, good-bye, +and kissed hands to Mrs. Rusk, who was smiling and drying her eyes and +courtesying on the hall-door steps. The dogs, who had started gleefully +with the carriage, were called back by Branston, and driven home, wondering +and wistful, looking back with ears oddly cocked and tails dejected. My +heart thanked them for their kindness, and I felt like a stranger, and very +desolate. + +It was a bright, clear morning. It had been settled that it was not +worth the trouble changing from the carriage to the railway for sake of +five-and-twenty miles, and so the entire journey of sixty miles was to be +made by the post road--the pleasantest travelling, if the mind were free. +The grander and more distant features of the landscape we may see well +enough from the window of the railway-carriage; but it is the foreground +that interests and instructs us, like a pleasant gossiping history; and +_that_ we had, in old days, from the post-chaise window. It was more +than travelling picquet. Something of all conditions of life--luxury +and misery--high spirits and low;--all sorts of costume, livery, rags, +millinery; faces buxom, faces wrinkled, faces kind, faces wicked;--no end +of interest and suggestion, passing in a procession silent and vivid, and +all in their proper scenery. The golden corn-sheafs--the old dark-alleyed +orchards, and the high streets of antique towns. There were few dreams +brighter, few books so pleasant. + +We drove by the dark wood--it always looked dark to me--where the +'mausoleum' stands--where my dear parents both lay now. I gazed on its +sombre masses not with a softened feeling, but a peculiar sense of pain, +and was glad when it was quite past. + +All the morning I had not shed a tear. Good Mary Quince cried at leaving +Knowl; Lady Knollys' eyes were not dry as she kissed and blessed me, +and promised an early visit; and the dark, lean, energetic face of the +housekeeper was quivering, and her cheeks wet, as I drove away. But I, +whose grief was sorest, never shed a tear. I only looked about from one +familiar object to another, pale, excited, not quite apprehending my +departure, and wondering at my own composure. + +But when we reached the old bridge, with the tall osiers standing by the +buttress, and looked back at poor Knowl--the places we love and are leaving +look so fairy-like and so sad in the clear distance, and this is the finest +view of the gabled old house, with its slanting meadow-lands and noble +timber reposing in solemn groups--I gazed at the receding vision, and the +tears came at last, and I wept in silence long after the fair picture was +hidden from view by the intervening uplands. + +I was relieved, and when we had made our next change of horses, and got +into a country that was unknown to me, the new scenery and the sense of +progress worked their accustomed effects on a young traveller who had lived +a particularly secluded life, and I began to experience, on the whole, a +not unpleasurable excitement. + +Mary Quince and I, with the hopefulness of inexperienced travellers, began +already to speculate about our proximity to Bartram-Haugh, and were sorely +disappointed when we heard from the nondescript courier--more like a +ostler than a servant, who sat behind in charge of us and the luggage, and +represented my guardian's special care--at nearly one o'clock, that we had +still forty miles to go, a considerable portion of which was across the +high Derbyshire mountains, before we reached Bartram-Haugh. + +The fact was, we had driven at a pace accommodated rather to the +convenience of the horses than to our impatience; and finding, at the +quaint little inn where we now halted, that we must wait for a nail or two +in a loose shoe of one of our relay, we consulted, and being both hungry, +agreed to beguile the time with an early dinner, which we enjoyed very +sociably in a queer little parlour with a bow window, and commanding, with +a little garden for foreground, a very pretty landscape. + +Good Mary Quince, like myself, had quite dried her tears by this time, and +we were both highly interested, and I a little nervous, too, about our +arrival and reception at Bartram. Some time, of course, was lost in this +pleasant little parlour, before we found ourselves once more pursuing our +way. + +The slowest part of our journey was the pull up the long mountain road, +ascending zig-zag, as sailors make way against a head-wind, by tacking. I +forget the name of the pretty little group of houses--it did not amount +to a village--buried in trees, where we got our _four_ horses and two +postilions, for the work was severe. I can only designate it as the place +where Mary Quince and I had our tea, very comfortably, and bought some +gingerbread, very curious to look upon, but quite uneatable. + +The greater portion of the ascent, when we were fairly upon the mountain, +was accomplished at a walk, and at some particularly steep points we had to +get out and go on foot. But this to me was quite delightful. I had never +scaled a mountain before, and the ferns and heath, the pure boisterous air, +and above all the magnificent view of the rich country we were leaving +behind, now gorgeous and misty in sunset tints, stretching in gentle +undulations far beneath us, quite enchanted me. + +We had just reached the summit when the sun went down. The low grounds at +the other side were already lying in cold grey shadow, and I got the man +who sat behind to point out as well as he could the site of Bartram-Haugh. +But mist was gathering over all by this time. The filmy disk of the moon +which was to light us on, so soon as twilight faded into night, hung high +in air. I tried to see the sable mass of wood which he described. But it +was vain, and to acquire a clear idea of the place, as of its master, I +must only wait that nearer view which an hour or two more would afford me. + +And now we rapidly descended the mountain side. The scenery was wilder +and bolder than I was accustomed to. Our road skirted the edge of a great +heathy moor. The silvery light of the moon began to glimmer, and we passed +a gipsy bivouac with fires alight and caldrons hanging over them. It was +the first I had seen. Two or three low tents; a couple of dark, withered +crones, veritable witches; a graceful girl standing behind, gazing after +us; and men in odd-shaped hats, with gaudy waistcoats and bright-coloured +neck-handkerchiefs and gaitered legs, stood lazily in front. They had all +a wild tawdry display of colour; and a group of alders in the rear made a +background of shade for tents, fires, and figures. + +I opened a front window of the chariot, and called to the postboys to stop. +The groom from behind came to the window. + +'Are not those gipsies?' I enquired. + +'Yes, please'm, them's gipsies, sure, Miss,' he answered, glancing with +that odd smile, half contemptuous, half superstitious, with which I have +since often observed the peasants of Derbyshire eyeing those thievish and +uncanny neighbours. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +_BARTRAM-HAUGH_ + + +In a moment a tall, lithe girl, black-haired, black-eyed, and, as I +thought, inexpressibly handsome, was smiling, with such beautiful rings of +pearly teeth, at the window; and in her peculiar accent, with a suspicion +of something foreign in it, proposing with many courtesies to tell the lady +her fortune. + +I had never seen this wild tribe of the human race before--children of +mystery and liberty. Such vagabondism and beauty in the figure before me! +I looked at their hovels and thought of the night, and wondered at their +independence, and felt my inferiority. I could not resist. She held up her +slim oriental hand. + +'Yes, I'll hear my fortune,' I said, returning the sibyl's smile +instinctively. + +'Give me some money, Mary Quince. No, _not_ that,' I said, rejecting the +thrifty sixpence she tendered, for I had heard that the revelations of +this weird sisterhood were bright in proportion to the kindness of their +clients, and was resolved to approach Bartram with cheerful auguries. 'That +five-shilling piece,' I insisted; and honest Mary reluctantly surrendered +the coin. + +So the feline beauty took it, with courtesies and 'thankees,' smiling +still, and hid it away as if she stole it, and looked on my open palm still +smiling; and told me, to my surprise, that there was _somebody_ I liked +very much, and I was almost afraid she would name Captain Oakley; that he +would grow very rich, and that I should marry him; that I should move about +from place to place a great deal for a good while to come. That I had some +enemies, who should be sometimes so near as to be in the same room with me, +and yet they should not be able to hurt me. That I should see blood spilt +and yet not my own, and finally be very happy and splendid, like the +heroine of a fairy tale. + +Did this strange, girlish charlatan see in my face some signs of shrinking +when she spoke of enemies, and set me down for a coward whose weakness +might be profitable? Very likely. At all events she plucked a long brass +pin, with a round bead for a head, from some part of her dress, and holding +the point in her fingers, and exhibiting the treasure before my eyes, she +told me that I must get a charmed pin like that, which her grandmother had +given to her, and she ran glibly through a story of all the magic expended +on it, and told me she could not part with it; but its virtue was that you +were to stick it through the blanket, and while it was there neither rat, +nor cat, nor snake--and then came two more terms in the catalogue, which I +suppose belonged to the gipsy dialect, and which she explained to mean, as +well as I could understand, the first a malevolent spirit, and the second +'a cove to cut your throat,' could approach or hurt you. + +A charm like that, she gave me to understand, I must by hook or by crook +obtain. She had not a second. None of her people in the camp over there +possessed one. I am ashamed to confess that I actually paid her a pound for +this brass pin! The purchase was partly an indication of my temperament, +which could never let an opportunity pass away irrevocably without a +struggle, and always apprehended 'Some day or other I'll reproach myself +for having neglected it!' and partly a record of the trepidations of that +period of my life. At all events I had her pin, and she my pound, and I +venture to say I was the gladder of the two. + +She stood on the road-side bank courtseying and smiling, the first +enchantress I had encountered, and I watched the receding picture, with its +patches of firelight, its dusky groups and donkey carts, white as skeletons +in the moonlight, as we drove rapidly away. + +They, I suppose, had a wild sneer and a merry laugh over my purchase, as +they sat and ate their supper of stolen poultry, about their fire, and were +duly proud of belonging to the superior race. + +Mary Quince, shocked at my prodigality, hinted a remonstrance. + +'It went to my heart, Miss, it did. They're such a lot, young and old, all +alike thieves and vagabonds, and many a poor body wanting.' + +'Tut, Mary, never mind. Everyone has her fortune told some time in her +life, and you can't have a good one without paying. I think, Mary, we must +be near Bartram now.' + +The road now traversed the side of a steep hill, parallel to which, +along the opposite side of a winding river, rose the dark steeps of a +corresponding upland, covered with forest that looked awful and dim in the +deep shadow, while the moonlight rippled fitfully upon the stream beneath. + +'It seems to be a beautiful country,' I said to Mary Quince, who was +munching a sandwich in the corner, and thus appealed to, adjusted her +bonnet, and made an inspection from _her_ window, which, however, commanded +nothing but the heathy slope of the hill whose side we were traversing. + +'Well, Miss, I suppose it is; but there's a deal o' mountains--is not +there?' + +And so saying, honest Mary leaned back again, and went on with her +sandwich. + +We were now descending at a great pace. I knew we were coming near. I stood +up as well as I could in the carriage, to see over the postilions' heads. +I was eager, but frightened too; agitated as the crisis of the arrival and +meeting approached. At last, a long stretch of comparatively level +country below us, with masses of wood as well as I could see irregularly +overspreading it, became visible as the narrow valley through which we were +speeding made a sudden bend. + +Down we drove, and now I did perceive a change. A great grass-grown +park-wall, overtopped with mighty trees; but still on and on we came at a +canter that seemed almost a gallop. The old grey park-wall flanking us at +one side, and a pretty pastoral hedgerow of ash-trees, irregularly on the +other. + +At last the postilions began to draw bridle, and at a slight angle, the +moon shining full upon them, we wheeled into a wide semicircle formed by +the receding park-walls, and halted before a great fantastic iron gate, and +a pair of tall fluted piers, of white stone, all grass-grown and ivy-bound, +with great cornices, surmounted with shields and supporters, the Ruthyn +bearings washed by the rains of Derbyshire for many a generation of +Ruthyns, almost smooth by this time, and looking bleached and phantasmal, +like giant sentinels, with each a hand clasped in his comrade's, to bar +our passage to the enchanted castle--the florid tracery of the iron gate +showing like the draperies of white robes hanging from their extended arms +to the earth. + +Our courier got down and shoved the great gate open, and we entered, +between sombre files of magnificent forest trees, one of those very broad +straight avenues whose width measures the front of the house. This was all +built of white stone, resembling that of Caen, which parts of Derbyshire +produce in such abundance. + +So this was Bartram, and here was Uncle Silas. I was almost breathless as +I approached. The bright moon shining full on the white front of the old +house revealed not only its highly decorated style, its fluted pillars and +doorway, rich and florid carving, and balustraded summit, but also its +stained and moss-grown front. Two giant trees, overthrown at last by the +recent storm, lay with their upturned roots, and their yellow foliage still +flickering on the sprays that were to bloom no more, where they had fallen, +at the right side of the court-yard, which, like the avenue, was studded +with tufted weeds and grass. + +All this gave to the aspect of Bartram a forlorn character of desertion and +decay, contrasting almost awfully with the grandeur of its proportions and +richness of its architecture. + +There was a ruddy glow from a broad window in the second row, and I thought +I saw some one peep from it and disappear; at the same moment there was a +furious barking of dogs, some of whom ran scampering into the court-yard +from a half-closed side door; and amid their uproar, the bawling of the man +in the back seat, who jumped down to drive them off, and the crack of +the postilions' whips, who struck at them, we drew up before the lordly +door-steps of this melancholy mansion. + +Just as our attendant had his hand on the knocker the door opened, and we +saw, by a not very brilliant candle-light, three figures--a shabby little +old man, thin, and very much stooped, with a white cravat, and looking as +if his black clothes were too large, and made for some one else, stood with +his hand upon the door; a young, plump, but very pretty female figure, in +unusually short petticoats, with fattish legs, and nice ankles, in boots, +stood in the centre; and a dowdy maid, like an old charwoman, behind her. + +The household paraded for welcome was not certainly very brilliant. Amid +the riot the trunks were deliberately put down by our attendant, who kept +shouting to the old man at the door, and to the dogs in turn; and the old +man was talking and pointing stiffly and tremulously, but I could not hear +what he said. + +'Was it possible--could that mean-looking old man be Uncle Silas?' + +The idea stunned me; but I almost instantly perceived that he was much too +small, and I was relieved, and even grateful. It was certainly an odd mode +of procedure to devote primary attention to the trunks and boxes, leaving +the travellers still shut up in the carriage, of which they were by this +time pretty well tired. I was not sorry for the reprieve, however: being +nervous about first impressions, and willing to defer mine, I sat shyly +back, peeping at the candle and moonlight picture before me, myself unseen. + +'Will you tell--yes or no--is my cousin in the coach?' screamed the plump +young lady, stamping her stout black boot, in a momentary lull. + +Yes, I was there, sure. + +'And why the puck don't you let her out, you stupe, you?' + +'Run down, Giblets, you never do nout without driving, and let Cousin Maud +out. You're very welcome to Bartram.' This greeting was screamed at an +amazing pitch, and repeated before I had time to drop the window, and say +'thank you.' 'I'd a let you out myself--there's a good dog, you would na' +bite Cousin' (the parenthesis was to a huge mastiff, who thrust himself +beside her, by this time quite pacified)--'only I daren't go down the +steps, for the governor said I shouldn't.' + +The venerable person who went by the name of Giblets had by this time +opened the carriage door, and our courier, or 'boots'--he looked more like +the latter functionary--had lowered the steps, and in greater trepidation +than I experienced when in after-days I was presented to my sovereign, +I glided down, to offer myself to the greeting and inspection of the +plain-spoken young lady who stood at the top of the steps to receive me. + +She welcomed me with a hug and a hearty buss, as she called that +salutation, on each cheek, and pulled me into the hall, and was evidently +glad to see me. + +'And you're tired a bit, I warrant; and who's the old 'un, who?' she asked +eagerly, in a stage whisper, which made my ear numb for five minutes after. +'Oh, oh, the maid! and a precious old 'un--ha, ha, ha! But lawk! how grand +she is, with her black silk, cloak and crape, and I only in twilled cotton, +and rotten old Coburg for Sundays. Odds! it's a shame; but you'll be tired, +you will. It's a smartish pull, they do say, from Knowl. I know a spell of +it, only so far as the "Cat and Fiddle," near the Lunnon-road. Come up, +will you? Would you like to come in first and talk a bit wi' the governor? +Father, you know, he's a bit silly, he is, this while.' I found that +the phrase meant only _bodily_ infirmity. 'He took a pain o' Friday, +newralgie--something or other he calls it--rheumatics it is when it takes +old "Giblets" there; and he's sitting in his own room; or maybe you'd like +better to come to your bedroom first, for it is dirty work travelling, they +do say.' + +Yes; I preferred the preliminary adjustment. Mary Quince was standing +behind me; and as my voluble kinswoman talked on, we had each ample time +and opportunity to observe the personnel of the other; and she made no +scruple of letting me perceive that she was improving it, for she stared me +full in the face, taking in evidently feature after feature; and she felt +the material of my mantle pretty carefully between her finger and thumb, +and manually examined my chain and trinkets, and picked up my hand as she +might a glove, to con over my rings. + +I can't say, of course, exactly what impression I may have produced on her. +But in my cousin Milly I saw a girl who looked younger than her years, +plump, but with a slender waist, with light hair, lighter than mine, and +very blue eyes, rather round; on the whole very good-looking. She had an +odd swaggering walk, a toss of her head, and a saucy and imperious, but +rather good-natured and honest countenance. She talked rather loud, with a +good ringing voice, and a boisterous laugh when it came. + +If _I_ was behind the fashion, what would Cousin Monica have thought of +her? She was arrayed, as she had stated, in black twilled cotton expressive +of her affliction; but it was made almost as short in the skirt as that of +the prints of the Bavarian broom girls. She had white cotton stockings, +and a pair of black leather boots, with leather buttons, and, for a lady, +prodigiously thick soles, which reminded me of the navvy boots I had so +often admired in _Punch_. I must add that the hands with which she assisted +her scrutiny of my dress, though pretty, were very much sunburnt indeed. + +'And what's _her_ name?' she demanded, nodding to Mary Quince, who was +gazing on her awfully, with round eyes, as an inland spinster might upon a +whale beheld for the first time. + +Mary courtesied, and I answered. + +'Mary Quince,' she repeated. 'You're welcome, Quince. What shall I call +her? I've a name for all o' them. Old Giles there, is Giblets. He did not +like it first, but he answers quick enough now; and Old Lucy Wyat there,' +nodding toward the old woman, 'is Lucia de l'Amour.' A slightly erroneous +reading of Lammermoor, for my cousin sometimes made mistakes, and was not +much versed in the Italian opera. 'You know it's a play, and I call her +L'Amour for shortness;' and she laughed hilariously, and I could not +forbear joining; and, winking at me, she called aloud, 'L'Amour.' + +To which the crone, with a high-cauled cap, resembling Mother Hubbard, +responded with a courtesy and 'Yes, 'm.' + +'Are all the trunks and boxes took up?' + +They were. + +'Well, we'll come now; and what shall I call you, Quince? Let me see.' + +'According to your pleasure, Miss,' answered Mary, with dignity, and a dry +courtesy. + +'Why, you're as hoarse as a frog, Quince. We'll call you Quinzy for the +present. That'll do. Come along, Quinzy.' + +So my Cousin Milly took me under the arm, and pulled me forward; but as we +ascended, she let me go, leaning back to make inspection of my attire from +a new point of view. + +'Hallo, cousin,' she cried, giving my dress a smack with her open hand. +'What a plague do you want of all that bustle; you'll leave it behind, +lass, the first bush you jump over.' + +I was a good deal astounded. I was also very near laughing, for there was +a sort of importance in her plump countenance, and an indescribable +grotesqueness in the fashion of her garments, which heightened the +outlandishness of her talk, in a way which I cannot at all describe. + +What palatial wide stairs those were which we ascended, with their +prodigious carved banisters of oak, and each huge pillar on the +landing-place crowned with a shield and carved heraldic supporters; florid +oak panelling covered the walls. But of the house I could form no estimate, +for Uncle Silas's housekeeping did not provide light for hall and passages, +and we were dependent on the glimmer of a single candle; but there would be +quite enough of this kind of exploration in the daylight. + +So along dark oak flooring we advanced to my room, and I had now an +opportunity of admiring, at my leisure, the lordly proportions of the +building. Two great windows, with dark and tarnished curtains, rose half as +high again as the windows of Knowl; and yet Knowl, in its own style, is a +fine house. The door-frames, like the window-frames, were richly carved; +the fireplace was in the same massive style, and the mantelpiece projected +with a mass of very rich carving. On the whole I was surprised. I had never +slept in so noble a room before. + +The furniture, I must confess, was by no means on a par with the +architectural pretensions of the apartment. A French bed, a piece of carpet +about three yards square, a small table, two chairs, a toilet table--no +wardrobe--no chest of drawers. The furniture painted white, and of the +light and diminutive kind, was particularly ill adapted to the scale and +style of the apartment, one end only of which it occupied, and that but +sparsely, leaving the rest of the chamber in the nakedness of a stately +desolation. My cousin Milly ran away to report progress to 'the Governor,' +as she termed Uncle Silas. + +'Well, Miss Maud, I never did expect to see the like o' that!' exclaimed +honest Mary Quince, 'Did you ever see such a young lady? She's no more like +one o' the family than I am. Law bless us! and what's she dressed like? +Well, well, well!' And Mary, with a rueful shake of her head, clicked her +tongue pathetically to the back of her teeth, while I could not forbear +laughing. + +'And such a scrap o' furniture! Well, well, well!' and the same ticking of +the tongue followed. + +But, in a few minutes, back came Cousin Milly, and, with a barbarous +sort of curiosity, assisted in unpacking my trunks, and stowing away the +treasures, on which she ventured a variety of admiring criticisms, in the +presses which, like cupboards, filled recesses in the walls, with great oak +doors, the keys of which were in them. + +As I was making my hurried toilet, she entertained me now and then with +more strictly personal criticisms. + +'Your hair's a shade darker than mine--it's none the better o' that +though--is it? Mine's said to be the right shade. I don't know--what do you +say?' + +I conceded the point with a good grace. + +'I wish my hands was as white though--you do lick me there; but it's all +gloves, and I never could abide 'em. I think I'll try though--they _are_ +very white, sure.' + +'I wonder which is the prettiest, you or me? _I_ don't know, _I_'m +sure--which do _you_ think?' + +I laughed outright at this challenge, and she blushed a little, and for the +first time seemed for a moment a little shy. + +'Well, you _are_ a half an inch longer than me, I think--don't you?' + +I was fully an inch taller, so I had no difficulty in making the proposed +admission. + +'Well, you do look handsome! doesn't she, Quinzy, lass? but your frock +comes down almost to your heels--it does.' + +And she glanced from mine to hers, and made a little kick up with the heel +of the navvy boot to assist her in measuring the comparative distance. + +'Maybe mine's a thought too short?' she suggested. 'Who's there? Oh! it's +you, is it?' she cried as Mother Hubbard appeared at the door. 'Come in, +L'Amour--don't you know, lass, you're always welcome?' + +She had come to let us know that Uncle Silas would be happy to see me +whenever I was ready; and that my cousin Millicent would conduct me to the +room where he awaited me. + +In an instant all the comic sensations awakened by my singular cousin's +eccentricities vanished, and I was thrilled with awe. I was about to see +in the flesh--faded, broken, aged, but still identical--that being who had +been the vision and the problem of so many years of my short life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +_UNCLE SILAS_ + + +I thought my odd cousin was also impressed with a kind of awe, though +different in degree from mine, for a shade overcast her face, and she was +silent as we walked side by side along the gallery, accompanied by the +crone who carried the candle which lighted us to the door of that apartment +which I may call Uncle Silas's presence chamber. + +Milly whispered to me as we approached-- + +'Mind how you make a noise; the governor's as sharp as a weasel, and +nothing vexes him like that.' + +She was herself toppling along on tiptoe. We paused at a door near the head +of the great staircase, and L'Amour knocked timidly with her rheumatic +knuckles. + +A voice, clear and penetrating, from within summoned us to enter. The old +woman opened the door, and the next moment I was in the presence of Uncle +Silas. + +At the far end of a handsome wainscoted room, near the hearth in which a +low fire was burning, beside a small table on which stood four waxlights, +in tall silver candlesticks, sat a singular-looking old man. + +The dark wainscoting behind him, and the vastness of the room, in the +remoter parts of which the light which fell strongly upon his face and +figure expended itself with hardly any effect, exhibited him with the +forcible and strange relief of a finely painted Dutch portrait. For some +time I saw nothing but him. + +A face like marble, with a fearful monumental look, and, for an old man, +singularly vivid strange eyes, the singularity of which rather grew upon me +as I looked; for his eyebrows were still black, though his hair descended +from his temples in long locks of the purest silver and fine as silk, +nearly to his shoulders. + +He rose, tall and slight, a little stooped, all in black, with an ample +black velvet tunic, which was rather a gown than a coat, with loose +sleeves, showing his snowy shirt some way up the arm, and a pair of wrist +buttons, then quite out of fashion, which glimmered aristocratically with +diamonds. + +I know I can't convey in words an idea of this apparition, drawn as it +seemed in black and white, venerable, bloodless, fiery-eyed, with its +singular look of power, and an expression so bewildering--was it derision, +or anguish, or cruelty, or patience? + +The wild eyes of this strange old man were fixed upon me as he rose; an +habitual contraction, which in certain lights took the character of a +scowl, did not relax as he advanced toward me with his thin-lipped smile. +He said something in his clear, gentle, but cold voice, the import of +which I was too much agitated to catch, and he took both my hands in his, +welcomed me with a courtly grace which belonged to another age, and led me +affectionately, with many inquiries which I only half comprehended, to a +chair near his own. + +'I need not introduce my daughter; she has saved me that mortification. +You'll find her, I believe, good-natured and affectionate; _au reste_, I +fear a very rustic Miranda, and fitted rather for the society of Caliban +than of a sick old Prospero. Is it not so, Millicent?' + +The old man paused sarcastically for an answer, with his eyes fixed +severely on my odd cousin, who blushed and looked uneasily to me for a +hint. + +'I don't know who they be--neither one nor t'other.' + +'Very good, my dear,' he replied, with a little mocking bow. 'You see, my +dear Maud, what a Shakespearean you have got for a cousin. It's plain, +however, she has made acquaintance with some of our dramatists: she has +studied the role of _Miss Hoyden_ so perfectly.' + +It was not a reasonable peculiarity of my uncle that he resented, with a +good deal of playful acrimony, my poor cousin's want of education, for +which, if he were not to blame, certainly neither was she. + +'You see her, poor thing, a result of all the combined disadvantages of +want of refined education, refined companionship, and, I fear, naturally, +of refined tastes; but a sojourn at a good French conventual school will +do wonders, and I hope to manage by-and-by. In the meantime we jest at our +misfortunes, and love one another, I hope, cordially.' + +He extended his thin, white hand with a chilly smile towards Milly, who +bounced up, and took it with a frightened look; and he repeated, holding +her hand rather slightly I thought, 'Yes, I hope, very cordially,' and then +turning again to me, he put it over the arm of his chair, and let it go, as +a man might drop something he did not want from a carriage window. + +Having made this apology for poor Milly, who was plainly bewildered, he +passed on, to her and my relief, to other topics, every now and then +expressing his fears that I was fatigued, and his anxiety that I should +partake of some supper or tea; but these solicitudes somehow seemed to +escape his remembrance almost as soon as uttered; and he maintained the +conversation, which soon degenerated into a close, and to me a painful +examination, respecting my dear father's illness and its symptoms, upon +which I could give no information, and his habits, upon which I could. + +Perhaps he fancied that there might be some family predisposition to the +organic disease of which his brother died, and that his questions were +directed rather to the prolonging of his own life than to the better +understanding of my dear father's death. + +How little was there left to this old man to make life desirable, and yet +how keenly, I afterwards found, he clung to it. Have we not all of us seen +those to whom life was not only _undesirable_, but positively painful--a +mere series of bodily torments, yet hold to it with a desperate and +pitiable tenacity--old children or young, it is all the same. + +See how a sleepy child will put off the inevitable departure for bed. The +little creature's eyes blink and stare, and it needs constant jogging to +prevent his nodding off into the slumber which nature craves. His waking is +a pain; he is quite worn out, and peevish, and stupid, and yet he implores +a respite, and deprecates repose, and vows he is not sleepy, even to the +moment when his mother takes him in her arms, and carries him, in a sweet +slumber, to the nursery. So it is with us old children of earth and the +great sleep of death, and nature our kind mother. Just so reluctantly we +part with consciousness, the picture is, even to the last, so interesting; +the bird in the hand, though sick and moulting, so inestimably better than +all the brilliant tenants of the bush. We sit up, yawning, and blinking, +and stupid, the whole scene swimming before us, and the stories and music +humming off into the sound of distant winds and waters. It is not time yet; +we are not fatigued; we are good for another hour still, and so protesting +against bed, we falter and drop into the dreamless sleep which nature +assigns to fatigue and satiety. + +He then spoke a little eulogy of his brother, very polished, and, +indeed, in a kind of way, eloquent. He possessed in a high degree that +accomplishment, too little cultivated, I think, by the present generation, +of expressing himself with perfect precision and fluency. There was, too, +a good deal of slight illustrative quotation, and a sprinkling of French +flowers, over his conversation, which gave to it a character at once +elegant and artificial. It was all easy, light, and pointed, and being +quite new to me, had a wonderful fascination. + +He then told me that Bartram was the temple of liberty, that the health of +a whole life was founded in a few years of youth, air, and exercise, and +that accomplishments, at least, if not education, should wait upon health. +Therefore, while at Bartram, I should dispose of my time quite as I +pleased, and the more I plundered the garden and gipsied in the woodlands, +the better. + +Then he told me what a miserable invalid he was, and how the doctors +interfered with his frugal tastes. A glass of beer and a mutton chop--his +ideal of a dinner--he dared not touch. They made him drink light wines, +which he detested, and live upon those artificial abominations all liking +for which vanishes with youth. + +There stood on a side-table, in its silver coaster, a long-necked Rhenish +bottle, and beside it a thin pink glass, and he quivered his fingers in a +peevish way toward them. + +But unless he found himself better very soon, he would take his case into +his own hands, and try the dietary to which nature pointed. + +He waved his fingers toward his bookcases, and told me his books were +altogether at my service during my stay; but this promise ended, I must +confess, disappointingly. At last, remarking that I must be fatigued, he +rose, and kissed me with a solemn tenderness, placed his hand upon what I +now perceived to be a large Bible, with two broad silk markers, red and +gold, folded in it--the one, I might conjecture, indicating the place in +the Old, the other in the New Testament. It stood on the small table that +supported the waxlights, with a handsome cut bottle of eau-de-cologne, his +gold and jewelled pencil-case, and his chased repeater, chain, and seals, +beside it. There certainly were no indications of poverty in Uncle Silas's +room; and he said impressively-- + +'Remember that book; in it your father placed his trust, in it he found his +reward, in it lives my only hope; consult it, my beloved niece, day and +night, as the oracle of life.' + +Then he laid his thin hand on my head, and blessed me, and then kissed my +forehead. + +'No--a!' exclaimed Cousin Milly's lusty voice. I had quite forgotten her +presence, and looked at her with a little start. She was seated on a very +high old-fashioned chair; she had palpably been asleep; her round eyes were +blinking and staring glassily at us; and her white legs and navvy boots +were dangling in the air. + +'Have you anything to remark about Noah?' enquired her father, with a +polite inclination and an ironical interest. + +'No--a,' she repeated in the same blunt accents; 'I didn't snore; did I? +No--a.' + +The old man smiled and shrugged a little at me--it was the smile of +disgust. + +'Good night, my dear Maud;' and turning to her, he said, with a peculiar +gentle sharpness, 'Had not you better wake, my dear, and try whether your +cousin would like some supper?' + +So he accompanied us to the door, outside which we found L'Amour's candle +awaiting us. + +'I'm awful afraid of the Governor, I am. Did I snore that time?' + +'No, dear; at least, I did not hear it,' I said, unable to repress a smile. + +'Well, if I didn't, I was awful near it,' she said, reflectively. + +We found poor Mary Quince dozing over the fire; but we soon had tea and +other good things, of which Milly partook with a wonderful appetite. + +'I _was_ in a qualm about it,' said Milly, who by this time was quite +herself again. 'When he spies me a-napping, maybe he don't fetch me a prod +with his pencil-case over the head. Odd! girl, it _is_ sore.' + +When I contrasted the refined and fluent old gentleman whom I had just +left, with this amazing specimen of young ladyhood, I grew sceptical almost +as to the possibility of her being his child. + +I was to learn, however, how little she had, I won't say of his society, +but even of his presence--that she had no domestic companion of the least +pretensions to education--that she ran wild about the place--never, except +in church, so much as saw a person of that rank to which she was born--and +that the little she knew of reading and writing had been picked up, in +desultory half-hours, from a person who did not care a pin about her +manners or decorum, and perhaps rather enjoyed her grotesqueness--and that +no one who was willing to take the least trouble about her was competent +to make her a particle more refined than I saw her--the wonder ceased. We +don't know how little is heritable, and how much simply training, until we +encounter some-such spectacle as that of my poor cousin Milly. + +When I lay down in my bed and reviewed the day, it seemed like a month of +wonders. Uncle Silas was always before me; the voice so silvery for an old +man--so preternaturally soft; the manners so sweet, so gentle; the aspect, +smiling, suffering, spectral. It was no longer a shadow; I had now seen +him in the flesh. But, after all, was he more than a shadow to me? When I +closed my eyes I saw him before me still, in necromantic black, ashy with a +pallor on which I looked with fear and pain, a face so dazzlingly pale, +and those hollow, fiery, awful eyes! It sometimes seemed as if the curtain +opened, and I had seen a ghost. + +I had seen him; but he was still an enigma and a marvel. The living face +did not expound the past, any more than the portrait portended the future. +He was still a mystery and a vision; and thinking of these things I fell +asleep. + +Mary Quince, who slept in the dressing-room, the door of which was close +to my bed, and lay open to secure me against ghosts, called me up; and the +moment I knew where I was I jumped up, and peeped eagerly from the window. +It commanded the avenue and court-yard; but we were many windows removed +from that over the hall-door, and immediately beneath ours lay the two +giant lime trees, prostrate and uprooted, which I had observed as we drove +up the night before. + +I saw more clearly in the bright light of morning the signs of neglect and +almost of dilapidation which had struck me as I approached. The court-yard +was tufted over with grass, seldom from year to year crushed by the +carriage-wheels, or trodden by the feet of visitors. This melancholy +verdure thickened where the area was more remote from the centre; and under +the windows, and skirting the walls to the left, was reinforced by a thick +grove of nettles. The avenue was all grass-grown, except in the very +centre, where a narrow track still showed the roadway. The handsome carved +balustrade of the court-yard was discoloured with lichens, and in two +places gapped and broken; and the air of decay was heightened by the fallen +trees, among whose sprays and yellow leaves the small birds were hopping. + +Before my toilet was completed, in marched my cousin Milly. We were to +breakfast alone that morning, 'and so much the better,' she told me. +Sometimes the Governor ordered her to breakfast with him, and 'never left +off chaffing her' till his newspaper came, and 'sometimes he said such +things he made her cry,' and then he only 'boshed her more,' and packed her +away to her room; but she was by chalks nicer than him, talk as he might. +'_Was_ not she nicer? was not she? was not she?' Upon this point she was so +strong and urgent that I was obliged to reply by a protest against awarding +the palm of elegance between parent and child, and declaring I liked her +very much, which I attested by a kiss. + +'I know right well which of us you do think's the nicest, and no mistake, +only you're afraid of him; and he had no business boshing me last night +before you. I knew he was at it, though I couldn't twig him altogether; but +wasn't he a sneak, now, wasn't he?' + +This was a still more awkward question; so I kissed her again, and said she +must never ask me to say of my uncle in his absence anything I could not +say to his face. + +At which speech she stared at me for a while, and then treated me to one of +her hearty laughs, after which she seemed happier, and gradually grew into +better humour with her father. + +'Sometimes, when the curate calls, he has me up--for he's as religious as +six, he is--and they read Bible and prays, ho--don't they? You'll have +that, lass, like me, to go through; and maybe I don't hate it; oh, no!' + +We breakfasted in a small room, almost a closet, off the great parlour, +which was evidently quite disused. Nothing could be homelier than our +equipage, or more shabby than the furniture of the little apartment. Still, +somehow, I liked it. It was a total change; but one likes 'roughing it' a +little at first. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +_THE WINDMILL WOOD_ + + +I had not time to explore this noble old house as my curiosity prompted; +for Milly was in such a fuss to set out for the 'blackberry dell' that I +saw little more than just so much as I necessarily traversed in making my +way to and from my room. + +The actual decay of the house had been prevented by my dear father; and +the roof, windows, masonry, and carpentry had all been kept in repair. +But short of indications of actual ruin, there are many manifestations of +poverty and neglect which impress with a feeling of desolation. It was +plain that not nearly a tithe of this great house was inhabited; long +corridors and galleries stretched away in dust and silence, and were +crossed by others, whose dark arches inspired me in the distance with an +awful sort of sadness. It was plainly one of those great structures in +which you might easily lose yourself, and with a pleasing terror it +reminded me of that delightful old abbey in Mrs. Radcliffe's romance, among +whose silent staircases, dim passages, and long suites of lordly, but +forsaken chambers, begirt without by the sombre forest, the family of La +Mote secured a gloomy asylum. + +My cousin Milly and I, however, were bent upon an open-air ramble, and +traversing several passages, she conducted me to a door which led us out +upon a terrace overgrown with weeds, and by a broad flight of steps we +descended to the level of the grounds beneath. Then on, over the short +grass, under the noble trees, we walked; Milly in high good-humour, +and talking away volubly, in her short garment, navvy boots, and a +weather-beaten hat. She carried a stick in her gloveless hand. Her +conversation was quite new to me, and resembled very much what I would have +fancied the holiday recollections of a schoolboy; and the language in which +it was sustained was sometimes so outlandish, that I was forced to laugh +outright--a demonstration which she plainly did not like. + +Her talk was about the great jumps she had made--how she snow-balled the +chaps' in winter--how she could slide twice the length of her stick beyond +'Briddles, the cow-boy.' + +With this and similar conversation she entertained me. + +The grounds were delightfully wild and neglected. But we had now passed +into a vast park beautifully varied with hollows and uplands, and such +glorious old timber massed and scattered over its slopes and levels. Among +these, we got at last into a picturesque dingle; the grey rocks peeped from +among the ferns and wild flowers, and the steps of soft sward along its +sides were dark in the shadows of silver-stemmed birch, and russet thorn, +and oak, under which, in the vaporous night, the Erl-king and his daughter +might glide on their aerial horses. + +In the lap of this pleasant dell were the finest blackberry bushes, I +think, I ever saw, bearing fruit quite fabulous; and plucking these, and +chatting, we rambled on very pleasantly. + +I had first thought of Milly's absurdities, to which, in description, I +cannot do justice, simply because so many details have, by distance +of time, escaped my recollection. But her ways and her talk were so +indescribably grotesque that she made me again and again quiver with +suppressed laughter. + +But there was a pitiable and even a melancholy meaning underlying the +burlesque. + +This creature, with no more education than a dairy-maid, I gradually +discovered had fine natural aptitudes for accomplishment--a very sweet +voice, and wonderfully delicate ear, and a talent for drawing which quite +threw mine into the shade. It was really astonishing. + +Poor Milly, in all her life, had never read three books, and hated to +think of them. One, over which she was wont to yawn and sigh, and stare +fatiguedly for an hour every Sunday, by command of the Governor, was a +stout volume of sermons of the earlier school of George III., and a drier +collection you can't fancy. I don't think she read anything else. But she +had, notwithstanding, ten times the cleverness of half the circulating +library misses one meets with. Besides all this, I had a long sojourn +before me at Bartram-Haugh, and I had learned from Milly, as I had heard +before, what a perennial solitude it was, with a ludicrous fear of learning +Milly's preposterous dialect, and turning at last into something like her. +So I resolved to do all I could for her--teach her whatever I knew, if she +would allow me--and gradually, if possible, effect some civilising changes +in her language, and, as they term it in boarding-schools, her demeanour. + +But I must pursue at present our first day's ramble in what was called +Bartram Chase. People can't go on eating blackberries always; so after a +while we resumed our walk along this pretty dell, which gradually expanded +into a wooded valley--level beneath and enclosed by irregular uplands, +receding, as it were, in mimic bays and harbours at some points, and +running out at others into broken promontories, ending in clumps of forest +trees. + +Just where the glen which we had been traversing expanded into this broad, +but wooded valley, it was traversed by a high and close paling, which, +although it looked decayed, was still very strong. + +In this there was a wooden gate, rudely but strongly constructed, and at +the side we were approaching stood a girl, who was leaning against the +post, with one arm resting on the top of the gate. + +This girl was neither tall nor short--taller than she looked at a distance; +she had not a slight waist; sooty black was her hair, with a broad +forehead, perpendicular but low; she had a pair of very fine, dark, +lustrous eyes, and no other good feature--unless I may so call her teeth, +which were very white and even. Her face was rather short, and swarthy as +a gipsy's; observant and sullen too; and she did not move, only eyed us +negligently from under her dark lashes as we drew near. Altogether a not +unpicturesque figure, with a dusky, red petticoat of drugget, and tattered +jacket of bottle-green stuff, with short sleeves, which showed her brown +arms from the elbow. + +'That's Pegtop's daughter,' said Milly. + +'Who is Pegtop?' I asked. + +'He's the miller--see, yonder it is,' and she pointed to a very pretty +feature in the landscape, a windmill, crowning the summit of a hillock +which rose suddenly above the level of the treetops, like an island in the +centre of the valley. + +'The mill not going to-day, Beauty?' bawled Milly. + +'No--a, Beauty; it baint,' replied the girl, loweringly, and without +stirring. + +'And what's gone with the stile?' demanded Milly, aghast. 'It's tore away +from the paling!' + +'Well, so it be,' replied the wood nymph in the red petticoat, showing her +fine teeth with a lazy grin. + +'Who's a bin and done all that?' demanded Milly. + +'Not you nor me, lass,' said the girl. + +''Twas old Pegtop, your father, did it,' cried Milly, in rising wrath. + +''Appen it wor,' she replied. + +'And the gate locked.' + +'That's it--the gate locked,' she repeated, sulkily, with a defiant +side-glance at Milly. + +'And where's Pegtop?' + +'At t'other side, somewhere; how should I know where he be?' she replied. + +'Who's got the key?' + +'Here it be, lass,' she answered, striking her hand on her pocket. 'And how +durst you stay us here? Unlock it, huzzy, this minute!' cried Milly, with a +stamp. + +Her answer was a sullen smile. + +'Open the gate this instant!' bawled Milly. + +'Well, I _won't._' + +I expected that Milly would have flown into a frenzy at this direct +defiance, but she looked instead puzzled and curious--the girl's unexpected +audacity bewildered her. + +'Why, you fool, I could get over the paling as soon as look at you, but I +won't. What's come over you? Open the gate, I say, or I'll make you.' + +'Do let her alone, dear,' I entreated, fearing a mutual assault. 'She has +been ordered, may be, not to open it. Is it so, my good girl?' + +'Well, thou'rt not the biggest fool o' the two,' she observed, +commendatively, 'thou'st hit it, lass.' + +'And who ordered you?' exclaimed Milly. + +'Fayther.' + +'Old Pegtop. Well, _that's_ summat to laugh at, it is--our servant +a-shutting us out of our own grounds.' + +'No servant o' yourn!' + +'Come, lass, what do you mean?' + +'He be old Silas's miller, and what's that to thee?' + +With these words the girl made a spring on the hasp of the padlock, and +then got easily over the gate. + +'Can't you do that, cousin?' whispered Milly to me, with an impatient +nudge. 'I _wish_ you'd try.' + +'No, dear--come away, Milly,' and I began to withdraw. + +'Lookee, lass, 'twill be an ill day's work for thee when I tell the +Governor,' said Milly, addressing the girl, who stood on a log of timber at +the other side, regarding us with a sullen composure. + +'We'll be over in spite o' you,' cried Milly. + +'You lie!' answered she. + +'And why not, huzzy?' demanded my cousin, who was less incensed at the +affront than I expected. All this time I was urging Milly in vain to come +away. + +'Yon lass is no wild cat, like thee--that's why,' said the sturdy portress. + +'If I cross, I'll give you a knock,' said Milly. + +'And I'll gi' thee another,' she answered, with a vicious wag of the head. + +'Come, Milly, _I'll_ go if _you_ don't,' I said. + +'But we must not be beat,' whispered she, vehemently, catching my arm; 'and +ye _shall_ get over, and _see_ what I will gi' her!' + +'I'll _not_ get over.' + +'Then I'll break the door, for ye _shall_ come through,' exclaimed Milly, +kicking the stout paling with her ponderous boot. + +'Purr it, purr it, purr it!' cried the lass in the red petticoat with a +grin. + +'Do you know who this lady is?' cried Milly, suddenly. + +'She is a prettier lass than thou,' answered Beauty. + +'She's _my_ cousin Maud--Miss Ruthyn of Knowl--and she's a deal richer than +the Queen; and the Governor's taking care of her; and he'll make old Pegtop +bring you to reason.' + +The girl eyed me with a sulky listlessness, a little inquisitively, I +thought. + +'See if he don't,' threatened Milly. + +'You positively _must_ come,' I said, drawing her away with me. + +'Well, shall we come in?' cried Milly, trying a last summons. + +'You'll not come in that much,' she answered, surlily, measuring an +infinitesimal distance on her finger with her thumb, which she pinched +against it, the gesture ending with a snap of defiance, and a smile that +showed her fine teeth. + +'I've a mind to shy a stone at you,' shouted Milly. + +'Faire away; I'll shy wi' ye as long as ye like, lass; take heed o' +yerself;' and Beauty picked up a round stone as large as a cricket ball. + +With difficulty I got Milly away without an exchange of missiles, and much +disgusted at my want of zeal and agility. + +'Well, come along, cousin, I know an easy way by the river, when it's low,' +answered Milly. 'She's a brute--is not she?' + +As we receded, we saw the girl slowly wending her way towards the old +thatched cottage, which showed its gable from the side of a little rugged +eminence embowered in spreading trees, and dangling and twirling from its +string on the end of her finger the key for which a battle had so nearly +been fought. + +The stream was low enough to make our flank movement round the end of +the paling next it quite easy, and so we pursued our way, and Milly's +equanimity returned, and our ramble grew very pleasant again. + +Our path lay by the river bank, and as we proceeded, the dwarf timber was +succeeded by grander trees, which crowded closer and taller, and, at last, +the scenery deepened into solemn forest, and a sudden sweep in the river +revealed the beautiful ruin of a steep old bridge, with the fragments of a +gate-house on the farther side. + +'Oh, Milly darling!' I exclaimed, 'what a beautiful drawing this would +make! I should so like to make a sketch of it.' + +'So it would. _Make_ a picture--_do_!--here's a stone that's pure and flat +to sit upon, and you look very tired. Do make it, and I'll sit by you.' + +'Yes, Milly, I _am_ tired, a little, and I _will_ sit down; but we must +wait for another day to make the picture, for we have neither pencil +nor paper. But it is much too pretty to be lost; so let us come again +to-morrow.' + +'To-morrow be hanged! you'll do it to-day, bury-me-wick, but you _shall_; +I'm wearying to see you make a picture, and I'll fetch your conundrums out +o' your drawer, for do 't you shall.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +_ZAMIEL_ + + +It was all vain my remonstrating. She vowed that by crossing the +stepping-stones close by she could, by a short cut, reach the house, and +return with my pencils and block-book in a quarter of an hour. Away then, +with many a jump and fling, scampered Milly's queer white stockings and +navvy boots across the irregular and precarious stepping-stones, over which +I dared not follow her; so I was fain to return to the stone so 'pure +and flat,' on which I sat, enjoying the grand sylvan solitude, the dark +background and the grey bridge mid-way, so tall and slim, across whose +ruins a sunbeam glimmered, and the gigantic forest trees that slumbered +round, opening here and there in dusky vistas, and breaking in front into +detached and solemn groups. It was the setting of a dream of romance. + +It would have been the very spot in which to read a volume of German +folk-lore, and the darkening colonnades and silent nooks of the forest +seemed already haunted with the voices and shadows of those charming elves +and goblins. + +As I sat here enjoying the solitude and my fancies among the low branches +of the wood, at my right I heard a crashing, and saw a squat broad figure +in a stained and tattered military coat, and loose short trousers, one limb +of which flapped about a wooden leg. He was forcing himself through. His +face was rugged and wrinkled, and tanned to the tint of old oak; his eyes +black, beadlike, and fierce, and a shock of sooty hair escaped from under +his battered wide-awake nearly to his shoulders. This forbidding-looking +person came stumping and jerking along toward me, whisking his stick now +and then viciously in the air, and giving his fell of hair a short shake, +like a wild bull preparing to attack. + +I stood up involuntarily with a sense of fear and surprise, almost fancying +I saw in that wooden-legged old soldier, the forest demon who haunted Der +Freischuetz. + +So he approached shouting-- + +'Hollo! you--how came you here? Dost 'eer?' + +And he drew near panting, and sometimes tugging angrily in his haste at his +wooden leg, which sunk now and then deeper than was convenient in the sod. +This exertion helped to anger him, and when he halted before me, his dark +face smirched with smoke and dust, and the nostrils of his flat drooping +nose expanded and quivered as he panted, like the gills of a fish; an +angrier or uglier face it would not be easy to fancy. + +'Ye'll all come when ye like, will ye? and do nout but what pleases +yourselves, won't you? And who'rt thou? Dost 'eer--who _are_ ye, I say; and +what the deil seek ye in the woods here? Come, bestir thee!' + +If his wide mouth and great tobacco-stained teeth, his scowl, and loud +discordant tones were intimidating, they were also extremely irritating. +The moment my spirit was roused, my courage came. + +'I am Miss Ruthyn of Knowl, and Mr. Silas Ruthyn, your master, is my +uncle.' + +'Hoo!' he exclaimed more gently, 'an' if Silas be thy uncle thou'lt be come +to live wi' him, and thou'rt she as come overnight--eh?' + +I made no answer, but I believe I looked both angrily and disdainfully. + +'And what make ye alone here? and how was I to know't, an' Milly not wi' +ye, nor no one? But Maud or no Maud, I wouldn't let the Dooke hisself set +foot inside the palin' without Silas said let him. And you may tell Silas +them's the words o' Dickon Hawkes, and I'll stick to 'm--and what's more +I'll tell him _myself_--I will; I'll tell him there be no use o' my +striving and straining hee, day an' night and night and day, watchin' again +poachers, and thieves, and gipsies, and they robbing lads, if rules won't +be kep, and folk do jist as they pleases. Dang it, lass, thou'rt in luck I +didn't heave a brick at thee when I saw thee first.' + +'I'll complain of you to my uncle,' I replied. + +'So do, and and 'appen thou'lt find thyself in the wrong box, lass; thou +canst na' say I set the dogs arter thee, nor cau'd thee so much as a wry +name, nor heave a stone at thee--did I? Well? and where's the complaint +then?' + +I simply answered, rather fiercely, + +'Be good enough to leave me.' + +'Well, I make no objections, mind. I'm takin' thy word--thou'rt Maud +Ruthyn--'appen thou be'st and 'appen thou baint. I'm not aweer on't, but I +takes thy word, and all I want to know's just this, did Meg open the gate +to thee?' + +I made him no answer, and to my great relief I saw Milly striding and +skipping across the unequal stepping-stones. + +'Hallo, Pegtop! what are you after now?' she cried, as she drew near. + +'This man has been extremely impertinent. You know him, Milly?' I said. + +'Why that's Pegtop Dickon. Dirty old Hawkes that never was washed. I tell +you, lad, ye'll see what the Governor thinks o't--a-ha! He'll talk to you.' + +'I done or said nout--not but I _should_, and there's the fack--she can't +deny't; she hadn't a hard word from I; and I don't care the top o' that +thistle what no one says--not I. But I tell thee, Milly, I stopped _some_ +o' thy pranks, and I'll stop more. Ye'll be shying no more stones at the +cattle.' + +'Tell your tales, and welcome, cried Milly. 'I wish I was here when you +jawed cousin. If Winny was here she'd catch you by the timber toe and put +you on your back.' + +'Ay, she'll be a good un yet if she takes arter thee,' retorted the old man +with a fierce sneer. + +'Drop it, and get away wi' ye,' cried she, 'or maybe I'd call Winny to +smash your timber leg for you.' + +'A-ha! there's more on't. She's a sweet un. Isn't she?' he replied +sardonically. + +'You did not like it last Easter, when Winny broke it with a kick.' + +''Twas a kick o' a horse,' he growled with a glance at me. + +''Twas no such thing--'twas Winny did it--and he laid on his back for a +week while carpenter made him a new one.' And Milly laughed hilariously. + +'I'll fool no more wi' ye, losing my time; I won't; but mind ye, I'll speak +wi' Silas.' And going away he put his hand to his crumpled wide-awake, and +said to me with a surly difference-- + +'Good evening, Miss Ruthyn--good evening, ma'am--and ye'll please remember, +I did not mean nout to vex thee.' + +And so he swaggered away, jerking and waddling over the sward, and was soon +lost in the wood. + +'It's well he's a little bit frightened--I never saw him so angry, I think; +he is awful mad.' + +'Perhaps he really is not aware how very rude he is,' I suggested. + +'I hate him. We were twice as pleasant with poor Tom Driver--he never +meddled with any one, and was always in liquor; Old Gin was the name he +went by. But this brute--I do hate him--he comes from Wigan, I think, and +he's always spoiling sport--and he whops Meg--that's Beauty, you know, and +I don't think she'd be half as bad only for him. Listen to him whistlin'.' + +'I did hear whistling at some distance among the trees.' + +'I declare if he isn't callin' the dogs! Climb up here, I tell ye,' and we +climbed up the slanting trunk of a great walnut tree, and strained our eyes +in the direction from which we expected the onset of Pegtop's vicious pack. + +But it was a false alarm. + +'Well, I don't think he _would_ do that, after all--_hardly_; but he is a +brute, sure!' + +'And that dark girl who would not let us through, is his daughter, is she?' + +'Yes, that's Meg--Beauty, I christened her, when I called him Beast; but I +call him Pegtop now, and she's Beauty still, and that's the way o't.' + +'Come, sit down now, an' make your picture,' she resumed so soon as we had +dismounted from our position of security. + +'I'm afraid I'm hardly in the vein. I don't think I could draw a straight +line. My hand trembles.' + +'I wish you could, Maud,' said Milly, with a look so wistful and +entreating, that considering the excursion she had made for the pencils, I +could not bear to disappoint her. + +'Well, Milly, we must only try; and if we fail we can't help it. Sit you +down beside me and I'll tell you why I begin with one part and not another, +and you'll see how I make trees and the river, and--yes, _that_ pencil, +it is hard and answers for the fine light lines; but we must begin at the +beginning, and learn to copy drawings before we attempt real views like +this. And if you wish it, Milly, I'm resolved to teach you everything I +know, which, after all, is not a great deal, and we shall have such fun +making sketches of the same landscapes, and then comparing.' + +And so on, Milly, quite delighted, and longing to begin her course of +instruction, sat down beside me in a rapture, and hugged and kissed me so +heartily that we were very near rolling together off the stone on which we +were seated. Her boisterous delight and good-nature helped to restore me, +and both laughing heartily together, I commenced my task. + +'Dear me! who's that?' I exclaimed suddenly, as looking up from my +block-book I saw the figure of a slight man in the careless morning-dress +of a gentleman, crossing the ruinous bridge in our direction, with +considerable caution, upon the precarious footing of the battlement, which +alone offered an unbroken passage. + +This was a day of apparitions! Milly recognised him instantly. The +gentleman was Mr. Carysbroke. He had taken The Grange only for a year. He +lived quite to himself, and was very good to the poor, and was the only +gentleman, for ever so long, who had visited at Bartram, and oddly enough +nowhere else. But he wanted leave to cross through the grounds, and having +obtained it, had repeated his visit, partly induced, no doubt, by the +fact that Bartram boasted no hospitalities, and that there was no risk of +meeting the county folk there. + +With a stout walking-stick in his hand, and a short shooting-coat, and a +wide-awake hat in much better trim than Zamiel's, he emerged from the copse +that covered the bridge, walking at a quick but easy pace. + +'He'll be goin' to see old Snoddles, I guess,' said Milly, looking a little +frightened and curious; for Milly, I need not say, was a bumpkin, and stood +in awe of this gentleman's good-breeding, though she was as brave as a +lion, and would have fought the Philistines at any odds, with the jawbone +of an ass. + +''Appen he won't see us,' whispered Milly, hopefully. + +But he did, and raising his hat, with a cheerful smile, that showed very +white teeth, he paused. + +'Charming day, Miss Ruthyn.' + +I raised my head suddenly as he spoke, from habit appropriating the +address; it was so marked that he raised his hat respectfully to me, and +then continued to Milly-- + +'Mr. Ruthyn, I hope, quite well? but I need hardly ask, you seem so happy. +Will you kindly tell him, that I expect the book I mentioned in a day or +two, and when it comes I'll either send or bring it to him immediately?' + +Milly and I were standing, by this time, but she only stared at him, +tongue-tied, her cheeks rather flushed, and her eyes very round, and to +facilitate the dialogue, as I suppose, he said again-- + +'He's quite well, I hope?' + +Still no response from Milly, and I, provoked, though myself a little shy, +made answer-- + +'My uncle, Mr. Ruthyn, is very well, thank you,' and I felt that I blushed +as I spoke. + +'Ah, pray excuse me, may I take a great liberty? you are Miss Ruthyn, +of Knowl? Will you think me very impertinent--I'm afraid you will--if I +venture to introduce myself? My name is Carysbroke, and I had the honour of +knowing poor Mr. Ruthyn when I was quite a little boy, and he has shown a +kindness for me since, and I hope you will pardon the liberty I fear I've +taken. I think my friend, Lady Knollys, too, is a relation of yours; what a +charming person she is!' + +'Oh, is not she? such a darling!' I said, and then blushed at my outspoken +affection. + +But he smiled kindly, as if he liked me for it; and he said-- + +'You know whatever I think, I dare not quite say that; but frankly I can +quite understand it. She preserves her youth so wonderfully, and her fun +and her good-nature are so entirely girlish. What a sweet view you have +selected,' he continued, changing all at once. 'I've stood just at +this point so often to look back at that exquisite old bridge. Do you +observe--you're an artist, I see--something very peculiar in that tint of +the grey, with those odd cross stains of faded red and yellow?' + +'I do, indeed; I was just remarking the peculiar beauty of the +colouring--was not I, Milly?' + +Milly stared at me, and uttered an alarmed 'Yes,' and looked as if she had +been caught in a robbery. + +'Yes, and you have so very peculiar a background,' he resumed. 'It was +better before the storm though; but it is very good still.' + +Then a little pause, and 'Do you know this country at all?' rather +suddenly. + +'No, not in the least--that is, I've only had the drive to this place; but +what I did see interested me very much.' + +'You will be charmed with it when you know it better--the very place for an +artist. I'm a wretched scribbler myself, and I carry this little book in +my pocket,' and he laughed deprecatingly while he drew forth a thin +fishing-book, as it looked. 'They are mere memoranda, you see. I walk so +much and come unexpectedly on such pretty nooks and studies, I just try +to make a note of them, but it is really more writing than sketching; my +sister says it is a cipher which nobody but myself understands. However, +I'll try and explain just two--because you really ought to go and see the +places. Oh, no; not that,' he laughed, as accidentally the page blew over, +'that's the Cat and Fiddle, a curious little pot-house, where they gave me +some very good ale one day.' + +Milly at this exhibited some uneasy tokens of being about to speak, but not +knowing what might be coming, I hastened to observe on the spirited little +sketches to which he meant to draw my attention. + +'I want to show you only the places within easy reach--a short ride or +drive.' + +So he proceeded to turn over two or three, in addition to the two he had +at first proposed, and then another; then a little sketch just tinted, and +really quite a charming little gem, of Cousin Monica's pretty gabled old +house; and every subject had its little criticism, or its narrative, or +adventure. + +As he was about returning this little sketch-book to his pocket, still +chatting to me, he suddenly recollected poor Milly, who was looking rather +lowering; but she brightened a good deal as he presented it to her, with a +little speech which she palpably misunderstood, for she made one of her odd +courtesies, and was about, I thought, to put it into her large pocket, and +accept it as a present. + +'Look at the drawings, Milly, and then return it,' I whispered. + +At his request I allowed him to look at my unfinished sketch of the bridge, +and while he was measuring distances and proportions with his eye, Milly +whispered rather angrily to me. + +'And why should I?' + +'Because he wants it back, and only meant to lend it to you,' whispered I. + +'_Lend_ it to me--and after you! Bury-me-wick if I look at a leaf of it,' +she retorted in high dudgeon. 'Take it, lass; give it him yourself--I'll +not,' and she popped it into my hand, and made a sulky step back. + +'My cousin is very much obliged,' I said, returning the book, and smiling +for her, and he took it smiling also and said-- + +'I think if I had known how very well you draw, Miss Ruthyn, I should have +hesitated about showing you my poor scrawls. But these are not my best, you +know; Lady Knollys will tell you that I can really do better--a great deal +better, I think.' + +And then with more apologies for what he called his impertinence, he took +his leave, and I felt altogether very much pleased and flattered. + +He could not be more than twenty-nine or thirty, I thought, and he was +decidedly handsome--that is, his eyes and teeth, and clear brown complexion +were--and there was something distinguished and graceful in his figure +and gesture; and altogether there was the indescribable attraction of +intelligence; and I fancied--though this, of course, was a secret--that +from the moment he spoke to us he felt an interest in me. I am not going to +be vain. It was a _grave_ interest, but still an interest, for I could see +him studying my features while I was turning over his sketches, and he +thought I saw nothing else. It was flattering, too, his anxiety that +I should think well of his drawing, and referring me to Lady Knollys. +Carysbroke--had I ever heard my dear father mention that name? I could not +recollect it. But then he was habitually so silent, that his not doing so +argued nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +_WE VISIT A ROOM IN THE SECOND STOREY_ + + +Mr. Carysbroke amused my fancy sufficiently to prevent my observing Milly's +silence, till we had begun our return homeward. + +'The Grange must be a pretty house, if that little sketch be true; is it +far from this?' + +''Twill be two mile.' + +'Are you vexed, Milly?' I asked, for both her tone and looks were angry. + +'Yes, I am vexed; and why not lass?' + +'What has happened?' + +'Well, now, that is rich! Why, look at that fellow, Carysbroke: he took no +more notice to me than a dog, and kep' talking to you all the time of his +pictures, and his walks, and his people. Why, a pig's better manners than +that.' + +'But, Milly dear, you forget, he tried to talk to you, and you would not +answer him,' I expostulated. + +'And is not that just what I say--I can't talk like other folk--ladies, I +mean. Every one laughs at me; an' I'm dressed like a show, I am. It's a +shame! I saw Polly Shives--what a lady she is, my eyes!--laughing at me in +church last Sunday. I was minded to give her a bit of my mind. An' I know +I'm queer. It's a shame, it is. Why should _I_ be so rum? it is a shame! I +don't want to be so, nor it isn't my fault.' + +And poor Milly broke into a flood of tears, and stamped on the ground, and +buried her face in her short frock, which she whisked up to her eyes; and +an odder figure of grief I never beheld. + +'And I could not make head or tail of what he was saying,' cried poor Milly +through her buff cotton, with a stamp; 'and you twigged every word o't. An' +why am I so? It's a shame--a shame! Oh, ho, ho! it's a shame!' + +'But, my dear Milly, we were talking of _drawing_, and you have not learned +yet, but you shall--I'll teach you; and then you'll understand all about +it.' + +'An' every one laughs at me--even you; though you try, Maud, you can scarce +keep from laughing sometimes. I don't blame you, for I know I'm queer; but +I can't help it; and it's a shame.' + +'Well, my dear Milly, listen to me: if you allow me, I assure you, I'll +teach you all the music and drawing I know. You have lived very much +alone; and, as you say, ladies have a way of speaking of their own that is +different from the talk of other people.' + +'Yes, that they have, an' gentlemen too--like the Governor, and that +Carysbroke; and a precious lingo it is--dang it--why, the devil himself +could not understand it; an' I'm like a fool among you. I could 'most drown +myself. It's a shame! It is--you know it is.--It's a shame!' + +'But I'll teach you that lingo too, if you wish it, Milly; and you shall +know everything that I know; and I'll manage to have your dresses better +made.' + +By this time she was looking very ruefully, but attentively, in my face, +her round eyes and nose swelled, and her cheeks all wet. + +'I think if they were a little longer--yours is longer, you know;' and the +sentence was interrupted by a sob. + +'Now, Milly, you must not be crying; if you choose you may be just as the +same as any other lady--and you shall; and you will be very much admired, I +can tell you, if only you will take the trouble to quite unlearn all your +odd words and ways, and dress yourself like other people; and I will take +care of that if you let me; and I think you are very clever, Milly; and I +know you are very pretty.' + +Poor Milly's blubbered face expanded into a smile in spite of herself; but +she shook her head, looking down. + +'Noa, noa, Maud, I fear 'twon't be.' And indeed it seemed I had proposed to +myself a labour of Hercules. + +But Milly was really a clever creature, could see quickly, and when her +ungainly dialect was mastered, describe very pleasantly; and if only she +would endure the restraint and possessed the industry requisite, I did not +despair, and was resolved at least to do my part. + +Poor Milly! she was really very grateful, and entered into the project of +her education with great zeal, and with a strange mixture of humility and +insubordination. + +Milly was in favour of again attacking 'Beauty's' position on her return, +and forcing a passage from this side; but I insisted on following the route +by which we had arrived, and so we got round the paling by the river, and +were treated to a provoking grin of defiance by 'Beauty,' who was talking +across the gate to a slim young man, arrayed in fustian, and with an +odd-looking cap of rabbit-skin on his head, which, on seeing us, he pulled +sheepishly to the side of his face next to us, as he lounged, with his arm +under his chin, on the top bar of the gate. + +After our encounter of to-day, indeed, it was Miss 'Beauty's' wont to +exhibit a kind of jeering disdain in her countenance whenever we passed. + +I think Milly would have engaged her again, had I not reminded her of her +undertaking, and exerted my new authority. + +'Look at that sneak, Pegtop, there, going up the path to the mill. He makes +belief now he does not see us; but he does, though, only he's afraid we'll +tell the Governor, and he thinks Governor won't give him his way with you. +I hate that Pegtop: he stopped me o' riding the cows a year ago, he did.' + +I thought Pegtop might have done worse. Indeed it was plain that a total +reformation was needed here; and I was glad to find that poor Milly seemed +herself conscious of it; and that her resolution to become more like other +people of her station was not a mere spasm of mortification and jealousy, +but a genuine and very zealous resolve. + +I had not half seen this old house of Bartram-Haugh yet. At first, indeed, +I had but an imperfect idea of its extent. There was a range of rooms along +one side of the great gallery, with closed window-shutters, and the doors +generally locked. Old L'Amour grew cross when we went into them, although +we could see nothing; and Milly was afraid to open the windows--not that +any Bluebeard revelations were apprehended, but simply because she knew +that Uncle Silas's order was that things should be left undisturbed; and +this boisterous spirit stood in awe of him to a degree which his gentle +manners and apparent quietude rendered quite surprising. + +There were in this house, what certainly did not exist at Knowl, and what +I have never observed, thought they may possibly be found in other old +houses--I mean, here and there, very high hatches, which we could only +peep over by jumping in the air. They crossed the long corridors and great +galleries; and several of them were turned across and locked, so as to +intercept the passage, and interrupt our explorations. + +Milly, however, knew a queer little, very steep and dark back stair, which +reached the upper floor; so she and I mounted, and made a long ramble +through rooms much lower and ruder in finish than the lordly chambers we +had left below. These commanded various views of the beautiful though +neglected grounds; but on crossing a gallery we entered suddenly a chamber, +which looked into a small and dismal quadrangle, formed by the inner walls +of this great house, and of course designed only by the architect to afford +the needful light and air to portions of the structure. + +I rubbed the window-pane with my handkerchief and looked out. The +surrounding roof was steep and high. The walls looked soiled and dark. The +windows lined with dust and dirt, and the window-stones were in places +tufted with moss, and grass, and groundsel. An arched doorway had opened +from the house into this darkened square, but it was soiled and dusty; and +the damp weeds that overgrew the quadrangle drooped undisturbed against it. +It was plain that human footsteps tracked it little, and I gazed into that +blind and sinister area with a strange thrill and sinking. + +'This is the second floor--there is the enclosed court-yard'--I, as it +were, soliloquised. + +'What are you afraid of, Maud? you look as ye'd seen a ghost,' exclaimed +Milly, who came to the window and peeped over my shoulder. + +'It reminded me suddenly, Milly, of that frightful business.' + +'What business, Maud?--what a plague are ye thinking on?' demanded Milly, +rather amused. + +'It was in one of these rooms--maybe this--yes, it certainly _was_ +this--for see, the panelling has been pulled off the wall--that Mr. Charke +killed himself.' + +I was staring ruefully round the dim chamber, in whose corners the shadows +of night were already gathering. + +'Charke!--what about him?--who's Charke?' asked Milly. + +'Why, you must have heard of him,' said I. + +'Not as I'm aware on,' answered she. 'And he killed himself, did he, hanged +himself, eh, or blowed his brains out?' + +'He cut his throat in one of these rooms--_this_ one, I'm sure--for your +papa had the wainscoting stripped from the wall to ascertain whether there +was any second door through which a murderer could have come; and you see +these walls are stripped, and bear the marks of the woodwork that has been +removed,' I answered. + +'Well, that _was_ awful! I don't know how they have pluck to cut their +throats; if I was doing it, I'd like best to put a pistol to my head and +fire, like the young gentleman did, they say, in Deadman's Hollow. But the +fellows that cut their throats, they must be awful game lads, I'm thinkin', +for it's a long slice, you know.' + +'Don't, don't, Milly dear. Suppose we come away,' I said, for the evening +was deepening rapidly into night. + +'Hey and bury-me-wick, but here's the blood; don't you see a big black +cloud all spread over the floor hereabout, don't ye see?' Milly was +stooping over the spot, and tracing the outline of this, perhaps, imaginary +mapping, in the air with her finger. + +'No, Milly, you could not see it: the floor is too dark, and it's all in +shadow. It must be fancy; and perhaps, after all, this is not the room.' + +'Well--I think, I'm _sure_ it _is_. Stand--just look.' + +'We'll come in the morning, and if you are right we can see it better then. +Come away,' I said, growing frightened. + +And just as we stood up to depart, the white high-cauled cap and large +sallow features of old L'Amour peeped in at the door. + +'Lawk! what brings you here?' cried Milly, nearly as much startled as I at +the intrusion. + +'What brings _you_ here, miss?' whistled L'Amour through her gums. + +'We're looking where Charke cut his throat,' replied Milly. + +'Charke the devil!' said the old woman, with an odd mixture of scorn and +fury. ''Tisn't his room; and come ye out of it, please. Master won't like +when he hears how you keep pulling Miss Maud from one room to another, all +through the house, up and down.' + +She was gabbling sternly enough, but dropped a low courtesy as I passed +her, and with a peaked and nodding stare round the room, the old woman +clapped the door sharply, and locked it. + +'And who has been a talking about Charke--a pack o lies, I warrant. I +s'pose you want to frighten Miss Maud here' (another crippled courtesy) +'wi' ghosts and like nonsense.' + +'You're out there: 'twas she told me; and much about it. Ghosts, indeed! +I don't vally them, not I; if I did, I know who'd frighten me,' and Milly +laughed. + +The old woman stuffed the key in her pocket, and her wrinkled mouth pouted +and receded with a grim uneasiness. + +'A harmless brat, and kind she is; but wild--wild--she will be wild.' + +So whispered L'Amour in my ear, during the silence that followed, nodding +shakily toward Milly over the banister, and she courtesied again as we +departed, and shuffled off toward Uncle Silas's room. + +The Governor is queerish this evening,' said Milly, when we were seated at +our tea. 'You never saw him queerish, did you?' + +'You must say what you mean, more plainly, Milly. You don't mean ill, I +hope?' + +'Well! I don't know what it is; but he does grow very queer +sometimes--you'd think he was dead a'most, maybe two or three days and +nights together. He sits all the time like an old woman in a swound. Well, +well, it is awful!' + +'Is he insensible when in that state?' I asked, a good deal alarmed. + +'I don't know; but it never signifies anything. It won't kill him, I do +believe; but old L'Amour knows all about it. I hardly ever go into the room +when he's so, only when I'm sent for; and he sometimes wakes up and takes a +fancy to call for this one or that. One day he sent for Pegtop all the way +to the mill; and when he came, he only stared at him for a minute or two, +and ordered him out o' the room. He's like a child a'most, when he's in one +o' them dazes.' + +I always knew when Uncle Silas was 'queerish,' by the injunctions of old +L'Amour, whistled and spluttered over the banister as we came up-stairs, +to mind how we made a noise passing master's door; and by the sound of +mysterious to-ings and fro-ings about his room. + +I saw very little of him. He sometimes took a whim to have us breakfast +with him, which lasted perhaps for a week; and then the order of our living +would relapse into its old routine. + +I must not forget two kind letters from Lady Knollys, who was detained +away, and delighted to hear that I enjoyed my quiet life; and promised to +apply, in person, to Uncle Silas, for permission to visit me. + +She was to be for the Christmas at Elverston, and that was only six miles +away from Bartram-Haugh, so I had the excitement of a pleasant look +forward. + +She also said that she would include poor Milly in her invitation; and a +vision of Captain Oakley rose before me, with his handsome gaze turned in +wonder on poor Milly, for whom I had begun to feel myself responsible. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +_AN ARRIVAL AT DEAD OF NIGHT_ + + +I have sometimes been asked why I wear an odd little turquois ring--which +to the uninstructed eye appears quite valueless and altogether an unworthy +companion of those jewels which flash insultingly beside it. It is a little +keepsake, of which I became possessed about this time. + +'Come, lass, what name shall I give you?' cried Milly, one morning, +bursting into my room in a state of alarming hilarity. + +'My own, Milly.' + +'No, but you must have a nickname, like every one else.' + +'Don't mind it, Milly.' + +'Yes, but I will. Shall I call you Mrs. Bustle?' + +'You shall do no such thing.' + +'But you must have a name.' + +'I refuse a name.' + +'But I'll give you one, lass.' + +'And _I_ won't have it.' + +'But you can't help me christening you.' + +'I can decline answering.' + +'But I'll make you,' said Milly, growing very red. + +Perhaps there was something provoking in my tone, for I certainly was very +much disgusted at Milly's relapse into barbarism. + +'You can't,' I retorted quietly. + +'See if I don't, and I'll give ye one twice as ugly.' + +I smiled, I fear, disdainfully. + +'And I think you're a minx, and a slut, and a fool,' she broke out, +flushing scarlet. + +I smiled in the same unchristian way. + +'And I'd give ye a smack o' the cheek as soon as look at you.' + +And she gave her dress a great slap, and drew near me, in her wrath. I +really thought she was about tendering the ordeal of single combat. + +I made her, however, a paralysing courtesy, and, with immense dignity, +sailed out of the room, and into Uncle Silas's study, where it happened we +were to breakfast that morning, and for several subsequent ones. + +During the meal we maintained the most dignified reserve; and I don't think +either so much as looked at the other. + +We had no walk together that day. + +I was sitting in the evening, quite alone, when Milly entered the room. Her +eyes were red, and she looked very sullen. + +'I want your hand, cousin,' she said, at the same time taking it by the +wrist, and administering with it a sudden slap on her plump cheek, which +made the room ring, and my fingers tingle; and before I had recovered from +my surprise, she had vanished. + +I called after her, but no answer; I pursued, but she was running too; and +I quite lost her at the cross galleries. + +I did not see her at tea, nor before going to bed; but after I had fallen +asleep I was awakened by Milly, in floods of tears. + +'Cousin Maud, will ye forgi' me--you'll never like me again, will ye? No--I +know ye won't--I'm such a brute--I hate it--it's a shame. And here's a +Banbury cake for you--I sent to the town for it, and some taffy--won't ye +eat it? and here's a little ring--'tisn't as pretty as your own rings; and +ye'll wear it, maybe, for my sake--poor Milly's sake, before I was so bad +to ye--if ye forgi' me; and I'll look at breakfast, and if it's on your +finger I'll know you're friends wi' me again; and if ye don't, I won't +trouble you no more; and I think I'll just drown myself out o' the way, and +you'll never see wicked Milly no more.' + +And without waiting a moment, leaving me only half awake, and with the +sensations of dreaming, she scampered from the room, in her bare feet, with +a petticoat about her shoulders. + +She had left her candle by my bed, and her little offerings on the coverlet +by me. If I had stood an atom less in terror of goblins than I did, I +should have followed her, but I was afraid. I stood in my bare feet at my +bedside, and kissed the poor little ring and put it on my finger, where it +has remained ever since and always shall. And when I lay down, longing for +morning, the image of her pale, imploring, penitential face was before me +for hours; and I repented bitterly of my cool provoking ways, and thought +myself, I dare say justly, a thousand times more to blame than Milly. + +I searched in vain for her before breakfast. At that meal, however, we met, +but in the presence of Uncle Silas, who, though silent and apathetic, was +formidable; and we, sitting at a table disproportionably large, under the +cold, strange gaze of my guardian, talked only what was inevitable, and +that in low tones; for whenever Milly for a moment raised her voice, Uncle +Silas would wince, place his thin white fingers quickly over his ear, and +look as if a pain had pierced his brain, and then shrug and smile piteously +into vacancy. When Uncle Silas, therefore, was not in the talking vein +himself--and that was not often--you may suppose there was very little +spoken in his presence. + +When Milly, across the table, saw the ring upon my finger, she, drawing +in her breath, said, 'Oh!' and, with round eyes and mouth, she looked so +delighted; and she made a little motion, as if she was on the point of +jumping up; and then her poor face quivered, and she bit her lip; and +staring imploringly at me, her eyes filled fast with tears, which rolled +down her round penitential cheeks. + +I am sure I felt more penitent than she. I know I was crying and smiling, +and longing to kiss her. I suppose we were very absurd; but it is well that +small matters can stir the affections so profoundly at a time of life when +great troubles seldom approach us. + +When at length the opportunity did come, never was such a hug out of the +wrestling ring as poor Milly bestowed on me, swaying me this way and that, +and burying her face in my dress, and blubbering-- + +'I was so lonely before you came, and you so good to me, and I such a +devil; and I'll never call you a name, but Maud--my darling Maud.' + +'You must, Milly--Mrs. Bustle. I'll be Mrs. Bustle, or anything you like. +You must.' I was blubbering like Milly, and hugging my best; and, indeed, I +wonder how we kept our feet. + +So Milly and I were better friends than ever. + +Meanwhile, the winter deepened, and we had short days and long nights, +and long fireside gossipings at Bartram-Haugh. I was frightened at the +frequency of the strange collapses to which Uncle Silas was subject. I +did not at first mind them much, for I naturally fell into Milly's way of +talking about them. + +But one day, while in one of his 'queerish' states, he called for me, and I +saw him, and was unspeakably scared. + +In a white wrapper, he lay coiled in a great easy chair. I should have +thought him dead, had I not been accompanied by old L'Amour, who knew every +gradation and symptom of these strange affections. + +She winked and nodded to me with a ghastly significance, and whispered-- + +'Don't make no noise, miss, till he talks; he'll come to for a bit, anon.' + +Except that there was no sign of convulsions, the countenance was like that +of an epileptic arrested in one of his contortions. + +There was a frown and smirk like that of idiotcy, and a strip of white +eyeball was also disclosed. + +Suddenly, with a kind of chilly shudder, he opened his eyes wide, and +screwed his lips together, and blinked and stared on me with a fatuised +uncertainty, that gradually broke into a feeble smile. + +'Ah! the girl--Austin's child. Well, dear, I'm hardly able--I'll speak +to-morrow--next day--it is tic--neuralgia, or something--_torture_--tell +her.' + +So, huddling himself together, he lay again in his great chair, with the +same inexpressible helplessness in his attitude, and gradually his face +resumed its dreadful cast. + +'Come away, miss: he's changed his mind; he'll not be fit to talk to you +noways all day, maybe,' said the old woman, again in a whisper. + +So forth we stole from the room, I unspeakably shocked. In fact, he looked +as if he were dying, and so, in my agitation, I told the crone, who, +forgetting the ceremony with which she usually treated me, chuckled out +derisively, + +'A-dying is he? Well, he be like Saint Paul--he's bin a-dying daily this +many a day.' + +I looked at her with a chill of horror. She did not care, I suppose, what +sort of feelings she might excite, for she went on mumbling sarcastically +to herself. I had paused, and overcame my reluctance to speak to her again, +for I was really very much frightened. 'Do you think he is in danger? Shall +we send for a doctor?' I whispered. + +'Law bless ye, the doctor knows all about it, miss.' The old woman's face +had a gleam of that derision which is so shocking in the features of +feebleness and age. + +'But it is a _fit_, it is paralytic, or something horrible--it can't be +_safe_ to leave him to chance or nature to get through these terrible +attacks.' + +'There's no fear of him, 'tisn't no fits at all, he's nout the worse o't. +Jest silly a bit now and again. It's been the same a dozen year and more; +and the doctor knows all about it,' answered the old woman sturdily. 'And +ye'll find he'll be as mad as bedlam if ye make any stir about it.' + +That night I talked the matter over with Mary Quince. + +'They're very dark, miss; but I think he takes a deal too much laudlum,' +said Mary. + +To this hour I cannot say what was the nature of those periodical seizures. +I have often spoken to medical men about them, since, but never could learn +that excessive use of opium could altogether account for them. It was, +I believe, certain, however, that he did use that drug in startling +quantities. It was, indeed, sometimes a topic of complaint with him that +his neuralgia imposed this sad necessity upon him. + +The image of Uncle Silas, as I had seen him that day, troubled and +affrighted my imagination, as I lay in my bed; I had slept very well since +my arrival at Bartram. So much of the day was passed in the open air, and +in active exercise, that this was but natural. But that night I was nervous +and wakeful, and it was past two o'clock when I fancied I heard the sound +of horses and carriage-wheels on the avenue. + +Mary Quince was close by, and therefore I was not afraid to get up and peep +from the window. My heart beat fast as I saw a post-chaise approach the +court-yard. A front window was let down, and the postilion pulled up for a +few seconds. + +In consequence of some directions received by him, I fancied he resumed his +route at a walk, and so drew up at the hall-door, on the steps of which a +figure awaited his arrival. I think it was old L'Amour, but I could not be +quite certain. There was a lantern on the top of the balustrade, close by +the door. The chaise-lamps were lighted, for the night was rather dark. A +bag and valise, as well as I could see, were pulled from the interior by +the post-boy, and a box from the top of the vehicle, and these were carried +into the hall. + +I was obliged to keep my cheek against the window-pane to command a view +of the point of debarkation, and my breath upon the glass, which dimmed it +again almost as fast as I wiped it away, helped to obscure my vision. But +I saw a tall figure, in a cloak, get down and swiftly enter the house, but +whether male or female I could not discern. + +My heart beat fast. I jumped at once to a conclusion. My uncle was +worse--was, in fact, dying; and this was the physician, too late summoned +to his bedside. + +I listened for the ascent of the doctor, and his entrance at my uncle's +door, which, in the stillness of the night, I thought I might easily hear, +but no sound reached me. I listened so for fully five minutes, but +without result. I returned to the window, but the carriage and horses had +disappeared. + +I was strongly tempted to wake Mary Quince, and take counsel with her, and +persuade her to undertake a reconnoissance. The fact is, I was persuaded +that my uncle was in extremity, and I was quite wild to know the doctor's +opinion. But, after all, it would be cruel to summon the good soul from her +refreshing nap. So, as I began to feel very cold, I returned to my bed, +where I continued to listen and conjecture until I fell asleep. + +In the morning, as was usual, before I was dressed, in came Milly. + +'How is Uncle Silas?' I eagerly enquired. + +'Old L'Amour says he's queerish still; but he's not so dull as yesterday,' +answered she. + +'Was not the doctor sent for?' I asked. + +'Was he? Well, that's odd; and she said never a word o't to me,' answered +she. + +'I'm asking only,' said I. + +'I don't know whether he came or no,' she replied; 'but what makes you take +that in your head?' + +'A chaise arrived here between two and three o'clock last night.' + +'Hey! and who told you?' Milly seemed all on a sudden highly interested. + +'I saw it, Milly; and some one, I fancy the doctor, came from it into the +house.' + +'Fudge, lass! who'd send for the doctor? 'Twasn't he, I tell you. What was +he like?' said Milly. + +'I could only see clearly that he, or _she_, was tall, and wore a cloak,' I +replied. + +'Then 'twasn't him nor t'other I was thinking on, neither; and I'll be +hanged but I think it will be Cormoran,' cried Milly, with a thoughtful rap +with her knuckle on the table. + +Precisely at this juncture a tapping came to the door. + +'Come in,' said I. + +And old L'Amour entered the room, with a courtesy. + +'I came to tell Miss Quince her breakfast's ready,' said the old lady. + +'Who came in the chaise, L'Amour?' demanded Milly. + +'What chaise?' spluttered the beldame tartly. + +'The chaise that came last night, past two o'clock,' said Milly. + +'That's a lie, and a damn lie!' cried the beldame. 'There worn't no chaise +at the door since Miss Maud there come from Knowl.' + +I stared at the audacious old menial who could utter such language. + +'Yes, there was a chaise, and Cormoran, as I think, be come in it,' said +Milly, who seemed accustomed to L'Amour's daring address. + +'And there's another damn lie, as big as the t'other,' said the crone, her +haggard and withered face flushing orange all over. + +'I beg you will not use such language in my room,' I replied, very angrily. +'I saw the chaise at the door; your untruth signifies very little, but +your impertinence here I will not permit. Should it be repeated, I will +assuredly complain to my uncle.' + +The old woman flushed more fiercely as I spoke, and fixed her bleared glare +on me, with a compression of her mouth that amounted to a wicked grimace. +She resisted her angry impulse, however, and only chuckled a little +spitefully, saying, + +'No offence, miss: it be a way we has in Derbyshire o' speaking our minds. +No offence, miss, were meant, and none took, as I hopes,' and she made me +another courtesy. 'And I forgot to tell you, Miss Milly, the master wants +you this minute.' + +So Milly, in mute haste, withdrew, followed closely by L'Amour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +_DOCTOR BRYERLY EMERGES_ + + +When Milly joined me at breakfast, her eyes were red and swollen. She was +still sniffing with that little sobbing hiccough, which betrays, even were +there no other signs, recent violent weeping. She sat down quite silent. + +'Is he worse, Milly?' I enquired, anxiously. + +'No, nothing's wrong wi' him; he's right well,' said Milly, fiercely. + +'What's the matter then, Milly dear?' + +'The poisonous old witch! 'Twas just to tell the Gov'nor how I'd said 'twas +Cormoran that came by the po'shay last night.' + +'And who is Cormoran?' I enquired. + +'Ay, there it is; I'd like to tell, and you want to hear--and I just +daren't, for he'll send me off right to a French school--hang it--hang them +all!--if I do.' + +'And why should Uncle Silas care?' said I, a good deal surprised. + +'They're a-tellin' lies.' + +'Who?' said I. + +'L'Amour--that's who. So soon as she made her complaint of me, the Gov'nor +asked her, sharp enough, did anyone come last night, or a po'shay; and she +was ready to swear there was no one. Are ye quite sure, Maud, you really +did see aught, or 'appen 'twas all a dream?' + +'It was no dream, Milly; so sure as you are there, I saw exactly what I +told you,' I replied. + +'Gov'nor won't believe it anyhow; and he's right mad wi' me; and he +threatens me he'll have me off to France; I wish 'twas under the sea. I +hate France--I do--like the devil. Don't you? They're always a-threatening +me wi' France, if I dare say a word more about the po'shay, or--or anyone.' + +I really was curious about Cormoran; but Cormoran was not to be defined +to me by Milly; nor did she, in reality, know more than I respecting the +arrival of the night before. + +One day I was surprised to see Doctor Bryerly on the stairs. I was standing +in a dark gallery as he walked across the floor of the lobby to my uncle's +door, his hat on, and some papers in his hand. + +He did not see me; and when he had entered Uncle Silas's door, I went down +and found Milly awaiting me in the hall. + +'So Doctor Bryerly is here,' I said. + +'That's the thin fellow, wi' the sharp look, and the shiny black coat, that +went up just now?' asked Milly. + +'Yes, he's gone into your papa's room,' said I. + +''Appen 'twas he come 'tother night. He may be staying here, though we see +him seldom, for it's a barrack of a house--it is.' + +The same thought had struck me for a moment, but was dismissed immediately. +It certainly was _not_ Doctor Bryerly's figure which I had seen. + +So, without any new light gathered from this apparition, we went on our +way, and made our little sketch of the ruined bridge. We found the gate +locked as before; and, as Milly could not persuade me to climb it, we got +round the paling by the river's bank. + +While at our drawing, we saw the swarthy face, sooty locks, and old +weather-stained red coat of Zamiel, who was glowering malignly at us +from among the trunks of the forest trees, and standing motionless as a +monumental figure in the side aisle of a cathedral. When we looked again he +was gone. + +Although it was a fine mild day for the wintry season, we yet, cloaked as +we were, could not pursue so still an occupation as sketching for more than +ten or fifteen minutes. As we returned, in passing a clump of trees, we +heard a sudden outbreak of voices, angry and expostulatory; and saw, under +the trees, the savage old Zamiel strike his daughter with his stick two +great blows, one of which was across the head. 'Beauty' ran only a short +distance away, while the swart old wood-demon stumped lustily after her, +cursing and brandishing his cudgel. + +My blood boiled. I was so shocked that for a moment I could not speak; but +in a moment more I screamed-- + +'You brute! How dare you strike the poor girl?' + +She had only run a few steps, and turned about confronting him and us, her +eyes gleaming fire, her features pale and quivering to suppress a burst of +weeping. Two little rivulets of blood were trickling over her temple. + +'I say, fayther, look at that,' she said, with a strange tremulous smile, +lifting her hand, which was smeared with blood. + +Perhaps he was ashamed, and the more enraged on that account, for he +growled another curse, and started afresh to reach her, whirling his stick +in the air. Our voices, however, arrested him. + +'My uncle shall hear of your brutality. The poor girl!' + +'Strike him, Meg, if he does it again; and pitch his leg into the river +to-night, when he's asleep.' + +'I'd serve _you_ the same;' and out came an oath. 'You'd have her lick her +fayther, would ye? Look out!' + +And he wagged his head with a scowl at Milly, and a flourish of his cudgel. + +'Be quiet, Milly,' I whispered, for Milly was preparing for battle; and I +again addressed him with the assurance that, on reaching home, I would tell +my uncle how he had treated the poor girl. + +''Tis you she may thank for't, a wheedling o' her to open that gate,' he +snarled. + +'That's a lie; we went round by the brook,' cried Milly. + +I did not think proper to discuss the matter with him; and looking very +angry, and, I thought, a little put out, he jerked and swayed himself out +of sight. I merely repeated my promise of informing my uncle as he went, to +which, over his shoulder, he bawled-- + +'Silas won't mind ye _that_;' snapping his horny finger and thumb. + +The girl remained where she had stood, wiping the blood off roughly with +the palm of her hand, and looking at it before she rubbed it on her apron. +'My poor girl,' I said, 'you must not cry. I'll speak to my uncle about +you.' + +But she was not crying. She raised her head, and looked at us a little +askance, with a sullen contempt, I thought. + +'And you must have these apples--won't you?' We had brought in our basket +two or three of those splendid apples for which Bartram was famous. + +I hesitated to go near her, these Hawkeses, Beauty and Pegtop, were such +savages. So I rolled the apples gently along the ground to her feet. + +She continued to look doggedly at us with the same expression, and kicked +away the apples sullenly that approached her feet. Then, wiping her temple +and forehead in her apron, without a word, she turned and walked slowly +away. + +'Poor thing! I'm afraid she leads a hard life. What strange, repulsive +people they are!' + +When we reached home, at the head of the great staircase old L'Amour was +awaiting me; and with a courtesy, and very respectfully, she informed me +that the Master would be happy to see me. + +Could it be about my evidence as to the arrival of the mysterious chaise +that he summoned me to this interview? Gentle as were his ways, there was +something undefinable about Uncle Silas which inspired fear; and I should +have liked few things less than meeting his gaze in the character of a +culprit. + +There was an uncertainty, too, as to the state in which I might find him, +and a positive horror of beholding him again in the condition in which I +had last seen him. + +I entered the room, then, in some trepidation, but was instantly relieved. +Uncle Silas was in the same health apparently, and, as nearly as I could +recollect it, in precisely the same rather handsome though negligent garb +in which I had first seen him. + +Doctor Bryerly--what a marked and vulgar contrast, and yet, somehow, how +reassuring!--sat at the table near him, and was tying up papers. His eyes +watched me, I thought, with an anxious scrutiny as I approached; and I +think it was not until I had saluted him that he recollected suddenly that +he had not seen me before at Bartram, and stood up and greeted me in his +usual abrupt and somewhat familiar way. It was vulgar and not cordial, and +yet it was honest and indefinably kind. Up rose my uncle, that strangely +venerable, pale portrait, in his loose Rembrandt black velvet. How gentle, +how benignant, how unearthly, and inscrutable! + +'I need not say how she is. Those lilies and roses, Doctor Bryerly, speak +their own beautiful praises of the air of Bartram. I almost regret that her +carriage will be home so soon. I only hope it may not abridge her rambles. +It positively does me good to look at her. It is the glow of flowers in +winter, and the fragrance of a field which the Lord hath blessed.' + +'Country air, Miss Ruthyn, is a right good kitchen to country fare. I like +to see young women eat heartily. You have had some pounds of beef and +mutton since I saw you last,' said Dr. Bryerly. + +And this sly speech made, he scrutinised my countenance in silence rather +embarrassingly. + +'My system, Doctor Bryerly, as a disciple of Aesculapius you will +approve--health first, accomplishment afterwards. The Continent is the +best field for elegant instruction, and we must see the world a little, +by-and-by, Maud; and to me, if my health be spared, there would be an +unspeakable though a melancholy charm in the scenes where so many happy, +though so many wayward and foolish, young days were passed; and I think I +should return to these picturesque solitudes with, perhaps, an increased +relish. You remember old Chaulieu's sweet lines-- + + Desert, aimable solitude, + Sejour du calme et de la paix, + Asile ou n'entrerent jamais + Le tumulte et l'inquietude. + +I can't say that care and sorrow have not sometimes penetrated these sylvan +fastnesses; but the tumults of the world, thank Heaven!--never.' + +There was a sly scepticism, I thought, in Doctor Bryerly's sharp face; and +hardly waiting for the impressive 'never,' he said-- + +'I forgot to ask, who is your banker?' + +'Oh! Bartlet and Hall, Lombard Street,' answered Uncle Silas, dryly and +shortly. + +Dr. Bryerly made a note of it, with an expression of face which seemed, +with a sly resolution, to say, 'You shan't come the anchorite over me.' + +I saw Uncle Silas's wild and piercing eye rest suspiciously on me for a +moment, as if to ascertain whether I felt the spirit of Doctor Bryerly's +almost interruption; and, nearly at the same moment, stuffing his papers +into his capacious coat pockets, Doctor Bryerly rose and took his leave. + +When he was gone, I bethought me that now was a good opportunity of making +my complaint of Dickon Hawkes. Uncle Silas having risen, I hesitated, and +began, + +'Uncle, may I mention an occurrence--which I witnessed?' + +'Certainly, child,' he answered, fixing his eye sharply on me. I really +think he fancied that the conversation was about to turn upon the phantom +chaise. + +So I described the scene which had shocked Milly and me, an hour or so ago, +in the Windmill Wood. + +'You see, my dear child, they are rough persons; their ideas are not ours; +their young people must be chastised, and in a way and to a degree that we +would look upon in a serious light. I've found it a bad plan interfering in +strictly domestic misunderstandings, and should rather not.' + +'But he struck her violently on the head, uncle, with a heavy cudgel, and +she was bleeding very fast.' + +'Ah?' said my uncle, dryly. + +'And only that Milly and I deterred him by saying that we would certainly +tell you, he would have struck her again; and I really think if he goes on +treating her with so much violence and cruelty he may injure her seriously, +or perhaps kill her.' + +'Why, you romantic little child, people in that rank of life think +absolutely nothing of a broken head,' answered Uncle Silas, in the same +way. + +'But is it not horrible brutality, uncle?' + +'To be sure it is brutality; but then you must remember they are brutes, +and it suits them,' said he. + +I was disappointed. I had fancied that Uncle Silas's gentle nature would +have recoiled from such an outrage with horror and indignation; and +instead, here he was, the apologist of that savage ruffian, Dickon Hawkes. + +'And he is always so rude and impertinent to Milly and to me,' I continued. +'Oh! impertinent to you--that's another matter. I must see to that. Nothing +more, my dear child?' + +'Well, there _was_ nothing more.' + +'He's a useful servant, Hawkes; and though his looks are not prepossessing, +and his ways and language rough, yet he is a very kind father, and a most +honest man--a thoroughly moral man, though severe--a very rough diamond +though, and has no idea of the refinements of polite society. I venture to +say he honestly believes that he has been always unexceptionably polite to +you, so we must make allowances.' + +And Uncle Silas smoothed my hair with his thin aged hand, and kissed my +forehead. + +'Yes, we must make allowances; we must be kind. What says the Book?--"Judge +not, that ye be not judged." Your dear father acted upon that maxim--so +noble and so awful--and I strive to do so. Alas! dear Austin, _longo +intervalle_, far behind! and you are removed--my example and my help; you +are gone to your rest, and I remain beneath my burden, still marching on by +bleak and alpine paths, under the awful night. + + O nuit, nuit douloureuse! O toi, tardive aurore! + Viens-tu? vas-tu venir? es-tu bien loin encore? + +And repeating these lines of Chenier, with upturned eyes, and one hand +lifted, and an indescribable expression of grief and fatigue, he sank +stiffly into his chair, and remained mute, with eyes closed for some time. +Then applying his scented handkerchief to them hastily, and looking very +kindly at me, he said-- + +'Anything more, dear child?' + +'Nothing, uncle, thank you, very much, only about that man, Hawkes; I dare +say that he does not mean to be so uncivil as he is, but I am really afraid +of him, and he makes our walks in that direction quite unpleasant.' + +'I understand quite, my dear. I will see to it; and you must remember that +nothing is to be allowed to vex my beloved niece and ward during her stay +at Bartram--nothing that her old kinsman, Silas Ruthyn, can remedy.' + +So with a tender smile, and a charge to shut the door 'perfectly, but +without clapping it,' he dismissed me. Doctor Bryerly had not slept at +Bartram, but at the little inn in Feltram, and he was going direct to +London, as I afterwards learned. + +'Your ugly doctor's gone away in a fly,' said Milly, as we met on the +stairs, she running up, I down. + +On reaching the little apartment which was our sitting-room, however, I +found that she was mistaken; for Doctor Bryerly, with his hat and a great +pair of woollen gloves on, and an old Oxford grey surtout that showed his +lank length to advantage, buttoned all the way up to his chin, had set down +his black leather bag on the table, and was reading at the window a little +volume which I had borrowed from my uncle's library. + +It was Swedenborg's account of the other worlds, Heaven and Hell. + +He closed it on his finger as I entered, and without recollecting to remove +his hat, he made a step or two towards me with his splay, creaking boots. +With a quick glance at the door, he said-- + +'Glad to see you alone for a minute--very glad.' + +But his countenance, on the contrary, looked very anxious. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +_A MIDNIGHT DEPARTURE_ + + +'I'm going this minute--I--I want to know'--another glance at the +door--'are you really quite comfortable here?' + +'Quite,' I answered promptly. + +'You have only your cousin's company?' he continued, glancing at the table, +which was laid for two. + +'Yes; but Milly and I are very happy together.' + +'That's very nice; but I think there are no teachers, you see--painters, +and singers, and that sort of thing that is usual with young ladies. No +teachers of that kind--of _any_ kind--are there?' 'No; my uncle thinks it +better I should lay in a store of health, he says.' + +'I know; and the carriage and horses have not come; how soon are they +expected?' + +'I really can't say, and I assure you I don't much care. I think running +about great fun.' + +'You walk to church?' + +'Yes; Uncle Silas's carriage wants a new wheel, he told me.' + +'Ay, but a young woman of your rank, you know, it is not usual she should +be without the use of a carriage. Have you horses to ride?' + +I shook my head. + +'Your uncle, you know, has a very liberal allowance for your maintenance +and education.' + +I remembered something in the will about it, and Mary Quince was constantly +grumbling that 'he did not spend a pound a week on our board.' + +I answered nothing, but looked down. + +Another glance at the door from Doctor Bryerly's sharp black eyes. + +'Is he kind to you?' + +'Very kind--most gentle and affectionate.' + +'Why doesn't he keep company with you? Does he ever dine with you, or drink +tea, or talk to you? Do you see much of him?' + +'He is a miserable invalid--his hours and regimen are peculiar. Indeed +I wish very much you would consider his case; he is, I believe, often +insensible for a long time, and his mind in a strange feeble state +sometimes.' + +'I dare say--worn out in his young days; and I saw that preparation of +opium in his bottle--he takes too much.' + +'Why do you think so, Doctor Bryerly?' + +'It's made on water: the spirit interferes with the use of it beyond a +certain limit. You have no idea what those fellows can swallow. Read the +"Opium Eater." I knew two cases in which the quantity exceeded De Quincy's. +Aha! it's new to you?' and he laughed quietly at my simplicity. + +'And what do you think his complaint is?' I asked. + +'Pooh! I haven't a notion; but, probably, one way or another, he has been +all his days working on his nerves and his brain. These men of pleasure, +who have no other pursuit, use themselves up mostly, and pay a smart price +for their sins. And so he's kind and affectionate, but hands you over to +your cousin and the servants. Are his people civil and obliging?' + +'Well, I can't say much for them; there is a man named Hawkes, and his +daughter, who are very rude, and even abusive sometimes, and say they have +orders from my uncle to shut us out from a portion of the grounds; but I +don't believe that, for Uncle Silas never alluded to it when I was making +my complaint of them to-day.' + +'From what part of the grounds is that?' asked Doctor Bryerly, sharply. + +I described the situation as well as I could. + +'Can we see it from this?' he asked, peeping from the window. + +'Oh, no.' + +Doctor Bryerly made a note in his pocket-book here, and I said-- + +'But I am really quite sure it was a story of Dickon's, he is such a surly, +disobliging man.' + +'And what sort is that old servant that came in and out of his room?' + +'Oh, that is old L'Amour,' I answered, rather indirectly, and forgetting +that I was using Milly's nickname. + +'And is _she_ civil?' he asked. + +No, she certainly was not; a most disagreeable old woman, with a vein of +wickedness. I thought I had heard her swearing. + +'They don't seem to be a very engaging lot,' said Doctor Bryerly;' but +where there's one, there will be more. See here, I was just reading a +passage,' and he opened the little volume at the place where his finger +marked it, and read for me a few sentences, the purport of which I well +remember, although, of course, the words have escaped me. + +It was in that awful portion of the book which assumes to describe the +condition of the condemned; and it said that, independently of the physical +causes in that state operating to enforce community of habitation, and an +isolation from superior spirits, there exist sympathies, aptitudes, +and necessities which would, of themselves, induce that depraved +gregariousness, and isolation too. 'And what of the rest of the servants, +are they better?' he resumed. + +We saw little or nothing of the others, except of old 'Giblets,' the +butler, who went about like a little automaton of dry bones, poking here +and there, and whispering and smiling to himself as he laid the cloth; and +seeming otherwise quite unconscious of an external world. + +'This room is not got up like Mr. Ruthyn's: does he talk of furnishings and +making things a little smart? No! Well, I must say, I think he might.' + +Here there was a little silence, and Doctor Bryerly, with his accustomed +simultaneous glance at the door, said in low, cautious tones, very +distinctly-- + +'Have you been thinking at all over that matter again, I mean about getting +your uncle to forego his guardianship? I would not mind his first refusal. +You could make it worth his while, unless he--that is--unless he's very +unreasonable indeed; and I think you would consult your interest, Miss +Ruthyn, by doing so and, if possible, getting out of this place.' + +'But I have not thought of it at all; I am much happier here than I had at +all expected, and I am very fond of my cousin Milly.' + +'How long have you been here exactly?' + +I told him. It was some two or three months. + +'Have you seen your other cousin yet--the young gentleman?' + +'No.' + +'H'm! Aren't you very lonely?' he enquired. + +'We see no visitors here; but that, you know, I was prepared for.' + +Doctor Bryerly read the wrinkles on his splay boot intently and peevishly, +and tapped the sole lightly on the ground. + +'Yes, it is very lonely, and the people a bad lot. You'd be pleasanter +somewhere else--with Lady Knollys, for instance, eh?' + +'Well, _there_ certainly. But I am very well here: really the time passes +very pleasantly; and my uncle is so kind. I have only to mention anything +that annoys me, and he will see that it is remedied: he is always +impressing that on me.' + +'Yes, it is not a fit place for you,' said Doctor Bryerly. 'Of course, +about your uncle,' he resumed, observing my surprised look, 'it is all +right: but he's quite helpless, you know. At all events, _think_ about it. +Here's my address--Hans Emmanuel Bryerly, M.D., 17 King Street, Covent +Garden, London--don't lose it, mind,' and he tore the leaf out of his +note-book. + +'Here's my fly at the door, and you must--you must' (he was looking at his +watch)--'mind you _must_ think of it seriously; and so, you see, don't let +anyone see that. You'll be sure to leave it throwing about. The best way +will be just to scratch it on the door of your press, inside, you know; and +don't put my name--you'll remember that--only the rest of the address; and +burn this. Quince is with you?' + +'Yes,' I answered, glad to have a satisfactory word to say. + +'Well, don't let her go; it's a bad sign if they wish it. Don't consent, +mind; but just tip me a hint and you'll have me down. And any letters you +get from Lady Knollys, you know, for she's very plain-spoken, you'd better +burn them off-hand. And I've stayed too long, though; mind what I say, +scratch it with a pin, and burn that, and not a word to a mortal about it. +Good-bye; oh, I was taking away your book.' + +And so, in a fuss, with a slight shake of the hand, getting up his +umbrella, his bag, and tin box, he hurried from the room; and in a minute +more, I heard the sound of his vehicle as it drove away. + +I looked after it with a sigh; the uneasy sensations which I had +experienced respecting my sojourn at Bartram-Haugh were re-awakened. + +My ugly, vulgar, true friend was disappearing beyond those gigantic lime +trees which hid Bartram from the eyes of the outer world. The fly, with the +doctor's valise on top, vanished, and I sighed an anxious sigh. The shadow +of the over-arching trees contracted, and I felt helpless and forsaken; and +glancing down the torn leaf, Doctor Bryerly's address met my eye, between +my fingers. + +I slipt it into my breast, and ran up-stairs stealthily, trembling lest the +old woman should summon me again, at the head of the stairs, into Uncle +Silas's room, where under his gaze, I fancied, I should be sure to betray +myself. + +But I glided unseen and safely by, entered my room, and shut my door. So +listening and working, I, with my scissors' point, scratched the address +where Doctor Bryerly had advised. Then, in positive terror, lest some one +should even knock during the operation, I, with a match, consumed to ashes +the tell-tale bit of paper. + +Now, for the first time, I experienced the unpleasant sensations of +having a secret to keep. I fancy the pain of this solitary liability was +disproportionately acute in my case, for I was naturally very open and +very nervous. I was always on the point of betraying it _apropos des +bottes_--always reproaching myself for my duplicity; and in constant terror +when honest Mary Quince approached the press, or good-natured Milly made +her occasional survey of the wonders of my wardrobe. I would have given +anything to go and point to the tiny inscription, and say:--'This is Doctor +Bryerly's address in London. I scratched it with my scissors' point, taking +every precaution lest anyone--you, my good friends, included--should +surprise me. I have ever since kept this secret to myself, and trembled +whenever your frank kind faces looked into the press. There--you at last +know all about it. Can you ever forgive my deceit?' + +But I could not make up my mind to reveal it; nor yet to erase the +inscription, which was my alternative thought. Indeed I am a wavering, +irresolute creature as ever lived, in my ordinary mood. High excitement or +passion only can inspire me with decision. Under the inspiration of either, +however, I am transformed, and often both prompt and brave. + +'Some one left here last night, I think, Miss,' said Mary Quince, with a +mysterious nod, one morning. ''Twas two o'clock, and I was bad with the +toothache, and went down to get a pinch o' red pepper--leaving the candle +a-light here lest you should awake. When I was coming up--as I was crossing +the lobby, at the far end of the long gallery--what should I hear, but a +horse snorting, and some people a-talking, short and quiet like. So I looks +out o' the window; and there surely I did see two horses yoked to a shay, +and a fellah a-pullin' a box up o' top; and out comes a walise and a bag; +and I think it was old Wyat, please'm, that Miss Milly calls L'Amour, that +stood in the doorway a-talking to the driver.' + +'And who got into the chaise, Mary?' I asked. + +'Well, Miss, I waited as long as I could; but the pain was bad, and me so +awful cold; I gave it up at last, and came back to bed, for I could not say +how much longer they might wait. And you'll find, Miss,'twill be kep' a +secret, like the shay as you saw'd, Miss, last week. I hate them dark ways, +and secrets; and old Wyat--she does tell stories, don't she?--and she as +ought to be partickler, seein' her time be short now, and she so old. It is +awful, an old un like that telling such crams as she do.' + +Milly was as curious as I, but could throw no light on this. We both +agreed, however, that the departure was probably that of the person whose +arrival I had accidentally witnessed. This time the chaise had drawn up +at the side door, round the corner of the left side of the house; and, no +doubt, driven away by the back road. + +Another accident had revealed this nocturnal move. It was very provoking, +however, that Mary Quince had not had resolution to wait for the appearance +of the traveller. We all agreed, however, that we were to observe a strict +silence, and that even to Wyat--L'Amour I had better continue to call +her--Mary Quince was not to hint what she had seen. I suspect, however, +that injured curiosity asserted itself, and that Mary hardly adhered to +this self-denying resolve. + +But cheerful wintry suns and frosty skies, long nights, and brilliant +starlight, with good homely fires in our snuggery--gossipings, stories, +short readings now and then, and brisk walks through the always beautiful +scenery of Bartram-Haugh, and, above all, the unbroken tenor of our life, +which had fallen into a serene routine, foreign to the idea of danger +or misadventure, gradually quieted the qualms and misgivings which my +interview with Doctor Bryerly had so powerfully resuscitated. + +My cousin Monica, to my inexpressible joy, had returned to her +country-house; and an active diplomacy, through the post-office, was +negotiating the re-opening of friendly relations between the courts of +Elverston and of Bartram. + +At length, one fine day, Cousin Monica, smiling pleasantly, with her cloak +and bonnet on, and her colour fresh from the shrewd air of the Derbyshire +hills, stood suddenly before me in our sitting-room. Our meeting was that +of two school-companions long separated. Cousin Monica was always a girl in +my eyes. + +What a hug it was; what a shower of kisses and ejaculations, enquiries +and caresses! At last I pressed her down into a chair, and, laughing, she +said-- + +'You have no idea what self-denial I have exercised to bring this visit +about. I, who detest writing, have actually written five letters to Silas; +and I don't think I said a single impertinent thing in one of them! What a +wonderful little old thing your butler is! I did not know what to make of +him on the steps. Is he a struldbrug, or a fairy, or only a ghost? Where on +earth did your uncle pick him up? I'm sure he came in on All Hallows E'en, +to answer an incantation--not your future husband, I hope--and he'll vanish +some night into gray smoke, and whisk sadly up the chimney. He's the most +venerable little thing I ever beheld in my life. I leaned back in the +carriage and thought I should absolutely die of laughing. He's gone up to +prepare your uncle for my visit; and I really am very glad, for I'm sure I +shall look as young as Hebe after _him_. But who is this? Who are you, my +dear?' + +This was addressed to poor Milly, who stood at the corner of the +chimney-piece, staring with her round eyes and plump cheeks in fear and +wonder upon the strange lady. + +'How stupid of me,' I exclaimed. 'Milly, dear, this is your cousin, Lady +Knollys.' + +'And so _you_ are Millicent. Well, dear, I am very glad to see you.' And +Cousin Monica was on her feet again in an instant, with Milly's hand very +cordially in hers; and she gave her a kiss upon each cheek, and patted her +head. + +Milly, I must mention, was a much more presentable figure than when I first +encountered her. Her dresses were at least a quarter of a yard longer. +Though very rustic, therefore, she was not so barbarously grotesque, by any +means. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +_COUSIN MONICA AND UNCLE SILAS MEET_ + + +Cousin Monica, with her hands upon Milly's shoulders, looked amusedly and +kindly in her face. 'And,' said she, 'we must be very good friends--you +funny creature, you and I. I'm allowed to be the most saucy old woman in +Derbyshire--quite incorrigibly privileged; and nobody is ever affronted +with me, so I say the most shocking things constantly.' + +'I'm a bit that way, myself; and I think,' said poor Milly, making an +effort, and growing very red; she quite lost her head at that point, and +was incompetent to finish the sentiment she had prefaced. + +'You think? Now, take my advice, and never wait to think my dear; talk +first, and think afterwards, that is my way; though, indeed, I can't say +I ever think at all. It is a very cowardly habit. Our cold-blooded cousin +Maud, there, thinks sometimes; but it is always such a failure that I +forgive her. I wonder when your little pre-Adamite butler will return. He +speaks the language of the Picts and Ancient Britons, I dare say, and your +father requires a little time to translate him. And, Milly dear, I am very +hungry, so I won't wait for your butler, who would give me, I suppose, one +of the cakes baked by King Alfred, and some Danish beer in a skull; but +I'll ask you for a little of that nice bread and butter.' + +With which accordingly Lady Knollys was quickly supplied; but it did not at +all impede her utterance. + +'Do you think, girls, you could be ready to come away with me, if Silas +gives leave, in an hour or two? I should so like to take you both home with +me to Elverston.' + +'How delightful! you darling,' cried I, embracing and kissing her; 'for my +part, I should be ready in five minutes; what do you say, Milly?' + +Poor Milly's wardrobe, I am afraid, was more portable than handsome; and +she looked horribly affrighted, and whispered in my ear-- + +'My best petticoat is away at the laundress; say in a week, Maud.' + +'What does she say?' asked Lady Knollys. + +'She fears she can't be ready,' I answered, dejectedly. + +'There's a deal of my slops in the wash,' blurted out poor Milly, staring +straight at Lady Knollys. + +'In the name of wonder, what does my cousin mean?' asked Lady Knollys. + +'Her things have not come home yet from the laundress,' I replied; and at +this moment our wondrous old butler entered to announce to Lady Knollys +that his master was ready to receive her, whenever she was disposed to +favour him; and also to make polite apologies for his being compelled, by +his state of health, to give her the trouble of ascending to his room. + +So Cousin Monica was at the door in a moment, over her shoulder calling to +us, 'Come, girls.' + +'Please, not yet, my lady--you alone; and he requests the young ladies will +be in the way, as he will send for them presently.' + +I began to admire poor 'Giblets' as the wreck of a tolerably respectable +servant. + +'Very good; perhaps it is better we should kiss and be friends in private +first,' said Cousin Knollys, laughing; and away she went under the guidance +of the mummy. + +I had an account of this _tete-a-tete_ afterwards from Lady Knollys. + +'When I saw him, my dear,' she said, 'I could hardly believe my eyes; such +white hair--such a white face--such mad eyes--such a death-like smile. +When I saw him last, his hair was dark; he dressed himself like a modern +Englishman; and he really preserved a likeness to the full-length portrait +at Knowl, that you fell in love with, you know; but, angels and ministers +of grace! such a spectre! I asked myself, is it necromancy, or is it +delirium tremens that has reduced him to this? And said he, with that +odious smile, that made me fancy myself half insane-- + +'"You see a change, Monica." + +'What a sweet, gentle, insufferable voice he has! Somebody once told me +about the tone of a glass flute that made some people hysterical to listen +to, and I was thinking of it all the time. There was always a peculiar +quality in his voice. + +'"I do see a change, Silas," I said at last; "and, no doubt, so do you in +me--a great change." + +'"There has been time enough to work a greater than I observe in you since +you last honoured me with a visit," said he. + +'I think he was at his old sarcasms, and meant that I was the same +impertinent minx he remembered long ago, uncorrected by time; and so I am, +and he must not expect compliments from old Monica Knollys. + +'"It is a long time, Silas; but that, you know, is not my fault," said I. + +'"Not your fault, my dear--your instinct. We are all imitative creatures: +the great people ostracised me, and the small ones followed. We are very +like turkeys, we have so much good sense and so much generosity. Fortune, +in a freak, wounded my head, and the whole brood were upon me, pecking and +gobbling, gobbling and pecking, and you among them, dear Monica. It wasn't +your fault, only your instinct, so I quite forgive you; but no wonder the +peckers wear better than the pecked. You are robust; and I, what I am." + +'"Now, Silas, I have not come here to quarrel. If we quarrel now, mind, we +can never make it up--we are too old, so let us forget all we can, and try +to forgive something; and if we can do neither, at all events let there be +truce between us while I am here." + +'"My personal wrongs I can quite forgive, and I do, Heaven knows, from my +heart; but there are things which ought not to be forgiven. My children +have been ruined by it. I may, by the mercy of Providence, be yet set right +in the world, and so soon as that time comes, I will remember, and I +will act; but my children--you will see that wretched girl, my +daughter--education, society, all would come too late--my children have +been ruined by it." + +'"I have not done it; but I know what you mean," I said. "You menace +litigation whenever you have the means; but you forget that Austin placed +you under promise, when he gave you the use of this house and place, never +to disturb my title to Elverston. So there is my answer, if you mean that." + +'"I mean what I mean," he replied, with his old smile. + +'"You mean then," said I, "that for the pleasure of vexing me with +litigation, you are willing to forfeit your tenure of this house and +place." + +'"Suppose I _did_ mean precisely that, why should I forfeit anything? +My beloved brother, by his will, has given me a right to the use of +Bartram-Haugh for my life, and attached no absurd condition of the kind you +fancy to his gift." + +'Silas was in one of his vicious old moods, and liked to menace me. His +vindictiveness got the better of his craft; but he knows as well as I do +that he never could succeed in disturbing the title of my poor dear Harry +Knollys; and I was not at all alarmed by his threats; and I told him so, as +coolly as I speak to you now. + +'"Well, Monica," he said, "I have weighed you in the balance, and you are +not found wanting. For a moment the old man possessed me: the thought of +my children, of past unkindness, and present affliction and disgrace, +exasperated me, and I was mad. It was but for a moment--the galvanic spasm +of a corpse. Never was breast more dead than mine to the passions and +ambitions of the world. They are not for white locks like these, nor for +a man who, for a week in every month, lies in the gate of death. Will you +shake hands? _Here_--I _do_ strike a truce; and I _do_ forget and forgive +_everything_." + +'I don't know what he meant by this scene. I have no idea whether he was +acting, or lost his head, or, in fact, why or how it occurred; but I am +glad, darling, that, unlike myself, I was calm, and that a quarrel has not +been forced upon me.' + +When our turn came and we were summoned to the presence, Uncle Silas was +quite as usual; but Cousin Monica's heightened colour, and the flash of her +eyes, showed plainly that something exciting and angry had occurred. + +Uncle Silas commented in his own vein upon the effect of Bartram air and +liberty, all he had to offer; and called on me to say how I liked them. And +then he called Milly to him, kissed her tenderly, smiled sadly upon her, +and turning to Cousin Monica, said-- + +'This is my daughter Milly--oh! she has been presented to you down-stairs, +has she? You have, no doubt, been interested by her. As I told her cousin +Maud, though I am not yet quite a Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, she is a very +finished Miss Hoyden. Are not you, my poor Milly? You owe your distinction, +my dear, to that line of circumvallation which has, ever since your birth, +intercepted all civilisation on its way to Bartram. You are much obliged, +Milly, to everybody who, whether naturally or _un_-naturally, turned a sod +in that invisible, but impenetrable, work. For your accomplishments--rather +singular than fashionable--you are indebted, in part, to your cousin, Lady +Knollys. Is not she, Monica? _Thank_ her, Milly.' + +'This is your _truce_, Silas,' said Lady Knollys, with a quiet sharpness. +'I think, Silas Ruthyn, you want to provoke me to speak in a way before +these young creatures which we should all regret.' + +'So my badinage excites your temper, Monnie. Think how you _would_ feel, +then, if I had found you by the highway side, mangled by robbers, and set +my foot upon your throat, and spat in your face. But--stop this. Why have I +said this? simply to emphasize my forgiveness. See, girls, Lady Knollys and +I, cousins long estranged, forget and forgive the past, and join hands over +its buried injuries.' + +'Well, _be_ it so; only let us have done with ironies and covert taunts.' + +And with these words their hands were joined; and Uncle Silas, after he had +released hers, patted and fondled it with his, laughing icily and very low +all the time. + +'I wish so much, dear Monica,' he said, when this piece of silent by-play +was over, 'that I could ask you to stay to-night; but absolutely I have not +a bed to offer, and even if I had, I fear my suit would hardly prevail.' + +Then came Lady Knollys' invitation for Milly and me. He was very much +obliged; he smiled over it a great deal, meditating. I thought he was +puzzled; and amid his smiles, his wild eyes scanned Cousin Monica's frank +face once or twice suspiciously. + +There was a difficulty--an _undefined_ difficulty--about letting us go that +day; but on a future one--soon--_very_ soon--he would be most happy. + +Well, there was an end of that little project, for to-day at least; and +Cousin Monica was too well-bred to urge it beyond a certain point. + +'Milly, my dear, will you put on your hat and show me the grounds about the +house? May she, Silas? I should like to renew my acquaintance.' + +'You'll see them sadly neglected, Monnie. A poor man's pleasure grounds +must rely on Nature, and trust to her for effects. Where there is fine +timber, however, and abundance of slope, and rock, and hollow, we sometimes +gain in picturesqueness what we lose by neglect in luxury.' + +Then, as Cousin Monica said she would cross the grounds by a path, and meet +her carriage at a point to which we would accompany her, and so make her +way home, she took leave of Uncle Silas; a ceremony whereat--without, I +thought, much zeal at either side--a kiss took place. + +'Now, girls!' said Cousin Knollys, when we were fairly in motion over the +grass, 'what do you say--will he let you come--yes or no? I can't say, but +I think, dear,'--this to Milly--' he ought to let you see a little more of +the world than appears among the glens and bushes of Bartram. Very pretty +they are, like yourself; but very wild, and very little seen. Where is your +brother, Milly; is not he older than you?' + +'I don't know where; and he is older by six years and a bit.' + +By-and-by, when Milly was gesticulating to frighten some herons by the +river's brink into the air, Cousin Monica said confidentially to me-- + +'He has run away, I'm told--I wish I could believe it--and enlisted in a +regiment going to India, perhaps the best thing for him. Did you see him +here before his judicious self-banishment?' + +'No.' + +'Well, I suppose you have had no loss. Doctor Bryerly says from all he can +learn he is a very bad young man. And now tell me, dear, _is_ Silas kind to +you?' + +'Yes, always gentle, just as you saw him to-day; but we don't see a great +deal of him--very little, in fact.' + +'And how do you like your life and the people?' she asked. + +'My life, very well; and the people, _pretty_ well. There's an old women we +don't like, old Wyat, she is cross and mysterious and tells untruths; but I +don't think she is dishonest--so Mary Quince says--and that, you know, is a +point; and there is a family, father and daughter, called Hawkes, who live +in the Windmill Wood, who are perfect savages, though my uncle says they +don't mean it; but they are very disagreeable, rude people; and except them +we see very little of the servants or other people. But there has been a +mysterious visit; some one came late at night, and remained for some days, +though Milly and I never saw them, and Mary Quince saw a chaise at the +side-door at two o'clock at night.' + +Cousin Monica was so highly interested at this that she arrested her walk +and stood facing me, with her hand on my arm, questioning and listening, +and lost, as it seemed, in dismal conjecture. + +'It is not pleasant, you know,' I said. + +'No, it is not pleasant,' said Lady Knollys, very gloomily. + +And just then Milly joined us, shouting to us to look at the herons flying; +so Cousin Monica did, and smiled and nodded in thanks to Milly, and was +again silent and thoughtful as we walked on. + +'You are to come to me, mind, both of you girls,' she said, abruptly;' you +_shall_. I'll manage it.' + +When silence returned, and Milly ran away once more to try whether the old +gray trout was visible in the still water under the bridge, Cousin Monica +said to me in a low tone, looking hard at me-- + +'You've not seen anything to frighten you, Maud? Don't look so alarmed, +dear,' she added with a little laugh, which was not very merry, however. 'I +don't mean frighten in any awful sense--in fact, I did not mean frighten +at all. I meant--I can't exactly express it--anything to vex, or make you +uncomfortable; have you?' + +'No, I can't say I have, except that room in which Mr. Charke was found +dead.' + +'Oh! you saw that, did you?--I should like to see it so much. Your bedroom +is not near it?' + +'Oh, no; on the floor beneath, and looking to the front. And Doctor Bryerly +talked a little to me, and there seemed to be something on his mind more +than he chose to tell me; so that for some time after I saw him I really +was, as you say, frightened; but, except that, I really have had no cause. +And what was in your mind when you asked me?' + +'Well, you know, Maud, you are afraid of ghosts, banditti, and +_every_thing; and I wished to know whether you were uncomfortable, and what +your particular bogle was just now--that, I assure you, was all; and I +know,' she continued, suddenly changing her light tone and manner for one +of pointed entreaty, 'what Doctor Bryerly said; and I _implore_ of you, +Maud, to think of it seriously; and when you come to me, you shall do so +with the intention of remaining at Elverston.' + +'Now, Cousin Monica, is this fair? You and Doctor Bryerly both talk in the +same awful way to me; and I assure you, you don't know how nervous I am +sometimes, and yet you won't, either of you, say what you mean. Now, +Monica, dear cousin, won't you tell me?' + +'You see, dear, it is so lonely; it's a strange place, and he so odd. I +don't like the place, and I don't like him. I've tried, but I can't, and I +think I never shall. He may be a very--what was it that good little silly +curate at Knowl used to call him?--a very advanced Christian--that is it, +and I hope he is; but if he is only what he used to be, his utter seclusion +from society removes the only check, except personal fear--and he never had +much of that--upon a very bad man. And you must know, my dear Maud, what a +prize you are, and what an immense trust it is.' + +Suddenly Cousin Monica stopped short, and looked at me as if she had gone +too far. + +'But, you know, Silas may be very good _now_, although he was wild and +selfish in his young days. Indeed I don't know what to make of him; but I +am sure when you have thought it over, you will agree with me and Doctor +Bryerly, that you must not stay here.' + +It was vain trying to induce my cousin to be more explicit. + +'I hope to see you at Elverston in a very few days. I will _shame_ Silas +into letting you come. I don't like his reluctance.' + +'But don't you think he must know that Milly would require some little +outfit before her visit?' + +'Well, I can't say. I hope that is all; but be it what it may, I'll +_make_ him let you come, and _immediately_, too.' After she had gone, I +experienced a repetition of those undefined doubts which had tortured me +for some time after my conversation with Dr. Bryerly. I had truly said, +however, I was well enough contented with my mode of life here, for I had +been trained at Knowl to a solitude very nearly as profound. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +_IN WHICH I MAKE ANOTHER COUSIN'S ACQUAINTANCE_ + + +My correspondence about this time was not very extensive. About once a +fortnight a letter from honest Mrs. Rusk conveyed to me how the dogs and +ponies were, in queer English, oddly spelt; some village gossip, a critique +upon Doctor Clay's or the Curate's last sermon, and some severities +generally upon the Dissenters' doings, with loves to Mary Quince, and all +good wishes to me. Sometimes a welcome letter from cheerful Cousin Monica; +and now, to vary the series, a copy of complimentary verses, without a +signature, very adoring--very like Byron, I then fancied, and now, I must +confess, rather vapid. Could I doubt from whom they came? + +I had received, about a month after my arrival, a copy of verses in the +same hand, in a plaintive ballad style, of the soldierly sort, in which the +writer said, that as living his sole object was to please me, so dying I +should be his latest thought; and some more poetic impieties, asking only +in return that when the storm of battle had swept over, I should 'shed +a tear' on seeing 'the _oak lie_, where it fell.' Of course, about +this lugubrious pun, there could be no misconception. The Captain was +unmistakably indicated; and I was so moved that I could no longer retain +my secret; but walking with Milly that day, confided the little romance to +that unsophisticated listener, under the chestnut trees. The lines were so +amorously dejected, and yet so heroically redolent of blood and gunpowder, +that Milly and I agreed that the writer must be on the verge of a +sanguinary campaign. + +It was not easy to get at Uncle Silas's 'Times' or 'Morning Post,' which we +fancied would explain these horrible allusions; but Milly bethought her of +a sergeant in the militia, resident in Feltram, who knew the destination +and quarters of every regiment in the service; and circuitously, from +this authority, we learned, to my infinite relief, that Captain Oakley's +regiment had still two years to sojourn in England. + +I was summoned one evening by old L'Amour, to my uncle's room. I remember +his appearance that evening so well, as he lay back in his chair; the +pillow; the white glare of his strange eye; his feeble, painful smile. + +'You'll excuse my not rising, dear Maud, I am so miserably ill this +evening.' + +I expressed my respectful condolence. + +'Yes; I _am_ to be pitied; but pity is of no use, dear,' he murmured, +peevishly. 'I sent for you to make you acquainted with your cousin, my son. +Where are you Dudley?' + +A figure seated in a low lounging chair, at the other side of the fire, and +which till then I had not observed, at these words rose up a little slowly, +like a man stiff after a day's hunting; and I beheld with a shock that held +my breath, and fixed my eyes upon him in a stare, the young man whom I had +encountered at Church Scarsdale, on the day of my unpleasant excursion +there with Madame, and who, to the best of my belief, was also one of that +ruffianly party who had so unspeakably terrified me in the warren at Knowl. + +I suppose I looked very much affrighted. If I had been looking at a ghost I +could not have felt much more scared and incredulous. + +When I was able to turn my eyes upon my uncle he was not looking at me; but +with a glimmer of that smile with which a father looks on a son whose youth +and comeliness he admires, his white face was turned towards the young man, +in whom I beheld nothing but the image of odious and dreadful associations. + +'Come, sir,' said my uncle, we must not be too modest. Here's your cousin +Maud--what do you say?' + +'How are ye, Miss?' he said, with a sheepish grin. + +'Miss! Come, come. Miss us, no Misses,' said my uncle; 'she is Maud, and +you Dudley, or I mistake; or we shall have you calling Milly, madame. +She'll not refuse you her hand, I venture to think. Come, young gentleman, +speak for yourself.' + +'How are ye, Maud?' he said, doing his best, and drawing near, he extended +his hand.' You're welcome to Bartram-Haugh, Miss.' + +'Kiss your cousin, sir. Where's your gallantry? On my honour, I disown +you,' exclaimed my uncle, with more energy than he had shown before. + +With a clumsy effort, and a grin that was both sheepish and impudent, he +grasped my hand and advanced his face. The imminent salute gave me strength +to spring back a step or two, and he hesitated. + +My uncle laughed peevishly. + +'Well, well, that will do, I suppose. In my time first-cousins did not meet +like strangers; but perhaps we were wrong; we are learning modesty from the +Americans, and old English ways are too gross for us.' + +'I have--I've seen him before--that is;' and at this point I stopped. + +My uncle turned his strange glare, in a sort of scowl of enquiry, upon me. + +'Oh!--hey! why this is news. You never told me. Where have you met--eh, +Dudley?' + +'Never saw her in my days, so far as I'm aweer on,' said the young man. + +'No! Well, then, Maud, will _you_ enlighten us?' said Uncle Silas, coldly. + +'I _did_ see that young gentleman before,' I faltered. + +'Meaning _me_, ma'am?' he asked, coolly. + +'Yes--certainly _you_. I _did_, uncle,' answered I. + +'And where was it, my dear? Not at Knowl, I fancy. Poor dear Austin did not +trouble me or mine much with his hospitalities.' + +This was not a pleasant tone to take in speaking of his dead brother and +benefactor; but at the moment I was too much engaged upon the one point to +observe it. + +'I met'--I could not say my cousin--'I met him, uncle--your son--that young +gentleman--I _saw_ him, I should say, at Church Scarsdale, and afterwards +with some other persons in the warren at Knowl. It was the night our +gamekeeper was beaten.' + +'Well, Dudley, what do you say to that?' asked Uncle Silas. + +'I never _was_ at them places, so help me. I don't know where they be; and +I never set eyes on the young lady before, as I hope to be saved, in all +my days,' said he, with a countenance so unchanged and an air so confident +that I began to think I must be the dupe of one of those strange +resemblances which have been known to lead to positive identification in +the witness-box, afterwards proved to be utterly mistaken. + +'You look so--so _uncomfortable_, Maud, at the idea of having seen him +before, that I hardly wonder at the vehemence of his denial. There was +plainly something disagreeable; but you see as respects him it is a total +mistake. My boy was always a truth-telling fellow--you may rely implicitly +on what he says. You were _not_ at those places?' + +'I wish I may----,' began the ingenuous youth, with increased vehemence. + +'There, there--that will do; your honour and word as a gentleman--and +_that_ you are, though a poor one--will quite satisfy your cousin Maud. Am +I right, my dear? I do assure you, as a gentleman, I never knew him to say +the thing that was not.' + +So Mr. Dudley Ruthyn began, not to curse, but to swear, in the prescribed +form, that he had never seen me before, or the places I had named, 'since I +was weaned, by----' + +'That's enough--now shake hands, if you won't kiss, like cousins,' +interrupted my uncle. + +And very uncomfortably I did lend him my hand to shake. + +'You'll want some supper, Dudley, so Maud and I will excuse your going. +Good-night, my dear boy,' and he smiled and waved him from the room. + +'That's as fine a young fellow, I think, as any English father can boast +for his son--true, brave, and kind, and quite an Apollo. Did you observe +how finely proportioned he is, and what exquisite features the fellow has? +He's rustic and rough, as you see; but a year or two in the militia--I've a +promise of a commission for him--he's too old for the line--will form and +polish him. He wants nothing but manner; and I protest when he has had a +little drilling of that kind, I do believe he'll be as pretty a fellow as +you'd find in England.' + +I listened with amazement. I could discover nothing but what was +disagreeable in the horrid bumpkin, and thought such an instance of the +blindness of parental partiality was hardly credible. + +I looked down, dreading another direct appeal to my judgment; and Uncle +Silas, I suppose, referred those downcast looks to maiden modesty, for he +forbore to task mine by any new interrogatory. + +Dudley Ruthyn's cool and resolute denial of ever having seen me or the +places I had named, and the inflexible serenity of his countenance while +doing so, did very much shake my confidence in my own identification of +him. I could not be _quite_ certain that the person I had seen at Church +Scarsdale was the very same whom I afterwards saw at Knowl. And now, in +this particular instance, after the lapse of a still longer period, could I +be perfectly certain that my memory, deceived by some accidental points of +resemblance, had not duped me, and wronged my cousin, Dudley Ruthyn? + +I suppose my uncle had expected from me some signs of acquiesence in his +splendid estimate of his cub, and was nettled at my silence. After a short +interval he said-- + +'I've seen something of the world in my day, and I can say without a +misgiving of partiality, that Dudley is the material of a perfect English +gentleman. I am not blind, of course--the training must be supplied; a year +or two of good models, active self-criticism, and good society. I simply +say that the _material_ is there.' + +Here was another interval of silence. + +'And now tell me, child, what these recollections of +Church--Church--_what_?' + +'Church Scarsdale,' I replied. + +'Yes, thank you--Church Scarsdale and Knowl--are?' + +So I related my stories as well as I could. + +'Well, dear Maud, the adventure of Church Scarsdale is hardly so terrific +as I expected,' said Uncle Silas with a cold little laugh; 'and I don't +see, if he had really been the hero of it, why he should shrink from +avowing it. I know I should not. And I really can't say that your pic-nic +party in the grounds of Knowl has frightened me much more. A lady waiting +in the carriage, and two or three tipsy young men. Her presence seems to +me a guarantee that no mischief was meant; but champagne is the soul of +frolic, and a row with the gamekeepers a natural consequence. It happened +to me once--forty years ago, when I was a wild young buck--one of the worst +rows I ever was in.' + +And Uncle Silas poured some eau-de-cologne over the corner of his +handkerchief, and touched his temples with it. + +'If my boy had been there, I do assure you--and I know him--he would say so +at once. I fancy he would rather _boast_ of it. I never knew him utter an +untruth. When you know him a little you'll say so.' + +With these words Uncle Silas leaned back exhausted, and languidly poured +some of his favourite eau-de-cologne over the palms of his hands, nodded a +farewell, and, in a whisper, wished me good-night. + +'Dudley's come,' whispered Milly, taking me under the arm as I entered the +lobby. 'But I don't care: he never gives me nout; and he gets money from +Governor, as much as he likes, and I never a sixpence. It's a shame!' + +So there was no great love between the only son and only daughter of the +younger line of the Ruthyns. + +I was curious to learn all that Milly could tell me of this new inmate of +Bartram-Haugh; and Milly was communicative without having a great deal to +relate, and what I heard from her tended to confirm my own disagreeable +impressions about him. She was afraid of him. He was a 'woundy ugly +customer in a wax, she could tell me.' He was the only one 'she ever knowed +as had pluck to jaw the Governor.' But he was 'afeard on the Governor, +too.' + +His visits to Bartram-Haugh, I heard, were desultory; and this, to my +relief, would probably not outlast a week or a fortnight. 'He _was_ such a +fashionable cove:' he was always 'a gadding about, mostly to Liverpool and +Birmingham, and sometimes to Lunnun, itself.' He was 'keeping company +one time with Beauty, Governor thought, and he was awfully afraid he'd a +married her; but that was all bosh and nonsense; and Beauty would have none +of his chaff and wheedling, for she liked Tom Brice;' and Milly thought +that Dudley never 'cared a crack of a whip for her.' He used to go to the +Windmill to have 'a smoke with Pegtop;' and he was a member of the Feltram +Club, that met at the 'Plume o' Feathers.' He was 'a rare good shot,' she +heard; and 'he was before the justices for poaching, but they could make +nothing of it.' And the Governor said 'it was all through spite of him--for +they hate us for being better blood than they.' And 'all but the squires +and those upstart folk loves Dudley, he is so handsome and gay--though he +be a bit cross at home.' And, 'Governor says, he'll be a Parliament man +yet, spite o' them all.' + +Next morning, when our breakfast was nearly ended, Dudley tapped at the +window with the end of his clay pipe--a 'churchwarden' Milly called +it--just such a long curved pipe as Joe Willet is made to hold between his +lips in those charming illustrations of 'Barnaby Rudge'--which we all know +so well--and lifting his 'wide-awake' with a burlesque salutation, which, I +suppose, would have charmed the 'Plume of Feathers,' he dropped, kicked and +caught his 'wide-awake,' with an agility and gravity, as he replaced it, so +inexpressibly humorous, that Milly went off in a loud fit of laughter, with +the ejaculation-- + +'Did you ever?' + +It was odd how repulsively my confidence in my original identification +always revived on unexpectedly seeing Dudley after an interval. + +I could perceive that this piece of comic by-play was meant to make a +suitable impression on me. I received it, however, with a killing gravity; +and after a word or two to Milly, he lounged away, having first broken his +pipe, bit by bit, into pieces, which he balanced in turn on his nose and +on his chin, from which features he jerked them into his mouth, with a +precision which, along with his excellent pantomime of eating them, highly +excited Milly's mirth and admiration. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +_MY COUSIN DUDLEY_ + + +Greatly to my satisfaction, this engaging person did not appear again that +day. But next day Milly told me that my uncle had taken him to task for the +neglect with which he was treating us. + +'He did pitch into him, sharp and short, and not a word from him, only +sulky like; and I so frightened, I durst not look up almost; and they said +a lot I could not make head or tail of; and Governor ordered me out o' the +room, and glad I was to go; and so they had it out between them.' + +Milly could throw no light whatsoever upon the adventures at Church +Scarsdale and Knowl; and I was left still in doubt, which sometimes +oscillated one way and sometimes another. But, on the whole, I could +not shake off the misgivings which constantly recurred and pointed very +obstinately to Dudley as the hero of those odious scenes. + +Oddly enough, though, I now felt far less confident upon the point than I +did at first sight. I had begun to distrust my memory, and to suspect my +fancy; but of this there could be no question, that between the person so +unpleasantly linked in my remembrance with those scenes, and Dudley Ruthyn, +a striking, though possibly only a general resemblance did exist. + +Milly was certainly right as to the gist of Uncle Silas's injunction, for +we saw more of Dudley henceforward. + +He was shy; he was impudent; he was awkward; he was conceited;--altogether +a most intolerable bumpkin. Though he sometimes flushed and stammered, and +never for a moment was at his ease in my presence, yet, to my inexpressible +disgust, there was a self-complacency in his manner, and a kind of triumph +in his leer, which very plainly told me how satisfied he was as to the +nature of the impression he was making upon me. + +I would have given worlds to tell him how odious I thought him. Probably, +however, he would not have believed me. Perhaps he fancied that 'ladies' +affected airs of indifference and repulsion to cover their real feelings. I +never looked at or spoke to him when I could avoid either, and then it was +as briefly as I could. To do him justice, however, he seemed to have no +liking for our society, and certainly never seemed altogether comfortable +in it. + +I find it hard to write quite impartially even of Dudley Ruthyn's personal +appearance; but, with an effort, I confess that his features were good, and +his figure not amiss, though a little fattish. He had light whiskers, light +hair, and a pink complexion, and very good blue eyes. So far my uncle was +right; and if he had been perfectly gentlemanlike, he really might have +passed for a handsome man in the judgment of some critics. + +But there was that odious mixture of _mauvaise honte_ and impudence, a +clumsiness, a slyness, and a consciousness in his bearing and countenance, +not distinctly boorish, but _low_, which turned his good looks into an +ugliness more intolerable than that of feature; and a corresponding +vulgarity pervading his dress, his demeanour, and his very walk, marred +whatever good points his figure possessed. If you take all this into +account, with the ominous and startling misgivings constantly recurring, +you will understand the mixed feelings of anger and disgust with which I +received the admiration he favoured me with. + +Gradually he grew less constrained in my presence, and certainly his +manners were not improved by his growing ease and confidence. + +He came in while Milly and I were at luncheon, jumped up, with a +'right-about face' performed in the air, sitting on the sideboard, whence +grinning slyly and kicking his heels, he leered at us. + +'Will you have something, Dudley?' asked Milly. + +'No, lass; but I'll look at ye, and maybe drink a drop for company.' + +And with these words, he took a sportsman's flask from his pocket; and +helping himself to a large glass and a decanter, he compounded a glass of +strong brandy-and-water, as he talked, and refreshed himself with it from +time to time. + +'Curate's up wi' the Governor,' he said, with a grin. 'I wanted a word wi' +him; but I s'pose I'll hardly git in this hour or more; they're a praying +and disputing, and a Bible-chopping, as usual. Ha, ha! But 'twon't hold +much longer, old Wyat says, now that Uncle Austin's dead; there's nout to +be made o' praying and that work no longer, and it don't pay of itself.' + +'O fie! For shame, you sinner!' laughed Milly. 'He wasn't in a church these +five years, he says, and then only to meet a young lady. Now, isn't he a +sinner, Maud--isn't he?' + +Dudley, grinning, looked with a languishing slyness at me, biting the edge +of his wide-awake, which he held over his breast. + +Dudley Ruthyn probably thought there was a manly and desperate sort of +fascination in the impiety he professed. + +'I wonder, Milly,' said I, 'at your laughing. How _can_ you laugh?' + +'You'd have me cry, would ye?' answered Milly. + +'I certainly would not have you laugh,' I replied. + +'I know I wish _some_ one 'ud cry for me, and I know who,' said Dudley, in +what he meant for a very engaging way, and he looked at me as if he thought +I must feel flattered by his caring to have my tears. + +Instead of crying, however, I leaned back in my chair, and began quietly to +turn over the pages of Walter Scott's poems, which I and Milly were then +reading in the evenings. + +The tone in which this odious young man spoke of his father, his coarse +mention of mine, and his low boasting of his irreligion, disgusted me more +than ever with him. + +'They parsons be slow coaches--awful slow. I'll have a good bit to wait, I +s'pose. I should be three miles away and more by this time--drat it!' He +was eyeing the legging of the foot which he held up while he spoke, as if +calculating how far away that limb should have carried him by this time. +'Why can't folk do their Bible and prayers o' Sundays, and get it off +their stomachs? I say, Milly lass, will ye see if Governor be done wi' the +Curate? Do. I'm a losing the whole day along o' him.' + +Milly jumped up, accustomed to obey her brother, and as she passed me, +whispered, with a wink-- + +'_Money_.' + +And away she went. Dudley whistled a tune, and swung his foot like a +pendulum, as he followed her with his side-glance. + +'I say, it is a hard case, Miss, a lad o' spirit should be kept so tight. I +haven't a shilling but what comes through his fingers; an' drat the tizzy +he'll gi' me till he knows the reason why.' + +'Perhaps,' I said, 'my uncle thinks you should earn some for yourself.' + +'I'd like to know how a fella's to earn money now-a-days. You wouldn't have +a gentleman to keep a shop, I fancy. But I'll ha' a fistful jist now, and +no thanks to he. Them executors, you know, owes me a deal o' money. Very +honest chaps, of course; but they're cursed slow about paying, I know.' + +I made no remark upon this elegant allusion to the executors of my dear +father's will. + +'An' I tell ye, Maud, when I git the tin, I know who I'll buy a farin' for. +I do, lass.' + +The odious creature drawled this with a sidelong leer, which, I suppose, he +fancied quite irresistible. + +I am one of those unfortunate persons who always blushed when I most +wished to look indifferent; and now, to my inexpressible chagrin, with its +accustomed perversity, I felt the blush mount to my cheeks, and glow even +on my forehead. + +I saw that he perceived this most disconcerting indication of a sentiment +the very idea of which was so detestable, that, equally enraged with myself +and with him, I did not know how to exhibit my contempt and indignation. + +Mistaking the cause of my discomposure, Mr. Dudley Ruthyn laughed softly, +with an insufferable suavity. + +'And there's some'at, lass, I must have in return. Honour thy father, you +know; you would not ha' me disobey the Governor? No, you wouldn't--would +ye?' + +I darted at him a look which I hoped would have quelled his impertinence; +but I blushed most provokingly--more violently than ever. + +'I'd back them eyes again' the county, I would,' he exclaimed, with a +condescending enthusiasm. 'You're awful pretty, you are, Maud. I don't know +what came over me t'other night when Governor told me to buss ye; but dang +it, ye shan't deny me now, and I'll have a kiss, lass, in spite o' thy +blushes.' + +He jumped from his elevated seat on the sideboard, and came swaggering +toward me, with an odious grin, and his arms extended. I started to my +feet, absolutely transported with fury. + +'Drat me, if she baint a-going to fight me!' he chuckled humorously. + +'Come, Maud, you would not be ill-natured, sure? Arter all, it's only our +duty. Governor bid us kiss, didn't he?' + +'Don't--_don't_, sir. Stand back, or I'll call the servants.' + +And as it was I began to scream for Milly. + +'There's how it is wi' all they cattle! You never knows your own mind--ye +don't,' he said, surlily. 'You make such a row about a bit o' play. Drop +it, will you? There's no one a-harming you--is there? _I_'m not, for +sartain.' + +And, with an angry chuckle, he turned on his heel, and left the room. + +I think I was perfectly right to resist, with all the vehemence of which I +was capable, this attempt to assume an intimacy which, notwithstanding my +uncle's opinion to the contrary, seemed to me like an outrage. + +Milly found me alone--not frightened, but very angry. I had quite made up +my mind to complain to my uncle, but the Curate was still with him; and, +by the time he had gone, I was cooler. My awe of my uncle had returned. I +fancied that he would treat the whole affair as a mere playful piece of +gallantry. So, with the comfortable conviction that he had had a lesson, +and would think twice before repeating his impertinence, I resolved, with +Milly's approbation, to leave matters as they were. + +Dudley, greatly to my comfort, was huffed with me, and hardly appeared, and +was sulky and silent when he did. I lived then in the pleasant anticipation +of his departure, which, Milly thought, would be very soon. + +My uncle had his Bible and his consolations; but it cannot have been +pleasant to this old _roue_, converted though he was--this refined man +of fashion--to see his son grow up an outcast, and a Tony Lumpkin; for +whatever he may have thought of his natural gifts, he must have known how +mere a boor he was. + +I try to recall my then impressions of my uncle's character. Grizzly and +chaotic the image rises--silver head, feet of clay. I as yet knew little of +him. + +I began to perceive that he was what Mary Quince used to call 'dreadful +particular'--I suppose a little selfish and impatient. He used to get cases +of turtle from Liverpool. He drank claret and hock for his health, and ate +woodcock and other light and salutary dainties for the same reason; and +was petulant and vicious about the cooking of these, and the flavour and +clearness of his coffee. + +His conversation was easy, polished, and, with a sentimental glazing, cold; +but across this artificial talk, with its French rhymes, racy phrases, +and fluent eloquence, like a streak of angry light, would, at intervals, +suddenly gleam some dismal thought of religion. I never could quite satisfy +myself whether they were affectations or genuine, like intermittent thrills +of pain. + +The light of his large eyes was very peculiar. I can liken it to nothing +but the sheen of intense moonlight on burnished metal. But that cannot +express it. It glared white and suddenly--almost fatuous. I thought of +Moore's lines whenever I looked on it:-- + + Oh, ye dead! oh, ye dead! whom we know by the light you give + From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live. + +I never saw in any other eye the least glimmer of the same baleful +effulgence. His fits, too--his hoverings between life and death--between +intellect and insanity--a dubious, marsh-fire existence, horrible to look +on! + +I was puzzled even to comprehend his feelings toward his children. +Sometimes it seemed to me that he was ready to lay down his soul for them; +at others, he looked and spoke almost as if he hated them. He talked as if +the image of death was always before him, yet he took a terrible interest +in life, while seemingly dozing away the dregs of his days in sight of his +coffin. + +Oh! Uncle Silas, tremendous figure in the past, burning always in memory in +the same awful lights; the fixed white face of scorn and anguish! It +seems as if the Woman of Endor had led me to that chamber and showed me a +spectre. + +Dudley had not left Bartram-Haugh when a little note reached me from Lady +Knollys. It said-- + +'DEAREST MAUD,--I have written by this post to Silas, beseeching a loan of +you and my Cousin Milly. I see no reason your uncle can possibly have for +refusing me; and, therefore, I count confidently on seeing you both at +Elverston to-morrow, to stay for at least a week. I have hardly a creature +to meet you. I have been disappointed in several visitors; but another time +we shall have a gayer house. Tell Milly--with my love--that I will not +forgive her if she fails to accompany you. + +'Believe me ever your affectionate cousin, + +'MONICA KNOLLYS.' + +Milly and I were both afraid that Uncle Silas would refuse his consent, +although we could not divine any sound reason for his doing so, and there +were many in favour of his improving the opportunity of allowing poor Milly +to see some persons of her own sex above the rank of menials. + +At about twelve o'clock my uncle sent for us, and, to our great delight, +announced his consent, and wished us a very happy excursion. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +_ELVERSTON AND ITS PEOPLE_ + + +So Milly and I drove through the gabled high street of Feltram next day. We +saw my gracious cousin smoking with a man like a groom, at the door of the +'Plume of Feathers.' I drew myself back as we passed, and Milly popped her +head out of the window. + +'I'm blessed,' said she, laughing, 'if he hadn't his thumb to his nose, and +winding up his little finger, the way he does with old Wyat--L'Amour, ye +know; and you may be sure he said something funny, for Jim Jolliter was +laughin', with his pipe in his hand.' + +'I wish I had not seen him, Milly. I feel as if it were an ill omen. He +always looks so cross; and I dare say he wished us some ill,' I said. + +'No, no, you don't know Dudley: if he were angry, he'd say nothing that's +funny; no, he's not vexed, only shamming vexed.' + +The scenery through which we passed was very pretty. The road brought us +through a narrow and wooded glen. Such studies of ivied rocks and twisted +roots! A little stream tinkled lonely through the hollow. Poor Milly! In +her odd way she made herself companionable. I have sometimes fancied an +enjoyment of natural scenery not so much a faculty as an acquirement. It is +so exquisite in the instructed, so strangely absent in uneducated humanity. +But certainly with Milly it was inborn and hearty; and so she could enter +into my raptures, and requite them. + +Then over one of those beautiful Derbyshire moors we drove, and so into +a wide wooded hollow, where was our first view of Cousin Monica's pretty +gabled house, beautified with that indescribable air of shelter and comfort +which belongs to an old English residence, with old timber grouped round +it, and something in its aspect of the quaint old times and bygone +merrymakings, saying sadly, but genially, 'Come in: I bid you welcome. +For two hundred years, or more, have I been the home of this beloved old +family, whose generations I have seen in the cradle and in the coffin, and +whose mirth and sorrows and hospitalities I remember. All their friends, +like you, were welcome; and you, like them, will here enjoy the warm +illusions that cheat the sad conditions of mortality; and like them you +will go your way, and others succeed you, till at last I, too, shall yield +to the general law of decay, and disappear.' + +By this time poor Milly had grown very nervous; a state which she described +in such very odd phraseology as threw me, in spite of myself--for I +affected an impressive gravity in lecturing her upon her language--into a +hearty fit of laughter. + +I must mention, however, that in certain important points Milly was very +essentially reformed. Her dress, though not very fashionable, was no longer +absurd. And I had drilled her into speaking and laughing quietly; and +for the rest I trusted to the indulgence which is always, I think, more +honestly and easily obtained from well-bred than from under-bred people. + +Cousin Monica was out when we arrived; but we found that she had arranged a +double-bedded room for me and Milly, greatly to our content; and good Mary +Quince was placed in the dressing-room beside us. + +We had only just commenced our toilet when our hostess entered, as usual in +high spirits, welcomed and kissed us both again and again. She was, indeed, +in extraordinary delight, for she had anticipated some stratagem or evasion +to prevent our visit; and in her usual way she spoke her mind as frankly +about Uncle Silas to poor Milly as she used to do of my dear father to me. + +'I did not think he would let you come without a battle; and you know if +he chose to be obstinate it would not have been easy to get you out of the +enchanted ground, for so it seems to be with that awful old wizard in the +midst of it. I mean, Silas, your papa, my dear. Honestly, is not he very +like Michael Scott?' + +'I never saw him,' answered poor Milly. 'At least, that I'm aware of,' she +added, perceiving us smile. 'But I do think he's a thought like old Michael +Dobbs, that sells the ferrets, maybe you mean him?' + +'Why, you told me, Maud, that you and Milly were reading Walter Scott's +poems. Well, no matter. Michael Scott, my dear, was a dead wizard, with +ever so much silvery hair, lying in his grave for ever so many years, with +just life enough to scowl when they took his book; and you'll find him in +the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," exactly like your papa, my dear. And my +people tell me that your brother Dudley has been seen drinking and smoking +about Feltram this week. How long does he remain at home? Not very long, +eh? And, Maud, dear, he has not been making love to you? Well, I see; of +course he has. And _apropos_ of love-making, I hope that impudent creature, +Charles Oakley, has not been teasing you with notes or verses.' + +'Indeed but he has though,' interposed Miss Milly; a good deal to my +chagrin, for I saw no particular reason for placing his verses in Cousin +Monica's hands. So I confessed the two little copies of verses, with the +qualification, however, that I did not know from whom they came. + +'Well now, dear Maud, have not I told you fifty times over to have nothing +to say to him? I've found out, my dear, he plays, and he is very much in +debt. I've made a vow to pay no more for him. I've been such a fool, you +have no notion; and I'm speaking, you know, against myself; it would be +such a relief if he were to find a wife to support him; and he has been, +I'm told, very sweet upon a rich old maid--a button-maker's sister, in +Manchester.' + +This arrow was well shot. + +'But don't be frightened: you are richer as well as younger; and, no doubt, +will have your chance first, my dear; and in the meantime, I dare say, +those verses, like Falstaff's _billet-doux,_ you know, are doing double +duty.' + +I laughed, but the button-maker was a secret trouble to me; and I would +have given I know not what that Captain Oakley were one of the company, +that I might treat him with the refined contempt which his deserts and my +dignity demanded. + +Cousin Monica busied herself about Milly's toilet, and was a very useful +lady's maid, chatting in her own way all the time; and, at last, tapping +Milly under the chin with her finger, she said, very complacently-- + +'I think I have succeeded, Miss Milly; look in the glass. She really is a +very pretty creature.' + +And Milly blushed, and looked with a shy gratification, which made her +still prettier, on the mirror. + +Milly indeed was very pretty. She looked much taller now that her dresses +were made of the usual length. A little plump she was, beautifully fair, +with such azure eyes, and rich hair. + +'The more you laugh the better, Milly, for you've got very pretty +teeth--very pretty; and if you were my daughter, or if your father would +become president of a college of magicians, and give you up to me, I +venture to say I would place you very well; and even as it is we must try, +my dear.' + +So down to the drawing-room we went; and Cousin Monica entered, leading us +both by the hands. + +By this time the curtains were closed, and the drawing-room dependent on +the pleasant glow of the fire, and the slight provisional illumination +usual before dinner. + +'Here are my two cousins,' began Lady Knollys: 'this is Miss Ruthyn, of +Knowl, whom I take the liberty of calling Maud; and this is Miss Millicent +Ruthyn, Silas's daughter, you know, whom I venture to call Milly; and they +are very pretty, as you will see, when we get a little more light, and they +know it very well themselves.' + +And as she spoke, a frank-eyed, gentle, prettyish lady, not so tall as I, +but with a very kind face, rose up from a book of prints, and, smiling, +took our hands. + +She was by no means young, as I then counted youth--past thirty, I +suppose--and with an air that was very quiet, and friendly, and engaging. +She had never been a mere fashionable woman plainly; but she had the ease +and polish of the best society, and seemed to take a kindly interest both +in Milly and me; and Cousin Monica called her Mary, and sometimes Polly. +That was all I knew of her for the present. + +So very pleasantly the time passed by till the dressing-bell rang, and we +ran away to our room. + +'Did I say anything very bad?' asked poor Milly, standing exactly before +me, so soon as our door was shut. + +'Nothing, Milly; you are doing admirably.' + +'And I do look a great fool, don't I?' she demanded. + +'You look extremely pretty, Milly; and not a bit like a fool.' + +'I watch everything. I think I'll learn it at last; but it comes a little +troublesome at first; and they do talk different from what I used--you were +quite right there.' + +When we returned to the drawing-room, we found the party already assembled, +and chatting, evidently with spirit. + +The village doctor, whose name I forget, a small man, grey, with shrewd +grey eyes, sharp and mulberry nose, whose conflagration extended to his +rugged cheeks, and touched his chin and forehead, was conversing, no doubt +agreeably, with Mary, as Cousin Monica called her guest. + +Over my shoulder, Milly whispered-- + +'Mr. Carysbroke.' + +And Milly was quite right: that gentleman chatting with Lady Knollys, his +elbow resting on the chimney-piece, was, indeed, our acquaintance of the +Windmill Wood. He instantly recognised us, and met us with his pleased and +intelligent smile. + +'I was just trying to describe to Lady Knollys the charming scenery of the +Windmill Wood, among which I was so fortunate as to make your acquaintance, +Miss Ruthyn. Even in this beautiful county I know of nothing prettier.' + +Then he sketched it, as it were, with a few light but glowing words. + +'What a sweet scene!' said Cousin Monica: 'only think of her never bringing +me through it. She reserves it, I fancy, for her romantic adventures; and +you, I know, are very benevolent, Ilbury, and all that kind of thing; but I +am not quite certain that you would have walked along that narrow parapet, +over a river, to visit a sick old woman, if you had not happened to see two +very pretty demoiselles on the other side.' + +'What an ill-natured speech! I must either forfeit my character for +disinterested benevolence, so justly admired, or disavow a motive that does +such infinite credit to my taste,' exclaimed Mr. Carysbroke. 'I think a +charitable person would have said that a philanthropist, in prosecuting his +virtuous, but perilous vocation, was unexpectedly _rewarded_ by a vision of +angels.' + +'And with these angels loitered away the time which ought to have been +devoted to good Mother Hubbard, in her fit of lumbago, and returned without +having set eyes on that afflicted Christian, to amaze his worthy sister +with poetic babblings about wood-nymphs and such pagan impieties,' rejoined +Lady Knollys. + +'Well, be just,' he replied, laughing; 'did not I go next day and see the +patient?' + +'Yes; next day you went by the same route--in quest of the dryads, I am +afraid--and were rewarded by the spectacle of Mother Hubbard.' + +'Will nobody help a humane man in difficulties?' Mr. Carysbroke appealed. + +'I do believe,' said the lady whom as yet I knew only as Mary, 'that every +word that Monica says is perfectly true.' + +'And if it be so, am I not all the more in need of help? Truth is simply +the most dangerous kind of defamation, and I really think I'm most cruelly +persecuted.' + +At this moment dinner was announced, and a meek and dapper little +clergyman, with smooth pink cheeks, and tresses parted down the middle, +whom I had not seen before, emerged from shadow. + +This little man was assigned to Milly, Mr. Carysbroke to me, and I know not +how the remaining ladies divided the doctor between them. + +That dinner, the first at Elverston, I remember as a very pleasant repast. +Everyone talked--it was impossible that conversation should flag where Lady +Knollys was; and Mr. Carysbroke was very agreeable and amusing. At the +other side of the table, the little pink curate, I was happy to see, was +prattling away, with a modest fluency, in an under-tone to Milly, who was +following my instructions most conscientiously, and speaking in so low a +key that I could hardly hear at the opposite side one word she was saying. + +That night Cousin Monica paid us a visit, as we sat chatting by the fire in +our room; and I told her-- + +'I have just been telling Milly what an impression she has made. The pretty +little clergyman--_il en est epris_--he has evidently quite lost his heart +to her. I dare say he'll preach next Sunday on some of King Solomon's wise +sayings about the irresistible strength of women.' + +'Yes,' said Lady Knollys,' or maybe on the sensible text, "Whoso findeth +a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour," and so forth. At all +events, I may say, Milly, whoso findeth a husband such as he, findeth a +tolerably good thing. He is an exemplary little creature, second son of Sir +Harry Biddlepen, with a little independent income of his own, beside his +church revenues of ninety pounds a year; and I don't think a more harmless +and docile little husband could be found anywhere; and I think, Miss Maud, +_you_ seemed a good deal interested, too.' + +I laughed and blushed, I suppose; and Cousin Monica, skipping after her +wont to quite another matter, said in her odd frank way-- + +'And how has Silas been?--not cross, I hope, or very odd. There was a +rumour that your brother, Dudley, had gone a soldiering to India, Milly, or +somewhere; but that was all a story, for he has turned up, just as usual. +And what does he mean to do with himself? He has got some money now--your +poor father's will, Maud. Surely he doesn't mean to go on lounging and +smoking away his life among poachers, and prize-fighters, and worse people. +He ought to go to Australia, like Thomas Swain, who, they say, is making a +fortune--a great fortune--and coming home again. That's what your brother +Dudley should do, if he has either sense or spirit; but I suppose he +won't--too long abandoned to idleness and low company--and he'll not have a +shilling left in a year or two. Does he know, I wonder, that his father has +served a notice or something on Dr. Bryerly, telling him to pay sixteen +hundred pounds of poor Austin's legacy to _him_, and saying that he has +paid debts of the young man, and holds his acknowledgments to that amount? +He won't have a guinea in a year if he stays here. I'd give fifty pounds he +was in Van Diemen's Land--not that I care for the cub, Milly, any more than +you do; but I really don't see any honest business he has in England.' + +Milly gaped in a total puzzle as Lady Knollys rattled on. + +'You know, Milly, you must not be talking about this when you go home to +Bartram, because Silas would prevent your coming to me any more if he +thought I spoke so freely; but I can't help it: so you must promise to be +more discreet than I. And I am told that all kinds of claims are about to +be pressed against him, now that he is thought to have got some money; and +he has been cutting down oak and selling the bark, Doctor Bryerly has been +told, in that Windmill Wood; and he has kilns there for burning charcoal, +and got a man from Lancashire who understands it--Hawk, or something like +that.' + +'Ay, Hawkes--Dickon Hawkes; that's Pegtop, you know, Maud,' said Milly. + +'Well, I dare say; but a man of very bad character, Dr. Bryerly says; and +he has written to Mr. Danvers about it--for that is what they call waste, +cutting down and selling the timber, and the oakbark, and burning the +willows, and other trees that are turned into charcoal. It is all _waste_, +and Dr. Bryerly is about to put a stop to it.' + +'Has he got your carriage for you, Maud, and your horses?' asked Cousin +Monica, suddenly. + +'They have not come yet, but in a few weeks, Dudley says, positively--' + +Cousin Monica laughed a little and shook her head. + +'Yes, Maud, the carriage and horses will always be coming in a few weeks, +till the time is over; and meanwhile the old travelling chariot and +post-horses will do very well;' and she laughed a little again. + +'That's why the stile's pulled away at the paling, I suppose; and +Beauty--Meg Hawkes, that is--is put there to stop us going through; for I +often spied the smoke beyond the windmill,' observed Milly. + +Cousin Monica listened with interest, and nodded silently. + +I was very much shocked. It seemed to me quite incredible. I think Lady +Knollys read my amazement and my exalted estimate of the heinousness of the +procedure in my face, for she said-- + +'You know we can't quite condemn Silas till we have heard what he has to +say. He may have done it in ignorance; or, it is just possible, he may have +the right.' + +'Quite true. He may have the right to cut down trees at Bartram-Haugh. At +all events, I am sure he thinks he has,' I echoed. + +The fact was, that I would not avow to myself a suspicion of Uncle Silas. +Any falsehood there opened an abyss beneath my feet into which I dared not +look. + +'And now, dear girls, good-night. You must be tired. We breakfast at a +quarter past nine--not too early for you, I know.' + +And so saying, she kissed us, smiling, and was gone. + +I was so unpleasantly occupied, for some time after her departure, with the +knaveries said to be practised among the dense cover of the Windmill Wood, +that I did not immediately recollect that we had omitted to ask her any +particulars about her guests. + +'Who can Mary be?' asked Milly. + +'Cousin Monica says she's engaged to be married, and I think I heard the +Doctor call her _Lady_ Mary, and I intended asking her ever so much about +her; but what she told us about cutting down the trees, and all that, quite +put it out of my head. We shall have time enough to-morrow, however, to ask +questions. I like her very much, I know.' + +'And I think,' said Milly, 'it is to Mr. Carysbroke she's to be married.' + +'Do you?' said I, remembering that he had sat beside her for more than a +quarter of an hour after tea in very close and low-toned conversation; 'and +have you any particular reason?' I asked. + +'Well, I heard her once or twice call him "dear," and she called him his +Christian name, just like Lady Knollys did--Ilbury, I think--and I saw him +gi' her a sly kiss as she was going up-stairs.' + +I laughed. + +'Well, Milly,' I said, 'I remarked something myself, I thought, like +confidential relations; but if you really saw them kiss on the staircase, +the question is pretty well settled.' + +'Ay, lass.' + +'You're not to say _lass_.' + +'Well, _Maud, then_. I did see them with the corner of my eye, and my back +turned, when they did not think I could spy anything, as plain as I see you +now.' + +I laughed again; but I felt an odd pang--something of +mortification--something of regret; but I smiled very gaily, as I stood +before the glass, un-making my toilet preparatory to bed. + +'Maud--Maud--fickle Maud!--What, Captain Oakley already superseded! and Mr. +Carysbroke--oh! humiliation--engaged.' So I smiled on, very much vexed; +and being afraid lest I had listened with too apparent an interest to this +impostor, I sang a verse of a gay little chanson, and tried to think of +Captain Oakley, who somehow had become rather silly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +_NEWS AT BARTRAM GATE_ + + +Milly and I, thanks to our early Bartram hours, were first down next +morning; and so soon as Cousin Monica appeared we attacked her. + +'So Lady Mary is the _fiancee_ of Mr. Carysbroke,' said I, very cleverly; +'and I think it was very wicked of you to try and involve me in a +flirtation with him yesterday.' + +'And who told you that, pray?' asked Lady Knollys, with a pleasant little +laugh. + +'Milly and I discovered it, simple as we stand here,' I answered. + +'But you did not flirt with Mr. Carysbroke, Maud, did you?' she asked. + +'No, certainly not; but that was not your doing, wicked woman, but my +discretion. And now that we know your secret, you must tell us all about +her, and all about him; and in the first place, what is her name--Lady Mary +what?' I demanded. + +'Who would have thought you so cunning? Two country misses--two little nuns +from the cloisters of Bartram! Well, I suppose I must answer. It is vain +trying to hide anything from you; but how on earth did you find it out?' + +'We'll tell you that presently, but you shall first tell us who she is,' I +persisted. + +'Well, that I will, of course, without compulsion. She is Lady Mary +Carysbroke,' said Lady Knollys. + +'A relation of Mr. Carysbroke's,' I asserted. + +'Yes, a relation; but who told you he was Mr. Carysbroke?' asked Cousin +Monica. + +'Milly told me, when we saw him in the Windmill Wood.' + +'And who told you, Milly?' + +'It was L'Amour,' answered Milly, with her blue eyes very wide open. + +'What does the child mean? L'Amour! You don't mean _love_?' exclaimed Lady +Knollys, puzzled in her turn. + +'I mean old Wyat; _she_ told me and the Governor.' + +'You're _not_ to say that,' I interposed. + +'You mean your father?' suggested Lady Knollys. + +'Well, yes; father told her, and so I knew him.' + +'What could he mean?' exclaimed Lady Knollys, laughing, as it were, in +soliloquy; 'and I did not mention his name, I recollect now. He recognised +you, and you him, when you came into the room yesterday; and now you must +tell me how you discovered that he and Lady Mary were to be married.' + +So Milly restated her evidence, and Lady Knollys laughed unaccountably +heartily; and she said-- + +'They _will_ be _so_ confounded! but they deserve it; and, remember, _I_ +did not say so.' + +'Oh! we acquit you.' + +'All I say is, such a deceitful, dangerous pair of girls--all things +considered--I never heard of before,' exclaimed Lady Knollys. 'There's no +such thing as conspiring in your presence.' + +'Good morning. I hope you slept well.' She was addressing the lady and +gentleman who were just entering the room from the conservatory. 'You'll +hardly sleep so well to-night, when you have learned what eyes are upon +you. Here are two very pretty detectives who have found out your secret, +and entirely by your imprudence and their own cleverness have discovered +that you are a pair of betrothed lovers, about to ratify your vows at +the hymeneal altar. I assure you I did not tell of you; you betrayed +yourselves. If you will talk in that confidential way on sofas, and call +one another stealthily by your Christian names, and actually kiss at the +foot of the stairs, while a clever detective is scaling them, apparently +with her back toward you, you must only take the consequences, and be known +prematurely as the hero and heroine of the forthcoming paragraph in the +"Morning Post."' + +Milly and I were horribly confounded, but Cousin Monica was resolved to +place us all upon the least formal terms possible, and I believe she had +set about it in the right way. + +'And now, girls, I am going to make a counter-discovery, which, I fear, a +little conflicts with yours. This Mr. Carysbroke is Lord Ilbury, brother +of this Lady Mary; and it is all my fault for not having done my honours +better; but you see what clever match-making little creatures they are.' + +'You can't think how flattered I am at being made the subject of a theory, +even a mistaken one, by Miss Ruthyn.' + +And so, after our modest fit was over, Milly and I were very merry, like +the rest, and we all grew a great deal more intimate that morning. + +I think altogether those were the pleasantest and happiest days of my +life: gay, intelligent, and kindly society at home; charming +excursions--sometimes riding--sometimes by carriage--to distant points of +beauty in the county. Evenings varied with music, reading, and spirited +conversation. Now and then a visitor for a day or two, and constantly some +neighbour from the town, or its dependencies, dropt in. Of these I but +remember tall old Miss Wintletop, most entertaining of rustic old +maids, with her nice lace and thick satin, and her small, kindly round +face--pretty, I dare say, in other days, and now frosty, but kindly--who +told us such delightful old stories of the county in her father's and +grandfather's time; who knew the lineage of every family in it, and could +recount all its duels and elopements; give us illustrative snatches from +old election squibs, and lines from epitaphs, and tell exactly where all +the old-world highway robberies had been committed: how it fared with the +chief delinquents after the assizes; and, above all, where, and of what +sort, the goblins and elves of the county had made themselves seen, from +the phantom post-boy, who every third night crossed Windale Moor, by the +old coach-road, to the fat old ghost, in mulberry velvet, who showed his +great face, crutch, and ruffles, by moonlight, at the bow window of the old +court-house that was taken down in 1803. + +You cannot imagine what agreeable evenings we passed in this society, +or how rapidly my good Cousin Milly improved in it. I remember well the +intense suspense in which she and I awaited the answer from Bartram-Haugh +to kind Cousin Monica's application for an extension of our leave of +absence. + +It came, and with it a note from Uncle Silas, which was curious, and, +therefore, is printed here:-- + +'MY DEAR LADY KNOLLYS,--To your kind letter I say yes (that is, for another +week, not a fortnight), with all my heart. I am glad to hear that my +starlings chatter so pleasantly; at all events the refrain is not that of +Sterne's. They can get out; and do get out; and shall get out as much as +they please. I am no gaoler, and shut up nobody but myself. I have always +thought that young people have too little liberty. My principle has been +to make little free men and women of them from the first. In morals, +altogether--in intellect, more than we allow--_self_-education is that +which abides; and _it_ only begins where constraint ends. Such is my +theory. My practice is consistent. Let them remain for a week longer, as +you say. The horses shall be at Elverston on Tuesday, the 7th. I shall be +more than usually sad and solitary till their return; so pray, I selfishly +entreat, do not extend their absence. You will smile, remembering how +little my health will allow me to see of them, even when at home; but as +Chaulieu so prettily says--I stupidly forget the words, but the sentiment +is this--"although concealed by a sylvan wall of leaves, impenetrable--(he +is pursuing his favourite nymphs through the alleys and intricacies of a +rustic labyrinth)--yet, your songs, your prattle, and your laughter, faint +and far away, inspire my fancy; and, through my ears, I see your unseen +smiles, your blushes, your floating tresses, and your ivory feet; and so, +though sad, am happy; though alone, in company;"--and such is my case. + +'One only request, and I have done. Pray remind them of a promise made to +me. The Book of Life--the fountain of life--it must be drunk of, night and +morning, or their spiritual life expires. + +'And now, Heaven bless and keep you, my dear cousin; and with all +assurances of affection to my beloved niece and my child, believe me ever +yours affectionately. + +'SILAS RUTHYN.' + +Said Cousin Monica, with a waggish smile-- + +'And so, girls, you have Chaulieu and the evangelists; the French rhymester +in his alley, and Silas in the valley of the shadow of death; perfect +liberty, and a peremptory order to return in a week;--all illustrating one +another. Poor Silas! old as he is, I don't think his religion fits him.' + +_I_ really rather liked his letter. I was struggling hard to think well of +him, and Cousin Monica knew it; and I really think if I had not been by, +she would often have been less severe on him. + +As we were all sitting pleasantly about the breakfast table a day or two +after, the sun shining on the pleasant wintry landscape, Cousin Monica +suddenly exclaimed-- + +'I quite forgot to tell you that Charles Oakley has written to say he is +coming on Wednesday. I really don't want him. Poor Charlie! I wonder how +they manage those doctors' certificates. I know nothing ails him, and he'd +be much better with his regiment.' + +Wednesday!--how odd. Exactly the day after my departure. I tried to look +perfectly unconcerned. Lady Knollys had addressed herself more to Lady +Mary and Milly than to me, and nobody in particular was looking at me. +Notwithstanding, with my usual perversity, I felt myself blushing with a +brilliancy that may have been very becoming, but which was so intolerably +provoking that I would have risen and left the room but that matters would +have been so infinitely worse. I could have boxed my odious ears. I could +almost have jumped from the window. + +I felt that Lord Ilbury saw it. I saw Lady Mary's eyes for a moment resting +gravely on my tell-tale--my lying cheeks--for I really had begun to think +much less celestially of Captain Oakley. I was angry with Cousin Monica, +who, knowing my blushing infirmity, had mentioned her nephew so suddenly +while I was strapped by etiquette in my chair, with my face to the window, +and two pair of most disconcerting eyes, at least, opposite. I was angry +with myself--generally angry--refused more tea rather dryly, and was +laconic to Lord Ilbury, all which, of course, was very cross and foolish; +and afterwards, from my bed-room window, I saw Cousin Monica and Lady +Mary among the flowers, under the drawing-room window, talking, as I +instinctively knew, of that little incident. I was standing at the glass. + +'My odious, stupid, _perjured_ face' I whispered, furiously, at the same +time stamping on the floor, and giving myself quite a smart slap on the +cheek. 'I _can't_ go down--I'm ready to cry--I've a mind to return to +Bartram to-day; I am _always_ blushing; and I wish that impudent Captain +Oakley was at the bottom of the sea.' + +I was, perhaps, thinking more of Lord Ilbury than I was aware; and I am +sure if Captain Oakley had arrived that day, I should have treated him with +most unjustifiable rudeness. + +Notwithstanding this unfortunate blush, the remainder of our visit passed +very happily for me. No one who has not experienced it can have an idea +how intimate a small party, such as ours, will grow in a short time in a +country house. + +Of course, a young lady of a well-regulated mind cannot possibly care a +pin about any one of the opposite sex until she is well assured that he is +beginning, at least, to like her better than all the world beside; but I +could not deny to myself that I was rather anxious to know more about Lord +Ilbury than I actually did know. + +There was a 'Peerage,' in its bright scarlet and gold uniform, corpulent +and tempting, upon the little marble table in the drawing-room. I had many +opportunities of consulting it, but I never could find courage to do so. + +For an inexperienced person it would have been a matter of several minutes, +and during those minutes what awful risk of surprise and detection. One +day, all being quiet, I did venture, and actually, with a beating heart, +got so far as to find out the letter 'Il,' when I heard a step outside the +door, which opened a little bit, and I heard Lady Knollys, luckily arrested +at the entrance, talk some sentences outside, her hand still upon the +door-handle. I shut the book, as Mrs. Bluebeard might the door of the +chamber of horrors at the sound of her husband's step, and skipped to a +remote part of the room, where Cousin Knollys found me in a mysterious +state of agitation. + +On any other subject I would have questioned Cousin Monica unhesitatingly; +upon this, somehow, I was dumb. I distrusted myself, and dreaded my odious +habit of blushing, and knew that I should look so horribly guilty, and +become so agitated and odd, that she would have reasonably concluded that I +had quite lost my heart to him. + +After the lesson I had received, and my narrow escape of detection in the +very act, you may be sure I never trusted myself in the vicinity of that +fat and cruel 'Peerage,' which possessed the secret, but would not disclose +without compromising me. + +In this state of tantalizing darkness and conjecture I should have +departed, had not Cousin Monica quite spontaneously relieved me. + +The night before our departure she sat with us in our room, chatting a +little farewell gossip. + +'And what do you think of Ilbury?' she asked. + +'I think him clever and accomplished, and amusing; but he sometimes appears +to me very melancholy--that is, for a few minutes together--and then, I +fancy, with an effort, re-engages in our conversation.' + +'Yes, poor Ilbury! He lost his brother only about five months since, and +is only beginning to recover his spirits a little. They were very much +attached, and people thought that he would have succeeded to the title, +had he lived, because Ilbury is _difficile_--or a philosopher--or a _Saint +Kevin_; and, in fact, has begun to be treated as a premature old bachelor.' + +'What a charming person his sister, Lady Mary, is. She has made me promise +to write to her,' I said, I suppose--such hypocrites are we--to prove to +Cousin Knollys that I did not care particularly to hear anything more about +him. + +'Yes, and so devoted to him. He came down here, and took The Grange, for +change of scene and solitude--of all things the worst for a man in grief--a +morbid whim, as he is beginning to find out; for he is very glad to stay +here, and confesses that he is much better since he came. His letters are +still addressed to him as Mr. Carysbroke; for he fancied if his rank were +known, that the county people would have been calling upon him, and so he +would have found himself soon involved in a tiresome round of dinners, and +must have gone somewhere else. You saw him, Milly, at Bartram, before Maud +came?' + +Yes, she had, when he called there to see her father. + +'He thought, as he had accepted the trusteeship, that he could hardly, +residing so near, omit to visit Silas. He was very much struck and +interested by him, and he has a better opinion of him--you are not angry, +Milly--than some ill-natured people I could name; and he says that the +cutting down of the trees will turn out to have been a mere slip. But these +slips don't occur with clever men in other things; and some persons have +a way of always making them in their own favour. And, to talk of other +things, I suspect that you and Milly will probably see Ilbury at Bartram; +for I think he likes you very much.' + +_You_; did she mean _both_, or only me? + +So our pleasant visit was over. Milly's good little curate had been much +thrown in her way by our deep and dangerous cousin Monica. He was most +laudably steady; and his flirtation advanced upon the field of theology, +where, happily, Milly's little reading had been concentrated. A mild and +earnest interest in poor, pretty Milly's orthodoxy was the leading feature +of his case; and I was highly amused at her references to me, when we had +retired at night, upon the points which she had disputed with him, and +her anxious reports of their low-toned conferences, carried on upon a +sequestered ottoman, where he patted and stroked his crossed leg, as he +smiled tenderly and shook his head at her questionable doctrine. Milly's +reverence for her instructor, and his admiration, grew daily; and he was +known among us as Milly's confessor. + +He took luncheon with us on the day of our departure, and with an adroit +privacy, which in a layman would have been sly, presented her, in right of +his holy calling, with a little book, the binding of which was mediaeval +and costly, and whose letter-press dealt in a way which he commended, +with some points on which she was not satisfactory; and she found on the +fly-leaf this little inscription:--'Presented to Miss Millicent Ruthyn by +an earnest well-wisher, 1st December 1844.' A text, very neatly penned, +followed this; and the 'presentation' was made unctiously indeed, but with +a blush, as well as the accustomed smile, and with eyes that were lowered. + +The early crimson sun of December had gone down behind the hills before we +took our seats in the carriage. + +Lord Ilbury leaned with his elbow on the carriage window, looking in, and +he said to me-- + +'I really don't know what we shall do, Miss Ruthyn; we shall all feel so +lonely. For myself, I think I shall run away to Grange.' + +This appeared to me as nearly perfect eloquence as human lips could utter. + +His hand still rested on the window, and the Rev. Sprigge Biddlepen was +standing with a saddened smirk on the door steps, when the whip smacked, +the horses scrambled into motion, and away we rolled down the avenue, +leaving behind us the pleasantest house and hostess in the world, and +trotting fleetly into darkness towards Bartram-Haugh. + +We were both rather silent. Milly had her book in her lap, and I saw +her every now and then try to read her 'earnest well-wisher's' little +inscription, but there was not light to read by. + +When we reached the great gate of Bartram-Haugh it was dark. Old Crowl, who +kept the gate, I heard enjoining the postilion to make no avoidable noise +at the hall-door, for the odd but startling reason that he believed my +uncle 'would be dead by this time.' + +Very much shocked and frightened, we stopped the carriage, and questioned +the tremulous old porter. + +Uncle Silas, it seemed, had been 'silly-ish' all yesterday, and 'could not +be woke this morning,' and 'the doctor had been here twice, being now in +the house.' + +'Is he better?' I asked, tremblingly. + +'Not as I'm aweer on, Miss; he lay at God's mercy two hours agone; 'appen +he's in heaven be this time.' + +'Drive on--drive fast,' I said to the driver. 'Don't be frightened, Milly; +please Heaven we shall find all going well.' + +After some delay, during which my heart sank, and I quite gave up Uncle +Silas, the aged little servant-man opened the door, and trotted shakily +down the steps to the carriage side. + +Uncle Silas had been at death's door for hours; the question of life had +trembled in the scale; but now the doctor said 'he might do.' + +'Where was the doctor?' + +'In master's room; he blooded him three hours agone.' + +I don't think that Milly was so frightened as I. My heart beat, and I was +trembling so that I could hardly get upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +_A FRIEND ARISES_ + + +At the top of the great staircase I was glad to see the friendly face +of Mary Quince, who stood, candle in hand, greeting us with many little +courtesies, and a very haggard and pallid smile. + +'Very welcome, Miss, hoping you are very well.' + +'All well, and you are well, Mary? and oh! tell us quickly how is Uncle +Silas?' + +'We thought he was gone, Miss, this morning, but doing fairly now; doctor +says in a trance like. I was helping old Wyat most of the day, and was +there when doctor blooded him, an' he spoke at last; but he must be awful +weak, he took a deal o' blood from his arm, Miss; I held the basin.' + +'And he's better--decidedly better?' I asked. + +'Well, he's better, doctor says; he talked some, and doctor says if he goes +off asleep again, and begins a-snoring like he did before, we're to loose +the bandage, and let him bleed till he comes to his self again; which, it +seems to me and Wyat, is the same thing a'most as saying he's to be killed +off-hand, for I don't believe he has a drop to spare, as you'll say +likewise, Miss, if you'll please look in the basin.' + +This was not an invitation with which I cared to comply. I thought I was +going to faint. I sat on the stairs and sipped a little water, and Quince +sprinkled a little in my face, and my strength returned. + +Milly must have felt her father's danger more than I, for she was +affectionate, and loved him from habit and relation, although he was not +kind to her. But I was more nervous and more impetuous, and my feelings +both stimulated and overpowered me more easily. The moment I was able to +stand I said--thinking of nothing but the one idea-- + +'We must see him--_come_, Milly.' + +I entered his sitting-room; a common 'dip' candle hanging like the tower +of Pisa all to one side, with a dim, long wick, in a greasy candlestick, +profaned the table of the fastidious invalid. The light was little better +than darkness, and I crossed the room swiftly, still transfixed by the one +idea of seeing my uncle. + +His bed-room door beside the fireplace stood partly open, and I looked in. + +Old Wyat, a white, high-cauled ghost, was pottering in her slippers in the +shadow at the far side of the bed. The doctor, a stout little bald man, +with a paunch and a big bunch of seals, stood with his back to the +fireplace, which corresponded with that in the next room, eyeing his +patient through the curtains of the bed with a listless sort of importance. + +The head of the large four-poster rested against the opposite wall. Its +foot was presented toward the fireplace; but the curtains at the side, +which alone I could see from my position, were closed. + +The little doctor knew me, and thinking me, I suppose, a person of +consequence, removed his hands from behind him, suffering the skirts of his +coat to fall forward, and with great celerity and gravity made me a low but +important bow; then choosing more particularly to make my acquaintance +he further advanced, and with another reverence he introduced himself +as Doctor Jolks, in a murmured diapason. He bowed me back again into my +uncle's study, and the light of old Wyat's dreadful candle. + +Doctor Jolks was suave and pompous. I longed for a fussy practitioner who +would have got over the ground in half the time. + +Coma, madam; coma. Miss Ruthyn, your uncle, I may tell you, has been in a +very critical state; highly so. Coma of the most obstinate type. He would +have sunk--he must have gone, in fact, had I not resorted to a very extreme +remedy, and bled him freely, which happily told precisely as we could have +wished. A wonderful constitution--a marvellous constitution--prodigious +nervous fibre; the greatest pity in the world he won't give himself fair +play. His habits, you know, are quite, I may say, destructive. We do +our best--we do all we can, but if the patient won't cooperate it can't +possibly end satisfactorily.' + +And Jolks accompanied this with an awful shrug. 'Is there _anything_? Do +you think change of air? What an awful complaint it is,' I exclaimed. + +He smiled, mysteriously looking down, and shook his head undertaker-like. + +'Why, we can hardly call it a _complaint_, Miss Ruthyn. I look upon it he +has been poisoned--he has had, you understand me,' he pursued, observing my +startled look, 'an overdose of opium; you know he takes opium habitually; +he takes it in laudanum, he takes it in water, and, most dangerous of all, +he takes it solid, in lozenges. I've known people take it moderately. +I've known people take it to excess, _but_ they all were particular as to +_measure,_ and _that_ is exactly the point I've tried to impress upon him. +The habit, of course, you understand is formed, there's no uprooting that; +but he won't _measure_--he goes by the eye and by sensation, which I need +not tell you, Miss Ruthyn, is going by _chance;_ and opium, as no doubt +you are aware, is strictly a poison; a poison, no doubt, which habit will +enable you to partake of, I may say, in considerable quantities, without +fatal consequences, but still a poison; and to exhibit a poison _so_, is, +I need scarcely tell you, to trifle with death. He has been so threatened, +and for a time he changes his haphazard mode of dealing with it, and then +returns; he may escape--of course, that is possible--but he may any day +overdo the thing. I don't think the present crisis will result seriously. I +am very glad, independently of the honour of making your acquaintance, Miss +Ruthyn, that you and your cousin have returned; for, however zealous, I +fear the servants are deficient in intelligence; and as in the event of a +recurrence of the symptoms--which, however, is not probable--I would beg to +inform you of their nature, and how exactly best to deal with them.' + +So upon these points he delivered us a pompous little lecture, and begged +that either Milly or I would remain in the room with the patient until his +return at two or three o'clock in the morning; a reappearance of the coma +'might be very bad indeed.' + +Of course Milly and I did as we were directed. We sat by the fire, scarcely +daring to whisper. Uncle Silas, about whom a new and dreadful suspicion +began to haunt me, lay still and motionless as if he were actually dead. + +'Had he attempted to poison himself?' + +If he believed his position to be as desperate as Lady Knollys had +described it, was this, after all, improbable? There were strange wild +theories, I had been told, mixed up in his religion. + +Sometimes, at an hour's interval, a sign of life would come--a moan from +that tall sheeted figure in the bed--a moan and a pattering of the lips. +Was it prayer--_what_ was it? who could guess what thoughts were passing +behind that white-fillited forehead? + +I had peeped at him: a white cloth steeped in vinegar and water was folded +round his head; his great eyes were closed, so were his marble lips; his +figure straight, thin, and long, dressed in a white dressing-gown, looked +like a corpse 'laid out' in the bed; his gaunt bandaged arm lay outside the +sheet that covered his body. + +With this awful image of death we kept our vigil, until poor Milly grew so +sleepy that old Wyat proposed that she should take her place and watch with +me. + +Little as I liked the crone with the high-cauled cap, she would, at all +events, keep awake, which Milly could not. And so at one o'clock this new +arrangement began. + +'Mr. Dudley Ruthyn is not at home?' I whispered to old Wyat. + +'He went away wi' himself yesternight, to Cloperton, Miss, to see the +wrestling; it was to come off this morning.' + +'Was he sent for?' + +'Not he.' + +'And why not?' + +'He would na' leave the sport for this, I'm thinking,' and the old woman +grinned uglily. + +'When is he to return?' + +'When he wants money.' + +So we grew silent, and again I thought of suicide, and of the unhappy old +man, who just then whispered a sentence or two to himself with a sigh. + +For the next hour he had been quite silent, and old Wyat informed me that +she must go down for candles. Ours were already burnt down to the sockets. + +'There's a candle in the next room,' I suggested, hating the idea of being +left alone with the patient. + +'Hoot! Miss. I _dare_ na' set a candle but wax in his presence,' whispered +the old woman, scornfully. + +'I think if we were to stir the fire, and put on a little more coal, we +should have a great deal of light.' + +'He'll ha' the candles,' said Dame Wyat, doggedly; and she tottered from +the chamber, muttering to herself; and I heard her take her candle from the +next room and depart, shutting the outer door after her. + +Here was I then alone, but for this unearthly companion, whom I feared +inexpressibly, at two o'clock, in the vast old house of Bartram. + +I stirred the fire. It was low, and would not blaze. I stood up, and, with +my hand on the mantelpiece, endeavoured to think of cheerful things. But +it was a struggle against wind and tide--vain; and so I drifted away into +haunted regions. + +Uncle Silas was perfectly still. I would not suffer myself to think of the +number of dark rooms and passages which now separated me from the other +living tenants of the house. I awaited with a false composure the return of +old Wyat. + +Over the mantelpiece was a looking-glass. At another time this might have +helped to entertain my solitary moments, but now I did not like to venture +a peep. A small thick Bible lay on the chimneypiece, and leaning its back +against the mirror, I began to read in it with a mind as attentively +directed as I could. While so engaged in turning over the leaves, I lighted +upon two or three odd-looking papers, which had been folded into it. One +was a broad printed thing, with names and dates written into blank spaces, +and was about the size of a quarter of a yard of very broad ribbon. The +others were mere scraps, with 'Dudley Ruthyn' penned in my cousin's vulgar +round-hand at the foot. While I folded and replaced these, I really don't +know what caused me to fancy that something was moving behind me, as I +stood with my back toward the bed. I do not recollect any sound whatever; +but instinctively I glanced into the mirror, and my eyes were instantly +fixed by what I saw. + +The figure of Uncle Silas rose up, and dressed in a long white morning +gown, slid over the end of the bed, and with two or three swift +noiseless steps, stood behind me, with a death-like scowl and a simper. +Preternaturally tall and thin, he stood for a moment almost touching me, +with the white bandage pinned across his forehead, his bandaged arm stiffly +by his side, and diving over my shoulder, with his long thin hand he +snatched the Bible, and whispered over my head--'The serpent beguiled her +and she did eat;' and after a momentary pause, he glided to the farthest +window, and appeared to look out upon the midnight prospect. + +It was cold, but he did not seem to feel it. With the same inflexible scowl +and smile, he continued to look out for several minutes, and then with a +great sigh, he sat down on the side of his bed, his face immovably turned +towards me, with the same painful look. + +It seemed to me an hour before old Wyat came back; and never was lover made +happier at sight of his mistress than I to behold that withered crone. + +You may be sure I did not prolong my watch. There was now plainly no risk +of my uncle's relapsing into lethargy. I had a long hysterical fit of +weeping when I got into my room, with honest Mary Quince by my side. + +Whenever I closed my eyes, the face of Uncle Silas was before me, as I had +seen it reflected in the glass. The sorceries of Bartram were enveloping me +once more. + +Next morning the doctor said he was quite out of danger, but very weak. +Milly and I saw him; and again in our afternoon walk we saw the doctor +marching under the trees in the direction of the Windmill Wood. + +'Going down to see that poor girl there?' he said, when he had made his +salutation, prodding with his levelled stick in the direction. 'Hawke, or +Hawkes, I think.' + +'Beauty's sick, Maud,' exclaimed Milly. + +'_Hawkes_. She's upon my dispensary list. Yes,' said the doctor, looking +into his little note-book--'Hawkes.' + +'And what is her complaint?' + +'Rheumatic fever.' + +'Not infectious?' + +'Not the least--no more, as we say, Miss Ruthyn, than a broken leg,' and he +laughed obligingly. + +So soon as the doctor had departed, Milly and I agreed to follow to Hawkes' +cottage and enquire more particularly how she was. To say truth, I am +afraid it was rather for the sake of giving our walk a purpose and a point +of termination, than for any very charitable interest we might have felt in +the patient. + +Over the inequalities of the upland slope, clumped with trees, we reached +the gabled cottage, with its neglected little farm-yard. A rheumatic old +woman was the only attendant; and, having turned her ear in an attitude of +attention, which induced us in gradually exalted keys to enquire how Meg +was, she informed us in very loud tones that she had long lost her hearing +and was perfectly deaf. And added considerately-- + +'When the man comes in, 'appen he'll tell ye what ye want.' + +Through the door of a small room at the further end of that in which we +were, we could see a portion of the narrow apartment of the patient, and +hear her moans and the doctor's voice. + +'We'll see him, Milly, when he comes out. Let us wait here.' + +So we stood upon the door-stone awaiting him. The sounds of suffering had +moved my compassion and interested us for the sick girl. + +'Blest if here isn't Pegtop,' said Milly. + +And the weather-stained red coat, the swarthy forbidding face and sooty +locks of old Hawkes loomed in sight, as he stumped, steadying himself with +his stick, over the uneven pavement of the yard. He touched his hat gruffly +to me, but did not seem half to like our being where we were, for he looked +surlily, and scratched his head under his wide-awake. + +'Your daughter is very ill, I'm afraid,' said I. + +'Ay--she'll be costin' me a handful, like her mother did,' said Pegtop. + +'I hope her room is comfortable, poor thing.' + +'Ay, that's it; she be comfortable enough, I warrant--more nor I. It be all +Meg, and nout o' Dickon.' + +'When did her illness commence?' I asked. + +'Day the mare wor shod--_Saturday_. I talked a bit wi' the workus folk, but +they won't gi'e nout--dang 'em--an' how be _I_ to do't? It be all'ays hard +bread wi' Silas, an' a deal harder now she' ta'en them pains. I won't stan' +it much longer. Gammon! If she keeps on that way I'll just cut. See how the +workus fellahs 'ill like _that_!' + +'The Doctor gives his services for nothing,' I said. + +'An' _does_ nothin', bless him! ha, ha. No more nor that old deaf gammon +there that costs me three tizzies a week, and haint worth a h'porth--no +more nor Meg there, that's making all she can o' them pains. They be all a +foolin' o' me, an' thinks I don't know't. Hey? _we_'ll see.' + +All this time he was cutting a bit of tobacco into shreds on the +window-stone. + +'A workin' man be same as a hoss; if he baint cared, he can't work--'tisn't +in him:' and with these words, having by this time stuffed his pipe with +tobacco, he poked the deaf lady, who was pattering about with her back +toward him, rather viciously with the point of his stick, and signed for a +light. + +'It baint in him, you can't get it out o' 'im, no more nor ye'll draw smoke +out o' this,' and he raised his pipe an inch or two, with his thumb on the +bowl, 'without backy and fire. 'Tisn't in it.' + +'Maybe I can be of some use?' I said, thinking. + +'Maybe,' he rejoined. + +By this time he received from the old deaf abigail a flaming roll of brown +paper, and, touching his hat to me, he withdrew, lighting his pipe and +sending up little white puffs, like the salute of a departing ship. + +So he did not care to hear how his daughter was, and had only come here to +light his pipe! + +Just then the Doctor emerged. + +'We have been waiting to hear how your poor patient is to-day?' I said. + +'Very ill, indeed, and utterly neglected, I fear. If she were equal +to it--but she's not--I think she ought to be removed to the hospital +immediately.' + +'That poor old woman is quite deaf, and the man is so surly and selfish! +Could you recommend a nurse who would stay here till she's better? I will +pay her with pleasure, and anything you think might be good for the poor +girl.' + +So this was settled on the spot. Doctor Jolks was kind, like most men +of his calling, and undertook to send the nurse from Feltram with a few +comforts for the patient; and he called Dickon to the yard-gate, and I +suppose told him of the arrangement; and Milly and I went to the poor +girl's door and asked, 'May we come in?' + +There was no answer. So, with the conventional construction of silence, we +entered. Her looks showed how ill she was. We adjusted her bed-clothes, and +darkened the room, and did what we could for her--noting, beside, what her +comfort chiefly required. She did not answer any questions. She did not +thank us. I should almost have fancied that she had not perceived our +presence, had I not observed her dark, sunken eyes once or twice turned up +towards my face, with a dismal look of wonder and enquiry. + +The girl was very ill, and we went every day to see her. Sometimes she +would answer our questions--sometimes not. Thoughtful, observant, surly, +she seemed; and as people like to be thanked, I sometimes wonder that +we continued to throw our bread upon these ungrateful waters. Milly was +specially impatient under this treatment, and protested against it, and +finally refused to accompany me into poor Beauty's bed-room. + +'I think, my good Meg,' said I one day, as I stood by her bed--she was now +recovering with the sure reascent of youth--'that you ought to thank Miss +Milly.' + +'I'll _not_ thank her,' said Beauty, doggedly. + +'Very well, Meg; I only thought I'd ask you, for I think you ought.' + +As I spoke, she very gently took just the tip of my finger, which hung +close to her coverlet, in her fingers, and drew it beneath, and before I +was aware, burying her head in the clothes, she suddenly clasped my hand +in both hers to her lips, and kissed it passionately, again and again, +sobbing. I felt her tears. + +I tried to withdraw my hand, but she held it with an angry pull, continuing +to weep and kiss it. + +'Do you wish to say anything, my poor Meg?' I asked. + +'Nout, Miss,' she sobbed gently; and she continued to kiss my hand and +weep. But suddenly she said, 'I won't thank Milly, for it's a' _you_; it +baint her, she hadn't the thought--no, no, it's a' you, Miss. I cried +hearty in the dark last night, thinkin' o' the apples, and the way I +knocked them awa' wi' a pur o' my foot, the day father rapped me ower the +head wi' his stick; it was kind o' you and very bad o' me. I wish you'd +beat me, Miss; ye're better to me than father or mother--better to me than +a'; an' I wish I could die for you, Miss, for I'm not fit to look at you.' + +I was surprised. I began to cry. I could have hugged poor Meg. + +I did not know her history. I have never learned it since. She used to +talk with the most utter self-abasement before me. It was no religious +feeling--it was a kind of expression of her love and worship of me--all the +more strange that she was naturally very proud. There was nothing she +would not have borne from me except the slightest suspicion of her entire +devotion, or that she could in the most trifling way wrong or deceive me. + +I am not young now. I have had my sorrows, and with them all that wealth, +virtually unlimited, can command; and through the retrospect a few bright +and pure lights quiver along my life's dark stream--dark, but for them; and +these are shed, not by the splendour of a splendid fortune, but by two or +three of the simplest and kindest remembrances, such as the poorest and +homeliest life may count up, and beside which, in the quiet hours of +memory, all artificial triumphs pale, and disappear, for they are never +quenched by time or distance, being founded on the affections, and so far +heavenly. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +_A CHAPTER-FULL OF LOVERS_ + + +We had about this time a pleasant and quite unexpected visit from Lord +Ilbury. He had come to pay his respects, understanding that my uncle Silas +was sufficiently recovered to see visitors. 'And I think I'll run up-stairs +first, and see him, if he admits me, and then I have ever so long a message +from my sister, Mary, for you and Miss Millicent; but I had better dispose +of my business first--don't you think so?--and I shall return in a few +minutes.' + +And as he spoke our tremulous old butler returned to say that Uncle Silas +would be happy to see him. So he departed; and you can't think how pleasant +our homely sitting-room looked with his coat and stick in it--guarantees of +his return. + +'Do you think, Milly, he is going to speak about the timber, you know, that +Cousin Knollys spoke of? I do hope not.' + +'So do I,' said Milly. 'I wish he'd stayed a bit longer with us first, for +if he does, father will sure to turn him out of doors, and we'll see no +more of him.' + +'Exactly, my dear Milly; and he's so pleasant and good-natured.' + +'And he likes you awful well, he does.' + +'I'm sure he likes us both equally, Milly; he talked a great deal to you at +Elverston, and used to ask you so often to sing those two pretty Lancashire +ballads,' I said; 'but you know when you were at your controversies and +religious exercises in the window, with that pillar of the church, the Rev. +Spriggs Biddlepen--' + +'Get awa' wi' your nonsense, Maud; how could I help answering when he +dodged me up and down my Testament and catechism?--an I 'most hate him, I +tell you, and Cousin Knollys, you're such fools, I do. And whatever you +say, the lord likes you uncommon, and well you know it, ye hussy.' + +'I know no such thing; and you don't think it, _you_ hussy, and I really +don't care who likes me or who doesn't, except my relations; and I make the +lord a present to you, if you'll have him.' + +In this strain were we talking when he re-entered the room, a little sooner +than we had expected to see him. + +Milly, who, you are to recollect, was only in process of reformation, and +still retained something of the Derbyshire dairymaid, gave me a little +clandestine pinch on the arm just as he made his appearance. + +'I just refused a present from her,' said odious Milly, in answer to his +enquiring look, 'because I knew she could not spare it.' + +The effect of all this was that I blushed one of my overpowering blushes. +People told me they became me very much; I hope so, for the misfortune was +frequent; and I think nature owed me that compensation. + +'It places you both in a most becoming light,' said Lord Ilbury, quite +innocently. 'I really don't know which most to admire--the generosity of +the offer or of the refusal.' + +'Well, it _was_ kind, if you but knew. I'm 'most tempted to tell him,' said +Milly. + +I checked her with a really angry look, and said, 'Perhaps you have not +observed it; but I really think, for a sensible person, my cousin Milly +here talks more nonsense than any twenty other girls.' + +'A twenty-girl power! That's an immense compliment. I've the greatest +respect for nonsense, I owe it so much; and I really think if nonsense were +banished, the earth would grow insupportable.' + +'Thank you, Lord Ilbury,' said Milly, who had grown quite easy in his +company during our long visit at Elverston; 'and I tell you, Miss Maud, if +you grow saucy, I'll accept your present, and what will you say then?' + +'I really don't know; but just now I want to ask Lord Ilbury how he thinks +my uncle looks; neither I nor Milly have seen him since his illness.' + +'Very much weaker, I think; but he may be gaining strength. Still, as my +business was not quite pleasant, I thought it better to postpone it, and +if you think it would be right, I'll write to Doctor Bryerly to ask him to +postpone the discussion for a little time.' + +I at once assented, and thanked him; indeed, if I had had my way, the +subject should never have been mentioned, I felt so hardhearted and +rapacious; but Lord Ilbury explained that the trustees were constrained by +the provisions of the will, and that I really had no power to release them; +and I hoped that Uncle Silas also understood all this. + +'And now,' said he, 'we've returned to Grange, my sister and I, and it is +nearer than Elverston, so that we are really neighbours; and Mary wants +Lady Knollys to fix a time she owes us a visit, you know--and you really +must come at the same time; it will be so very pleasant, the same party +exactly meeting in a new scene; and we have not half explored our +neighbourhood; and I've got down all those Spanish engravings I told you +of, and the Venetian missals, and all the rest. I think I remember very +accurately the things you were most interested by, and they're all there; +and really you must promise, you and Miss Millicent Ruthyn. And I forgot to +mention--you know you complained that you were ill supplied with books, +so Mary thought you would allow her to share her supply--they are the new +books, you know--and when you have read yours, you and she can exchange.' + +What girl was ever quite frank about her likings? I don't think I was more +of a cheat than others; but I never could tell of myself. It is quite true +that this duplicity and reserve seldom deceives. Our hypocrisies are forced +upon some of our sex by the acuteness and vigilance of all in this field of +enquiry; but if we are sly, we are also lynx-eyed, capital detectives, most +ingenious in fitting together the bits and dovetails of a cumulative case; +and in those affairs of love and liking, have a terrible exploratory +instinct, and so, for the most part, when detected we are found out not +only to be in love, but to be rogues moreover. + +Lady Mary was very kind; but had Lady Mary of her own mere motion taken all +this trouble? Was there no more energetic influence at the bottom of +that welcome chest of books, which arrived only half an hour later? The +circulating library of those days was not the epidemic and ubiquitous +influence to which it has grown; and there were many places where it could +not find you out. + +Altogether that evening Bartram had acquired a peculiar beauty--a bright +and mellow glow, in which even its gate-posts and wheelbarrow were +interesting, and next day came a little cloud--Dudley appeared. + +'You may be sure he wants money,' said Milly. 'He and father had words this +morning.' + +He took a chair at our luncheon, found fault with everything in his own +laconic dialect, ate a good deal notwithstanding, and was sulky, and with +Milly snappish. To me, on the contrary, when Milly went into the hall, he +was mild and whimpering, and disposed to be confidential. + +'There's the Governor says he hasn't a bob! Danged if I know how an old +fellah in his bed-room muddles away money at that rate. I don't suppose he +thinks I can git along without tin, and he knows them trustees won't gi'e +me a tizzy till they get what they calls an opinion--dang 'em! Bryerly says +he doubts it must all go under settlement. They'll settle me nicely if +they do; and Governor knows all about it, and won't gi'e me a danged brass +farthin', an' me wi' bills to pay, an' lawyers--dang 'em--writing +letters. He knows summat o' that hisself, does Governor; and he might ha' +consideration a bit for his own flesh and blood, _I_ say. But he never does +nout for none but hisself. I'll sell his books and his jewels next fit he +takes--that's how I'll fit him.' + +This amiable young man, glowering, with his elbows on the table and his +fingers in his great whiskers, followed his homily, where clergymen append +the blessing, with a muttered variety of very different matter. + +'Now, Maud,' said he, pathetically, leaning back suddenly in his chair, +with all his conscious beauty and misfortunes in his face, 'is not it hard +lines?' + +I thought the appeal was going to shape itself into an application for +money; but it did not. + +'I never know'd a reel beauty--first-chop, of course, I mean--that +wasn't kind along of it, and I'm a fellah as can't git along without +sympathy--that's why I say it--an' isn't it hard lines? Now, _say_ it's +hard lines--_haint_ it, Maud?' + +I did not know exactly what hard lines meant, but I said-- + +'I suppose it is very disagreeable.' + +And with this concession, not caring to hear any more in the same vein, I +rose, intending to take my departure. + +'No, that's jest it. I knew ye'd say it, Maud. Ye're a kind lass--ye +be--'tis in yer pretty face. I like ye awful, I do--there's not a handsomer +lass in Liverpool nor Lunnon itself--_no_ where.' + +He had seized my hand, and trying to place his arm about my waist, essayed +that salute which I had so narrowly escaped on my first introduction. + +'_Don't_, sir,' I exclaimed in high indignation, escaping at the same +moment from his grasp. + +'No offence, lass; no harm, Maud; you must not be so shy--we're cousins, +you know--an' I wouldn't hurt ye, Maud, no more nor I'd knock my head off. +I wouldn't.' + +I did not wait to hear the rest of his tender protestations, but, without +showing how nervous I was, I glided out of the room quietly, making +an orderly retreat, the more meritorious as I heard him call after me +persuasively--'Come back, Maud. What are ye afeard on, lass? Come back, I +say--do now; there's a good wench.' + +As Milly and I were taking our walk that day, in the direction of the +Windmill Wood, to which, in consequence perhaps of some secret order, we +had now free access, we saw Beauty, for the first time since her illness, +in the little yard, throwing grain to the poultry. + +'How do you find yourself to-day, Meg? I am _very_ glad to see you able to +be about again; but I hope it is not too soon.' + +We were standing at the barred gate of the little enclosure, and quite +close to Meg, who, however, did not choose to raise her head, but, +continuing to shower her grain and potato-skins among her hens and +chickens, said in a low tone-- + +'Father baint in sight? Look jist round a bit and say if ye see him.' + +But Dickon's dusky red costume was nowhere visible. + +So Meg looked up, pale and thin, and with her old grave, observant eyes, +and she said quietly-- + +''Tisn't that I'm not glad to see ye; but if father was to spy me talking +friendly wi' ye, now that I'm hearty, and you havin' no more call to me, +he'd be all'ays a watching and thinkin' I was tellin' o' tales, and 'appen +he'd want me to worrit ye for money, Miss Maud; an' 'tisn't here he'd spend +it, but in the Feltram pottusses, he would, and we want for nothin' that's +good for us. But that's how 'twould be, an' he'd all'ays be a jawing and a +lickin' of I; so don't mind me, Miss Maud, and 'appen I might do ye a good +turn some day.' + +A few days after this little interview with Meg, as Milly and I were +walking briskly--for it was a clear frosty day--along the pleasant slopes +of the sheep-walk, we were overtaken by Dudley Ruthyn. It was not a +pleasant surprise. There was this mitigation, however: we were on foot, and +he driving in a dog-cart along the track leading to the moor, with his dogs +and gun. He brought his horse for a moment to a walk, and with a careless +nod to me, removing his short pipe from his mouth, he said-- + +'Governor's callin' for ye, Milly; and he told me to send you slick home to +him if I saw you, and I think he'll gi'e ye some money; but ye better take +him while he's in the humour, lass, or mayhap ye'll go long without.' + +And with those words, apparently intent on his game, he nodded again, +and, pipe in mouth, drove at a quick trot over the slope of the hill, and +disappeared. + +So I agreed to await Milly's return while she ran home, and rejoined me +where I was. Away she ran, in high spirits, and I wandered listlessly about +in search of some convenient spot to sit down upon, for I was a little +tired. + +She had not been gone five minutes, when I heard a step approaching, and +looking round, saw the dog-cart close by, the horse browsing on the short +grass, and Dudley Ruthyn within a few paces of me. + +'Ye see, Maud, I've bin thinkin' why you're so vexed wi' me, an' I thought +I'd jest come back an' ask ye what I may a' done to anger ye so; there's no +sin in that, I think--is there?' + +'I'm not angry. I did not say so. I hope that's enough,' I said, startled; +and, notwithstanding my speech, _very_ angry, for I felt instinctively that +Milly's despatch homeward was a mere trick, and I the dupe of this coarse +stratagem. + +'Well then, if ye baint angry, so much the better, Maud. I only want to +know why you're afeard o' me. I never struck a man foul, much less hurt a +girl, in my days; besides, Maud, I likes ye too well to hurt ye. Dang it, +lass, you're my cousin, ye know, and cousins is all'ays together and lovin' +like, an' none says again' it.' + +'I've nothing to explain--there _is_ nothing to explain. I've been quite +friendly,' I said, hurriedly. + +'_Friendly!_ Well, if there baint a cram! How can ye think it friendly, +Maud, when ye won't a'most shake hands wi' me? It's enough to make a fellah +sware, or cry a'most. Why d'ye like aggravatin' a poor devil? Now baint +ye an ill-natured little puss, Maud, an' I likin' ye so well? You're the +prettiest lass in Derbyshire; there's nothin' I wouldn't do for ye.' + +And he backed his declaration with an oath. + +'Be so good, then, as to re-enter your dog-cart and drive away,' I replied, +very much incensed. + +'Now, there it is again! Ye can't speak me civil. Another fellah'd fly out, +an' maybe kiss ye for spite; but I baint that sort, I'm all for coaxin' and +kindness, an' ye won't let me. What _be_ you drivin' at, Maud?' + +'I think I've said very plainly, sir, that I wish to be alone. You've +_nothing_ to say, except utter nonsense, and I've heard quite enough. Once +for all, I beg, sir, that you will be so good as to leave me.' + +'Well, now, look here, Maud; I'll do anything you like--burn me if I +don't--if you'll only jest be kind to me, like cousins should. What did +I ever do to vex you? If you think I like any lass better than you--some +fellah at Elverston's bin talkin', maybe--it's nout but lies an' nonsense. +Not but there's lots o' wenches likes me well enough, though I be a plain +lad, and speaks my mind straight out.' + +'I can't see that you are so frank, sir, as you describe; you have just +played a shabby trick to bring about this absurd and most disagreeable +interview.' + +'And supposin' I did send that fool, Milly, out o' the way, to talk a bit +wi' you here, where's the harm? Dang it, lass, ye mustn't be too hard. +Didn't I say I'd do whatever ye wished?' + +'And you _won't_,' said I. + +'Ye mean to get along out o' this? Well, now, I _will_. There! No use, of +course, askin' you to kiss and be friends, before I go, as cousins should. +Well, don't be riled, lass, I'm not askin' it; only mind, I do like you +awful, and 'appen I'll find ye in better humour another time. Good-bye, +Maud; I'll make ye like me at last.' + +And with these words, to my comfort, he addressed himself to his horse and +pipe, and was soon honestly on his way to the moor. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI + +_THE RIVALS_ + + +All the time that Dudley chose to persecute me with his odious society, I +continued to walk at a brisk pace toward home, so that I had nearly reached +the house when Milly met me, with a note which had arrived for me by the +post, in her hand. + +'Here, Milly, are more verses. He is a very persevering poet, whoever he +is.' So I broke the seal; but this time it was prose. And the first words +were 'Captain Oakley!' + +I confess to an odd sensation as these remarkable words met my eye. It +might possibly be a proposal. I did not wait to speculate, however, but +read these sentences traced in the identical handwriting which had copied +the lines with which I had been twice favoured. + +'Captain Oakley presents his compliments to Miss Ruthyn, and trusts she +will excuse his venturing to ask whether, during his short stay in Feltram, +he might be permitted to pay his respects at Bartram-Haugh. He has been +making a short visit to his aunt, and could not find himself so near +without at least attempting to renew an acquaintance which he has never +ceased to cherish in memory. If Miss Ruthyn would be so very good as to +favour him with ever so short a reply to the question he ventures most +respectfully to ask, her decision would reach him at the Hall Hotel, +Feltram.' + +'Well, he's a roundabout fellah, anyhow. Couldn't he come up and see you if +he wanted to? They poeters, they do love writing long yarns--don't they?' +And with this reflection, Milly took the note and read it through again. + +'It's jolly polite anyhow, isn't it Maud?' said Milly, who had conned it +over, and accepted it as a model composition. + +I must have been, I think, naturally a rather shrewd girl; and considering +how very little I had seen of the world--nothing in fact--I often wonder +now at the sage conclusions at which I arrived. + +Were I to answer this handsome and cunning fool according to his folly, +in what position should I find myself? No doubt my reply would induce +a rejoinder, and that compel another note from me, and that invite yet +another from him; and however his might improve in warmth, they were sure +not to abate. Was it his impertinent plan, with this show of respect and +ceremony, to drag me into a clandestine correspondence? Inexperienced girl +as I was, I fired at the idea of becoming his dupe, and fancying, perhaps, +that there was more in merely answering his note than it would have +amounted to, I said-- + +'That kind of thing may answer very well with button-makers, but ladies +don't like it. What would your papa think of it if he found that I had been +writing to him, and seeing him without his permission? If he wanted to +see me he could have'--(I really did not know exactly what he could have +done)--'he could have timed his visit to Lady Knollys differently; at all +events, he has no right to place me in an embarrassing situation, and I am +certain Cousin Knollys would say so; and I think his note both shabby and +impertinent.' + +Decision was not with me an intellectual process. When quite cool I was the +most undecided of mortals, but once my feelings were excited I was prompt +and bold. + +'I'll give the note to Uncle Silas,' I said, quickening my pace toward +home; 'he'll know what to do.' + +But Milly, who, I fancy, had no objection to the little romance which the +young officer proposed, told me that she could not see her father, that he +was ill, and not speaking to anyone. + +'And arn't ye making a plaguy row about nothin'? I lay a guinea if ye had +never set eyes on Lord Ilbury you'd a told him to come, and see ye, an' +welcome.' + +'Don't talk like a fool, Milly. You never knew me do anything deceitful. +Lord Ilbury has no more to do with it, you know very well, than the man in +the moon.' + +I was altogether very indignant. I did not speak another word to Milly. The +proportions of the house are so great, that it is a much longer walk than +you would suppose from the hall-door to Uncle Silas's room. But I did not +cool all that way; and it was not till I had just reached the lobby, +and saw the sour, jealous face, and high caul of old Wyat, and felt the +influence of that neighbourhood, that I paused to reconsider. I fancied +there was a cool consciousness of success behind all the deferential +phraseology of Captain Oakley, which nettled me extremely. No; there could +be no doubt. I tapped softly at the door. + +'What is it _now_, Miss?' snarled the querulous old woman, with her +shrivelled fingers on the door-handle. + +'Can I see my uncle for a moment?' + +'He's tired, and not a word from him all day long.' + +'Not ill, though?' + +'Awful bad in the night,' said the old crone, with a sudden savage glare in +my face, as if _I_ had brought it about. + +'Oh! I'm very sorry. I had not heard a word of it.' + +'No one does but old Wyat. There's Milly there never asks neither--his own +child!' + +'Weakness, or what?' + +'One o' them fits. He'll slide awa' in one o' them some day, and no one but +old Wyat to know nor ask word about it; that's how 'twill be.' + +'Will you please hand him this note, if he is well enough to look at it, +and say I am at the door?' + +She took it with a peevish nod and a grunt, closing the door in my face, +and in a few minutes returned-- + +'Come in wi' ye,' said Dame Wyat, and I appeared. + +Uncle Silas, who, after his nightly horror or vision, lay extended on a +sofa, with his faded yellow silk dressing-gown about him, his long white +hair hanging toward the ground, and that wild and feeble smile lighting his +face--a glimmer I feared to look upon--his long thin arms lay by his sides, +with hands and fingers that stirred not, except when now and then, with a +feeble motion, he wet his temples and forehead with eau de Cologne from a +glass saucer placed beside him. + +'Excellent girl! dutiful ward and niece!' murmured the oracle; 'heaven +reward you--your frank dealing is your own safety and my peace. Sit you +down, and say who is this Captain Oakley, when you made his acquaintance, +what his age, fortune, and expectations, and who the aunt he mentions.' + +Upon all these points I satisfied him as fully as I was able. + +'Wyat--the white drops,' he called, in a thin, stern tone. 'I'll write a +line presently. I can't see visitors, and, of course, you can't receive +young captains before you've come out. Farewell! God bless you, dear.' + +Wyat was dropping the 'white' restorative into a wine-glass and the room +was redolent of ether. I was glad to escape. The figures and whole _mise en +scene_ were unearthly. + +'Well, Milly,' I said, as I met her in the hall, 'your papa is going to +write to him.' + +I sometimes wonder whether Milly was right, and how I should have acted a +few months earlier. + +Next day whom should we meet in the Windmill Wood but Captain Oakley. The +spot where this interesting _rencontre_ occurred was near that ruinous +bridge on my sketch of which I had received so many compliments. It was +so great a surprise that I had not time to recollect my indignation, and, +having received him very affably, I found it impossible, during our brief +interview, to recover my lost altitude. + +After our greetings were over, and some compliments neatly made, he said-- + +'I had such a curious note from Mr. Silas Ruthyn. I am sure he thinks me a +very impertinent fellow, for it was really anything but inviting--extremely +rude, in fact. But I could not quite see that because he does not want +me to invade his bed-room--an incursion I never dreamed of--I was not to +present myself to you, who had already honoured me with your acquaintance, +with the sanction of those who were most interested in your welfare, and +who were just as well qualified as he, I fancy, to say who were qualified +for such an honour.' + +'My uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, you are aware, is my guardian; and this is my +cousin, his daughter.' + +This was an opportunity of becoming a little lofty, and I improved it. He +raised his hat and bowed to Milly. + +'I'm afraid I've been very rude and stupid. Mr. Ruthyn, of course, has a +perfect right to--to--in fact, I was not the least aware that I had the +honour of so near a relation's--a--a--and what exquisite scenery you +have! I think this country round Feltram particularly fine; and this +Bartram-Haugh is, I venture to say, about the very most beautiful spot in +this beautiful region. I do assure you I am tempted beyond measure to make +Feltram and the Hall Hotel my head-quarters for at least a week. I only +regret the foliage; but your trees show wonderfully, even in winter, so +many of them have got that ivy about them. They say it spoils trees, but it +certainly beautifies them. I have just ten days' leave unexpired; I wish +I could induce you to advise me how to apply them. What shall I do, Miss +Ruthyn?' + +'I am the worst person in the world to make plans, even for myself, I find +it so troublesome. What do you say? Suppose you try Wales or Scotland, and +climb up some of those fine mountains that look so well in winter?' + +'I should much prefer Feltram. I so wish you would recommend _it_. What is +this pretty plant?' + +'We call that Maud's myrtle. She planted it, and it's very pretty when it's +full in blow,' said Milly. + +Our visit to Elverston had been of immense use to us both. + +'Oh! planted by _you?_' he said, very softly, with a momentary +corresponding glance. 'May I--ever so little--just a leaf?' + +And without waiting for permission, he held a sprig of it next his +waistcoat. + +'Yes, it goes very prettily with those buttons. They are _very_ pretty +buttons; are not they, Milly? A present, a souvenir, I dare say?' + +This was a terrible hit at the button-maker, and I thought he looked a +little oddly at me, but my countenance was so 'bewitchingly simple' that I +suppose his suspicions were allayed. + +Now, it was very odd of me, I must confess, to talk in this way, and to +receive all those tender allusions from a gentleman about whom I had spoken +and felt so sharply only the evening before. But Bartram was abominably +lonely. A civilised person was a valuable waif or stray in that region of +the picturesque and the brutal; and to my lady reader especially, because +she will probably be hardest upon me, I put it--can you not recollect any +such folly in your own past life? Can you not in as many minutes call to +mind at least six similar inconsistencies of your own practising? For my +part, I really can't see the advantage of being the weaker sex if we are +always to be as strong as our masculine neighbours. + +There was, indeed, no revival of the little sentiment which I had once +experienced. When these things once expire, I do believe they are as hard +to revive as our dead lap-dogs, guinea-pigs, and parrots. It was my perfect +coolness which enabled me to chat, I flatter myself, so agreeably with the +refined Captain, who plainly thought me his captive, and was probably +now and then thinking what was to be done to utilise that little bit of +Bartram, or to beautify some other, when he should see fit to become its +master, as we rambled over these wild but beautiful grounds. + +It was just about then that Milly nudged me rather vehemently, and +whispered 'Look there!' + +I followed with mine the direction of her eyes, and saw my odious cousin, +Dudley, in a flagrant pair of cross-barred peg-tops, and what Milly before +her reformation used to call other 'slops' of corresponding atrocity, +approaching our refined little party with great strides. I really think +that Milly was very nearly ashamed of him. I certainly was. I had no +apprehension, however, of the scene which was imminent. + +The charming Captain mistook him probably for some rustic servant of the +place, for he continued his agreeable remarks up to the very moment when +Dudley, whose face was pale with anger, and whose rapid advance had not +served to cool him, without recollecting to salute either Milly or me, +accosted our elegant companion as follows:-- + +'By your leave, master, baint you summat in the wrong box here, don't you +think?' + +He had planted himself directly in his front, and looked unmistakably +menacing. + +'May I speak to him? Will you excuse me?' said the Captain blandly. + +'Ow--ay, they'll excuse ye ready enough, I dessay; you're to deal wi' me +though. Baint ye in the wrong box now?' + +'I'm not conscious, sir, of being in a box at all,' replied the Captain, +with severe disdain. 'It strikes me you are disposed to get up a row. Let +us, if you please, get a little apart from the ladies if that is your +purpose.' + +'I mean to turn you out o' this the way ye came. If you make a row, so much +the wuss for you, for I'll lick ye to fits.' + +'Tell him not to fight,' whispered Milly; 'he'll a no chance wi' Dudley.' + +I saw Dickon Hawkes grinning over the paling on which he leaned. + +'Mr. Hawkes,' I said, drawing Milly with me toward that unpromising +mediator, 'pray prevent unpleasantness and go between them.' + +'An' git licked o' both sides? Rather not, Miss, thank ye,' grinned Dickon, +tranquilly. + +'Who are you, sir?' demanded our romantic acquaintance, with military +sternness. + +'I'll tell you who you are--you're Oakley, as stops at the Hall, that +Governor wrote, over-night, not to dare show your nose inside the grounds. +You're a half-starved cappen, come down here to look for a wife, and----' + +Before Dudley could finish his sentence, Captain Oakley, than whose face no +regimentals could possibly have been more scarlet, at that moment, struck +with his switch at Dudley's handsome features. + +I don't know how it was done--by some 'devilish cantrip slight.' A smack +was heard, and the Captain lay on his back on the ground, with his mouth +full of blood. + +'How do ye like the taste o' that?' roared Dickon, from his post of +observation. + +In an instant Captain Oakley was on his feet again, hatless, looking quite +frantic, and striking out at Dudley, who was ducking and dipping quite +coolly, and again the same horrid sound, only this time it was double, like +a quick postman's knock, and Captain Oakley was on the grass again. + +'Tapped his smeller, by--!' thundered Dickon, with a roar of laughter. + +'Come away, Milly--I'm growing ill,' said I. + +'Drop it, Dudley, I tell ye; you'll kill him,' screamed Milly. + +But the devoted Captain, whose nose, and mouth, and shirt-front formed now +but one great patch of blood, and who was bleeding beside over one eye, +dashed at him again. + +I turned away. I felt quite faint, and on the point of crying, with mere +horror. + +'Hammer away at his knocker,' bellowed Dickon, in a frenzy of delight. + +'He'll break it now, if it ain't already,' cried Milly, alluding, as I +afterwards understood, to the Captain's Grecian nose. + +'Brayvo, little un!' The Captain was considerably the taller. + +Another smack, and, I suppose, Captain Oakley fell once more. + +'Hooray! the dinner-service again, by ----,' roared Dickon. 'Stick to that. +Over the same ground--subsoil, I say. He han't enough yet.' + +In a perfect tremor of disgust, I was making as quick a retreat as I could, +and as I did, I heard Captain Oakley shriek hoarsely-- + +'You're a d---- prizefighter; I can't box you.' + +'I told ye I'd lick ye to fits,' hooted Dudley. + +'But you're the son of a gentleman, and by ---- you shall fight me _as_ a +gentleman.' + +A yell of hooting laughter from Dudley and Dickon followed this sally. + +'Gi'e my love to the Colonel, and think o' me when ye look in the +glass--won't ye? An' so you're goin' arter all; well, follow what's left o' +yer nose. Ye forgot some o' yer ivories, didn't ye, on th' grass?' + +These and many similar jibes followed the mangled Captain in his retreat. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII + +_DOCTOR BRYERLY REAPPEARS_ + + +No one who has not experienced it can imagine the nervous disgust and +horror which such a spectacle as we had been forced in part to witness +leaves upon the mind of a young person of my peculiar temperament. + +It affected ever after my involuntary estimate of the principal actors in +it. An exhibition of such thorough inferiority, accompanied by such a shock +to the feminine sense of elegance, is not forgotten by any woman. Captain +Oakley had been severely beaten by a smaller man. It was pitiable, but also +undignified; and Milly's anxieties about his teeth and nose, though in a +certain sense horrible, had also a painful suspicion of the absurd. + +People say, on the other hand, that superior prowess, even in such +barbarous contests, inspires in our sex an interest akin to admiration. I +can positively say in my case it was quite the reverse. Dudley Ruthyn stood +lower than ever in my estimation; for though I feared him more, it was by +reason of these brutal and cold-blooded associations. + +After this I lived in constant apprehension of being summoned to my uncle's +room, and being called on for an explanation of my meeting with Captain +Oakley, which, notwithstanding my perfect innocence, looked suspicious, but +no such inquisition resulted. Perhaps he did not suspect me; or, perhaps, +he thought, not in his haste, all women are liars, and did not care to hear +what I might say. I rather lean to the latter interpretation. + +The exchequer just now, I suppose, by some means, was replenished, for next +morning Dudley set off upon one of his fashionable excursions, as poor +Milly thought them, to Wolverhampton. And the same day Dr. Bryerly arrived. + +Milly and I, from my room window, saw him step from his vehicle to the +court-yard. + +A lean man, with sandy hair and whiskers, was in the chaise with him. Dr. +Bryerly descended in the unchangeable black suit that always looked new and +never fitted him. + +The Doctor looked careworn, and older, I thought, by several years, than +when I last saw him. He was not shown up to my uncle's room; on the +contrary, Milly, who was more actively curious than I, ascertained that our +tremulous butler informed him that my uncle was not sufficiently well for +an interview. Whereupon Dr. Bryerly had pencilled a note, the reply to +which was a message from Uncle Silas, saying that he would be happy to see +him in five minutes. + +As Milly and I were conjecturing what it might mean, and before the five +minutes had expired, Mary Quince entered. + +'Wyat bid me tell you, Miss, your uncle wants you _this minute_.' + +When I entered his room, Uncle Silas was seated at the table, with his desk +before him. He looked up. Could anything be more dignified, suffering, and +venerable? + +'I sent for you, dear,' he said very gently, extending his thin, white +hand, and taking mine, which he held affectionately while he spoke, +'because I desire to have no secrets, and wish you thoroughly to know all +that concerns your own interests while subject to my guardianship; and I am +happy to think, my beloved niece, that you requite my candour. Oh, here is +the gentleman. Sit down, dear.' + +Doctor Bryerly was advancing, as it seemed, to shake hands with Uncle +Silas, who, however, rose with a severe and haughty air, not the least +over-acted, and made him a slow, ceremonious bow. I wondered how the homely +Doctor could confront so tranquilly that astounding statue of hauteur. + +A faint and weary smile, rather sad than comtemptuous, was the only sign he +showed of feeling his repulse. + +'How do _you_ do, Miss?' he said, extending his hand, and greeting me after +his ungallant fashion, as if it were an afterthought. + +'I think I may as well take a chair, sir,' said Doctor Bryerly, sitting +down serenely, near the table, and crossing his ungainly legs. + +My uncle bowed. + +'You understand the nature of the business, sir. Do you wish Miss Ruthyn to +remain?' asked Doctor Bryerly. + +'I _sent_ for her, sir,' replied my uncle, in a very gentle and sarcastic +tone, a smile on his thin lips, and his strangely-contorted eyebrows raised +for a moment contemptuously. 'This gentleman, my dear Maud, thinks proper +to insinuate that I am robbing you. It surprises me a little, and, no +doubt, you--I've nothing to conceal, and wished you to be present while +he favours me more particularly with his views. I'm right, I think, in +describing it as _robbery_, sir?' + +'Why,' said Doctor Bryerly thoughtfully, for he was treating the matter +as one of right, and not of feeling, 'it would be, certainly, taking that +which does not belong to you, and converting it to your own use; but, at +the worst, it would more resemble _thieving_, I think, than robbery.' + +I saw Uncle Silas's lip, eyelid, and thin cheek quiver and shrink, as if +with a thrill of tic-douloureux, as Doctor Bryerly spoke this unconsciously +insulting answer. My uncle had, however, the self-command which is learned +at the gaming-table. He shrugged, with a chilly, sarcastic, little laugh, +and a glance at me. + +'Your note says _waste_, I think, sir?' + +'Yes, waste--the felling and sale of timber in the Windmill Wood, the +selling of oak bark and burning of charcoal, as I'm informed,' said +Bryerly, as sadly and quietly as a man might relate a piece of intelligence +from the newspaper. + +'Detectives? or private spies of your own--or, perhaps, my servants, bribed +with my poor brother's money? A very high-minded procedure.' + +'Nothing of the kind, sir.' + +My uncle sneered. + +'I mean, sir, there has been no undue canvass for evidence, and the +question is simply one of right; and it is our duty to see that this +inexperienced young lady is not defrauded.' + +'By her own uncle?' + +'By anyone,' said Doctor Bryerly, with a natural impenetrability that +excited my admiration. + +'Of course you come armed with an opinion?' said my smiling uncle, +insinuatingly. + +'The case is before Mr. Serjeant Grinders. These bigwigs don't return their +cases sometimes so quickly as we could wish.' + +'Then you have _no_ opinion?' smiled my uncle. + +'My solicitor is quite clear upon it; and it seems to me there can be no +question raised, but for form's sake.' + +'Yes, for form's sake you take one, and in the meantime, upon a nice +question of law, the surmises of a thick-headed attorney and of an +ingenious apoth--I beg pardon, physician--are sufficient warrant for +telling my niece and ward, in my presence, that I am defrauding her!' + +My uncle leaned back in his chair, and smiled with a contemptuous patience +over Doctor Bryerly's head, as he spoke. + +'I don't know whether I used that expression, sir, but I am speaking merely +in a technical sense. I mean to say, that, whether by mistake or otherwise, +you are exercising a power which you don't lawfully possess, and that the +effect of that is to impoverish the estate, and, by so much as it benefits +you, to wrong this young lady.' + +'I'm a technical defrauder, I see, and your manner conveys the rest. I +thank my God, sir, I am a _very_ different man from what I once was.' Uncle +Silas was speaking in a low tone, and with extraordinary deliberation. 'I +remember when I should have certainly knocked you down, sir, or _tried_ it, +at least, for a great deal less.' + +'But seriously, sir, what _do_ you propose?' asked Doctor Bryerly, sternly +and a little flushed, for I think the old man was stirred within him; and +though he did not raise his voice, his manner was excited. + +'I propose to defend my rights, sir,' murmured Uncle Silas, very grim. 'I'm +not without an opinion, though you are.' + +You seem to think, sir, that I have a pleasure in annoying you; you are +quite wrong. I hate annoying anyone--constitutionally--I _hate_ it; but +don't you see, sir, the position I'm placed in? I wish I could please +everyone, and do my duty.' + +Uncle Silas bowed and smiled. + +'I've brought with me the Scotch steward from Tolkingden, _your_ estate, +Miss, and if you let us we will visit the spot and make a note of what we +observe, that is, assuming that you admit waste, and merely question our +law.' + +'If you please, sir, you and your Scotchman shall do _no such thing_; and, +bearing in mind that I neither deny nor admit anything, you will please +further never more to present yourself, under any pretext whatsoever, +either in this house or on the grounds of Bartram-Haugh, during my +lifetime.' + +Uncle Silas rose up with the same glassy smile and scowl, in token that the +interview was ended. + +'Good-bye, sir,' said Doctor Bryerly, with a sad and thoughtful air, and +hesitating for a moment, he said to me, 'Do you think, Miss, you could +afford me a word in the hall?' + +'Not a word, sir,' snarled Uncle Silas, with a white flash from his eyes. + +There was a pause. + +'Sit where you are, Maud.' + +Another pause. + +'If you have anything to say to my ward, sir, you will please to say it +_here_.' + +Doctor Bryerly's dark and homely face was turned on me with an expression +of unspeakable compassion. + +'I was going to say, that if you think of any way in which I can be of the +least service, Miss, I'm ready to act, that's all; mind, _any_ way.' + +He hesitated, looking at me with the same expression as if he had something +more to say; but he only repeated-- + +'That's all, Miss.' + +'Won't you shake hands, Doctor Bryerly, before you go?' I said, eagerly +approaching him. + +Without a smile, with the same sad anxiety in his face, with his mind, as +it seemed to me, on something else, and irresolute whether to speak it or +be silent, he took my fingers in a very cold hand, and holding it so, and +slowly shaking it, his grave and troubled glance unconsciously rested on +Uncle Silas's face, while in a sad tone and absent way he said-- + +'Good-bye, Miss.' + +From before that sad gaze my uncle averted his strange eyes quickly, and +looked, oddly, to the window. + +In a moment more Doctor Bryerly let my hand go with a sigh, and with an +abrupt little nod to me, he left the room; and I heard that dismallest of +sounds, the retreating footsteps of a true friend, _lost_. + +'Lead us not into temptation; if we pray so, we must not mock the eternal +Majesty of Heaven by walking into temptation of our own accord.' + +This oracular sentence was not uttered by my uncle until Doctor Bryerly had +been gone at least five minutes. + +'I've forbid him my house, Maud--first, because his perfectly unconscious +insolence tries my patience nearly beyond endurance; and again, because I +have heard unfavourable reports of him. On the question of right which he +disputes, I am perfectly informed. I am your tenant, my dear niece; when +I am gone you will learn how _scrupulous_ I have been; you will see how, +under the pressure of the most agonising pecuniary difficulties, the +terrific penalty of a misspent youth, I have been careful never by a hair's +breadth to transgress the strict line of my legal privileges; alike, as +your tenant, Maud, and as your guardian; how, amid frightful agitations, +I have kept myself, by the miraculous strength and grace vouchsafed +me--_pure_. + +'The world,' he resumed after a short pause, 'has no faith in any man's +conversion; it never forgets what he was, it never believes him anything +better, it is an inexorable and stupid judge. What I was I will describe in +blacker terms, and with more heartfelt detestation, than my traducers--a +reckless prodigal, a godless profligate. Such I was; what I am, I am. If +I had no hope beyond this world, of all men most miserable; but with that +hope, a sinner saved.' + +Then he waxed eloquent and mystical. I think his Swedenborgian studies had +crossed his notions of religion with strange lights. I never could follow +him quite in these excursions into the region of symbolism. I only +recollect that he talked of the deluge and the waters of Mara, and said, 'I +am washed--I am sprinkled,' and then, pausing, bathed his thin temples and +forehead with eau de Cologne; a process which was, perhaps, suggested by +his imagery of sprinkling and so forth. + +Thus refreshed, he sighed and smiled, and passed to the subject of Doctor +Bryerly. + +'Of Doctor Bryerly, I know that he is sly, that he loves money, was born +poor, and makes nothing by his profession. But he possesses many thousand +pounds, under my poor brother's will, of _your money_; and he has glided +with, of course a modest "nolo episcopari," into the acting trusteeship, +with all its multitudinous opportunities, of your immense property. That +is not doing so badly for a visionary Swedenborgian. Such a man _must_ +prosper. But if he expected to make money of me, he is disappointed. +Money, however, he will make of his trusteeship, as you will see. It is a +dangerous resolution. But if he will seek the life of Dives, the worst I +wish him is to find the death of Lazarus. But whether, like Lazarus, he be +borne of angels into Abraham's bosom, or, like the rich man, only dies +and is buried, and _the rest_, neither living nor dying do I desire his +company.' + +Uncle Silas here seemed suddenly overtaken by exhaustion. He leaned back +with a ghastly look, and his lean features glistened with the dew of +faintness. I screamed for Wyat. But he soon recovered sufficiently to smile +his odd smile, and with it and his frown, nodded and waved me away. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + +_QUESTION AND ANSWER_ + + +My uncle, after all, was not ill that day, after the strange fashion of his +malady, be it what it might. Old Wyat repeated in her sour laconic way that +there was 'nothing to speak of amiss with him.' But there remained with +me a sense of pain and fear. Doctor Bryerly, notwithstanding my uncle's +sarcastic reflections, remained, in my estimation, a true and wise friend. +I had all my life been accustomed to rely upon others, and here, haunted by +many unavowed and ill-defined alarms and doubts, the disappearance of an +active and able friend caused my heart to sink. + +Still there remained my dear Cousin Monica, and my pleasant and trusted +friend, Lord Ilbury; and in less than a week arrived an invitation from +Lady Mary to the Grange, for me and Milly, to meet Lady Knollys. It +was accompanied, she told me, by a note from Lord Ilbury to my uncle, +supporting her request; and in the afternoon I received a message to attend +my uncle in his room. + +'An invitation from Lady Mary Carysbroke for you and Milly to meet Monica +Knollys; have you received it?' asked my uncle, so soon as I was seated. +Answered in the affirmative, he continued-- + +'Now, Maud Ruthyn, I expect the truth from you; I have been frank, so shall +you. Have you ever heard me spoken ill of by Lady Knollys?' + +I was quite taken aback. + +I felt my cheeks flushing. I was returning his fierce cold gaze with a +stupid stare, and remained dumb. + +'Yes, Maud, you _have_.' + +I looked down in silence. + +'I _know_ it; but it is right you should answer; have you or have you not?' + +I had to clear my voice twice or thrice. There was a kind of spasm in my +throat. + +'I am trying to recollect,' I said at last. + +'_Do_ recollect,' he replied imperiously. + +There was a little interval of silence. I would have given the world to be, +on any conditions, anywhere else in the world. + +'Surely, Maud, you don't wish to deceive your guardian? Come, the question +is a plain one, and I know the truth already. I ask you again--have you +ever heard me spoken ill of by Lady Knollys?' + +'Lady Knollys,' I said, half articulately,' speaks very freely, and often +half in jest; but,' I continued, observing something menacing in his face, +'I have heard her express disapprobation of some things you have done.' + +'Come, Maud,' he continued, in a stern, though still a low key, 'did she +not insinuate that charge--then, I suppose, in a state of incubation, +the other day presented here full-fledged, with beak and claws, by that +scheming apothecary--the statement that I was defrauding you by cutting +down timber upon the grounds?' + +'She certainly did mention the circumstance; but she also argued that it +might have been through ignorance of the extent of your rights.' + +'Come, come, Maud, you must not prevaricate, girl. I _will_ have it. Does +she not habitually speak disparagingly of me, in your presence, and _to_ +you? _Answer_.' + +I hung my head. + +'Yes or no?' + +'Well, perhaps so--yes,' I faltered, and burst into tears. + +'There, don't cry; it may well shock you. Did she not, to your knowledge, +say the same things in presence of my child Millicent? I know it, I +repeat--there is no use in hesitating; and I command you to answer.' + +Sobbing, I told the truth. + +'Now sit still, while I write my reply.' + +He wrote, with the scowl and smile so painful to witness, as he looked down +upon the paper, and then he placed the note before me-- + +'Read that, my dear.' + +It began-- + +'MY DEAR LADY KNOLLYS.--You have favoured me with a note, adding your +request to that of Lord Ilbury, that I should permit my ward and my +daughter to avail themselves of Lady Mary's invitation. Being perfectly +cognisant of the ill-feeling you have always and unaccountably cherished +toward me, and also of the terms in which you have had the delicacy and the +conscience to speak of me before and to my child and my ward, I can only +express my amazement at the modesty of your request, while peremptorily +refusing it. And I shall conscientiously adopt effectual measures to +prevent your ever again having an opportunity of endeavouring to destroy my +influence and authority over my ward and my child, by direct or insinuated +slander. + +'Your defamed and injured kinsman, + +SILAS RUTHYN.' + +I was stunned; yet what could I plead against the blow that was to isolate +me? I wept aloud, with my hands clasped, looking on the marble face of the +old man. + +Without seeming to hear, he folded and sealed his note, and then proceeded +to answer Lord Ilbury. + +When that note was written, he placed it likewise before me, and I read it +also through. It simply referred him to Lady Knollys 'for an explanation +of the unhappy circumstances which compelled him to decline an invitation +which it would have made his niece and his daughter so happy to accept.' + +'You see, my dear Maud, how frank I am with you,' he said, waving the open +note, which I had just read, slightly before he folded it. 'I think I may +ask you to reciprocate my candour.' + +Dismissed from this interview, I ran to Milly, who burst into tears from +sheer disappointment, so we wept and wailed together. But in my grief I +think there was more reason. + +I sat down to the dismal task of writing to my dear Lady Knollys. I +implored her to make her peace with my uncle. I told her how frank he had +been with me, and how he had shown me his sad reply to her letter. I told +her of the interview to which he had himself invited me with Dr. Bryerly; +how little disturbed he was by the accusation--no sign of guilt; quite the +contrary, perfect confidence. I implored of her to think the best, and +remembering my isolation, to accomplish a reconciliation with Uncle Silas. +'Only think,' I wrote, 'I only nineteen, and two years of solitude before +me. What a separation!' No broken merchant ever signed the schedule of his +bankruptcy with a heavier heart than did I this letter. + +The griefs of youth are like the wounds of the gods--there is an ichor +which heals the scars from which it flows: and thus Milly and I consoled +ourselves, and next day enjoyed our ramble, our talk and readings, with a +wonderful resignation to the inevitable. + +Milly and I stood in the relation of _Lord Duberly_ to _Doctor Pangloss_. I +was to mend her 'cackleology,' and the occupation amused us both. I think +at the bottom of our submission to destiny lurked a hope that Uncle Silas, +the inexorable, would relent, or that Cousin Monica, that siren, would win +and melt him to her purpose. + +Whatever comfort, however, I derived from the absence of Dudley was not to +be of very long duration; for one morning, as I was amusing myself alone, +with a piece of worsted work, thinking, and just at that moment not +unpleasantly, of many things, my cousin Dudley entered the room. + +'Back again, like a bad halfpenny, ye see. And how a' ye bin ever since, +lass? Purely, I warrant, be your looks. I'm jolly glad to see ye, I am; no +cattle going like ye, Maud.' + +'I think I must ask you to let go my hand, as I can't continue my work,' I +said, very stiffly, hoping to chill his enthusiasm a little. + +'Anything to pleasure ye, Maud, 'tain't in my heart to refuse ye nout. I +a'bin to Wolverhampton, lass--jolly row there--and run over to Leamington; +a'most broke my neck, faith, wi' a borrowed horse arter the dogs; ye would +na care, Maud, if I broke my neck, would ye? Well, 'appen, jest a little,' +he good-naturedly supplied, as I was silent. + +'Little over a week since I left here, by George; and to me it's half the +almanac like; can ye guess the reason, Maud?' + +'Have you seen your sister, Milly, or your father, since your return?' I +asked coldly. + +'_They'll_ keep, Maud, never mind 'em; it be you I want to see--it be you +I wor thinkin' on a' the time. I tell ye, lass, I'm all'ays a thinkin' on +ye.' + +'I think you ought to go and see your father; you have been away, you say, +some time. I don't think it is respectful,' I said, a little sharply. + +'If ye bid me go I'd a'most go, but I could na quite; there's nout on earth +I would na do for you, Maud, excep' leaving you.' + +'And that,' I said, with a petulant flush, 'is the only thing on earth I +would ask you to do.' + +'Blessed if you baint a blushin', Maud,' he drawled, with an odious grin. + +His stupidity was proof against everything. + +'It is _too_ bad!' I muttered, with an indignant little pat of my foot and +mimic stamp. + +'Well, you lasses be queer cattle; ye're angry wi' me now, cos ye think +I got into mischief--ye do, Maud; ye know't, ye buxsom little fool, down +there at Wolverhampton; and jest for that ye're ready to turn me off again +the minute I come back; 'tisn't fair.' + +'I don't _understand_ you, sir; and I _beg_ that you'll leave me.' + +'Now, didn't I tell ye about leavin' ye, Maud? 'tis the only thing I can't +compass for yer sake. I'm jest a child in yere hands, I am, ye know. I can +lick a big fellah to pot as limp as a rag, by George!'--(his oaths were not +really so mild)--'ye see summat o' that t'other day. Well, don't be vexed, +Maud; 'twas all along o' you; ye know, I wor a bit jealous, 'appen; but +anyhow I can do it; and look at me here, jest a child, I say, in yer +hands.' + +'I wish you'd go away. Have you nothing to do, and no one to see? Why +_can't_ you leave me alone, sir?' + +''Cos I can't, Maud, that's jest why; and I wonder, Maud, how can you be so +ill-natured, when you see me like this; how can ye?' + +'I wish Milly would come,' said I peevishly, looking toward the door. + +'Well, I'll tell you how it is, Maud. I may as well have it out. I like +you better than any lass that ever I saw, a deal; you're nicer by chalks; +there's none like ye--there isn't; and I wish you'd have me. I ha'n't much +tin--father's run through a deal, he's pretty well up a tree, ye know; but +though I baint so rich as some folk, I'm a better man, 'appen; and if ye'd +take a tidy lad, that likes ye awful, and 'id die for your sake, why here +he is.' + +'What can you mean, sir?' I exclaimed, rising in indignant bewilderment. + +'I mean, Maud, if ye'll marry me, you'll never ha' cause to complain; I'll +never let ye want for nout, nor gi'e ye a wry word.' + +'Actually a proposal!' I ejaculated, like a person speaking in a dream. + +I stood with my hand on the back of a chair, staring at Dudley; and +looking, I dare say, as stupefied as I felt. + +'There's a good lass, ye would na deny me,' said the odious creature, +with one knee on the seat of the chair behind which I was standing, and +attempting to place his arm lovingly round my neck. + +This effectually roused me, and starting back, I stamped upon the ground +with actual fury. + +'What has there ever been, sir, in my conduct, words, or looks, to +warrant this unparalleled audacity? But that you are as stupid as you are +impertinent, brutal, and ugly, you must, long ago, sir, have seen how I +dislike you. How dare you, sir? Don't presume to obstruct me; I'm going to +my uncle.' + +I had never spoken so violently to mortal before. + +He in turn looked a little confounded; and I passed his extended but +motionless arm with a quick and angry step. + +He followed me a pace or two, however, before I reached the door, looking +horridly angry, but stopped, and only swore after me some of those 'wry +words' which I was never to have heard. I was myself, however, too much +incensed, and moving at too rapid a pace, to catch their import; and I had +knocked at my uncle's door before I began to collect my thoughts. + +'Come in,' replied my uncle's voice, clear, thin, and peevish. + +I entered and confronted him. + +'Your son, sir, has insulted me.' + +He looked at me with a cold curiosity steadly for a few seconds, as I stood +panting before him with flaming cheeks. + +'Insulted you?' repeated he. 'Egad, you surprise me!' + +The ejaculation savoured of 'the old man,' to borrow his scriptural phrase, +more than anything I had heard from him before. + +'_How?_' he continued; 'how has Dudley _insulted_ you, my dear child? Come, +you're excited; sit down; take time, and tell me all about it. I did not +know that Dudley was here.' + +'I--he--it _is_ an insult. He knew very well--he _must_ know I dislike him; +and he presumed to make a proposal of marriage to me.' + +'O--o--oh!' exclaimed my uncle, with a prolonged intonation which plainly +said, Is that the mighty matter? + +He looked at me as he leaned back with the same steady curiosity, this time +smiling, which somehow frightened me, and his countenance looked to me +wicked, like the face of a witch, with a guilt I could not understand. + +'And that is the amount of your complaint. He made you a formal proposal of +marriage!' + +'Yes; he proposed for me.' + +As I cooled, I began to feel just a very little disconcerted, and a +suspicion was troubling me that possibly an indifferent person might think +that, having no more to complain of, my language was perhaps a little +exaggerated, and my demeanour a little too tempestuous. + +My uncle, I dare say, saw some symptoms of this misgiving, for, smiling +still, he said-- + +'My dear Maud, however just, you appear to me a little cruel; you don't +seem to remember how much you are yourself to blame; you have one faithful +friend at least, whom I advise your consulting--I mean your looking-glass. +The foolish fellow is young, quite ignorant in the world's ways. He is in +love--desperately enamoured. + + Aimer c'est craindre, et craindre c'est souffrir. + +And suffering prompts to desperate remedies. We must not be too hard on a +rough but romantic young fool, who talks according to his folly and his +pain.' + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX + +_AN APPARITION_ + + +'But, after all,' he suddenly resumed, as if a new thought had struck him, +'is it quite such folly, after all? It really strikes me, dear Maud, that +the subject may be worth a second thought. No, no, you won't refuse to hear +me,' he said, observing me on the point of protesting. 'I am, of course, +assuming that you are fancy free. I am assuming, too, that you don't care +twopence about Dudley, and even that you fancy you dislike him. You know in +that pleasant play, poor Sheridan--delightful fellow!--all our fine spirits +are dead--he makes Mrs. Malaprop say there is nothing like beginning with a +little aversion. Now, though in matrimony, of course, that is only a joke, +yet in love, believe me, it is no such thing. His own marriage with Miss +Ogle, I _know_, was a case in point. She expressed a positive horror of him +at their first acquaintance; and yet, I believe, she would, a few months +later, have died rather than not have married him.' + +I was again about to speak, but with a smile he beckoned me into silence. + +'There are two or three points you must bear in mind. One of the happiest +privileges of your fortune is that you may, without imprudence, marry +simply for love. There are few men in England who could offer you an estate +comparable with that you already possess; or, in fact, appreciably increase +the splendour of your fortune. If, therefore, he were in all other respects +eligible, I can't see that his poverty would be an objection to weigh for +one moment. He is quite a rough diamond. He has been, like many young men +of the highest rank, too much given up to athletic sports--to that society +which constitutes the aristocracy of the ring and the turf, and all that +kind of thing. You see, I am putting all the worst points first. But I have +known so many young men in my day, after a madcap career of a few years +among prizefighters, wrestlers, and jockeys--learning their slang and +affecting their manners--take up and cultivate the graces and the +decencies. There was poor dear Newgate, many degrees lower in that kind of +frolic, who, when he grew tired of it, became one of the most elegant and +accomplished men in the House of Peers. Poor Newgate, he's gone, too! I +could reckon up fifty of my early friends who all began like Dudley, and +all turned out, more or less, like Newgate.' + +At this moment came a knock at the door, and Dudley put in his head most +inopportunely for the vision of his future graces and accomplishments. + +'My good fellow,' said his father, with a sharp sort of playfulness, 'I +happen to be talking about my son, and should rather not be overheard; you +will, therefore, choose another time for your visit.' + +Dudley hesitated gruffly at the door, but another look from his father +dismissed him. + +'And now, my dear, you are to remember that Dudley has fine qualities--the +most affectionate son in his rough way that ever father was blessed with; +most admirable qualities--indomitable courage, and a high sense of honour; +and lastly, that he has the Ruthyn blood--the purest blood, I maintain it, +in England.' + +My uncle, as he said this, drew himself up a little, unconsciously, his +thin hand laid lightly over his heart with a little patting motion, and his +countenance looked so strangely dignified and melancholy, that in admiring +contemplation of it I lost some sentences which followed next. + +'Therefore, dear, naturally anxious that my boy should not be dismissed +from home--as he must be, should you persevere in rejecting his suit--I beg +that you will reserve your decision to this day fortnight, when I will with +much pleasure hear what you may have to say on the subject. But till then, +observe me, not a word.' + +That evening he and Dudley were closeted for a long time. I suspect that he +lectured him on the psychology of ladies; for a bouquet was laid beside my +plate every morning at breakfast, which it must have been troublesome to +get, for the conservatory at Bartram was a desert. In a few days more an +anonymous green parrot arrived, in a gilt cage, with a little note in a +clerk's hand, addressed to 'Miss Ruthyn (of Knowl), Bartram-Haugh,' &c. It +contained only 'Directions for caring green parrot,' at the close of which, +_underlined_, the words appeared--'The bird's name is Maud.' + +The bouquets I invariably left on the table-cloth, where I found them--the +bird I insisted on Milly's keeping as her property. During the intervening +fortnight Dudley never appeared, as he used sometimes to do before, at +luncheon, nor looked in at the window as we were at breakfast. He contented +himself with one day placing himself in my way in the hall in his shooting +accoutrements, and, with a clumsy, shuffling kind of respect, and hat in +hand, he said-- + +'I think, Miss, I must a spoke uncivil t'other day. I was so awful put +about, and didn't know no more nor a child what I was saying; and I wanted +to tell ye I'm sorry for it, and I beg your pardon--very humble, I do.' + +I did not know what to say. I therefore said nothing, but made a grave +inclination, and passed on. + +Two or three times Milly and I saw him at a little distance in our walks. +He never attempted to join us. Once only he passed so near that some +recognition was inevitable, and he stopped and in silence lifted his hat +with an awkward respect. But although he did not approach us, he was +ostentatious with a kind of telegraphic civility in the distance. He opened +gates, he whistled his dogs to 'heel,' he drove away cattle, and then +himself withdrew. I really think he watched us occasionally to render these +services, for in this distant way we encountered him decidedly oftener than +we used to do before his flattering proposal of marriage. + +You may be sure that we discussed, Milly and I, that occurrence pretty +constantly in all sorts of moods. Limited as had been her experience of +human society, she very clearly saw _now_ how far below its presentable +level was her hopeful brother. + +The fortnight sped swiftly, as time always does when something we dislike +and shrink from awaits us at its close. I never saw Uncle Silas during that +period. It may seem odd to those who merely read the report of our last +interview, in which his manner had been more playful and his talk more +trifling than in any other, that from it I had carried away a profounder +sense of fear and insecurity than from any other. It was with a foreboding +of evil and an awful dejection that on a very dark day, in Milly's room, +I awaited the summons which I was sure would reach me from my punctual +guardian. + +As I looked from the window upon the slanting rain and leaden sky, and +thought of the hated interview that awaited me, I pressed my hand to my +troubled heart, and murmured, 'O that I had wings like a dove! then would I +flee away, and be at rest.' + +Just then the prattle of the parrot struck my ear. I looked round on the +wire cage, and remembered the words, 'The bird's name is Maud.' + +'Poor bird!' I said. 'I dare say, Milly, it longs to get out. If it were a +native of this country, would not you like to open the window, and then the +door of that cruel cage, and let the poor thing fly away?' + +'Master wants Miss Maud,' said Wyat's disagreeable tones, at the half-open +door. + +I followed in silence, with the pressure of a near alarm at my heart, like +a person going to an operation. + +When I entered the room, my heart beat so fast that I could hardly speak. +The tall form of Uncle Silas rose before me, and I made him a faltering +reverence. + +He darted from under his brows a wild, fierce glance at old Wyat, and +pointed to the door imperiously with his skeleton finger. The door shut, +and we were alone. + +'A chair?' he said, pointing to a seat. + +'Thank you, uncle, I prefer standing,' I faltered. + +He also stood--his white head bowed forward, the phosphoric glare of his +strange eyes shone upon me from under his brows--his finger-nails just +rested on the table. + +'You saw the luggage corded and addressed, as it stands ready for removal +in the hall?' he asked. + +I had. Milly and I had read the cards which dangled from the trunk-handles +and gun-case. The address was--'Mr. Dudley R. Ruthyn, Paris, _via_ Dover.' + +'I am old--agitated--on the eve of a decision on which much depends. Pray +relieve my suspense. Is my son to leave Bartram to-day in sorrow, or to +remain in joy? Pray answer quickly.' + +I stammered I know not what. I was incoherent--wild, perhaps; but somehow +I expressed my meaning--my unalterable decision. I thought his lips grew +whiter and his eyes shone brighter as I spoke. + +When I had quite made an end, he heaved a great sigh, and turning his eyes +slowly to the right and the left, like a man in a helpless distraction, he +whispered-- + +'God's will be done.' + +I thought he was upon the point of fainting--a clay tint darkened the white +of his face; and, seeming to forget my presence, he sat down, looking with +a despairing scowl on his ashy old hand, as it lay upon the table. + +I stood gazing at him, feeling almost as if I had murdered the old man--he +still gazing askance, with an imbecile scowl, upon his hand. + +'Shall I go, sir?' I at length found courage to whisper. + +'_Go?_' he said, looking up suddenly; and it seemed to me as if a stream of +cold sheet-lightning had crossed and enveloped me for a moment. + +'Go?--oh!--a--yes--_yes_, Maud--go. I must see poor Dudley before his +departure,' he added, as it were, in soliloquy. + +Trembling lest he should revoke his permission to depart, I glided quickly +and noiselessly from the room. + +Old Wyat was prowling outside, with a cloth in her hand, pretending to dust +the carved door-case. She frowned a stare of enquiry over her shrunken arm +on me, as I passed. Milly, who had been on the watch, ran and met me. We +heard my uncle's voice, as I shut the door, calling Dudley. He had been +waiting, probably, in the adjoining room. I hurried into my chamber, with +Milly at my side, and there my agitation found relief in tears, as that of +girlhood naturally does. + +A little while after we saw from the window Dudley, looking, I thought, +very pale, get into a vehicle, on the top of which his luggage lay, and +drive away from Bartram. + +I began to take comfort. His departure was an inexpressible relief. His +final departure! a distant journey! + +We had tea in Milly's room that night. Firelight and candles are inspiring. +In that red glow I always felt and feel more safe, as well as more +comfortable, than in the daylight--quite irrationally, for we know the +night is the appointed day of such as love the darkness better than light, +and evil walks thereby. But so it is. Perhaps the very consciousness of +external danger enhances the enjoyment of the well-lighted interior, just +as the storm does that roars and hurtles over the roof. + +While Milly and I were talking, very cosily, a knock came to the room-door, +and, without waiting for an invitation to enter, old Wyat came in, and +glowering at us, with her brown claw upon the door-handle, she said to +Milly-- + +'Ye must leave your funnin', Miss Milly, and take your turn in your +father's room.' + +'Is he ill?' I asked. + +She answered, addressing not me, but Milly-- + +'A wrought two hours in a fit arter Master Dudley went. 'Twill be the death +o' him, I'm thinkin', poor old fellah. I wor sorry myself when I saw Master +Dudley a going off in the moist to-day, poor fellah. There's trouble enough +in the family without a' that; but 'twon't be a family long, I'm thinkin'. +Nout but trouble, nout but trouble, since late changes came.' + +Judging by the sour glance she threw on me as she said this, I concluded +that I represented those 'late changes' to which all the sorrows of the +house were referred. + +I felt unhappy under the ill-will even of this odious old woman, being one +of those unhappily constructed mortals who cannot be indifferent when +they reasonably ought, and always yearn after kindness, even that of the +worthless. + +'I must go. I wish you'd come wi' me, Maud, I'm so afraid all alone,' said +Milly, imploringly. + +'Certainly, Milly,' I answered, not liking it, you may be sure; 'you shan't +sit there alone.' + +So together we went, old Wyat cautioning us for our lives to make no noise. + +We passed through the old man's sitting-room, where that day had occurred +his brief but momentous interview with me, and his parting with his only +son, and entered the bed-room at the farther end. + +A low fire burned in the grate. The room was in a sort of twilight. A +dim lamp near the foot of the bed at the farther side was the only light +burning there. Old Wyat whispered an injunction not to speak above our +breaths, nor to leave the fireside unless the sick man called or showed +signs of weariness. These were the directions of the doctor, who had been +there. + +So Milly and I sat ourselves down near the hearth, and old Wyat left us to +our resources. We could hear the patient breathe; but he was quite still. +In whispers we talked; but our conversation flagged. I was, after my wont, +upbraiding myself for the suffering I had inflicted. After about half an +hour's desultory whispering, and intervals, growing longer and longer, of +silence, it was plain that Milly was falling asleep. + +She strove against it, and I tried hard to keep her talking; but it would +not do--sleep overcame her; and I was the only person in that ghastly room +in a state of perfect consciousness. + +There were associations connected with my last vigil there to make my +situation very nervous and disagreeable. Had I not had so much to occupy my +mind of a distinctly practical kind--Dudley's audacious suit, my uncle's +questionable toleration of it, and my own conduct throughout that most +disagreeable period of my existence,--I should have felt my present +situation a great deal more. + +As it was, I thought of my real troubles, and something of Cousin Knollys, +and, I confess, a good deal of Lord Ilbury. When looking towards the door, +I thought I saw a human face, about the most terrible my fancy could have +called up, looking fixedly into the room. It was only a 'three-quarter,' +and not the whole figure--the door hid that in a great measure, and I +fancied I saw, too, a portion of the fingers. The face gazed toward the +bed, and in the imperfect light looked like a livid mask, with chalky eyes. + +I had so often been startled by similar apparitions formed by accidental +lights and shadows disguising homely objects, that I stooped forward, +expecting, though tremulously, to see this tremendous one in like manner +dissolve itself into its harmless elements; and now, to my unspeakable +terror, I became perfectly certain that I saw the countenance of Madame de +la Rougierre. + +With a cry, I started back, and shook Milly furiously from her trance. + +'Look! look!' I cried. But the apparition or illusion was gone. + +I clung so fast to Milly's arm, cowering behind her, that she could not +rise. + +'Milly! Milly! Milly! Milly!' I went on crying, like one struck with +idiotcy, and unable to say anything else. + +In a panic, Milly, who had seen nothing, and could conjecture nothing of +the cause of my terror, jumped up, and clinging to one another, we huddled +together into the corner of the room, I still crying wildly, 'Milly! Milly! +_Milly_!' and nothing else. + +'What is it--where is it--what do you see?' cried Milly, clinging to me as +I did to her. + +'It will come again; it will come; oh, heaven!' + +'What--what is it, Maud?' + +'The face! the face!' I cried. 'Oh, Milly! Milly! Milly!' + +We heard a step softly approaching the open door, and, in a horrible _sauve +qui peut_, we rushed and stumbled together toward the light by Uncle +Silas's bed. But old Wyat's voice and figure reassured us. + +'Milly,' I said, so soon as, pale and very faint, I reached my apartment, +'no power on earth shall ever tempt me to enter that room again after +dark.' + +'Why, Maud dear, what, in Heaven's name, did you see?' said Milly, scarcely +less terrified. + +'Oh, I can't; I can't; I can't, Milly. Never ask me. It is haunted. The +room is haunted _horribly_.' + +'Was it Charke?' whispered Milly, looking over her shoulder, all aghast. + +'No, no--don't ask me; a fiend in a worse shape.' I was relieved at last by +a long fit of weeping; and all night good Mary Quince sat by me, and Milly +slept by my side. Starting and screaming, and drugged with sal-volatile, I +got through that night of supernatural terror, and saw the blessed light of +heaven again. + +Doctor Jolks, when he came to see my uncle in the morning, visited me also. +He pronounced me very hysterical, made minute enquiries respecting my hours +and diet, asked what I had had for dinner yesterday. There was something +a little comforting in his cool and confident pooh-poohing of the ghost +theory. The result was, a regimen which excluded tea, and imposed chocolate +and porter, earlier hours, and I forget all beside; and he undertook to +promise that, if I would but observe his directions, I should never see a +ghost again. + + + + +CHAPTER L + +_MILLY'S FAREWELL_ + + +A few days' time saw me much better. Doctor Jolks was so contemptuously +sturdy and positive on the point, that I began to have comfortable doubts +about the reality of my ghost; and having still a horror indescribable +of the illusion, if such it were, the room in which it appeared, and +everything concerning it, I would neither speak, nor, so far as I could, +think of it. + +So, though Bartram-Haugh was gloomy as well as beautiful, and some of its +associations awful, and the solitude that reigned there sometimes almost +terrible, yet early hours, bracing exercise, and the fine air that +predominates that region, soon restored my nerves to a healthier tone. + +But it seemed to me that Bartram-Haugh was to be to me a vale of tears; or +rather, in my sad pilgrimage, that valley of the shadow of death through +which poor Christian fared alone and in the dark. + +One day Milly ran into the parlour, pale, with wet cheeks, and, without +saying a word, threw her arms about my neck, and burst into a paroxysm of +weeping. + +'What is it, Milly--what's the matter, dear--what is it?' I cried aghast, +but returning her close embrace heartily. + +'Oh! Maud--Maud darling, he's going to send me away.' + +'Away, dear! _where_ away? And leave me alone in this dreadful solitude, +where he knows I shall die of fear and grief without you? Oh! no--no, it +_must_ be a mistake.' + +'I'm going to France, Maud--I'm going away. Mrs. Jolks is going to London, +day ar'ter to-morrow, and I'm to go wi' her; and an old French lady, he +says, from the school will meet me there, and bring me the rest o' the +way.' + +'Oh--ho--ho--ho--ho--o--o--o!' cried poor Milly, hugging me closer still, +with her head buried in my shoulder, and swaying me about like a wrestler, +in her agony. + +'I never wor away from home afore, except that little bit wi' you over +there at Elverston; and you wor wi' me then, Maud; an' I love ye--better +than Bartram--better than a'; an' I think I'll die, Maud, if they take me +away.' + +I was just as wild in my woe as poor Milly; and it was not until we had +wept together for a full hour--sometimes standing--sometimes walking up and +down the room--sometimes sitting and getting up in turns to fall on one +another's necks,--that Milly, plucking her handkerchief from her pocket, +drew a note from it at the same time, which, as it fell upon the floor, she +at once recollected to be one from Uncle Silas to me. + +It was to this effect:-- + +'I wish to apprise my dear niece and ward of my plans. Milly proceeds to +an admirable French school, as a pensionnaire, and leaves this on Thursday +next. If after three months' trial she finds it in any way objectionable, +she returns to us. If, on the contrary, she finds it in all respects the +charming residence it has been presented to me, you, on the expiration of +that period, join her there, until the temporary complication of my affairs +shall have been so far adjusted as to enable me to receive you once more +at Bartram. Hoping for happier days, and wishing to assure you that three +months is the extreme limit of your separation from my poor Milly, I have +written this, feeling alas! unequal to seeing you at present. 'Bartram, +Tuesday. + +'P.S.--I can have no objection to your apprising Monica Knollys of these +arrangements. You will understand, of course, not a copy of this letter, +but its substance.' + +Over this document, scanning it as lawyers do a new Act of Parliament, we +took comfort. After all, it was limited; a separation not to exceed three +months, possibly much shorter. On the whole, too, I pleased myself with +thinking Uncle Silas's note, though peremptory, was kind. + +Our paroxysms subsided into sadness; a close correspondence was arranged. +Something of the bustle and excitement of change supervened. If it turned +out to be, in truth, a 'charming residence,' how very delightful our +meeting in France, with the interest of foreign scenery, ways, and faces, +would be! + +So Thursday arrived--a new gush of sorrow--a new brightening up--and, amid +regrets and anticipations, we parted at the gate at the farther end of the +Windmill Wood. Then, of course, were more good-byes, more embraces, and +tearful smiles. Good Mrs. Jolks, who met us there, was in a huge fuss; I +believe it was her first visit to the metropolis, and she was in proportion +heated and important, and terrified about the train, so we had not many +last words. + +I watched poor Milly, whose head was stretched from the window, her hand +waving many adieux, until the curve of the road, and the clump of old +ash-trees, thick with ivy, hid Milly, carriage and all, from view. My eyes +filled again with tears. I turned towards Bartram. At my side stood honest +Mary Quince. + +'Don't take on so, Miss; 'twon't be no time passing; three months is +nothing at all,' she said, smiling kindly. + +I smiled through my tears and kissed the good creature, and so side by side +we re-entered the gate. + +The lithe young man in fustian, whom I had seen talking with Beauty on the +morning of our first encounter with that youthful Amazon, was awaiting our +re-entrance with the key in his hand. He stood half behind the open wicket. +One lean brown cheek, one shy eye, and his sharp up-turned nose, I saw as +we passed. He was treating me to a stealthy scrutiny, and seemed to shun my +glance, for he shut the door quickly, and busied himself locking it, and +then began stubbing up some thistles which grew close by, with the toe of +his thick shoe, his back to us all the time. + +It struck me that I recognised his features, and I asked Mary Quince. + +'Have you seen that young man before, Quince?' + +'He brings up game for your uncle, sometimes, Miss, and lends a hand in the +garden, I believe.' + +'Do you know his name, Mary?' + +'They call him Tom, I don't know what more, Miss.' + +'Tom,' I called; 'please, Tom, come here for a moment.' + +Tom turned about, and approached slowly. He was more civil than the Bartram +people usually were, for he plucked off his shapeless cap of rabbit-skin +with a clownish respect. + +'Tom, what is your other name,--Tom _what_, my good man?' I asked. + +'Tom Brice, ma'am.' + +'Haven't I seen you before, Tom Brice?' I pursued, for my curiosity was +excited, and with it much graver feelings; for there certainly _was_ a +resemblance in Tom's features to those of the postilion who had looked so +hard at me as I passed the carriage in the warren at Knowl, on the evening +of the outrage which had scared that quiet place. + +''Appen you may have, ma'am,' he answered, quite coolly, looking down the +buttons of his gaiters. + +'Are you a good whip--do you drive well?' + +'I'll drive a plough wi' most lads hereabout,' answered Tom. + +'Have you ever been to Knowl, Tom?' + +Tom gaped very innocently. + +'Anan,' he said. + +'Here, Tom, is half-a-crown.' + +He took it readily enough. + +'That be very good,' said Tom, with a nod, having glanced sharply at the +coin. + +I can't say whether he applied that term to the coin, or to his luck, or to +my generous self. + +'Now, Tom, you'll tell me, have you ever been to Knowl?' + +'Maught a' bin, ma'am, but I don't mind no sich place--no.' + +As Tom spoke this with great deliberation, like a man who loves truth, +putting a strain upon his memory for its sake, he spun the silver coin two +or three times into the air and caught it, staring at it the while, with +all his might. + +'Now, Tom, recollect yourself, and tell me the truth, and I'll be a friend +to you. Did you ride postilion to a carriage having a lady in it, and, I +think, several gentlemen, which came to the grounds of Knowl, when the +party had their luncheon on the grass, and there was a--a quarrel with the +gamekeepers? Try, Tom, to recollect; you shall, upon my honour, have no +trouble about it, and I'll try to serve you.' + +Tom was silent, while with a vacant gape he watched the spin of his +half-crown twice, and then catching it with a smack in his hand, which he +thrust into his pocket, he said, still looking in the same direction-- + +'I never rid postilion in my days, ma'am. I know nout o' sich a place, +though 'appen I maught a' bin there; Knowl, ye ca't. I was ne'er out o' +Derbyshire but thrice to Warwick fair wi' horses be rail, an' twice to +York.' + +'You're certain, Tom?' + +'Sartin sure, ma'am.' + +And Tom made another loutish salute, and cut the conference short by +turning off the path and beginning to hollo after some trespassing cattle. + +I had not felt anything like so nearly sure in this essay at identification +as I had in that of Dudley. Even of Dudley's identity with the Church +Scarsdale man, I had daily grown less confident; and, indeed, had it been +proposed to bring it to the test of a wager, I do not think I should, +in the language of sporting gentlemen, have cared to 'back' my original +opinion. There was, however, a sufficient uncertainty to make me +uncomfortable; and there was another uncertainty to enhance the unpleasant +sense of ambiguity. + +On our way back we passed the bleaching trunks and limbs of several ranks +of barkless oaks lying side by side, some squared by the hatchet, perhaps +sold, for there were large letters and Roman numerals traced upon them in +red chalk. I sighed as I passed them by, not because it was wrongfully +done, for I really rather leaned to the belief that Uncle Silas was well +advised in point of law. But, alas! here lay low the grand old family +decorations of Bartram-Haugh, not to be replaced for centuries to come, +under whose spreading boughs the Ruthyns of three hundred years ago had +hawked and hunted! + +On the trunk of one of these I sat down to rest, Mary Quince meanwhile +pattering about in unmeaning explorations. While thus listlessly seated, +the girl Meg Hawkes, walked by, carrying a basket. + +'Hish!' she said quickly, as she passed, without altering a pace or raising +her eyes; 'don't ye speak nor look--fayther spies us; I'll tell ye next +turn.' + +'Next turn'--when was that? Well, she might be returning; and as she could +not then say more than she had said, in merely passing without a pause, I +concluded to wait for a short time and see what would come of it. + +After a short time I looked about me a little, and I saw Dickon +Hawkes--Pegtop, as poor Milly used to call him--with an axe in his hand, +prowling luridly among the timber. + +Observing that I saw him, he touched his hat sulkily, and by-and-by passed +me, muttering to himself. He plainly could not understand what business I +could have in that particular part of the Windmill Wood, and let me see it +in his countenance. + +His daughter did pass me again; but this time he was near, and she was +silent. Her next transit occurred as he was questioning Mary Quince at some +little distance; and as she passed precisely in the same way, she said-- + +'Don't you be alone wi' Master Dudley nowhere for the world's worth.' + +The injunction was so startling that I was on the point of questioning the +girl. But I recollected myself, and waited in the hope that in her future +transits she might be more explicit. But one word more she did not utter, +and the jealous eye of old Pegtop was so constantly upon us that I +refrained. + +There was vagueness and suggestion enough in the oracle to supply work for +many an hour of anxious conjecture, and many a horrible vigil by night. Was +I never to know peace at Bartram-Haugh? + +Ten days of poor Milly's absence, and of my solitude, had already passed, +when my uncle sent for me to his room. + +When old Wyat stood at the door, mumbling and snarling her message, my +heart died within me. + +It was late--just that hour when dejected people feel their anxieties +most--when the cold grey of twilight has deepened to its darkest shade, and +before the cheerful candles are lighted, and the safe quiet of the night +sets in. + +When I entered my uncle's sitting-room--though his window-shutters were +open and the wan streaks of sunset visible through them, like narrow lakes +in the chasms of the dark western clouds--a pair of candles were burning; +one stood upon the table by his desk, the other on the chimneypiece, before +which his tall, thin figure stooped. His hand leaned on the mantelpiece, +and the light from the candle just above his bowed head touched his silvery +hair. He was looking, as it seemed, into the subsiding embers of the fire, +and was a very statue of forsaken dejection and decay. + +'Uncle!' I ventured to say, having stood for some time unperceived near his +table. + +'Ah, yes, Maud, my dear child--my _dear_ child.' + +He turned, and with the candle in his hand, smiling his silvery smile of +suffering on me. He walked more feebly and stiffly, I thought, than I had +ever seen him move before. + +'Sit down, Maud--pray sit there.' + +I took the chair he indicated. + +'In my misery and my solitude, Maud, I have invoked you like a spirit, and +you appear.' + +With his two hands leaning on the table, he looked across at me, in a +stooping attitude; he had not seated himself. I continued silent until it +should be his pleasure to question or address me. + +At last he said, raising himself and looking upward, with a wild +adoration--his finger-tips elevated and glimmering in the faint mixed +light-- + +'No, I thank my Creator, I am not quite forsaken.' + +Another silence, during which he looked steadfastly at me, and muttered, as +if thinking aloud-- + +'My guardian angel!--my guardian angel! Maud, _you_ have a heart.' He +addressed me suddenly--'Listen, for a few moments, to the appeal of an old +and broken-hearted man--your guardian--your uncle--your _suppliant_. I had +resolved never to speak to you more on this subject. But I was wrong. It +was pride that inspired me--mere pride.' + +I felt myself growing pale and flushed by turns during the pause that +followed. + +'I'm very miserable--very nearly desperate. What remains for me--what +remains? Fortune has done her worst--thrown in the dust, her wheels rolled +over me; and the servile world, who follow her chariot like a mob, stamp +upon the mangled wretch. All this had passed over me, and left me scarred +and bloodless in this solitude. It was not my fault, Maud--I say it was no +fault of mine; I have no remorse, though more regrets than I can count, +and all scored with fire. As people passed by Bartram, and looked upon its +neglected grounds and smokeless chimneys, they thought my plight, I dare +say, about the worst a proud man could be reduced to. They could not +imagine one half its misery. But this old hectic--this old epileptic--this +old spectre of wrongs, calamities, and follies, had still one hope--my +manly though untutored son--the last male scion of the Ruthyns. Maud, have +I lost him? His fate--my fate--I may say _Milly's fate_;--we all await your +sentence. He loves you, as none but the very young can love, and that once +only in a life. He loves you desperately--a most affectionate nature--a +Ruthyn, the best blood in England--the last man of the race; and I--if I +lose him I lose all; and you will see me in my coffin, Maud, before many +months. I stand before you in the attitude of a suppliant--shall I kneel?' + +His eyes were fixed on me with the light of despair, his knotted hands +clasped, his whole figure bowed toward me. I was inexpressibly shocked and +pained. + +'Oh, uncle! uncle!' I cried, and from very excitement I burst into tears. + +I saw that his eyes were fixed on me with a dismal scrutiny. I think he +divined the nature of my agitation; but he determined, notwithstanding, to +press me while my helpless agitation continued. + +'You see my suspense--you see my miserable and frightful suspense. You are +kind, Maud; you love your father's memory; your pity your father's brother; +you would not say no, and place a pistol at his head?' + +'Oh! I must--I must--I _must_ say no. Oh! spare me, uncle, for Heaven's +sake. Don't question me--don't press me. I could not--I _could_ not do what +you ask.' + +'I yield, Maud--I yield, my dear. I will _not_ press you; you shall have +time, your _own_ time, to think. I will accept no answer now--no, _none_, +Maud.' + +He said this, raising his thin hand to silence me. + +'There, Maud, enough. I have spoken, as I always do to you, frankly, +perhaps too frankly; but agony and despair will speak out, and plead, even +with the most obdurate and cruel.' + +With these words Uncle Silas entered his bed-chamber, and shut the door, +not violently, but with a resolute hand, and I thought I heard a cry. + +I hastened to my own room. I threw myself on my knees, and thanked Heaven +for the firmness vouchsafed me; I could not believe it to have been my own. + +I was more miserable in consequence of this renewed suit on behalf of +my odious cousin than I can describe. My uncle had taken such a line of +importunity that it became a sort of agony to resist. I thought of the +possibility of my hearing of his having made away with himself, and was +every morning relieved when I heard that he was still as usual. I have +often wondered since at my own firmness. In that dreadful interview with my +uncle I had felt, in the whirl and horror of my mind, on the very point +of submitting, just as nervous people are said to throw themselves over +precipices through sheer dread of falling. + + + + +CHAPTER LI + +_SARAH MATILDA COMES TO LIGHT_ + + +Some time after this interview, one day as I sat, sad enough, in my room, +looking listlessly from the window, with good Mary Quince, whom, whether +in the house or in my melancholy rambles, I always had by my side, I +was startled by the sound of a loud and shrill female voice, in violent +hysterical action, gabbling with great rapidity, sobbing, and very nearly +screaming in a sort of fury. + +I started up, staring at the door. + +'Lord bless us!' cried honest Mary Quince, with round eyes and mouth agape, +staring in the same direction. + +'Mary--Mary, what can it be?' + +'Are they beating some one down yonder? I don't know where it comes from,' +gasped Quince. + +'I will--I will--I'll see her. It's her I want. +Oo--hoo--hoo--hoo--oo--o--Miss Maud Ruthyn of Knowl. Miss Ruthyn of Knowl. +Hoo--hoo--hoo--hoo--oo!' + +'What on earth can it be?' I exclaimed, in great bewilderment and terror. + +It was now plainly very near indeed, and I heard the voice of our mild and +shaky butler evidently remonstrating with the distressed damsel. + +'I'll see her,' she continued, pouring a torrent of vile abuse upon me, +which stung me with a sudden sense of anger. What had I done to be afraid +of anyone? How dared anyone in my uncle's house--in _my_ house--mix my name +up with her detestable scurrilities? + +'For Heaven's sake, Miss, don't ye go out,' cried poor Quince; 'it's some +drunken creature.' + +But I was very angry, and, like a fool as I was, I threw open the door, +exclaiming in a loud and haughty key-- + +'Here is Miss Ruthyn of Knowl. Who wants to see her?' + +A pink and white young lady, with black tresses, violent, weeping, shrill, +voluble, was flouncing up the last stair, and shook her dress out on the +lobby; and poor old Giblets, as Milly used to call him, was following in +her wake, with many small remonstrances and entreaties, perfectly unheeded. + +The moment I looked at this person, it struck me that she was the identical +lady whom I had seen in the carriage at Knowl Warren. The next moment I was +in doubt; the next, still more so. She was decidedly thinner, and dressed +by no means in such lady-like taste. Perhaps she was hardly like her at +all. I began to distrust all these resemblances, and to fancy, with a +shudder, that they originated, perhaps, only in my own sick brain. + +On seeing me, this young lady--as it seemed to me, a good deal of the +barmaid or lady's-maid species--dried her eyes fiercely, and, with a +flaming countenance, called upon me peremptorily to produce her 'lawful +husband.' Her loud, insolent, outrageous attack had the effect of enhancing +my indignation, and I quite forget what I said to her, but I well remember +that her manner became a good deal more decent. She was plainly under the +impression that I wanted to appropriate her husband, or, at least, that he +wanted to marry me; and she ran on at such a pace, and her harangue was so +passionate, incoherent, and unintelligible, that I thought her out of her +mind: she was far from it, however. I think if she had allowed me even +a second for reflection, I should have hit upon her meaning. As it was, +nothing could exceed my perplexity, until, plucking a soiled newspaper from +her pocket, she indicated a particular paragraph, already sufficiently +emphasised by double lines of red ink at its sides. It was a Lancashire +paper, of about six weeks since, and very much worn and soiled for its age. +I remember in particular a circular stain from the bottom of a vessel, +either of coffee or brown stout. The paragraph was as follows, recording an +event a year or more anterior to the date of the paper:-- + +'MARRIAGE.--On Tuesday, August 7, 18--, at Leatherwig Church, by the Rev. +Arthur Hughes, Dudley R. Ruthyn, Esq., only son and heir of Silas Ruthyn, +Esq., of Bartram-Haugh, Derbyshire, to Sarah Matilda, second daughter of +John Mangles, Esq., of Wiggan, in this county.' + +At first I read nothing but amazement in this announcement, but in another +moment I felt how completely I was relieved; and showing, I believe, my +intense satisfaction in my countenance--for the young lady eyed me with +considerable surprise and curiosity--I said-- + +'This is extremely important. You must see Mr. Silas Ruthyn this moment. I +am certain he knows nothing of it. I will conduct you to him.' + +'No more he does--I know that myself,' she replied, following me with a +self-asserting swagger, and a great rustling of cheap silk. + +As we entered, Uncle Silas looked up from his sofa, and closed his _Revue +des Deux Mondes_. + +'What is all this?' he enquired, drily. + +'This lady has brought with her a newspaper containing an extraordinary +statement which affects our family,' I answered. + +Uncle Silas raised himself, and looked with a hard, narrow scrutiny at the +unknown young lady. + +'A libel, I suppose, in the paper?' he said, extending his hand for it. + +'No, uncle--no; only a marriage,' I answered. + +'Not Monica?' he said, as he took it. 'Pah, it smells all over of tobacco +and beer,' he added, throwing a little eau de Cologne over it. + +He raised it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, saying again 'pah,' +as he did so. + +He read the paragraph, and as he did his face changed from white, all over, +to lead colour. He raised his eyes, and looked steadily for some seconds at +the young lady, who seemed a little awed by his strange presence. + +'And you are, I suppose, the young lady, Sarah Matilda _nee_ Mangles, +mentioned in this little paragraph?' he said, in a tone you would have +called a sneer, were it not that it trembled. + +Sarah Matilda assented. + +'My son is, I dare say, within reach. It so happens that I wrote to arrest +his journey, and summon him here, some days since--some days since--some +days since,' he repeated slowly, like a person whose mind has wandered far +away from the theme on which he is speaking. + +He had rung his bell, and old Wyat, always hovering about his rooms, +entered. + +'I want my son, immediately. If not in the house, send Harry to the +stables; if not there, let him be followed, instantly. Brice is an active +fellow, and will know where to find him. If he is in Feltram, or at a +distance, let Brice take a horse, and Master Dudley can ride it back. He +must be here without the loss of one moment.' + +There intervened nearly a quarter of an hour, during which whenever he +recollected her, Uncle Silas treated the young lady with a hyper-refined +and ceremonious politeness, which appeared to make her uneasy, and even a +little shy, and certainly prevented a renewal of those lamentations and +invectives which he had heard faintly from the stair-head. + +But for the most part Uncle Silas seemed to forget us and his book, and all +that surrounded him, lying back in the corner of his sofa, his chin upon +his breast, and such a fearful shade and carving on his features as made me +prefer looking in any direction but his. + +At length we heard the tread of Dudley's thick boots on the oak boards, +and faint and muffled the sound of his voice as he cross-examined old Wyat +before entering the chamber of audience. + +I think he suspected quite another visitor, and had no expectation of +seeing the particular young lady, who rose from her chair as he entered, in +an opportune flood of tears, crying-- + +'Oh, Dudley, Dudley!--oh, Dudley, could you? Oh, Dudley, your own poor Sal! +You could not--you would not--your lawful wife!' + +This and a good deal more, with cheeks that streamed like a window-pane in +a thunder-shower, spoke Sarah Matilda with all her oratory, working his +arm, which she clung to, up and down all the time, like the handle of a +pump. But Dudley was, manifestly, confounded and dumbfoundered. He stood +for a long time gaping at his father, and stole just one sheepish glance +at me; and, with red face and forehead, looked down at his boots, and then +again at his father, who remained just in the attitude I have described, +and with the same forbidding and dreary intensity in his strange face. + +Like a quarrelsome man worried in his sleep by a noise, Dudley suddenly +woke up, as it were, with a start, in a half-suppressed exasperation, +and shook her off with a jerk and a muttered curse, as she whisked +involuntarily into a chair, with more violence than could have been +pleasant. + +'Judging by your looks and demeanour, sir, I can almost anticipate your +answers,' said my uncle, addressing him suddenly. 'Will you be good +enough--pray, madame (parenthetically to our visitor), command yourself for +a few moments. Is this young person the daughter of a Mr. Mangles, and is +her name Sarah Matilda?' + +'I dessay,' answered Dudley, hurriedly. + +'Is she your wife?' + +'Is she my wife?' repeated Dudley, ill at ease. + +'Yes, sir; it is a plain question.' + +All this time Sarah Matilda was perpetually breaking into talk, and with +difficulty silenced by my uncle. + +'Well, 'appen she says I am--does she?' replied Dudley. + +'Is she your wife, sir?' + +'Mayhap she so considers it, after a fashion,' he replied, with an impudent +swagger, seating himself as he did so. + +'What do _you_ think, sir?' persisted Uncle Silas. + +'I don't think nout about it,' replied Dudley, surlily. + +'Is that account true?' said my uncle, handing him the paper. + +'They wishes us to believe so, at any rate.' + +'Answer directly, sir. We have our thoughts upon it. If it be true, it is +capable of _every_ proof. For expedition's sake I ask you. There is no use +in prevaricating.' + +'Who wants to deny it? It _is_ true--there!' + +'_There!_ I knew he would,' screamed the young woman, hysterically, with a +laugh of strange joy. + +'Shut up, will ye?' growled Dudley, savagely. + +'Oh, Dudley, Dudley, darling! what have I done?' + +'Bin and ruined me, jest--that's all.' + +'Oh! no, no, no, Dudley. Ye know I wouldn't. I could not--_could_ not hurt +ye, Dudley. No, no, no!' + +He grinned at her, and, with a sharp side-nod, said-- + +'Wait a bit.' + +'Oh, Dudley, don't be vexed, dear. I did not mean it. I would not hurt ye +for all the world. Never.' + +'Well, never mind. You and yours tricked me finely; and now you've got +me--that's all.' + +My uncle laughed a very odd laugh. + +'I knew it, of course; and upon my word, madame, you and he make a very +pretty couple,' sneered Uncle Silas. + +Dudley made no answer, looking, however, very savage. + +And with this poor young wife, so recently wedded, the low villain had +actually solicited me to marry him! + +I am quite certain that my uncle was as entirely ignorant as I of Dudley's +connection, and had, therefore, no participation in this appalling +wickedness. + +'And I have to congratulate you, my good fellow, on having secured the +affections of a very suitable and vulgar young woman.' + +'I baint the first o' the family as a' done the same,' retorted Dudley. + +At this taunt the old man's fury for a moment overpowered him. In an +instant he was on his feet, quivering from head to foot. I never saw such +a countenance--like one of those demon-grotesques we see in the Gothic +side-aisles and groinings--a dreadful grimace, monkey-like and insane--and +his thin hand caught up his ebony stick, and shook it paralytically in the +air. + +'If ye touch me wi' that, I'll smash ye, by ----!' shouted Dudley, furious, +raising his hands and hitching his shoulder, just as I had seen him when he +fought Captain Oakley. + +For a moment this picture was suspended before me, and I screamed, I know +not what, in my terror. But the old man, the veteran of many a scene of +excitement, where men disguise their ferocity in calm tones, and varnish +their fury with smiles, had not quite lost his self-command. He turned +toward me and said-- + +'Does he know what he's saying?' + +And with an icy laugh of contempt, his high, thin forehead still flushed, +he sat down trembling. + +'If you want to say aught, I'll hear ye. Ye may jaw me all ye like, and +I'll stan' it.' + +'Oh, I may speak? Thank you,' sneered Uncle Silas, glancing slowly round at +me, and breaking into a cold laugh. + +'Ay, I don't mind cheek, not I; but you must not go for to do that, ye +know. Gammon. I won't stand a blow--I won't fro _no_ one. + +'Well, sir, availing myself of your permission to speak, I may remark, +without offence to the young lady, that I don't happen to recollect the +name Mangles among the old families of England. I presume you have chosen +her chiefly for her virtues and her graces.' + +Mrs. Sarah Matilda, not apprehending this compliment quite as Uncle Silas +meant it, dropped a courtesy, notwithstanding her agitation, and, wiping +her eyes, said, with a blubbered smile-- + +'You're very kind, sure.' + +'I hope, for both your sakes, she has got a little money. I don't see how +you are to live else. You're too lazy for a game-keeper; and I don't +think you could keep a pot-house, you are so addicted to drinking and +quarrelling. The only thing I am quite clear upon is, that you and your +wife must find some other abode than this. You shall depart this evening: +and now, Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Ruthyn, you may quit this room, if you +please.' + +Uncle Silas had risen, and made them one of his old courtly bows, smiling a +death-like sneer, and pointing to the door with his trembling fingers. + +'Come, will ye?' said Dudley, grinding his teeth. 'You're pretty well done +here.' + +Not half understanding the situation, but looking woefully bewildered, she +dropped a farewell courtesy at the door. + +'Will ye _cut_?' barked Dudley, in a tone that made her jump; and suddenly, +without looking about, he strode after her from the room. + +'Maud, how shall I recover this? The vulgar _villain_--the _fool_! What an +abyss were we approaching! and for me the last hope gone--and for me utter, +utter, irretrievable ruin.' + +He was passing his fingers tremulously back and forward along the top of +the mantelpiece, like a man in search of something, and continued so, +looking along it, feebly and vacantly, although there was nothing there. + +'I wish, uncle--you do not know how much I wish--I could be of any use to +you. Maybe I can?' + +He turned, and looked at me sharply. + +'Maybe you can,' he echoed slowly. 'Yes, maybe you can,' he repeated more +briskly.' Let us--let us see--let us think--that d---- fellow!--my head!' + +'You're not well, uncle?' + +'Oh! yes, very well. We'll talk in the evening--I'll send for you.' + +I found Wyat in the next room, and told her to hasten, as I thought he was +ill. I hope it was not very selfish, but such had grown to be my horror of +seeing him in one of his strange seizures, that I hastened from the room +precipitately--partly to escape the risk of being asked to remain. + +The walls of Bartram House are thick, and the recess at the doorway deep. +As I closed my uncle's door, I heard Dudley's voice on the stairs. I did +not wish to be seen by him or by his 'lady', as his poor wife called +herself, who was engaged in vehement dialogue with him as I emerged, and +not caring either to re-enter my uncle's room, I remained quietly ensconced +within the heavy door-case, in which position I overheard Dudley say with a +savage snarl-- + +'You'll jest go back the way ye came. I'm not goin' wi' ye, if that's what +ye be drivin' at--dang your impitins!' + +'Oh! Dudley, dear, what have I done--what _have_ I done--ye hate me so?' + +'What a' ye done? Ye vicious little beast, ye! You've got us turned out an' +disinherited wi' yer d----d bosh, that's all; don't ye think it's enough?' + +I could only hear her sobs and shrill tones in reply, for they were +descending the stairs; and Mary Quince reported to me, in a horrified sort +of way, that she saw him bundle her into the fly at the door, like a truss +of hay into a hay-loft. And he stood with his head in at the window, +scolding her, till it drove away. + +'I knew he wor jawing her, poor thing! By the way he kep' waggin' his +head--an' he had his fist inside, a shakin' in her face I'm sure he looked +wicked enough for anything; an' she a crying like a babby, an' lookin' +back, an' wavin' her wet hankicher to him--poor thing!--and she so young! +'Tis a pity. Dear me! I often think, Miss, 'tis well for me I never was +married. And see how we all would like to get husbands for all that, though +so few is happy together. 'Tis a queer world, and them that's single is +maybe the best off after all.' + + + + +CHAPTER LII + +_THE PICTURE OF A WOLF_ + + +I went down that evening to the sitting-room which had been assigned to +Milly and me, in search of a book--my good Mary Quince always attending me. +The door was a little open, and I was startled by the light of a candle +proceeding from the fireside, together with a considerable aroma of tobacco +and brandy. + +On my little work-table, which he had drawn beside the hearth, lay Dudley's +pipe, his brandy-flask, and an empty tumbler; and he was sitting with one +foot on the fender, his elbow on his knee, and his head resting in his +hand, weeping. His back being a little toward the door, he did not perceive +us; and we saw him rub his knuckles in his eyes, and heard the sounds of +his selfish lamentation. + +Mary and I stole away quietly, leaving him in possession, wondering when +he was to leave the house, according to the sentence which I had heard +pronounced upon him. + +I was delighted to see old 'Giblets' quietly strapping his luggage in the +hall, and heard from him in a whisper that he was to leave that evening by +rail--he did not know whither. + +About half an hour afterwards, Mary Quince, going out to reconnoitre, heard +from old Wyat in the lobby that he had just started to meet the train. + +Blessed be heaven for that deliverance! An evil spirit had been cast out, +and the house looked lighter and happier. It was not until I sat down in +the quiet of my room that the scenes and images of that agitating day began +to move before my memory in orderly procession, and for the first time +I appreciated, with a stunning sense of horror and a perfect rapture of +thanksgiving, the value of my escape and the immensity of the danger which +had threatened me. It may have been miserable weakness--I think it was. But +I was young, nervous, and afflicted with a troublesome sort of conscience, +which occasionally went mad, and insisted, in small things as well as +great, upon sacrifices which my reason now assures me were absurd. Of +Dudley I had a perfect horror; and yet had that system of solicitation, +that dreadful and direct appeal to my compassion, that placing of my feeble +girlhood in the seat of the arbiter of my aged uncle's hope or despair, +been long persisted in, my resistance might have been worn out--who can +tell?--and I self-sacrificed! Just as criminals in Germany are teased, and +watched, and cross-examined, year after year, incessantly, into a sort of +madness; and worn out with the suspense, the iteration, the self-restraint, +and insupportable fatigue, they at last cut all short, accuse themselves, +and go infinitely relieved to the scaffold--you may guess, then, for me, +nervous, self-diffident, and alone, how intense was the comfort of knowing +that Dudley was actually married, and the harrowing importunity which had +just commenced for ever silenced. + +That night I saw my uncle. I pitied him, though I feared him. I was longing +to tell him how anxious I was to help him, if only he could point out the +way. It was in substance what I had already said, but now strongly urged. +He brightened; he sat up perpendicularly in his chair with a countenance, +not weak or fatuous now, but resolute and searching, and which contracted +into dark thought or calculation as I talked. + +I dare say I spoke confusedly enough. I was always nervous in his presence; +there was, I fancy, something mesmeric in the odd sort of influence which, +without effort, he exercised over my imagination. + +Sometimes this grew into a dismal panic, and Uncle Silas--polished, +mild--seemed unaccountably horrible to me. Then it was no longer an +accidental fascination of electro-biology. It was something more. His +nature was incomprehensible by me. He was without the nobleness, without +the freshness, without the softness, without the frivolities of such human +nature as I had experienced, either within myself or in other persons. I +instinctively felt that appeals to sympathies or feelings could no +more affect him than a marble monument. He seemed to accommodate his +conversation to the moral structure of others, just as spirits are said to +assume the shape of mortals. There were the sensualities of the gourmet for +his body, and there ended his human nature, as it seemed to me. Through +that semi-transparent structure I thought I could now and then discern the +light or the glare of his inner life. But I understood it not. + +He never scoffed at what was good or noble--his hardest critic could not +nail him to one such sentence; and yet, it seemed somehow to me that his +unknown nature was a systematic blasphemy against it all. If fiend he was, +he was yet something higher than the garrulous, and withal feeble, demon of +Goethe. He assumed the limbs and features of our mortal nature. He shrouded +his own, and was a profoundly reticent Mephistopheles. Gentle he had been +to me--kindly he had nearly always spoken; but it seemed like the mild talk +of one of those goblins of the desert, whom Asiatic superstition tells of, +who appear in friendly shapes to stragglers from the caravan, beckon to +them from afar, call them by their names, and lead them where they are +found no more. Was, then, all his kindness but a phosphoric radiance +covering something colder and more awful than the grave? + +'It is very noble of you, Maud--it is angelic; your sympathy with a ruined +and despairing old man. But I fear you will recoil. I tell you frankly that +less than twenty thousand pounds will not extricate me from the quag of +ruin in which I am entangled--lost!' + +'Recoil! Far from it. I'll do it. There must be some way.' + +'Enough, my fair young protectress--celestial enthusiast, enough. Though +you do not, yet I recoil. I could not bring myself to accept this +sacrifice. What signifies, even to me, my extrication? I lie a mangled +wretch, with fifty mortal wounds on my crown; what avails the healing of +one wound, when there are so many beyond all cure? Better to let me perish +where I fall; and reserve your money for the worthier objects whom, +perhaps, hereafter may avail to save.' + +'But I _will_ do this. I must. I cannot see you suffer with the power in my +hands unemployed to help you,' I exclaimed. + +'Enough, dear Maud; the will is here--enough: there is balm in your +compassion and good-will. Leave me, ministering angel; for the present I +cannot. If you _will_, we can talk of it again. Good-night.' + +And so we parted. + +The attorney from Feltram, I afterwards heard, was with him nearly all that +night, trying in vain to devise by their joint ingenuity any means by which +I might tie myself up. But there were none. I could not bind myself. + +I was myself full of the hope of helping him. What was this sum to me, +great as it seemed? Truly nothing. I could have spared it, and never felt +the loss. + +I took up a large quarto with coloured prints, one of the few books I had +brought with me from dear old Knowl. Too much excited to hope for sleep in +bed, I opened it, and turned over the leaves, my mind still full of Uncle +Silas and the sum I hoped to help him with. + +Unaccountably one of those coloured engravings arrested my attention. +It represented the solemn solitude of a lofty forest; a girl, in Swiss +costume, was flying in terror, and as she fled flinging a piece of meat +behind her which she had taken from a little market-basket hanging upon her +arm. Through the glade a pack of wolves were pursuing her. + +The narrative told, that on her return homeward with her marketing, she had +been chased by wolves, and barely escaped by flying at her utmost speed, +from time to time retarding, as she did so, the pursuit, by throwing, piece +by piece, the contents of her basket, in her wake, to be devoured and +fought for by the famished beasts of prey. + +This print had seized my imagination. I looked with a curious interest on +the print: something in the disposition of the trees, their great height, +and rude boughs, interlacing, and the awful shadow beneath, reminded me of +a portion of the Windmill Wood where Milly and I had often rambled. Then I +looked at the figure of the poor girl, flying for her life, and glancing +terrified over her shoulder. Then I gazed on the gaping, murderous pack, +and the hoary brute that led the van; and then I leaned back in my chair, +and I thought--perhaps some latent association suggested what seemed a +thing so unlikely--of a fine print in my portfolio from Vandyke's noble +picture of Belisarius. Idly I traced with my pencil, as I leaned back, on +an envelope that lay upon the table, this little inscription. It was mere +fiddling; and, absurd as it looked, there was nothing but an honest meaning +in it:--'20,000_l_. Date Obolum Belisario!' My dear father had translated +the little Latin inscription for me, and I had written it down as a sort +of exercise of memory; and also, perhaps, as expressive of that sort of +compassion which my uncle's fall and miserable fate excited invariably in +me. So I threw this queer little memorandum upon the open leaf of the book, +and again the flight, the pursuit, and the bait to stay it, engaged my eye. +And I heard a voice near the hearthstone, as I thought, say, in a stern +whisper, 'Fly the fangs of Belisarius!' + +'What's that?' said I, turning sharply to Mary Quince. + +Mary rose from her work at the fireside, staring at me with that odd sort +of frown that accompanies fear and curiosity. + +'You spoke? Did you speak?' I said, catching her by the arm, very much +frightened myself. + +'No, Miss; no, dear!' answered she, plainly thinking that I was a little +wrong in my head. + +There could be no doubt it was a trick of the imagination, and yet to this +hour I could recognise that clear stern voice among a thousand, were it to +speak again. + +Jaded after a night of broken sleep and much agitation, I was summoned next +morning to my uncle's room. + +He received me _oddly_, I thought. His manner had changed, and made an +uncomfortable impression upon me. He was gentle, kind, smiling, submissive, +as usual; but it seemed to me that he experienced henceforth toward me the +same half-superstitous repulsion which I had always felt from him. Dream, +or voice, or vision--which had done it? There seemed to be an unconscious +antipathy and fear. When he thought I was not looking, his eyes were +sometimes grimly fixed for a moment upon me. When I looked at him, his eyes +were upon the book before him; and when he spoke, a person not heeding what +he uttered would have fancied that he was reading aloud from it. + +There was nothing tangible but this shrinking from the encounter of our +eyes. I said he was kind as usual. He was even more so. But there was this +new sign of our silently repellant natures. Dislike it could not be. He +knew I longed to serve him. Was it shame? Was there not a shade of horror +in it? + +'I have not slept,' said he. 'For me the night has passed in thought, and +the fruit of it is this--I _cannot_, Maud, accept your noble offer.' + +'I am _very_ sorry,' exclaimed I, in all honesty. + +'I know it, my dear niece, and appreciate your goodness; but there are +many reasons--none of them, I trust, ignoble--and which together render +it impossible. No. It would be misunderstood--my honour shall not be +impugned.' + +'But, sir, that could not be; you have never proposed it. It would be all, +from first to last, _my_ doing.' + +'True, dear Maud, but I know, alas! more of this evil and slanderous world +than your happy inexperience can do. Who will receive our testimony? +None--no, not one. The difficulty--the insuperable moral difficulty is +this--that I should expose myself to the plausible imputation of having +worked upon you, unduly, for this end; and more, that I could not hold +myself quite free from blame. It is your voluntary goodness, Maud. But you +are young, inexperienced; and it is, I hold it, my duty to stand between +you and any dealing with your property at so unripe an age. Some people may +call this Quixotic. In my mind it is an imperious mandate of conscience; +and I peremptorily refuse to disobey it, although within three weeks an +execution will be in this house!' + +I did not quite know what an execution meant; but from two harrowing +novels, with whose distresses I was familiar, I knew that it indicated some +direful process of legal torture and spoliation. + +'Oh, uncle I--oh, sir!--you cannot allow this to happen. What will people +say of me? And--and there is poor Milly--and _everything_! Think what it +will be.' + +'It cannot be helped--_you_ cannot help it, Maud. Listen to me. There will +be an execution here, I cannot say exactly how soon, but, I think, in a +little more than a fortnight. I must provide for your comfort. You must +leave. I have arranged that you shall join Milly, for the present, in +France, till I have time to look about me. You had better, I think, write +to your cousin, Lady Knollys. She, with all her oddities, has a heart. Can +you say, Maud, that I have been kind?' + +'You have never been anything but kind,' I exclaimed. + +'That I've been self-denying when you made me a generous offer?' he +continued. 'That I now act to spare you pain? You may tell her, not as a +message from me, but as a fact, that I am seriously thinking of vacating my +guardianship--that I feel I have done her an injustice, and that, so +soon as my mind is a little less tortured, I shall endeavour to effect a +reconciliation with her, and would wish ultimately to transfer the care +of your person and education to _her_. You may say I have no longer an +interest even in vindicating my name. My son has wrecked himself by a +marriage. I forgot to tell you he stopped at Feltram, and this morning +wrote to pray a parting interview. If I grant it, it shall be the last. I +shall never see him or correspond with him more.' + +The old man seemed much overcome, and held his hankerchief to his eyes. + +'He and his wife are, I understand, about to emigrate; the sooner the +better,' he resumed, bitterly. 'Deeply, Maud, I regret having tolerated his +suit to you, even for a moment. Had I thought it over, as I did the whole +case last night, nothing could have induced me to permit it. But I have +lived for so long like a monk in his cell, my wants and observation limited +to the narrow compass of this chamber, that my knowledge of the world has +died out with my youth and my hopes: and I did not, as I ought to have +done, consider many objections. Therefore, dear Maud, on this one subject, +I entreat, be silent; its discussion can effect nothing now. I was wrong, +and frankly ask you to forget my mistake.' + +I had been on the point of writing to Lady Knollys on this odious subject, +when, happily, it was set at rest by the disclosure of yesterday; and being +so, I could have no difficulty in acceding to my uncle's request. He was +conceding so much that I could not withhold so trifling a concession in +return. + +'I hope Monica will continue to be kind to poor Milly after I am gone.' + +Here there were a few seconds of meditation. + +'Maud, you will not, I think, refuse to convey the substance of what I +have just said in a letter to Lady Knollys, and perhaps you would have +no objection to let me see it when it is written. It will prevent the +possibility of its containing any misconception of what I have just spoken: +and, Maud, you won't forget to say whether I have been kind. It would be +a satisfaction to me to know that Monica was assured that I never either +teased or bullied my young ward.' + +With these words he dismissed me; and forthwith I completed such a letter +as would quite embody what he had said; and in my own glowing terms, +being in high good-humour with Uncle Silas, recorded my estimate of his +gentleness and good-nature; and when I submitted it to him, he expressed +his admiration of what he was pleased to call my cleverness in so exactly +conveying what he wished, and his gratitude for the handsome terms in which +I had spoken of my old guardian. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII + +_AN ODD PROPOSAL_ + + +As I and Mary Quince returned from our walk that day, and had entered the +hall, I was surprised most disagreeably by Dudley's emerging from the +vestibule at the foot of the great staircase. He was, I suppose, in his +travelling costume--a rather soiled white surtout, a great coloured muffler +in folds about his throat, his 'chimney-pot' on, and his fur cap sticking +out from his pocket. He had just descended, I suppose, from my uncle's +room. On seeing me he stepped back, and stood with his shoulders to the +wall, like a mummy in a museum. + +I pretended to have a few words to say to Mary before leaving the hall, +in the hope that, as he seemed to wish to escape me, he would take the +opportunity of getting quickly off the scene. + +But he had changed his mind, it would seem, in the interval; for when I +glanced in that direction again he had moved toward us, and stood in the +hall with his hat in his hand. I must do him the justice to say he looked +horribly dismal, sulky, and frightened. + +'Ye'll gi'e me a word, Miss--only a thing I ought to say--for your good; by +----, mind, it's for _your_ good, Miss.' + +Dudley stood a little way off, viewing me, with his hat in both hands and a +'glooming' countenance. + +I detested the idea of either hearing or speaking to him; but I had no +resolution to refuse, and only saying 'I can't imagine what you can wish to +speak to me about,' I approached him. 'Wait there at the banister, Quince.' + +There was a fragrance of alcohol about the flushed face and gaudy muffler +of this odious cousin, which heightened the effect of his horribly dismal +features. He was speaking, besides, a little thickly; but his manner was +dejected, and he was treating me with an elaborate and discomfited respect +which reassured me. + +'I'm a bit up a tree, Miss,' he said shuffling his feet on the oak floor. +'I behaved a d---- fool; but I baint one o' they sort. I'm a fellah as 'ill +fight his man, an' stan' up to 'm fair, don't ye see? An' _baint_ one o' +they sort--no, _dang_ it, I baint.' + +Dudley delivered his puzzling harangue with a good deal of undertoned +vehemence, and was strangely agitated. He, too, had got an unpleasant way +of avoiding my eye, and glancing along the floor from corner to corner as +he spoke, which gave him a very hang-dog air. + +He was twisting his fingers in his great sandy whisker, and pulling it +roughly enough to drag his cheek about by that savage purchase; and with +his other hand he was crushing and rubbing his hat against his knee. + +'The old boy above there be half crazed, I think; he don't mean half as he +says thof, not he. But I'm in a bad fix anyhow--a regular sell it's been, +and I can't get a tizzy out of him. So, ye see, I'm up a tree, Miss; and he +sich a one, he'll make it a wuss mull if I let him. He's as sharp wi' me as +one o' them lawyer chaps, dang 'em, and he's a lot of I O's and rubbitch o' +mine; and Bryerly writes to me he can't gi'e me my legacy, 'cause he's got +a notice from Archer and Sleigh a warnin' him not to gi'e me as much as a +bob; for I signed it away to governor, he says--which I believe's a lie. I +may a' signed some writing--'appen I did--when I was a bit cut one night. +But that's no way to catch a gentleman, and 'twon't stand. There's justice +to be had, and 'twon't _stand_, I say; and I'm not in 'is hands that way. +Thof I may be a bit up the spout, too, I don't deny; only I baint agoin' +the whole hog all at once. I'm none o' they sort. He'll find I baint.' + +Here Mary Quince coughed demurely from the foot of the stair, to remind me +that the conversation was protracted. + +'I don't very well understand,' I said gravely; 'and I am now going +upstairs.' + +'Don't jest a minute, Miss; it's only a word, ye see. We'll be goin' t' +Australia, Sary Mangles, an' me, aboard the _Seamew_, on the 5th. I'm +for Liverpool to-night, and she'll meet me there, an'--an', please God +Almighty, ye'll never see me more; an I'd rather gi'e ye a lift, Maud, +before I go: an' I tell ye what, if ye'll just gi'e me your written promise +ye'll gi'e me that twenty thousand ye were offering to gi'e the Governor, +I'll take ye cleverly out o' Bartram, and put ye wi' your cousin Knollys, +or anywhere ye like best.' + +'Take me from Bartram--for twenty thousand pounds! Take me away from my +guardian! You seem to forget, sir,' my indignation rising as I spoke, 'that +I can visit my cousin, Lady Knollys, whenever I please.' + +'Well, that is as it may be,' he said, with a sulky deliberation, scraping +about a little bit of paper that lay on the floor with the toe of his boot. + +'It _is_ as it may be, and that is as I say, sir; and considering how you +have treated me--your mean, treacherous, and infamous suit, and your cruel +treason to your poor wife, I am amazed at your effrontery.' + +I turned to leave him, being, in truth, in one of my passions. + +'Don't ye be a flying' out,' he said peremptorily, and catching me roughly +by the wrist,' I baint a-going to vex ye. What a mouth you be, as can't see +your way! Can't ye speak wi' common sense, like a woman--dang it--for once, +and not keep brawling like a brat--can't ye see what I'm saying? I'll take +ye out o' all this, and put ye wi' your cousin, or wheresoever you list, if +ye'll gi'e me what I say.' + +He was, for the first time, looking me in the face, but with contracted +eyes, and a countenance very much agitated. + +'Money?' said I, with a prompt disdain. + +'Ay, money--twenty thousand pounds--_there_. On or off?' he replied, with +an unpleasant sort of effort. + +'You ask my promise for twenty thousand pounds, and you shan't have it.' + +My cheeks were flaming, and I stamped on the ground as I spoke. + +If he had known how to appeal to my better feelings, I am sure I should +have done, perhaps not quite that, all at once at least, but something +handsome, to assist him. But this application was so shabby and insolent! +What could he take me for? That I should suppose his placing me with Cousin +Monica constituted her my guardian? Why, he must fancy me the merest baby. +There was a kind of stupid cunning in this that disgusted my good-nature +and outraged my self-importance. + +'You won't gi'e me that, then?' he said, looking down again, with a frown, +and working his mouth and cheeks about as I could fancy a man rolling a +piece of tobacco in his jaw. + +'Certainly _not_, sir,' I replied. + +'_Take_ it, then,' he replied, still looking down, very black and +discontented. + +I joined Mary Quince, extremely angry. As I passed under the carved oak +arch of the vestibule, I saw his figure in the deepening twilight. The +picture remains in its murky halo fixed in memory. Standing where he last +spoke in the centre of the hall, not looking after me, but downward, and, +as well as I could see, with the countenance of a man who has lost a game, +and a ruinous wager too--that is black and desperate. I did not utter a +syllable on the way up. When I reached my room, I began to reconsider the +interview more at my leisure. I was, such were my ruminations, to have +agreed at once to his preposterous offer, and to have been driven, while he +smirked and grimaced behind my back at his acquaintances, through Feltram +in his dog-cart to Elverston; and then, to the just indignation of my +uncle, to have been delivered up to Lady Knolly's guardianship, and to +have handed my driver, as I alighted, the handsome fare of 20.000_l_. It +required the impudence of Tony Lumpkin, without either his fun or his +shrewdness, to have conceived such a prodigious practical joke. + +'Maybe you'd like a little tea, Miss?' insinuated Mary Quince. + +'What impertinence!' I exclaimed, with one of my angry stamps on the floor. +'Not you, dear old Quince,' I added. 'No--no tea just now.' + +And I resumed my ruminations, which soon led me to this train of +thought--'Stupid and insulting as Dudley's proposition was, it yet involved +a great treason against my uncle. Should I be weak enough to be silent, may +he not, wishing to forestall me, misrepresent all that has passed, so as to +throw the blame altogether upon me?' + +This idea seized upon me with a force which I could not withstand; and on +the impulse of the moment I obtained admission to my uncle, and related +exactly what had passed. When I had finished my narrative, which he +listened to without once raising his eyes, my uncle cleared his throat once +or twice, as if to speak. He was smiling--I thought with an effort, and +with elevated brows. When I concluded, he hummed one of those sliding +notes, which a less refined man might have expressed by a whistle of +surprise and contempt, and again he essayed to speak, but continued silent. +The fact is, he seemed to me very much disconcerted. He rose from his seat, +and shuffled about the room in his slippers, I believe affecting only to +be in search of something, opening and shutting two or three drawers, and +turning over some books and papers; and at length, taking up some loose +sheets of manuscript, he appeared to have found what he was looking for, +and began to read them carelessly, with his back towards me, and with +another effort to clear his voice, he said at last-- + +'And pray, what could the fool mean by all that?' + +'I think he must have taken me for an idiot, sir,' I answered. + +'Not unlikely. He has lived in a stable, among horses and ostlers; he has +always seemed to me something like a centaur--that is a centaur composed +not of man and horse, but of an ape and an ass.' + +And upon this jibe he laughed, not coldly and sarcastically, as was his +wont, but, I thought, flurriedly. And, continuing to look into his papers, +he said, his back still toward me as he read-- + +'And he did not favour you with an exposition of his meaning, which, except +in so far as it estimated his deserts at the modest sum you have +named, appears to me too oracular to be interpreted without a kindred +inspiration?' + +And again he laughed. He was growing more like himself. + +'As to your visiting your cousin, Lady Knollys, the stupid rogue had only +five minutes before heard me express my wish that you should do so before +leaving this. I am quite resolved you shall--that is, unless, dear Maud, +you should yourself object; but, of course, we must wait for an invitation, +which, I conjecture, will not be long in coming. In fact, your letter +will naturally bring it about, and, I trust, open the way to a permanent +residence with her. The more I think it over, the more am I convinced, dear +niece, that as things are likely to turn out, my roof would be no desirable +shelter for you; and that, under all circumstances, hers would. Such were +my motives, Maud, in opening, through your letter, a door of reconciliation +between us.' + +I felt that I ought to have kissed his hand--that he had indicated +precisely the future that I most desired; and yet there was within me a +vague feeling, akin to suspicion--akin to dismay which chilled and overcast +my soul. + +'But, Maud,' he said, 'I am disquieted to think of that stupid jackanapes +presuming to make you such an offer! A creditable situation truly--arriving +in the dark at Elverston, under the solitary escort of that wild young man, +with whom you would have fled from my guardianship; and, Maud, I tremble as +I ask myself the question, would he have conducted you to Elverston at all? +When you have lived as long in the world as I, you will appreciate its +wickedness more justly.' Here there was a little pause. + +'I know, my dear, that were he convinced of his legal marriage with that +young woman,' he resumed, perceiving how startled I looked, 'such an idea, +of course, would not have entered his head; but he does not believe any +such thing. Contrary to fact and logic, he does honestly think that his +hand is still at his disposal; and I certainly do suspect that he would +have employed that excursion in endeavouring to persuade you to think as he +does. Be that how it may, however, it is satisfactory to me to know that +you shall never more be troubled by one word from that ill-regulated young +man. I made him my adieux, such as they were, this evening; and never more +shall he enter the walls of Bartram-Haugh while we two live.' + +Uncle Silas replaced the papers which had ostensibly interested him so +much, and returned. There was a vein which was visible near the angle +of his lofty temple, and in moments of agitation stood out against the +surrounding pallor in a knotted blue cord; and as he came back smiling +askance, I saw this sign of inward tumult. + +'We can, however, afford to despise the follies and knaveries of the world, +Maud, as long as we act, as we have hitherto done, with perfect confidence +in each other. Heaven bless you, dear Maud! Your report troubled me, I +believe, more than it need--troubled me a good deal; but reflection assures +me it is nothing. He is gone. In a few days' time he will be on the sea. I +will issue my orders to-morrow morning, and he will never more, during his +brief stay in England, gain admission to Bartram-Haugh. Good-night, my good +niece; I thank you.' + +And so I returned to Mary Quince, on the whole happier than I had left +her, but still with the confused and jarring vision I could not interpret +perpetually rising before me; and as, from time to time, shapeless +anxieties agitated me, relieving them by appeals to Him who alone is wise +and strong. + +Next day brought me a goodnatured gossiping letter from dear Milly, +written in compulsory French, which was, in some places, very difficult +to interpret. She gave me a very pleasant account of the place, and her +opinion of the girls who were inmates, and mentioned some of the nuns with +high commendation. The language plainly cramped poor Milly's genius; but +although there was by no means so much fun as an honest English letter +would have brought me, there could be no mistake about her liking the +place, and she expressed her honest longing to see me in the most +affectionate terms. + +This letter came enclosed in one to my uncle, from the proper authority +in the convent; and as there was neither address within, nor post-mark +without, I was as much in the dark as ever as to poor Milly's whereabouts. + +Pencilled across the envelope of this letter, in my uncle's hand, were the +words, 'Let me have your answer when sealed, and I will transmit it.--S.R.' + +When, accordingly, some days later, I did place my letter to Milly in my +uncle's hands, he told me the reason of his reserves on the subject. + +'I thought it best, dear Maud, not to plague you with a secret, and Milly's +present address is one. It will in a few weeks become the rallying-point of +our diverse routes, when you shall meet her, and I join you both. Nobody, +until the storm shall have blown over, must know where I am to be found, +except my lawyer; and I think you would prefer ignorance to the trouble of +keeping a secret on which so much may depend.' + +This being reasonable, and even considerate, I acquiesced. + +In that interval there reached me such a charming, gay, and affectionate +letter--a very _long_ letter, too--though the writer was scarcely seven +miles away, from dear Cousin Monica, full of pleasant gossip, and +rose-coloured and golden castles in the air, and the kindest interest in +poor Milly, and the warmest affection for me. + +One other incident varied that interval, if possible more pleasantly than +those. It was the announcement, in a Liverpool paper, of the departure of +the _Seamew_, bound for Melbourne; and among the passengers were reported +'Dudley Ruthyn, Esquire, of Bartram-H., and Mrs. D. Ruthyn.' + +And now I began to breathe freely, I plainly saw the end of my probation +approaching: a short excursion to France, a happy meeting with Milly, and +then a delightful residence with Cousin Monica for the remainder of my +nonage. + +You will say then that my spirits and my serenity were quite restored. Not +quite. How marvellously lie our anxieties, in filmy layers, one over the +other! Take away that which has lain on the upper surface for so long--the +care of cares--the only one, as it seemed to you, between your soul and the +radiance of Heaven--and straight you find a new stratum there. As physical +science tells us no fluid is without its skin, so does it seem with this +fine medium of the soul, and these successive films of care that form upon +its surface on mere contact with the upper air and light. + +What was my new trouble? A very fantastic one, you will say--the illusion +of a self-tormentor. It was the face of Uncle Silas which haunted me. +Notwithstanding the old pale smile, there was a shrinking grimness, and the +always-averted look. + +Sometimes I fancied his mind was disordered. I could not account for the +eerie lights and shadows that flickered on his face, except so. There was +a look of shame and fear of me, amazing as that seems, in the sheen of his +peaked smile. + +I thought, 'Perhaps he blames himself for having tolerated Dudley's +suit--for having urged it on grounds of personal distress--for having +altogether lowered, though under sore temptation, both himself and his +office; and he thinks that he has forfeited my respect.' + +Such was my analysis; but in the _coup-d'oeil_ of that white face that +dazzled me in darkness, and haunted my daily reveries with a faded light, +there was an intangible character of the insidious and the terrible. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV + +_IN SEARCH OF MR. CHARKE'S SKELETON_ + + +On the whole, however, I was unspeakably relieved. Dudley Ruthyn, Esq., +and Mrs. D. Ruthyn, were now skimming the blue waves on the wings of the +_Seamew_, and every morning widened the distance between us, which was to +go on increasing until it measured a point on the antipodes. The Liverpool +paper containing this golden line was carefully preserved in my room; and +like the gentleman who, when much tried by the shrewish heiress whom he +had married, used to retire to his closet and read over his marriage +settlement, I used, when blue devils haunted me, to unfold my newspaper and +read the paragraph concerning the _Seamew_. + +The day I now speak of was a dismal one of sleety snow. My own room seemed +to me cheerier than the lonely parlour, where I could not have had good +Mary Quince so decorously. + +A good fire, that kind and trusty face, the peep I had just indulged in at +my favourite paragraph, and the certainty of soon seeing my dear cousin +Monica, and afterwards affectionate Milly, raised my spirits. + +'So,' said I, 'as old Wyat, you say, is laid up with rheumatism, and can't +turn up to scold me, I think I'll run up stairs and make an exploration, +and find poor Mr. Charke's skeleton in a closet.' + +'Oh, law, Miss Maud, how can you say such things!' exclaimed good old +Quince, lifting up her honest grey head and round eyes from her knitting. + +I had grown so familiar with the frightful tradition of Mr. Charke and his +suicide, that I could now afford to frighten old Quince with him. + +'I am quite serious. I am going to have a ramble up-stairs and down-stairs, +like goosey-goosey-gander; and if I do light upon his chamber, it is all +the more interesting. I feel so like Adelaide, in the "Romance of the +Forest," the book I was reading to you last night, when she commenced her +delightful rambles through the interminable ruined abbey in the forest.' + +'Shall I go with you, Miss?' + +'No, Quince; stay there; keep a good fire, and make some tea. I suspect I +shall lose heart and return very soon;' and with a shawl about me, cowl +fashion, over my head, I stole up-stairs. + +I shall not recount with the particularity of the conscientious heroine of +Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, all the suites of apartments, corridors, and lobbies, +which I threaded in my ramble. It will be enough to mention that I lighted +upon a door at the end of a long gallery, which, I think, ran parallel with +the front of the house; it interested me because it had the air of having +been very long undisturbed. There were two rusty bolts, which did not +evidently belong to its original securities, and had been, though very long +ago, somewhat clumsily superadded. Dusty and rusty they were, but I had no +difficulty in drawing them back. There was a rusty key, I remember it well, +with a crooked handle in the lock; I tried to turn it, but could not. +My curiosity was piqued. I was thinking of going back and getting Mary +Quince's assistance. It struck me, however, that possibly it was not +locked, so I pulled the door and it opened quite easily. I did not find +myself in a strangely-furnished suite of apartments, but at the entrance +of a gallery, which diverged at right angles from that through which I had +just passed; it was very imperfectly lighted, and ended in total darkness. + +I began to think how far I had already come, and to consider whether I +could retrace my steps with accuracy in case of a panic, and I had serious +thoughts of returning. + +The idea of Mr. Charke was growing unpleasantly sharp and menacing; and +as I looked down the long space before me, losing itself among ambiguous +shadows, lulled in a sinister silence, and as it were inviting my entrance +like a trap, I was very near yielding to the cowardly impulse. + +But I took heart of grace and determined to see a little more. I opened a +side-door, and entered a large room, where were, in a corner, some rusty +and cobwebbed bird-cages, but nothing more. It was a wainscoted room, but +a white mildew stained the panels. I looked from the window: it commanded +that dismal, weed-choked quadrangle into which I had once looked from +another window. I opened a door at its farther end, and entered another +chamber, not quite so large, but equally dismal, with the same prison-like +look-out, not very easily discerned through the grimy panes and the sleet +that was falling thickly outside. The door through which I had entered made +a little accidental creak, and, with my heart at my lips, I gazed at it, +expecting to see Charke, or the skeleton of which I had talked so lightly, +stalk in at the half-open aperture. But I had an odd sort of courage which +was always fighting against my cowardly nerves, and I walked to the door, +and looking up and down the dismal passage, was reassured. + +Well, one room more--just that whose deep-set door fronted me, with a +melancholy frown, at the opposite end of the chamber. So to it I glided, +shoved it open, advancing one step, and the great bony figure of Madame de +la Rougierre was before me. + +I could see nothing else. + +The drowsy traveller who opens his sheets to slip into bed, and sees a +scorpion coiled between them, may have experienced a shock the same in +kind, but immeasurably less in degree. + +She sat in a clumsy old arm-chair, with an ancient shawl about her, and +her bare feet in a delft tub. She looked a thought more withered. Her wig +shoved back disclosed her bald wrinkled forehead, and enhanced the ugly +effect of her exaggerated features and the gaunt hollows of her face. With +a sense of incredulity and terror I gazed, freezing, at this evil phantom, +who returned my stare for a few seconds with a shrinking scowl, dismal and +grim, as of an evil spirit detected. + +The meeting, at least then and there, was as complete a surprise for her as +for me. She could not tell how I might take it; but she quickly rallied, +burst into a loud screeching laugh, and, with her old Walpurgis gaiety, +danced some fantastic steps in her bare wet feet, tracking the floor with +water, and holding out with finger and thumb, in dainty caricature, her +slammakin old skirt, while she sang some of her nasal patois with an +abominable hilarity and emphasis. + +With a gasp, I too recovered from the fascination of the surprise. I could +not speak though for some seconds, and Madame was first. + +'Ah, dear Maud, what surprise! Are we not overjoy, dearest, and cannot +speak? I am full of joy--quite charmed--_ravie_--of seeing you. So are you +of me, your face betray. Ah! yes, thou dear little baboon! here is poor +Madame once more! Who could have imagine?' + +'I thought you were in France, Madame,' I said, with a dismal effort. + +'And so I was, dear Maud; I 'av just arrive. Your uncle Silas he wrote to +the superioress for gouvernante to accompany a young lady--that is you, +Maud--on her journey, and she send me; and so, ma chere, here is poor +Madame arrive to charge herself of that affair.' + +'How soon do we leave for France, Madame?' I asked. + +'I do not know, but the old women--wat is her name?' + +'Wyat,' I suggested. + +'Oh! oui, Waiatt;--she says two, three week. And who conduct you to poor +Madame's apartment, my dear Maud?' She inquired insinuatingly. + +'No one, I answered promptly: 'I reached it quite accidentally, and I +can't imagine why you should conceal yourself.' Something like indignation +kindled in my mind as I began to wonder at the sly strategy which had been +practised upon me. + +'I 'av not conceal myself, Mademoiselle,' retorted the governness. 'I 'av +act precisally as I 'av been ordered. Your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, he is +afraid, Waiatt says, to be interrupted by his creditors, and everything +must be done very quaitly. I have been commanded to avoid _me faire voir_, +you know, and I must obey my employer--voila tout!' + +'And for how long have you been residing here?' I persisted, in the same +resentful vein. + +''Bout a week. It is soche triste place! I am so glad to see you, Maud! +I've been so isolee, you dear leetle fool!' + +'You are _not_ glad, Madame; you don't love me--you never did,' I exclaimed +with sudden vehemence. + +'Yes, I am _very_ glad; you know not, chere petite _niaise_, how I 'av +desire to educate you a leetle more. Let us understand one another. You +think I do not love you, Mademoiselle, because you have mentioned to your +poor papa that little _dereglement_ in his library. I have repent very +often that so great indiscretion of my life. I thought to find some letters +of Dr. Braierly. I think that man was trying to get your property, my dear +Maud, and if I had found something I would tell you all about. But it was +very great _sottise_, and you were very right to denounce me to Monsieur. +Je n'ai point de rancune contre vous. No, no, none at all. On the contrary, +I shall be your _gardienne tutelaire_--wat you call?--guardian angel--ah, +yes, that is it. You think I speak _par derision_; not at all. No, my dear +cheaile, I do not speak _par moquerie_, unless perhaps the very least +degree in the world.' + +And with these words Madame laughed unpleasantly, showing the black caverns +at the side of her mouth, and with a cold, steady malignity in her gaze. + +'Yes,' I said; 'I know what you mean, Madame--you _hate_ me.' + +'Oh! wat great ogly word! I am shock! _vous me faites honte_. Poor Madame, +she never hate any one; she loves all her friends, and her enemies she +leaves to Heaven; while I am, as you see, more gay, more _joyeuse_ than +ever, they have not been 'appy--no, they have not been fortunate these +others. Wen I return, I find always some of my enemy they 'av die, and some +they have put themselves into embarrassment, or there has arrived to them +some misfortune;' and Madame shrugged and laughed a little scornfully. + +A kind of horror chilled my rising anger, and I was silent. + +'You see, my dear Maud, it is very natural you should think I hate you. +When I was with Mr. Austin Ruthyn, at Knowl, you know you did not like a +me--never. But in consequence of our intimacy I confide you that which I +'av of most dear in the world, my reputation. It is always so. The pupil +can _calomniate_, without been discover, the gouvernante. 'Av I not been +always kind to you, Maud? Which 'av I use of violence or of sweetness the +most? I am, like other persons, _jalouse de ma reputation_; and it was +difficult to suffer with patience the banishment which was invoked by you, +because chiefly for your good, and for an indiscretion to which I was +excited by motives the most pure and laudable. It was you who spied so +cleverly--eh! and denounce me to Monsieur Ruthyn? Helas! wat bad world it +is!' + +'I do not mean to speak at all about that occurrence, Madame; I will not +discuss it. I dare say what you tell me of the cause of your engagement +here is true, and I suppose we must travel, as you say, in company; but +you must know that the less we see of each other while in this house the +better.' + +'I am not so sure of that, my sweet little _bete_; your education has been +neglected, or rather entirely abandoned, since you 'av arrive at this +place, I am told. You must not be a _bestiole_. We must do, you and I, as +we are ordered. Mr. Silas Ruthyn he will tell us.' + +All this time Madame was pulling on her stockings, getting her boots on, +and otherwise proceeding with her dowdy toilet. I do not know why I stood +there talking to her. We often act very differently from what we would +have done upon reflection. I had involved myself in a dialogue, as wiser +generals than I have entangled themselves in a general action when they +meant only an affair of outposts. I had grown a little angry, and would +not betray the least symptom of fear, although I felt that sensation +profoundly. + +'My beloved father thought you so unfit a companion for me that he +dismissed you at an hour's notice, and I am very sure that my uncle will +think as he did; you are _not_ a fit companion for me, and had my +uncle known what had passed he would never have admitted you to this +house--never!' + +'Helas! _Quelle disgrace_! And you really think so, my dear Maud,' +exclaimed Madame, adjusting her wig before her glass, in the corner of +which I could see half of her sly, grinning face, as she ogled herself in +it. + +'I do, and so do you, Madame,' I replied, growing more frightened. + +'It may be--we shall see; but everyone is not so cruel as you, _ma chere +petite calomniatrice_.' + +'You shan't call me those names,' I said, in an angry tremor. + +'What name, dearest cheaile?' + +'_Calomniatrice_--that is an insult.' + +'Why, my most foolish little Maud, we may say rogue, and a thousand other +little words in play which we do not say seriously. + +'You are not playing--you never play--you are angry, and you hate me,' I +exclaimed, vehemently. + +'Oh, fie!--wat shame! Do you not perceive, dearest cheaile, how much +education you still need? You are proud, little demoiselle; you must +become, on the contrary, quaite humble. Je ferai baiser le babouin a +vous--ha, ha, ha! I weel make a you to kees the monkey. You are too proud, +my dear cheaile.' + +'I am not such a fool as I was at Knowl,' I said; 'you shall not terrify me +here. I will tell my uncle the whole truth,' I said. + +'Well, it may be that is the best,' she replied, with provoking coolness. + +'You think I don't mean it?' + +'Of course you _do_,' she replied. + +'And we shall see what my uncle thinks of it.' + +'We shall see, my dear,' she replied, with an air of mock contrition. + +'Adieu, Madame!' + +'You are going to Monsieur Ruthyn?--very good!' + +I made her no answer, but more agitated than I cared to show her, I left +the room. I hurried along the twilight passage, and turned into the long +gallery that opened from it at right angles. I had not gone half-a-dozen +steps on my return when I heard a heavy tread and a rustling behind me. + +'I am ready, my dear; I weel accompany you,' said the smirking phantom, +hurrying after me. + +'Very well,' was my reply; and threading our way, with a few hesitations +and mistakes, we reached and descended the stairs, and in a minute more +stood at my uncle's door. + +My uncle looked hard and strangely at us as we entered. He looked, indeed, +as if his temper was violently excited, and glared and muttered to himself +for a few seconds; and treating Madame to a stare of disgust, he asked +peevishly-- + +'Why am I disturbed, pray?' + +'Miss Maud a Ruthyn, she weel explain,' replied Madame, with a great +courtesy, like a boat going down in a ground swell. + +'_Will_ you explain, my dear?' he asked, in his coldest and most sarcastic +tone. + +I was agitated, and I am sure my statement was confused. I succeeded, +however, in saying what I wanted. + +'Why, Madame, this is a grave charge! Do you admit it, pray?' + +Madame, with the coolest possible effrontery, denied it all; with the most +solemn asseverations, and with streaming eyes and clasped hands, conjured +me melodramatically to withdraw that intolerable story, and to do her +justice. I stared at her for a while astounded, and turning suddenly to my +uncle, as vehemently asserted the truth of every syllable I had related. + +'You hear, my dear child, you hear her deny everything; what am I to think? +You must excuse the bewilderment of my old head. Madame de la--that lady +has arrived excellently recommended by the superioress of the place where +dear Milly awaits you, and such persons are particular. It strikes me, my +dear niece, that you must have made a mistake.' + +I protested here. But he went on without seeming to hear the parenthesis-- + +'I know, my dear Maud, that you are quite incapable of wilfully deceiving +anyone; but you are liable to be deceived like other young people. You +were, no doubt, very nervous, and but half awake when you fancied you saw +the occurrence you describe; and Madame de--de--' + +'De la Rougierre,' I supplied. + +'Yes, thank you--Madame de la Rougierre, who has arrived with excellent +testimonials, strenuously denies the whole thing. Here is a conflict, my +dear--in my mind a presumption of mistake. I confess I should prefer that +theory to a peremptory assumption of guilt.' + +I felt incredulous and amazed; it seemed as if a dream were being enacted +before me. A transaction of the most serious import, which I had witnessed +with my own eyes, and described with unexceptionable minuteness and +consistency, is discredited by that strange and suspicious old man with +an imbecile coolness. It was quite in vain my reiterating my statement, +backing it with the most earnest asseverations. I was beating the air. It +did not seem to reach his mind. It was all received with a simper of feeble +incredulity. + +He patted and smoothed my head--he laughed gently, and shook his while +I insisted; and Madame protested her purity in now tranquil floods +of innocent tears, and murmured mild and melancholy prayers for my +enlightenment and reformation. I felt as if I should lose my reason. + +'There now, dear Maud, we have heard enough; it is, I do believe, a +delusion. Madame de la Rougierre will be your companion, at the utmost, for +three or four weeks. Do exercise a little of your self-command and +good sense--you know how I am tortured. Do not, I entreat, add to my +perplexities. You may make yourself very happy with Madame if you will, I +have no doubt.' + +'I propose to Mademoiselle,' said Madame, drying her eyes with a gentle +alacrity, 'to profit of my visit for her education. But she does not seem +to weesh wat I think is so useful.' + +'She threatened me with some horrid French vulgarism--_de faire baiser le +babouin a moi_, whatever that means; and I know she hates me,' I replied, +impetuously. + +'Doucement--doucement!' said my uncle, with a smile at once amused and +compassionate. 'Doucement! ma chere.' + +With great hands and cunning eyes uplifted, Madame tearfully--for her tears +came on short notice--again protested her absolute innocence. She had never +in all her life so much as heard one so villain phrase. + +'You see, my dear, you have misheard; young people never attend. You will +do well to take advantage of Madame's short residence to get up your French +a little, and the more you are with her the better.' + +'I understand then, Mr. Ruthyn, you weesh I should resume my instructions?' +asked Madame. + +'Certainly; and converse all you can in French with Mademoiselle Maud. You +will be glad, my dear, that I've insisted on it,' he said, turning to me, +'when you have reached France, where you will find they speak nothing else. +And now, dear Maud--no, not a word more--you must leave me. Farewell, +Madame!' + +And he waved us out a little impatiently; and I, without one look toward +Madame de la Rougierre, stunned and incensed, walked into my room and shut +the door. + + + + +CHAPTER LV + +_THE FOOT OF HERCULES_ + + +I stood at the window--still the same leaden sky and feathery sleet before +me--trying to estimate the magnitude of the discovery I had just made. +Gradually a kind of despair seized me, and I threw myself passionately on +my bed, weeping aloud. + +Good Mary Quince was, of course, beside me in a moment, with her pale, +concerned face. + +'Oh, Mary, Mary, she's come--that dreadful woman, Madame de la Rougierre, +has come to be my governess again; and Uncle Silas won't hear or believe +anything about her. It is vain talking; he is prepossessed. Was ever so +unfortunate a creature as I? Who could have fancied or feared such a thing? +Oh, Mary, Mary, what am I to do? what is to become of me? Am I never to +shake off that vindictive, terrible woman?' + +Mary said all she could to console me. I was making too much of her. What +was she, after all, more than a governess?--she could not hurt me. I was +not a child no longer--she could not bully me now; and my uncle, though he +might be deceived for a while, would not be long finding her out. + +Thus and soforth did good Mary Quince declaim, and at last she did impress +me a little, and I began to think that I had, perhaps, been making too much +of Madame's visit. But still imagination, that instrument and mirror +of prophecy, showed her formidable image always on its surface, with a +terrible moving background of shadows. + +In a few minutes there was a knock at my door, and Madame herself entered. +She was in walking costume. There had been a brief clearing of the weather, +and she proposed our making a promenade together. + +On seeing Mary Quince she broke into a rapture of compliment and greeting, +and took what Mr. Richardson would have called her passive hand, and +pressed it with wonderful tenderness. + +Honest Mary suffered all this somewhat reluctantly, never smiling, and, on +the contrary, looking rather ruefully at her feet. + +'Weel you make a some tea? When I come back, dear Mary Quince, I 'av so +much to tell you and dear Miss Maud of all my adventures while I 'av been +away; it will make a you laugh ever so much. I was--what you theenk?--near, +ever so near to be married!' And upon this she broke into a screeching +laugh, and shook Mary Quince merrily by the shoulder. + +I sullenly declined going out, or rising; and when she had gone away, I +told Mary that I should confine myself to my room while Madame stayed. + +But self-denying ordinances self-imposed are not always long observed by +youth. Madame de la Rougierre laid herself out to be agreeable; she had no +end of stories--more than half, no doubt, pure fictions--to tell, but all, +in that triste place, amusing. Mary Quince began to entertain a better +opinion of her. She actually helped to make beds, and tried to be in +every way of use, and seemed to have quite turned over a new leaf; and so +gradually she moved me, first to listen, and at last to talk. + +On the whole, these terms were better than a perpetual skirmish; but, +notwithstanding all her gossip and friendliness, I continued to have a +profound distrust and even terror of her. + +She seemed curious about the Bartram-Haugh family, and all their ways, and +listened darkly when I spoke. I told her, bit by bit, the whole story of +Dudley, and she used, whenever there was news of the Seamew, to read the +paragraph for my benefit; and in poor Milly's battered little Atlas she +used to trace the ship's course with a pencil, writing in, from point to +point, the date at which the vessel was 'spoken' at sea. She seemed amused +at the irrepressible satisfaction with which I received these minutes of +his progress; and she used to calculate the distance;--on such a day he was +two hundred and sixty miles, on such another five hundred; the last point +was more than eight hundred--good, better, best--best of all would be those +'deleecious antipode, w'ere he would so soon promener on his head twelve +thousand mile away;' and at the conceit she would fall into screams of +laughter. + +Laugh as she might, however, there was substantial comfort in thinking +of the boundless stretch of blue wave that rolled between me and that +villainous cousin. + +I was now on very odd terms with Madame. She had not relapsed into her +favourite vein of oracular sarcasm and menace; she had, on the contrary, +affected her good-humoured and genial vein. But I was not to be deceived +by this. I carried in my heart that deep-seated fear of her which her +unpleasant good-humour and gaiety never disturbed for a moment. I was very +glad, therefore, when she went to Todcaster by rail, to make some purchases +for the journey which we were daily expecting to commence; and happy in the +opportunity of a walk, good old Mary Quince and I set forth for a little +ramble. + +As I wished to make some purchases in Feltram, I set out, with Mary Quince +for my companion. On reaching the great gate we found it locked. The key, +however, was in it, and as it required more than the strength of my hand to +turn, Mary tried it. At the same moment old Crowle came out of the sombre +lodge by its side, swallowing down a mouthful of his dinner in haste. No +one, I believe, liked the long suspicious face of the old man, seldom shorn +or washed, and furrowed with great, grimy perpendicular wrinkles. Leering +fiercely at Mary, not pretending to see me, he wiped his mouth hurriedly +with the back of his hand, and growled-- + +'Drop it.' + +'Open it, please, Mr. Crowle,' said Mary, renouncing the task. + +Crowle wiped his mouth as before, looking inauspicious; shuffling to the +spot, and muttering to himself, he first satisfied himself that the lock +was fast, and then lodged the key in his coat-pocket, and still muttering, +retraced his steps. + +'We want the gate open, please,' said Mary. + +No answer. + +'Miss Maud wants to go into the town,' she insisted. + +'We wants many a thing we can't get,' he growled, stepping into his +habitation. + +'Please open the gate,' I said, advancing. + +He half turned on his threshold, and made a dumb show of touching his hat, +although he had none on. + +'Can't, ma'am; without an order from master, no one goes out here.' + +'You won't allow me and my maid to pass the gate?' I said. + +''Tisn't _me_, ma'am,' said he; 'but I can't break orders, and no one goes +out without the master allows.' + +And without awaiting further parley, he entered, shutting his hatch behind +him. + +So Mary and I stood, looking very foolish at one another. This was the +first restraint I had experienced since Milly and I had been refused a +passage through the Windmill paling. The rule, however, on which Crowle +insisted I felt confident could not have been intended to apply to me. A +word to Uncle Silas would set all right; and in the meantime I proposed to +Mary that we should take a walk--my favourite ramble--into the Windmill +Wood. + +I looked toward Dickon's farmstead as we passed, thinking that Beauty might +have been there. I did see the girl, who was plainly watching us. She stood +in the doorway of the cottage, withdrawn into the shade, and, I fancied, +anxious to escape observation. When we had passed on a little, I was +confirmed in that belief by seeing her run down the footpath which led from +the rear of the farm-yard in the direction contrary to that in which we +were moving. + +'So,' I thought, 'poor Meg falls from me!' + +Mary Quince and I rambled on through the wood, till we reached the windmill +itself, and seeing its low arched door open, we entered the chiaro-oscuro +of its circular basement. As we did so I heard a rush and the creak of a +plank, and looking up, I saw just a foot--no more--disappearing through the +trap-door. + +In the case of one we love or fear intensely, what feats of comparative +anatomy will not the mind unconsciously perform? Constructing the whole +living animal from the turn of an elbow, the curl of a whisker, a segment +of a hand. How instantaneous and unerring is the instinct! + +'Oh, Mary, what have I seen!' I whispered, recovering from the fascination +that held my gaze fast to the topmost rounds of the ladder, that +disappeared in the darkness above the open door in the loft. 'Come, +Mary--come away.' + +At the same instant appeared the swarthy, sullen face of Dickon Hawkes in +the shadow of the aperture. Having but one serviceable leg, his descent +was slow and awkward, and having got his head to the level of the loft he +stopped to touch his hat to me, and to hasp and lock the trap-door. + +When this was done, the man again touched his hat, and looked steadily and +searchingly at me for a second or so, while he got the key into his pocket. + +'These fellahs stores their flour too long 'ere, ma'am. There's a deal o' +trouble a-looking arter it. I'll talk wi' Silas, and settle that.' + +By this time he had got upon the worn-tiled floor, and touching his hat +again, he said-- + +'I'm a-goin' to lock the door, ma'am!' + +So with a start, and again whispering-- + +'Come, Mary--come away'-- + +With my arm fast in hers, we made a swift departure. + +'I feel very faint, Mary,' said I. 'Come quickly. There's nobody following +us?' + +'No, Miss, dear. That man with the wooden leg is putting a padlock on the +door.' + +'Come _very_ fast,' I said; and when we had got a little farther, I said, +'Look again, and see whether anyone is following.' + +'No one, Miss,' answered Mary, plainly surprised. 'He's putting the key in +his pocket, and standin' there a-lookin' after us.' + +'Oh, Mary, did not you see it?' + +'What, Miss?' asked Mary, almost stopping. + +'Come on, Mary. Don't pause. They will observe us,' I whispered, hurrying +her forward. + +'What did you see, Miss?' repeated Mary. + +'_Mr. Dudley_,' I whispered, with a terrified emphasis, not daring to turn +my head as I spoke. + +'Lawk, Miss!' remonstrated honest Quince, with a protracted intonation +of wonder and incredulity, which plainly implied a suspicion that I was +dreaming. + +'Yes, Mary. When we went into that dreadful room--that dark, round place--I +saw his foot on the ladder. _His_ foot, Mary I can't be mistaken. _I won't +be questioned_. You'll _find_ I'm right. He's _here_. He never went in +that ship at all. A fraud has been practised on me--it is infamous--it +is terrible. I'm frightened out of my life. For heaven's sake, look back +again, and tell me what you see.' + +'_Nothing_, Miss,' answered Mary, in contagious whispers, 'but that +wooden-legged chap, standin' hard by the door.' + +'And no one with him?' + +'No one, Miss.' + +We got without pursuit through the gate in the paling. I drew breath so +soon as we had reached the cover of the thicket near the chestnut hollow, +and I began to reflect that whoever the owner of the foot might be--and +I was still instinctively certain that it was no other than +Dudley--concealment was plainly his object. I need not, then, be at all +uneasy lest he should pursue us. + +As we walked slowly and in silence along the grassy footpath, I heard a +voice calling my name from behind. Mary Quince had not heard it at all, but +I was quite certain. + +It was repeated twice or thrice, and, looking in considerable doubt and +trepidation under the hanging boughs, I saw Beauty, not ten yards away, +standing among the underwood. + +I remember how white the eyes and teeth of the swarthy girl looked, as with +hand uplifted toward her ear, she watched us while, as it seemed, listening +for more distant sounds. + +Beauty beckoned eagerly to me, advancing, with looks of great fear and +anxiety, two or three short steps toward me. + +'_She_ baint to come,' said Beauty, under her breath, so soon as I had +nearly reached her, pointing without raising her hand at Mary Quince. + +'Tell her to sit on the ash-tree stump down yonder, and call ye as loud as +she can if she sees any fellah a-comin' this way, an' rin ye back to me;' +and she impatiently beckoned me away on her errand. + +When I returned, having made this dispositions, I perceived how pale the +girl was. + +'Are you ill, Meg?' I asked. + +'Never ye mind. Well enough. Listen, Miss; I must tell it all in a crack, +an' if she calls, rin awa' to her, and le' me to myself, for if fayther or +t'other un wor to kotch me here, I think they'd kill me a'most. Hish!' + +She paused a second, looking askance, in the direction where she fancied +Mary Quince was. Then she resumed in a whisper-- + +'Now, lass, mind ye, ye'll keep what I say to yourself. You're not to tell +that un nor any other for your life, mind, a word o' what I'm goin' to tell +ye.' + +'I'll not say a word. Go on.' + +'Did ye see Dudley?' + +'I think I saw him getting up the ladder.' + +'In the mill? Ha! that's him. He never went beyond Todcaster. He staid in +Feltram after.' + +It was my turn to look pale now. My worst conjecture was established. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI + +_I CONSPIRE_ + + +'That's a bad un, he is--oh, Miss, Miss Maud! It's nout that's good as +keeps him an' fayther--(mind, lass, ye promised you would not tell no +one)--as keeps them two a-talkin' and a-smokin' secret-like together in the +mill. An' fayther don't know I found him out. They don't let me into the +town, but Brice tells me, and he knows it's Dudley; and it's nout that's +good, but summat very bad. An' I reckon, Miss, it's all about you. Be ye +frightened, Miss Maud?' + +I felt on the point of fainting, but I rallied. + +'Not much, Meg. Go on, for Heaven's sake. Does Uncle Silas know he is +here?' + +'Well, Miss, they were with him, Brice told me, from eleven o'clock to nigh +one o' Tuesday night, an' went in and come out like thieves, 'feard ye'd +see 'em.' + +'And how does Brice know anything bad?' I asked, with a strange freezing +sensation creeping from my heels to my head and down again--I am sure +deadly pale, but speaking very collectedly. + +'Brice said, Miss, he saw Dudley a-cryin' and lookin' awful black, and says +he to fayther, "'Tisn't in my line nohow, an' I can't;" and says fayther +to he, "No one likes they soart o' things, but how can ye help it? The old +boy's behind ye wi' his pitchfork, and ye canna stop." An' wi' that he +bethought him o' Brice, and says he, "What be ye a-doin' there? Get ye down +wi' the nags to blacksmith, do ye." An' oop gits Dudley, pullin' his hat +ower his brows, an' says he, "I wish I was in the _Seamew_. I'm good for +nout wi' this thing a-hangin' ower me." An' that's all as Brice heard. An' +he's afeard o' fayther and Dudley awful. Dudley could lick him to pot if +he crossed him, and he and fayther 'ud think nout o' havin' him afore the +justices for poachin', and swearin' him into gaol.' + +'But why does he think it's about _me_?' + +'Hish!' said Meg, who fancied she heard a sound, but all was quiet. 'I +can't say--we're in danger, lass. I don't know why--but _he_ does, an' so +do I, an', for that matter, so do _ye_.' + +'Meg, I'll leave Bartram.' + +'Ye can't.' + +'Can't. What do you mean, girl?' + +'They won't let ye oot. The gates is all locked. They've dogs--they've +bloodhounds, Brice says. Ye _can't_ git oot, mind; put that oot o' your +head. + +'I tell ye what ye'll do. Write a bit o' a note to the lady yonder at +Elverston; an' though Brice be a wild fellah, and 'appen not ower good +sometimes, he likes me, an' I'll make him take it. Fayther will be grindin' +at mill to-morrow. Coom ye here about one o'clock--that's if ye see the +mill-sails a-turnin'--and me and Brice will meet ye here. Bring that old +lass wi' ye. There's an old French un, though, that talks wi' Dudley. Mind +ye, that un knows nout o' the matter. Brice be a kind lad to me, whatsoe'er +he be wi' others, and I think he won't split. Now, lass, I must go. God +help ye; God bless ye; an', for the world's wealth, don't ye let one o' +them see ye've got ought in your head, not even that un.' + +Before I could say another word, the girl had glided from me, with a wild +gesture of silence, and a shake of her head. + +I can't at all account for the state in which I was. There are resources +both of energy and endurance in human nature which we never suspect until +the tremendous voice of necessity summons them into play. Petrified with a +totally new horror, but with something of the coldness and impassiveness of +the transformation, I stood, spoke, and acted--a wonder, almost a terror, +to myself. + +I met Madame on my return as if nothing had happened. I heard her ugly +gabble, and looked at the fruits of her hour's shopping, as I might hear, +and see, and talk, and smile, in a dream. + +But the night was dreadful. When Mary Quince and I were alone, I locked +the door. I continued walking up and down the room, with my hands clasped, +looking at the inexorable floor, the walls, the ceiling, with a sort +of imploring despair. I was afraid to tell my dear old Mary. The least +indiscretion would be failure, and failure destruction. + +I answered her perplexed solicitudes by telling her that I was not very +well--that I was uneasy; but I did not fail to extract from her a promise +that she would not hint to mortal, either my suspicions about Dudley, or +our rencontre with Meg Hawkes. + +I remember how, when, after we had got, late at night, into bed, I sat up, +shivering with horror, in mine, while honest Mary's tranquil breathing told +how soundly she slept. I got up, and looked from the window, expecting to +see some of those wolfish dogs which they had brought to the place prowling +about the court-yard. Sometimes I prayed, and felt tranquillised, and +fancied that I was perhaps to have a short interval of sleep. But the +serenity was delusive, and all the time my nerves were strung hysterically. +Sometimes I felt quite wild, and on the point of screaming. At length that +dreadful night passed away. Morning came, and a less morbid, though hardly +a less terrible state of mind. Madame paid me an early visit. A thought +struck me. I knew that she loved shopping, and I said, quite carelessly-- + +'Your yesterday's shopping tempts me, Madame, and I must get a few things +before we leave for France. Suppose we go into Feltram to-day, and make my +purchases, you and I?' + +She looked from the corner of her cunning eye in my face without answering. +I did not blench, and she said-- + +'Vary good. I would be vary 'appy,' and again she looked oddly at me. + +'Wat hour, my dear Maud? One o'clock? I think that weel de very well, eh?' + +I assented, and she grew silent. + +I wonder whether I did look as careless as I tried. I do not know. Through +the whole of this awful period I was, I think, supernatural; and I even now +look back with wonder upon my strange self-command. + +Madame, I hoped, had heard nothing of the order which prohibited my exit +from the place. She would herself conduct me to Feltram, and secure, by +accompanying me, my free egress. + +Once in Feltram, I would assert my freedom, and manage to reach my dear +cousin Knollys. Back to Bartram no power should convey me. My heart swelled +and fluttered in the awful suspense of that hour. + +Oh, Bartram-Haugh! how came you by those lofty walls? Which of my ancestors +had begirt me with an impassable barrier in this horrible strait? + +Suddenly I remembered my letter to Lady Knollys. If I were disappointed in +effecting my escape through Feltram, all would depend upon it. + +Having locked my door, I wrote as follows:-- + +'Oh, my beloved cousin, as you hope for comfort in _your_ hour of fear, aid +me now. Dudley has returned, and is secreted somewhere about the grounds. +It is a _fraud_. They all pretend to me that he is gone away in the +_Seamew_; and he or they had his name published as one of the passengers. +Madame de la Rougierre has appeared! She is here, and my uncle insists on +making her my close companion. I am at my wits' ends. I cannot escape--the +walls are a prison; and I believe the eyes of my gaolers are always upon +me. Dogs are kept for pursuit--yes, _dogs_! and the gates are locked +against my escape. God help me! I don't know where to look, or whom to +trust. I fear my uncle more than all. I think I could bear this better if I +knew what their plans are, even the worst. If ever you loved or pitied me, +dear cousin, I conjure you, help me in this extremity. Take me away from +this. Oh, darling, for God's sake take me away! + +'Your distracted and terrified cousin, + +MAUD' + +'Bartram-Haugh.' + +I sealed this letter jealously, as if the inanimate missive would burst its +cerements, and proclaim my desperate appeal through all the chambers and +passages of silent Bartram. + +Old Quince, greatly to cousin Monica's amusement, persisted in furnishing +me with those capacious pockets which belonged to a former generation. I +was glad of this old-world eccentricity now, and placed my guilty letter, +that, amidst all my hypocrisies, spoke out with terrible frankness, deep +in this receptacle, and having hid away the pen and ink, my accomplices, I +opened the door, and resumed my careless looks, awaiting Madame's return. + +'I was to demand to Mr. Ruthyn the permission to go to Feltram, and I think +he will allow. He want to speak to you.' + +With Madame I entered my uncle's room. He was reclining on a sofa, his back +towards us, and his long white hair, as fine as spun glass, hung over the +back of the couch. + +'I was going to ask you, dear Maud, to execute two or three little +commissions for me in Feltram.' + +My dreadful letter felt lighter in my pocket, and my heart beat violently. + +'But I have just recollected that this is a market-day, and Feltram will +be full of doubtful characters and tipsy persons, so we must wait till +to-morrow; and Madame says, very kindly, that she will, as she does not +so much mind, make any little purchases to-day which cannot conveniently +wait.' + +Madame assented with a courtesy to Uncle Silas, and a great hollow smile to +me. + +By this time Uncle Silas had raised himself from his reclining posture, and +was sitting, gaunt and white, upon the sofa. + +'News of my prodigal to-day,' he said, with a peevish smile, drawing the +newspaper towards him. 'The vessel has been spoken again. How many miles +away, do you suppose?' + +He spoke in a plaintive key, looking at me, with hungry eyes, and a +horribly smiling countenance. + +'How far do you suppose Dudley is to-day?' and he laid the palm of his hand +on the paragraph as he spoke. _Guess_!' + +For a moment I fancied this was a theatric preparation to give point to the +disclosure of Dudley's real whereabouts. + +'It was a very long way. Guess!' he repeated. + +So, stammering a little and pale, I performed the required hypocrisy, after +which my uncle read aloud for my benefit the line or two in which were +recorded the event, and the latitude and longitude of the vessel at the +time, of which Madame made a note in her memory, for the purpose of making +her usual tracing in poor Milly's Atlas. + +I cannot say how it really was, but I fancied that Uncle Silas was all +the time reading my countenance, with a grim and practised scrutiny; but +nothing came of it, and we were dismissed. + +Madame loved shopping, even for its own sake, but shopping with +opportunities of peculation still more. She she had had her luncheon, +and was dressed for the excursion, she did precisely what I now most +desired--she proposed to take charge of my commissions and my money; and +thus entrusted, left me at liberty to keep tryst at the Chestnut Hollow. + +So soon as I had seen Madame fairly off, I hurried Mary Quince, and got my +things on quickly. We left the house by the side entrance, which I knew my +uncle's windows did not command. Glad was I to feel a slight breeze, enough +to make the mill-sails revolve; and as we got further into the grounds, +and obtained a distant view of the picturesque old windmill, I felt +inexpressibly relieved on seeing that it was actually working. + +We were now in the Chestnut Hollow, and I sent Mary Quince to her old point +of observation, which commanded a view of the path in the direction of the +Windmill Wood, with her former order to call 'I've found it,' as loudly as +she could, in case she should see anyone approaching. + +I stopped at the point of our yesterday's meeting. I peered under the +branches, and my heart beat fast as I saw Meg Hawkes awaiting me. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII + +_THE LETTER_ + + +'Come away, lass,' whispered Beauty, very pale; 'he's here--Tom Brice.' + +And she led the way, shoving aside the leafless underwood, and we reached +Tom. The slender youth, groom or poacher--he might answer for either--with +his short coat and gaitered legs, was sitting on a low horizontal bough, +with his shoulder against the trunk. + +'_Don't_ ye mind; sit ye still, lad,' said Meg, observing that he was +preparing to rise, and had entangled his hat in the boughs. 'Sit ye still, +and hark to the lady. He'll take it, Miss Maud, if he can; wi' na ye, lad?' + +'E'es, I'll take it,' he replied, holding out his hand. + +'Tom Brice, you won't deceive me?' + +'Noa, sure,' said Tom and Meg nearly in the same breath. + +'You are an honest English lad, Tom--you would not betray me?' I was +speaking imploringly. + +'Noa, sure,' repeated Tom. + +There was something a little unsatisfactory in the countenance of this +light-haired youth, with the sharpish up-turned nose. Throughout our +interview he said next to nothing, and smiled lazily to himself, like a man +listening to a child's solemn nonsense, and leading it on, with an amused +irony, from one wise sally to another. + +Thus it seemed to me that this young clown, without in the least intending +to be offensive, was listening to me with a profound and lazy mockery. + +I could not choose, however; and, such as he was, I must employ him or +none. + +'Now, Tom Brice, a great deal depends on this.' + +'That's true for her, Tom Brice,' said Meg, who now and then confirmed my +asseverations. + +'I'll give you a pound _now_, Tom,' and I placed the coin and the letter +together in his hand. 'And you are to give this letter to Lady Knollys, at +Elverston; you know Elverston, don't you?' + +'He does, Miss. Don't ye, lad?' + +'E'es.' + +'Well, do so, Tom, and I'll be good to you so long as I live.' + +'D'ye hear, lad?' + +'E'es,' said Tom; 'it's very good.' + +'You'll take the letter, Tom? 'I said, in much greater trepidation as to +his answer than I showed. + +'E'es, I'll take the letter,' said he, rising, and turning it about in his +fingers under his eye, like a curiosity. + +'Tom Brice,' I said, 'If you can't be true to me, say so; but don't take +the letter except to give it to Lady Knollys, at Elverston. If you won't +promise that, let me have the note back. Keep the pound; but tell me that +you won't mention my having asked you to carry a letter to Elverston to +anyone.' + +For the first time Tom looked perfectly serious. He twiddled the corner of +my letter between his finger and thumb, and wore very much the countenance +of a poacher about to be committed. + +'I don't want to chouce ye, Miss; but I must take care o' myself, ye see. +The letters goes all through Silas's fingers to the post, and he'd know +damn well this worn't among 'em. They do say he opens 'em, and reads 'em +before they go; an' that's his diversion. I don't know; but I do believe +that's how it be; an' if this one turned up, they'd all know it went be +hand, and I'd be spotted for't.' + +'But you know who I am, Tom, and I'd save you,' said I, eagerly. + +'Ye'd want savin' yerself, I'm thinkin', if that feel oot,' said Tom, +cynically. 'I don't say, though, I'll not take it--only this--I won't run +my head again a wall for no one.' + +'Tom,' I said, with a sudden inspiration, 'give me back the letter, +and take me out of Bartram; take me to Elverston; it will be the best +thing--for _you_, Tom, I mean--it will indeed--that ever befell you.' + +With this clown I was pleading, as for my life; my hand was on his sleeve. +I was gazing imploringly in his face. + +But it would not do; Tom Brice looked amused again, swung his head a little +on one side, grinning sheepishly over his shoulder on the roots of the +trees beside him, as if he were striving to keep himself from an uncivil +fit of laughter. + +'I'll do what a wise lad may, Miss; but ye don't know they lads; they +bain't that easy come over; and I won't get knocked on the head, nor sent +to gaol 'appen, for no good to thee nor me. There's Meg there, she knows +well enough I could na' manage that; so I won't try it, Miss, by no chance; +no offence, Miss; but I'd rayther not, an' I'll just try what I can make +o'this; that's all I can do for ye.' + +Tom Brice, with these words, stood up, and looked uneasily in the direction +of the Windmill Wood. + +'Mind ye, Miss, coom what will, ye'll not tell o' me?' + +'Whar 'ill ye go now, Tom?' inquired Meg, uneasily. + +'Never ye mind, lass,' answered he, breaking his way through the thicket, +and soon disappearing. + +'E'es that 'ill be it--he'll git into the sheepwalk behind the mound. +They're all down yonder; git ye back, Miss, to the hoose--be the side-door; +mind ye, don't go round the corner; and I'll jest sit awhile among the +bushes, and wait a good time for a start. And good-bye, Miss; and don't ye +show like as if there was aught out o' common on your mind. Hish!' + +There was a distant hallooing. + +'That be fayther!' she whispered, with a very blank countenance, and +listened with her sunburnt hand to her ear. + +'Tisn't me, only Davy he'll be callin',' she said, with a great sigh, and a +joyless smile. 'Now git ye away i' God's name.' + +So running lightly along the path, under cover of this thick wood, I +recalled Mary Quince, and together we hastened back again to the house, and +entered, as directed, by the side-door, which did not expose us to be +seen from the Windmill Wood, and, like two criminals, we stole up by the +backstairs, and so through the side-gallery to my room; and there sat down +to collect my wits, and try to estimate the exact effect of what had just +occurred. + +Madame had not returned. That was well; she always visited my room first, +and everything was precisely as I had left it--a certain sign that her +prying eyes and busy fingers had not been at work during my absence. + +When she did appear, strange to say, it was to bring me unexpected comfort. +She had in her hand a letter from my dear Lady Knollys--a gleam of sunlight +from the free and happy outer world entered with it. The moment Madame left +me to myself, I opened it and read as follows:-- + +'I am so happy, my dearest Maud, in the immediate prospect of seeing you. I +have had a really kind letter from poor Silas--_poor_ I say, for I really +compassionate his situation, about which he has been, I do believe, quite +frank--at least Ilbury says so, and somehow he happens to know. I have had +quite an affecting, changed letter. I will tell you all when I see you. +He wants me ultimately to undertake that which would afford me the most +unmixed happiness--I mean the care of you, my dear girl. I only fear lest +my too eager acceptance of the trust should excite that vein of opposition +which is in most human beings, and induce him to think over his offer less +favourably again. He says I must come to Bartram, and stay a night, and +promises to lodge me comfortably; about which last I honestly do not care a +pin, when the chance of a comfortable evening's gossip with you is in view. +Silas explains his sad situation, and must hold himself in readiness for +early flight, if he would avoid the risk of losing his personal liberty. It +is a sad thing that he should have so irretrievably ruined himself, +that poor Austin's liberality seems to have positively precipitated his +extremity. His great anxiety is that I should see you before you leave for +your short stay in France. He thinks you must leave before a fortnight. I +am thinking of asking you to come over here; I know you would be just as +well at Elverston as in France; but perhaps, as he seems disposed to do +what we all wish, it may be safer to let him set about it in his own way. +The truth is, I have so set my heart upon it that I fear to risk it by +crossing him even in a trifle. He says I must fix an early day next week, +and talks as if he meant to urge me to make a longer visit than he defined. +I shall be only too happy. I begin, my dear Maud, to think that there is no +use in trying to control events, and that things often turn out best, and +most exactly to our wishes, by being left quite to themselves. I think +it was Talleyrand who praised the talent of _waiting_ so much. In high +spirits, and with my head brimful of plans, I remain, dearest Maud, ever +your affectionate cousin, + +MONICA.' + +Here was an inexplicable puzzle! A faint radiance of hope, however, began +to overspread a landscape only a few minutes before darkened by total +eclipse; but construct what theory I might, all were inconsistent with many +well-established and awful incongruities, and their wrecks lay strown over +the troubled waters of the gulf into which I gazed. + +Why was Madame here? Why was Dudley concealed about the place? Why was I a +prisoner within the walls? What were those dangers which Meg Hawkes seemed +to think so great and so imminent as to induce her to risk her lover's +safety for my deliverance? All these menacing facts stood grouped together +against the dark certainty that never were men more deeply interested in +making away with one human being, than were Uncle Silas and Dudley in +removing me. + +Sometimes to these dreadful evidences I abandoned my soul. Sometimes, +reading Cousin Monica's sunny letter, the sky would clear, and my terrors +melt away like nightmares in the morning. I never repented, however, that +I had sent my letter by Tom Brice. Escape from Bartram-Haugh was my hourly +longing. + +That evening Madame invited herself to tea with me. I did not object. +It was better just then to be on friendly relations with everybody, if +possible, even on their own terms. She was in one of her boisterous and +hilarious moods, and there was a perfume of brandy. + +She narrated some compliments paid her that morning in Feltram by that +'good crayature' Mrs. Litheways, the silk-mercer, and what ''ansom faylow' +was her new foreman--(she intended plainly that I should 'queez' her)--and +how 'he follow' her with his eyes wherever she went. I thought, perhaps, he +fancied she might pocket some of his lace or gloves. And all the time her +great wicked eyes were rolling and glancing according to her ideas of +fascination, and her bony face grinning and flaming with the 'strong drink' +in which she delighted. She sang twaddling chansons, and being, as was her +wont under such exhilarating influences, in a vapouring mood, she vowed +that I should have my carriage and horses immediately. + +'I weel try what I can do weeth your Uncle Silas. We are very good +old friends, Mr. Ruthyn and I,' she said with a leer which I did not +understand, and which yet frightened me. + +I never could quite understand why these Jezebels like to insinuate the +dreadful truth against themselves; but they do. Is it the spirit of +feminine triumph overcoming feminine shame, and making them vaunt their +fall as an evidence of bygone fascination and existing power? Need we +wonder? Have not women preferred hatred to indifference, and the reputation +of witchcraft, with all its penalties, to absolute insignificance? Thus, as +they enjoyed the fear inspired among simple neighbours by their imagined +traffic with the father of ill, did Madame, I think, relish with a cynical +vainglory the suspicion of her satanic superiority. + +Next morning Uncle Silas sent for me. He was seated at his table, and spoke +his little French greeting, smiling as usual, pointing to a chair opposite. + +'How far, I forget,' he said, carelessly laying his newspaper on the table, +'did you yesterday guess Dudley to be?' + +'Eleven hundred miles I thought it was.' + +'Oh yes, so it was;' and then there was an abstracted pause. 'I have been +writing to Lord Ilbury, your trustee,' he resumed. I ventured to say, my +dear Maud--(for having thoughts of a different arrangement for you, more +suitable under my distressing circumstances, I do not wish to vacate +without some expression of your estimate of my treatment of you while +under my roof)--I ventured to say that you thought me kind, considerate, +indulgent,--may I say so?' + +I assented. What could I say? + +'I said you had enjoyed our poor way of living here--our rough ways and +liberty. Was I right?' + +Again I assented. + +'And, in fact, that you had nothing to object against your poor old uncle, +except indeed his poverty, which you forgave. I think I said truth. Did I, +dear Maud?' + +Again I acquiesced. + +All this time he was fumbling among the papers in his coatpocket. + +'That is satisfactory. So I expected you to say,' he murmured. 'I expected +no less.' + +On a sudden a frightful change spread across his face. He rose like a +spectre with a white scowl. + +'Then how do you account for that?' he shrieked in a voice of thunder, and +smiting my open letter to Lady Knollys, face upward, upon the table. + +I stared at my uncle, unable to speak, until I seemed to lose sight of him; +but his voice, like a bell, still yelled in my ears. + +'There! young hypocrite and liar! explain that farrago of slander which you +bribed my servant to place in the hands of my kinswoman, Lady Knollys.' + +And so on and on it went, I gazing into darkness, until the voice itself +became indistinct, grew into a buzz, and hummed away into silence. + +I think I must have had a fit. + +When I came to myself I was drenched with water, my hair, face, neck, and +dress. I did not in the least know where I was. I thought my father was +ill, and spoke to him. Uncle Silas was standing near the window, looking +unspeakably grim. Madame was seated beside me, and an open bottle of ether, +one of Uncle Silas's restoratives, on the table before me. + +'Who's that--who's ill--is anyone dead?' I cried. + +At last I was relieved by long paroxysms of weeping. When I was +sufficiently recovered, I was conveyed into my own room. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII + +_LADY KNOLLYS' CARRIAGE_ + + +Next morning--it was Sunday--I lay on my bed in my dressing-gown, dull, +apathetic, with all my limbs sore, and, as I thought, rheumatic, +and feeling so ill that I did not care to speak or lift my head. My +recollection of what had passed in Uncle Silas's room was utterly confused, +and it seemed to me as if my poor father had been there and taken a +share--I could not remember how--in the conference. + +I was too exhausted and stupid to clear up this horrible muddle, and merely +lay with my face toward the wall, motionless and silent, except for a great +sigh every now and then. + +Good Mary Quince was in the room--there was some comfort in that; but I +felt quite worn out, and had rather she did not speak to me; and indeed for +the time I felt absolutely indifferent as to whether I lived or died. + +Cousin Monica this morning, at pleasant Elverston, all-unconscious of my +sad plight, proposed to Lady Mary Carysbroke and Lord Ilbury, her +guests, to drive over to church at Feltram, and then pay us a visit at +Bartram-Haugh, to which they readily agreed. + +Accordingly, at about two o'clock, this pleasant party of three arrived at +Bartram. They walked, having left the carriage to follow when the horses +were fed; and Madame de la Rougierre, who was in my uncle's room when +little Giblets arrived to say that the party were in the parlour, whispered +for a little with my uncle, who then said-- + +'Miss Maud Ruthyn has gone out to drive, but I shall be happy to see Lady +Knollys here, if she will do me the favour to come upstairs and see me for +a few moments; and you can mention that I am very far from well.' + +Madame followed him out upon the lobby, and added, holding him by the +collar, and whispering earnestly in his ear-- + +'Bring hair ladysheep up by the backstairs--mind, the _back_stairs.' + +And the next moment Madame entered my room, with long tiptoe steps, and +looking, Mary Quince said, as if she were going to be hanged. + +On entering she looked sharply round, and being satisfied of Mary Quince's +presence, she turned the key in the door, and made some affectionate +enquiries about me in a whisper; and then she stole to the window and +peeped out, standing back some way; after which she came to my bedside, +murmured some tender sentences, drew the curtain a little, and making some +little fidgety adjustments about the room; among the rest she took the key +from the lock, quietly, and put it into her pocket. + +This was so odd a procedure that honest Mary Quince rose stoutly from her +chair, pointing to the lock, with her frank little blue eyes fixed on +Madame, and she whispered--'Won't you put the key in the lock, please?' + +'Oh, certainly, Mary Queence; but it is better it shall be locked, for I +think her uncle he is coming to see her, and I am sure she would be very +much frightened, for he is very much displease, don't you see? and we can +tell him she is not well enough, or asleep, and so he weel go away again, +without any trouble.' + +I heard nothing of this, which was conducted in close whispers; and Mary, +although she did not give Madame credit for caring whether I was frightened +or not, and suspected her motives in everything, acquiesced grudgingly, +fearing lest her alleged reason might possibly be the true one. + +So Madame hovered about the door, uneasily; and of what went on elsewhere +during that period Lady Knollys afterwards gave me the following account:-- + +'We were very much disappointed; but of course I was glad to see Silas, and +your little hobgoblin butler led me upstairs to his room a different way, I +think, from that I came before; but I don't know the house of Bartram well +enough to speak positively. I only know that I was conducted quite across +his bedroom, which I had not seen on my former visit, and so into his +sitting-room, where I found him. + +'He seemed very glad to see me, came forward smiling--I disliked his smile +always--with both hands out, and shook mine with more warmth than I ever +remembered in his greeting before, and said-- + +'"My dear, _dear_ Monica, how _very_ good of you--the very person I longed +to see! I have been miserably ill, the sad consequence of still more +miserable anxiety. Sit down, pray, for a moment." + +'And he paid me some nice little French compliment in verse. + +'"And where is Maud?" said I. + +'"I think Maud is by this time about halfway to Elverston," said the old +gentleman. "I persuaded her to take a drive, and advised a call there, +which seemed to please her, so I conjecture she obeyed." + +'"How _very_ provoking!" cried I. + +'"My poor Maud will be sadly disappointed, but you will console her by a +visit--you have promised to come, and I shall try to make you comfortable. +I shall be happier, Monica, with this proof of our perfect reconciliation. +You won't deny me?" + +'"Certainly not. I am only too glad to come," said I; "and I want to thank +you, Silas." + +'"For what?" said he. + +'"For wishing to place Maud in my care. I am very much obliged to you." + +'"I did not suggest it, I must say, Monica, with the least intention of +obliging _you_," said Silas. + +'I thought he was going to break into one of his ungracious moods. + +'"But I _am_ obliged to you--very much obliged to you, Silas; and you +sha'n't refuse my thanks." + +'"I am happy, at all events, Monica, in having won your good-will; we learn +at last that in the affections only are our capacities for happiness; and +how true is St. Paul's preference of love--the principle that abideth! The +affections, dear Monica, are eternal; and being so, celestial, divine, and +consequently happy, deriving happiness, and bestowing it." + +'I was always impatient of his or anybody else's metaphysics; but I +controlled myself, and only said, with my customary impudence-- + +'"Well, dear Silas, and when do you wish me to come?" + +'"The earlier the better," said he. + +'"Lady Mary and Ilbury will be leaving me on Tuesday morning. I can come to +you in the afternoon, if you think Tuesday a good day." + +'"Thank you, dear Monica. I shall be, I trust, enlightened by that day as +to my enemies' plans. It is a humiliating confession, Monica, but I am past +feeling that. It is quite possible that an execution may be sent into +this house to-morrow, and an end of all my schemes. It is not likely, +however--hardly possible--before three weeks, my attorney tells me. I shall +hear from him to-morrow morning, and then I shall ask you to name a very +early day. If we are to have an unmolested fortnight certain, you shall +hear, and name your own day." + +'Then he asked me who had accompanied me, and lamented ever so much his not +being able to go down to receive them; and he offered luncheon, with a sort +of Ravenswood smile, and a shrug, and I declined, telling him that we had +but a few minutes, and that my companions were walking in the grounds near +the house. + +'I asked whether Maud was likely to return soon? + +'"Certainly not before five o'clock." He thought we should probably meet +her on our way back to Elverston; but could not be certain, as she might +have changed her plans. + +'So then came--no more remaining to be said--a very affectionate parting. I +believe all about his legal dangers was strictly true. How he could, unless +that horrid woman had deceived him, with so serene a countenance tell me +all those gross untruths about Maud, I can only admire.' + +In the meantime, as I lay in my bed, Madame, gliding hither and thither, +whispering sometimes, listening at others, I suddenly startled them both by +saying-- + +'Whose carriage?' + +'What carriage, dear?' inquired Quince, whose ears were not so sharp as +mine. + +Madame peeped from the window. + +''Tis the physician, Doctor Jolks. He is come to see your uncle, my dear,' +said Madame. + +'But I hear a female voice,' I said, sitting up. + +'No, my dear; there is only the doctor,' said Madame. 'He is come to your +uncle. I tell you he is getting out of his carriage,' and she affected to +watch the doctor's descent. + +'The carriage is driving away!' I cried. + +'Yes, it is draiving away,' she echoed. + +But I had sprung from my bed, and was looking over her shoulder, before she +perceived me. + +'It is Lady Knollys!' I screamed, seizing the window-frame to force it up, +and, vainly struggling to open it, I cried-- + +'I'm here, Cousin Monica. For God's sake, Cousin Monica--Cousin Monica!' + +'You are mad, Meess--go back,' screamed Madame, exerting her superior +strength to force me back. + +But I saw deliverance and escape gliding away from my reach, and, strung +to unnatural force by desperation, I pushed past her, and beat the window +wildly with my hands, screaming-- + +'Save me--save me! Here, here, Monica, here! Cousin, cousin, oh! save me!' + +Madame had seized my wrists, and a wild struggle was going on. A +window-pane was broken, and I was shrieking to stop the carriage. The +Frenchwoman looked black and haggard as a fury, as if she could have +murdered me. + +Nothing daunted--frantic--I screamed in my despair, seeing the carriage +drive swiftly away--seeing Cousin Monica's bonnet, as she sat chatting with +her _vis-a-vis_. + +'Oh, oh, oh!' I shrieked, in vain and prolonged agony, as Madame, exerting +her strength and matching her fury against my despair, forced me back in +spite of my wild struggles, and pushed me sitting on the bed, where she +held me fast, glaring in my face, and chuckling and panting over me. + +I think I felt something of the despair of a lost spirit. + +I remember the face of poor Mary Quince--its horror, its wonder--as she +stood gaping into my face, over Madame's shoulder, and crying-- + +'What is it, Miss Maud? What is it, dear?' And turning fiercely on Madame, +and striving to force her grasp from my wrists, 'Are you hurting the child? +Let her go--let her go.' + +'I _weel_ let her go. Wat old fool are you, Mary Queence! She is mad, I +think. She 'as lost hair head.' + +'Oh, Mary, cry from the window. Stop the carriage!' I cried. + +Mary looked out, but there was by this time, of course, nothing in sight. + +'Why don't a you stop the carriage?' sneered Madame. 'Call a the coachman +and the postilion. W'ere is the footman? Bah! _elle a le cerveau mal +timbre_.' + +'Oh, Mary, Mary, is it gone--is it gone? Is there nothing there?' cried I, +rushing to the window; and turning to Madame, after a vain straining of my +eyes, my face against the glass-- + +'Oh, cruel, cruel, wicked woman! why have you done this? What was it to +you? Why do you persecute me? What good _can_ you gain by my ruin?' + +'Rueen! Par bleu! ma chere, you talk too fast. Did not a you see it, Mary +Queence? It was the doctor's carriage, and Mrs. Jolks, and that eempudent +faylow, young Jolks, staring up to the window, and Mademoiselle she come in +soche shocking deshabille to show herself knocking at the window. 'Twould +be very nice thing, Mary Queence, don't you think?' + +I was sitting now on the bedside, crying in mere despair. I did not care to +dispute or to resist. Oh! why had rescue come so near, only to prove that +it could not reach me? So I went on crying, with a clasping of my hands and +turning up of my eyes, in incoherent prayer. I was not thinking of Madame, +or of Mary Quince, or any other person, only babbling my anguish and +despair helplessly in the ear of heaven. + +'I did not think there was soche fool. Wat _enfant gate_! My dear cheaile, +wat a can you _mean_ by soche strange language and conduct? Wat for should +a you weesh to display yourself in the window in soche 'orrible deshabille +to the people in the doctor's coach?' + +'It was _Cousin Knollys_--Cousin Knollys. Oh, Cousin Knollys! You're +gone--you're gone--you're _gone_!' + +'And if it was Lady Knollys' coach, there was certainly a coachman and a +footman; and whoever has the coach there was young gentlemen in it. If it +was Lady Knollys' carriage it would 'av been _worse_ than the doctor.' + +'It is no matter--it is all over. Oh, Cousin Monica, your poor Maud--where +is she to turn? Is there no help?' + +That evening Madame visited me again, in one of her sedate and moral moods. +She found me dejected and passive, as she had left me. + +'I think, Maud, there is news; but I am not certain.' + +I raised my head and looked at her wistfully. + +'I think there is letter of _bad_ news from the attorney in London.' + +'Oh!' I said, in a tone which I am sure implied the absolute indifference +of dejection. + +'But, my dear Maud, if't be so, we shall go at once, you and me, to join +Meess Millicent in France. La belle France! You weel like so moche! We +shall be so gay. You cannot imagine there are such naice girl there. They +all love a me so moche, you will be delight.' + +'How soon do we go?' I asked. + +'I do not know. Bote I was to bring in a case of eau de cologne that came +this evening, and he laid down a letter and say:--"The blow has descended, +Madame! My niece must hold herself in readiness." I said, "For what, +Monsieur?" _twice_; bote he did not answer. I am sure it is _un proces_. +They 'av ruin him. Eh bien, my dear. I suppose we shall leave this triste +place immediately. I am so rejoice. It appears to me _un cimetiere_!' + +'Yes, I should like to leave it,' I said, sitting up, with a great sigh and +sunken eyes. It seemed to me that I had quite lost all sense of resentment +towards Madame. A debility of feeling had supervened--the fatigue, I +suppose, and prostration of the passions. + +'I weel make excuse to go into his room again,' said Madame; 'and I weel +endeavor to learn something more from him, and I weel come back again to +you in half an hour.' + +She departed. But in half an hour did not return. I had a dull longing to +leave Bartram-Haugh. For me, since the departure of poor Milly, it had +grown like the haunt of evil spirits, and to escape on any terms from it +was a blessing unspeakable. + +Another half-hour passed, and another, and I grew insufferably feverish. +I sent Mary Quince to the lobby to try and see Madame, who, I feared, was +probably to-ing and fro-ing in and out of Uncle Silas's room. + +Mary returned to tell me that she had seen old Wyat, who told her that she +thought Madame had gone to her bed half an hour before. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX + +_A SUDDEN DEPARTURE_ + + +'Mary,' said I, 'I am miserably anxious to hear what Madame may have to +tell; she knows the state I am in, and she would not like so much trouble +as to look in at my door to say a word. Did you hear what she told me?' + +'No, Miss Maud,' she answered, rising and drawing near. + +'She thinks we are going to France immediately, and to leave this place +perhaps for ever.' + +'Heaven be praised for that, if it be so, Miss!' said Mary, with more +energy than was common with her, 'for there is no luck about it, and I +don't expect to see you ever well or happy in it.' + +'You must take your candle, Mary, and make out her room, upstairs; I found +it accidentally myself one evening.' + +'But Wyat won't let us upstairs.' + +'Don't mind her, Mary; I tell you to go. You must try. I can't sleep till +we hear.' + +'What direction is her room in, Miss?' asked Mary. + +'Somewhere in _that_ direction, Mary,' I answered, pointing. 'I cannot +describe the turns; but I think you will find it if you go along the great +passage to your left, on getting to the top of the stairs, till you come to +the cross-galleries, and then turn to your left; and when you have passed +four or perhaps five doors, you must be very near it, and I am sure she +will hear if you call.' + +'But will she tell me--she _is_ such a rum un, Miss?' suggested Mary. + +'Tell her exactly what I have said to you, and when she learns that you +already know as much as I do, she may--unless, indeed, she wishes to +torture me. If she won't, perhaps at least you can persuade her to come to +me for a moment. Try, dear Mary; we can but fail.' + +'Will you be very lonely, Miss, while I am away?' asked Mary, uneasily, as +she lighted her candle. + +'I can't help it, Mary. Go. I think if I heard we were going, I could +almost get up and dance and sing. I can't bear this dreadful uncertainty +any longer.' + +'If old Wyat is outside, I'll come back and wait here a bit, till she's out +o' the way,' said Mary; 'and, anyhow, I'll make all the haste I can. The +drops and the sal-volatile is here, Miss, by your hand.' + +And with an anxious look at me, she made her exit, softly, and did not +immediately return, by which I concluded that she had found the way clear, +and had gained the upper story without interruption. + +This little anxiety ended, its subsidence was followed by a sense of +loneliness, and with it, of vague insecurity, which increased at last to +such a pitch, that I wondered at my own madness in sending my companion +away; and at last my terrors so grew, that I drew back into the farthest +corner of the bed, with my shoulders to the wall, and my bed-clothes +huddled about me, with only a point open to peep at. + +At last the door opened gently. + +'Who's there?' I cried, in extremity of horror, expecting I knew not whom. + +'Me, Miss,' whispered Mary Quince, to my unutterable relief; and with her +candle flared, and a wild and pallid face, Mary Quince glided into the +room, locking the door as she entered. + +I do not know how it was, but I found myself holding Mary fast with both my +hands as we stood side by side on the floor. + +'Mary, you are terrified; for God's sake, what is the matter?' I cried. + +'No, Miss,' said Mary, faintly, 'not much.' + +'I see it in your face. What is it?' + +'Let me sit down, Miss. I'll tell you what I saw; only I'm just a bit +queerish.' + +Mary sat down by my bed. + +'Get in, Miss; you'll take cold. Get into bed, and I'll tell you. It is not +much.' + +I did get into bed, and gazing on Mary's frightened face, I felt a +corresponding horror. + +'For mercy's sake, Mary, say what it is?' + +So again assuring me 'it was not much,' she gave me in a somewhat diffuse +and tangled narrative the following facts:-- + +On closing my door, she raised her candle above her head and surveyed the +lobby, and seeing no one there she ascended the stairs swiftly. She passed +along the great gallery to the left, and paused a moment at the cross +gallery, and then recollected my directions clearly, and followed the +passage to the right. + +There are doors at each side, and she had forgotten to ask me at which +Madame's was. She opened several. In one room she was frightened by a bat, +which had very nearly put her candle out. She went on a little, paused, and +began to lose heart in the dismal solitude, when on a sudden, a few doors +farther on, she thought she heard Madame's voice. + +She said that she knocked at the door, but receiving no answer, and hearing +Madame still talking within, she opened it. + +There was a candle on the chimneypiece, and another in a stable lantern +near the window. Madame was conversing volubly on the hearth, with her face +toward the window, the entire frame of which had been taken from its place: +Dickon Hawkes, the Zamiel of the wooden leg, was supporting it with one +hand, as it leaned imperfectly against the angle of the recess. There was +a third figure standing, buttoned up in a surtout, with a bundle of tools +under his arm, like a glazier, and, with a silent thrill of fear, she +distinctly recognised the features as those of Dudley Ruthyn. + +''Twas him, Miss, so sure as I sit here! Well, like that, they were as mute +as mice; three pairs of eyes were on me. I don't know what made me so study +like, but som'at told me I should not make as though I knew any but Madame; +and so I made a courtesy, as well as I could, and I said, "Might I speak a +word wi' ye, please, on the lobby?" + +'Mr. Dudley was making belief be this time to look out at window, wi' his +back to me, and I kept looking straight on Madame, and she said, "They're +mendin' my broken glass, Mary," walking between them and me, and coming +close up to me very quick; and so she marched me backward out o' the door, +prating all the time. + +'When we were on the lobby, she took my candle from my hand, shutting the +door behind her, and she held the light a bit behind her ear; so'twas full +on my face, as she looked sharp into it; and, after a bit, she said again, +in her queer lingo--there was two panes broke in her room, and men sent for +to mend it. + +'I was awful frightened when I saw Mr. Dudley, for I could not believe any +such thing before, and I don't know how I could look her in the face as I +did and not show it. I was as smooth and cool as yonder chimneypiece, and +she has an awful evil eye to stan' against; but I never flinched, and I +think she's puzzled, for as cunning as she is, whether I believe all she +said, or knowed 'twas a pack o' stories. So I told her your message, and +she said she had not heard another word since; but she did believe we had +not many more days here, and would tell you if she heard to-night, when she +brought his soup to your uncle, in half an hour's time.' + +I asked her, as soon as I could speak, whether she was perfectly certain as +to the fact that the man in the surtout was Dudley, and she made answer-- + +'I'd swear to him on that Bible, Miss.' + +So far from any longer wishing Madame's return that night, I trembled at +the idea of it. Who could tell who might enter the room with her when the +door opened to admit her? + +Dudley, so soon as he recovered the surprise, had turned about, evidently +anxious to prevent recognition; Dickon Hawkes stood glowering at her. Both +might have hope of escaping recognition in the imperfect light, for the +candle on the chimneypiece was flaring in the air, and the light from the +lantern fell in spots, and was confusing. + +What could that ruffian, Hawkes, be doing in the house? Why was Dudley +there? Could a more ominous combination be imagined? I puzzled my +distracted head over all Mary Quince's details, but could make nothing of +their occupation. I know of nothing so terrifying as this kind of perpetual +puzzling over ominous problems. + +You may imagine how the long hours of that night passed, and how my heart +beat at every fancied sound outside my door. + +But morning came, and with its light some reassurance. Early, Madame de la +Rougierre made her appearance; she searched my eyes darkly and shrewdly, +but made no allusion to Mary Quince's visit. Perhaps she expected some +question from me, and, hearing none, thought it as well to leave the +subject at rest. + +She had merely come in to say that she had heard nothing since, but was now +going to make my uncle's chocolate; and that so soon as her interview was +ended she would see me again, and let me hear anything she should have +gleaned. + +In a little while a knock came to my door, and Mary Quince was ordered by +old Wyat into my uncle's room. She returned flushed, in a huge fuss, to say +that I was to be up and dressed for a journey in half an hour, and to go +straight, when dressed, to my uncle's room. + +It was good news; at the same time it was a shock. I was glad. I was +stunned. I jumped out of bed, and set about my toilet with an energy quite +new to me. Good Mary Quince was busily packing my boxes, and consulting as +to what I should take with me, and what not. + +Was Mary Quince to accompany me? He had not said a word on that point; and +I feared from his silence she was to remain. There was comfort, however, in +this--that the separation would not be for long; I felt confident of that; +and I was about to join Milly, whom I loved better than I could have +believed before our separation; but whatsoever the conditions might be, +it was an indescribable relief to have done with Bartram-Haugh, and leave +behind me its sinister lines of circumvallation, its haunted recesses, and +the awful spectres that had lately appeared within its walls. + +I stood too much in awe of my uncle to fail in presenting myself punctually +at the close of the half-hour. I entered his sitting-room under the shadow +of sour old Wyat's high-cauled cap; she closed the door behind me, and the +conference commenced. + +Madame de la Rougierre sat there, dressed and draped for a journey, and +with a thick black lace veil on. My uncle rose, gaunt and venerable, and +with a harsh and severe countenance. He did not offer his hand; he made me +a kind of bow, more of repulsion than of respect. He remained in a standing +position, supporting his crooked frame by his hand, which he leaned on a +despatch-box; he glared on me steadily with his wild phosphoric eyes, from +under the dark brows I have described to you, now corrugated in lines +indescribably stern. + +'You shall join my daughter at the Pension, in France; Madame de la +Rougierre shall accompany you,' said my uncle, delivering his directions +with the stern monotony and the measured pauses of a person dictating an +important despatch to a secretary.' Old Mrs. Quince shall follow with me, +or, if alone, in a week. You shall pass to-night in London; to-morrow night +you proceed thence to Dover, and cross by the mail-packet. You shall now +sit down and write a letter to your cousin Monica Knollys, which I will +first read and then despatch. Tomorrow you shall write a note to Lady +Knollys, from _London_, telling her how you have got over so much of your +journey, and that you cannot write from Dover, as you must instantly start +by the packet on reaching it; and that until my affairs are a little +settled, you cannot write to her from France, as it is of high importance +to my safety that no clue should exist as to our address. Intelligence, +however, shall reach her through my attorneys, Archer and Sleigh, and I +trust we shall soon return. You will, please, submit that latter note to +Madame de la Rougierre, who has my directions to see that it contains no +_libels_ upon my character. Now, sit down.' + +So, with those unpleasant words tingling in my ears, I obeyed. + +'_Write_,' said he, when I was duly placed. 'You shall convey the substance +of what I say in your own language. The immiment danger this morning +announced of an execution--remember the word,' and he spelled it for +me--'being put into this house either this afternoon or to-morrow, compels +me to anticipate my plans, and despatch you for France this day. That you +are starting with an attendant.' Here an uneasy movement from Madame, +whose dignity was perhaps excited. 'An _attendant_,' he repeated, with a +discordant emphasis; 'and you can, if you please--but I don't _solicit_ +that justice--say that you have been as kindly treated here as my +unfortunate circumstances would permit. That is all. You have just fifteen +minutes to write. Begin.' + +I wrote accordingly. My hysterical state had made me far less combative +than I might have proved some months since, for there was much that was +insulting as well as formidable in his manner. I completed my letter, +however, to his satisfaction in the prescribed time; and he said, as he +laid it and its envelope on the table-- + +'Please to remember that this lady is not your attendant only, but that she +has authority to direct every detail respecting your journey, and will make +all the necessary payments on the way. You will please, then, implicitly to +comply with her directions. The carriage awaits you at the hall-door.' + +Having thus spoken, with another grim bow, and 'I wish you a safe and +pleasant journey,' he receded a step or two, and I, with an undefinable +kind of melancholy, though also with a sense of relief, withdrew. + +My letter, I afterwards found, reached Lady Knollys, accompanied by one +from Uncle Silas, who said--'Dear Maud apprises me that she has written +to tell you something of our movements. A sudden crisis in my miserable +affairs compels a break-up as sudden here. Maud joins my daughter at the +Pension, in France. I purposely omit the address, because I mean to +reside in its vicinity until this storm shall have blown over; and as the +consequences of some of my unhappy entanglements might pursue me even +there, I must only for the present spare you the pain and trouble of +keeping a secret. I am sure that for some little time you will excuse +the girl's silence; in the meantime you shall hear of them, and perhaps +circuitously, from me. Our dear Maud started this morning _en route_ for +her destination, very sorry, as am I, that she could not enjoy first a +flying visit to Elverston, but in high spirits, notwithstanding, at the new +life and sights before her.' + +At the door my beloved old friend, Mary Quince, awaited me. + +'Am I going with you, Miss Maud?' + +I burst into tears and clasped her in my arms. + +'I'm not,' said Mary, very sorrowfully; 'and I never was from you yet, +Miss, since you wasn't the length of my arm.' + +And kind old Mary began to cry with me. + +'Bote you are coming in a few days, Mary Quince,' expostulated Madame. 'I +wonder you are soche fool. What is two, three days? Bah! nonsense, girl.' + +Another farewell to poor Mary Quince, quite bewildered at the suddenness of +her bereavement. A serious and tremulous bow from our little old butler on +the steps. Madame bawling through the open window to the driver to make +good speed, and remember that we had but nineteen minutes to reach the +station. Away we went. Old Crowle's iron _grille_ rolled back before us. +I looked on the receding landscape, the giant trees--the palatial, +time-stained mansion. A strange conflict of feelings, sweet and bitter, +rose and mingled in the reverie. Had I been too hard and suspicious with +the inhabitants of that old house of my family? Was my uncle _justly_ +indignant? Was I ever again to know such pleasant rambles as some of those +I had enjoyed with dear Millicent through the wild and beautiful woodlands +I was leaving behind me? And there, with my latest glimpse of the front +of Bartram-Haugh, I beheld dear old Mary Quince gazing after us. Again +my tears flowed. I waved my handkerchief from the window; and now the +park-wall hid all from view, and at a great pace, throught the steep wooded +glen, with the rocky and precipitous character of a ravine, we glided; and +when the road next emerged, Bartram-Haugh was a misty mass of forest and +chimneys, slope and hollow, and we within a few minutes of the station. + + + + +CHAPTER LX + +_THE JOURNEY_ + + +Waiting for the train, as we stood upon the platform, I looked back again +toward the wooded uplands of Bartram; and far behind, the fine range of +mountains, azure and soft in the distance, beyond which lay beloved old +Knowl, and my lost father and mother, and the scenes of my childhood, never +embittered except by the sibyl who sat beside me. + +Under happier circumstances I should have been, at my then early age, quite +wild with pleasurable excitement on entering London for the first time. +But black Care sat by me, with her pale hand in mine: a voice of fear and +warning, whose words I could not catch, was always in my ear. We drove +through London, amid the glare of lamps, toward the West-end, and for a +little while the sense of novelty and curiosity overcame my despondency, +and I peeped eagerly from the window; while Madame, who was in high +good-humour, spite of the fatigues of our long railway flight, screeched +scraps of topographic information in my ear; for London was a picture-book +in which she was well read. + +'That is Euston Square, my dear--Russell Square. Here is Oxford +Street--Haymarket. See, there is the Opera House--Hair Majesty's Theatre. +See all the carriages waiting;' and so on, till we reached at length a +little narrow street, which she told me was off Piccadilly, where we drew +up before a private house, as it seemed to me--a family hotel--and I was +glad to be at rest for the night. + +Fatigued with the peculiar fatigue of railway travelling, dusty, a little +chilly, with eyes aching and wearied, I ascended the stairs silently, our +garrulous and bustling landlady leading the way, and telling her oft-told +story of the house, its noble owner in old time, and how those fine +drawing-rooms were taken every year during the Session by the Bishop of +Rochet-on-Copeley, and at last into our double-bedded room. + +I would fain have been alone, but I was too tired and dejected to care very +much for anything. + +At tea, Madame expanded in spirit, like a giant refreshed, and chattered +and sang; and at last, seeing that I was nodding, advised my going to bed, +while she ran across the street to see 'her dear old friend, Mademoiselle +St. Eloi, who was sure to be up, and would be offended if she failed to +make her ever so short a call.' + +I cared little what she said, and was glad to be rid of her even for a +short time, and was soon fast asleep. + +I saw her, I know not how much later, poking about the room, like a figure +in a dream, and taking off her things. + +She had her breakfast in bed next morning, and I was, to my comfort, left +to take mine in solitary possession of our sitting-room; where I began to +wonder how little annoyance I had as yet suffered from her company, and +began to speculate upon the chances of my making the journey with tolerable +comfort. + +Our hostess gave me five minutes of her valuable time. Her talk ran chiefly +upon nuns and convents, and her old acquaintance with Madame; and it seemed +to me that she had at one time driven a kind of trade, no doubt profitable +enough, in escorting young ladies to establishments on the Continent; and +although I did not then quite understand the tone in which she spoke to me, +I often thought afterwards that Madame had represented me as a young person +destined for the holy vocation of the veil. + +When she was gone, I sat listlessly looking out of the window, and saw some +chance equipages drive by, and now and then a fashionable pedestrian; and +wondered if this quiet thoroughfare could really be one of the arteries so +near the heart of the tumultuous capital. + +I think my nervous vitality must have burnt very low just then, for I felt +perfectly indifferent about all the novelty and world of wonders beyond, +and should have hated to leave the dull tranquillity of my window for an +excursion through the splendours of the unseen streets and palaces that +surrounded me. + +It was one o'clock before Madame joined me; and finding me in this dull +mood, she did not press me to accompany her in her drive, no doubt well +pleased to be rid of me. + +After tea that evening, as we sat alone in our room, she entertained me +with some very odd conversation--at the time unintelligible--but which +acquired a tolerably distinct meaning from the events that followed. + +Two or three times that day Madame appeared to me on the point of saying +something of grave import, as she scanned me with her bleak wicked stare. + +It was a peculiarity of hers, that whenever she was pressed upon by an +anxiety that really troubled her, her countenance did not look sad or +solicitous, as other people's would, but simply wicked. Her great gaunt +mouth was compressed and drawn down firmly at the corners, and her eyes +glared with a dismal scowl. + +At last she said suddenly-- + +'Are you ever grateful, Maud?' + +'I hope so, Madame,' I answered. + +'And how do you show your gratitude? For instance, would a you do great +deal for a person who would run _risque_ for your sake?' + +It struck me all at once that she was sounding me about poor Meg Hawkes, +whose fidelity, notwithstanding the treason or cowardice of her lover, Tom +Brice, I never doubted; and I grew at once wary and reserved. + +'I know of no opportunity, thank Heaven, for any such service, Madame. How +can anyone serve me at present, by themselves incurring danger? What do you +mean?' + +'Do you like, for example, to go to that French Pension? Would you not like +better some other arrangement?' + +'Of course there are other arrangements I should like better; but I see no +use in talking of them; they are not to be,' I answered. + +'What other arrangements do you mean, my dear cheaile?' enquired Madame. +'You mean, I suppose, you would like better to go to Lady Knollys?' + +'My uncle does not choose it at present; and except with his consent +nothing can be done!' + +'He weel never consent, dear cheaile.' + +'But he _has_ consented--not immediately indeed, but in a short time, when +his affairs are settled.' + +'_Lanternes_! They will never be settle,' said Madame. + +'At all events, for the present I am to go to France. Milly seems very +happy, and I dare say I shall like it too. I am very glad to leave +Bartram-Haugh, at all events.' + +'But your uncle weel bring you back there,' said Madame, drily. + +'It is doubtful whether he will ever return to Bartram himself,' I said. + +'Ah!' said Madame, with a long-drawn nasal intonation, 'you theenk I hate +you. You are quaite wrong, my dear Maud. I am, on the contrary, very much +interested for you--I am, I assure you, dear a cheaile.' + +And she laid her great hand, with joints misshapen by old chilblains, upon +the back of mine. I looked up in her face. She was not smiling. On the +contrary, her wide mouth was drawn down at the corners ruefully, as before, +and she gazed on my face with a scowl from her abysmal eyes. + +I used to think the flare of that irony which lighted her face so often +immeasurably worse than any other expression she could assume; but this +lack-lustre stare and dismal collapse of feature was more wicked still. + +'Suppose I should bring you to Lady Knollys, and place you in her charge, +what would a you do then for poor Madame?' said this dark spectre. + +I was inwardly startled at these words. I looked into her unsearchable +face, but could draw thence nothing but fear. Had she made the same +overture only two days since, I think I would have offered her half my +fortune. But circumstances were altered. I was no longer in the panic of +despair. The lesson I had received from Tom Brice was fresh in my mind, and +my profound distrust of her was uppermost. I saw before me only a tempter +and betrayer, and said-- + +'Do you mean to imply, Madame, that my guardian is not to be trusted, and +that I ought to make my escape from him, and that you are really willing to +aid me in doing so?' + +This, you see, was turning the tables upon her. I looked her steadily in +the face as I spoke. She returned my gaze with a strange stare and a gape, +which haunted me long after; and it seemed as we sat in utter silence that +each was rather horribly fascinated by the other's gaze. + +At last she shut her mouth sternly, and eyes me with a more determined and +meaning scowl, and then said in a low tone-- + +'I believe, Maud, that you are a cunning and wicked little thing.' + +'Wisdom is not cunning, Madame; nor is it wicked to ask your meaning in +explicit language,' I replied. + +'And so, you clever cheaile, we two sit here, playing at a game of chess, +over this little table, to decide which shall destroy the other--is it not +so?' + +'I will not allow you to destroy me,' I retorted, with a sudden flash. + +Madame stood up, and rubbed her mouth with her open hand. She looked to me +like some evil being seen in a dream. I was frightened. + +'You are going to hurt me!' I ejaculated, scarce knowing what I said. + +'If I were, you deserve it. You are very _malicious_, ma chere: or, it may +be, only very stupid.' + +A knock came to the door. + +'Come in,' I cried, with a glad sense of relief. + +A maid entered. + +'A letter, please, 'm,' she said, handing it to me. + +'For _me_,' snarled Madame, snatching it. + +I had seen my uncle's hand, and the Feltram post-mark. + +Madame broke the seal, and read. It seemed but a word, for she turned it +about after the first momentary glance, and examined the interior of the +envelope, and then returned to the line she had already read. + +She folded the letter again, drawing her nails in a sharp pinch along the +creases, as she stared in a blank, hesitating way at me. + +'You are stupid little ingrate, I am employ by Monsieur Ruthyn, and of +course I am faithful to my employer. I do not want to talk to you. _There_, +you may read that.' + +She jerked the letter before me on the table. It contained but these +words:-- + +Bartram-Haugh: + +'_30th January, 1845_. + +'MY DEAR MADAME, + +'Be so good as to take the half-past eight o'clock train to _Dover_ +to-night. Beds are prepared.--Yours very truly, + +SILAS RUTHYN.' + +I cannot say what it was in this short advice that struck me with fear. Was +it the thick line beneath the word 'Dover,' that was so uncalled for, and +gave me a faint but terrible sense of something preconcerted? + +I said to Madame-- + +'Why is "Dover" underlined?' + +'I do not know, little fool, no more than you. How can I tell what is +passing in your oncle's head when he make that a mark?' + +'Has it not a meaning, Madame?' + +'How can you talk like that?' she answered, more in her old way. 'You are +either mocking of me, or you are becoming truly a fool!' + +She rang the bell, called for our bill, saw our hostess; while I made a few +hasty prepartions in my room. + +'You need not look after the trunks--they will follow us all right. Let us +go, cheaile--we 'av half an hour only to reach the train.' + +No one ever fussed like Madame when occasion offered. There was a cab at +the door, into which she hurried me. I assumed that she would give all +needful directions, and leaned back, very weary and sleepy already, though +it was so early, listening to her farewell screamed from the cab-step, and +seeing her black cloak flitting and flapping this way and that, like the +wings of a raven disturbed over its prey. + +In she got, and away we drove through a glare of lamps, and shop-windows, +still open; gas everywhere, and cabs, busses, and carriages, still +thundering through the streets. I was too tired and too depressed to look +at those things. Madame, on the contrary, had her head out of the window +till we reached the station. + +'Where are the rest of the boxes?' I asked, as Madame placed me in charge +of her box and my bag in the office of the terminus. + +'They will follow with Boots in another cab, and will come safe with us in +this train. Mind those two, we weel bring in the carriage with us.' + +So into a carriage we got; in came Madame's box and my bag; Madame stood at +the door, and, I think, frightened away intending passengers, by her size +and shrillness. + +At last the bell rang her into her place, the door clapt, the whistle +sounded, and we were off. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI + +_OUR BED-CHAMBER_ + + +I had passed a miserable night, and, indeed, for many nights had not had my +due proportion of sleep. Still I sometimes fancy that I may have swallowed +something in my tea that helped to make me so irresistibly drowsy. It was a +very dark night--no moon, and the stars soon hid by the gathering clouds. +Madame sat silent, and ruminating in her place, with her rugs about her. +I, in my corner similarly enveloped, tried to keep awake. Madame plainly +thought I was asleep already, for she stole a leather flask from her +pocket, and applied it to her lips, causing an aroma of brandy. + +But it was vain struggling against the influence that was stealing over me, +and I was soon in a profound and dreamless slumber. + +Madame awoke me at last, in a huge fuss. She had got out all our things and +hurried them away to a close carriage which was awaiting us. It was still +dark and starless. We got along the platform, I half asleep, the porter +carrying our rugs, by the glare of a pair of gas-jets in the wall, and out +by a small door at the end. + +I remember that Madame, contrary to her wont, gave the man some money. By +the puzzling light of the carriage-lamps we got in and took our seats. + +'Go on,' screamed Madame, and drew up the window with a great chuck; and we +were enclosed in darkness and silence, the most favourable conditions for +thought. + +My sleep had not restored me as it might; I felt feverish, fatigued, and +still very drowsy, though unable to sleep as I had done. + +I dozed by fits and starts, and lay awake, or half-awake, sometimes, not +thinking but in a way imagining what kind of a place Dover would be; but +too tired and listless to ask Madame any questions, and merely seeing the +hedges, grey in the lamplight, glide backward into darkness, as I leaned +back. + +We turned off the main road, at right angles, and drew up. + +'Get down and poosh it, it is open,' screamed Madame from the window. + +A gate, I suppose, was thus passed; for when we resumed our brisk trot, +Madame bawled across the carriage-- + +'We are now in the 'otel grounds.' + +And so all again was darkness and silence, and I fell into another doze, +from which, on waking, I found that we had come to a standstill, and Madame +was standing on the low step of an open door, paying the driver. She, +herself, pulled her box and the bag in. I was too tired to care what had +become of the rest of our luggage. + +I descended, glancing to the right and left, but there was nothing visible +but a patch of light from the lamps on a paved ground and on the wall. + +We stepped into the hall or vestibule, and Madame shut the door, and I +thought I heard the key turn in it. We were in total darkness. + +'Where are the lights, Madame--where are the people?' I asked, more awake +than I had been. + +''Tis pass three o'clock, cheaile, bote there is always light here.' She +was groping at the side; and in a moment more lighted a lucifer match, and +so a bedroom candle. + +We were in a flagged lobby, under an archway at the right, and at the left +of which opened long flagged passages, lost in darkness; a winding stair, +barely wide enough to admit Madame, dragging her box, led upward under a +doorway, in a corner at the right. + +'Come, dear cheaile, take your bag; don't mind the rugs, they are safe +enough.' + +'But where are we to go? There is no one!' I said, looking round in wonder. +It certainly was a strange reception at an hotel. + +'Never mind, my dear cheaile. They know me here, and I have always the same +room ready when I write for it. Follow me quaitely.' + +So she mounted, carrying the candle. The stair was steep, and the march +long. We halted at the second landing, and entered a gaunt, grimy passage. +All the way up we had not heard a single sound of life, nor seen a human +being, nor so much as passed a gaslight. + +'Viola! here 'tis, my dear old room. Enter, dearest Maud.' + +And so I did. The room was large and lofty, but shabby and dismal. There +was a tall four-post bed, with its foot beside the window, hung with +dark-green curtains, of some plush or velvet texture, that looked like +a dusty pall. The remaining furniture was scant and old, and a ravelled +square of threadbare carpet covered a patch of floor at the bedside. The +room was grim and large, and had a cold, vault-like atmosphere, as if +long uninhabited; but there were cinders in the grate and under it. The +imperfect light of our mutton-fat candle made all this look still more +comfortless. + +Madame placed the candle on the chimneypiece, locked the door, and put the +key in her pocket. + +'I always do so in '_otel_' said she, with a wink at me. + +And, then with a long 'ha!' expressive of fatigue and relief, she threw +herself into a chair. + +'So 'ere we are at last!' said she; 'I'm glad. _There's_ your bed, Maud. +_Mine_ is in the dressing-room.' + +She took the candle, and I went in with her. A shabby press bed, a +chair, and table were all its furniture; it was rather a closet than a +dressing-room, and had no door except that through which we had entered. So +we returned, and very tired, wondering, I sat down on the side of my bed +and yawned. + +'I hope they will call us in time for the packet,' I said. + +'Oh yes, they never fail,' she answered, looking steadfastly on her box, +which she was diligently uncording. + +Uninviting as was my bed, I was longing to lie down in it; and having made +those ablutions which our journey rendered necessary, I at length lay +down, having first religiously stuck my talismanic pin, with the head of +sealing-wax, into the bolster. + +Nothing escaped the restless eye of Madame. + +'Wat is that, dear cheaile?' she enquired, drawing near and scrutinising +the head of the gipsy charm, which showed like a little ladybird newly +lighted on the sheet. + +'Nothing--a charm--folly. Pray, Madame, allow me to go to sleep.' + +So, with another look and a little twiddle between her finger and thumb, +she seemed satisfied; but, unhappily for me, she did not seem at all +sleepy. She busied herself in unpacking and displaying over the back of the +chair a whole series of London purchases--silk dresses, a shawl, a sort of +lace demi-coiffure then in vogue, and a variety of other articles. + +The vainest and most slammakin of women--the merest slut at home, +a milliner's lay figure out of doors--she had one square foot of +looking-glass upon the chimneypiece, and therein tried effects, and +conjured up grotesque simpers upon her sinister and weary face. + +I knew that the sure way to prolong this worry was to express my uneasiness +under it, so I bore it as quietly as I could; and at last fell fast asleep +with the gaunt image of Madame, with a festoon of grey silk with a cerise +stripe, pinched up in her finger and thumb, and smiling over her shoulder +across it into the little shaving-glass that stood on the chimney. + +I awoke suddenly in the morning, and sat up in my bed, having for a moment +forgotten all about our travelling. A moment more, however, brought all +back again. + +'Are we in time, Madame?' + +'For the packet?' she enquired, with one of her charming smiles, and +cutting a caper on the floor. 'To be sure; you don't suppose they would +forget. We have two hours yet to wait.' + +'Can we see the sea from the window?' + +'No, dearest cheaile; you will see't time enough. + +'I'd like to get up,' I said. + +'Time enough, my dear Maud; you are fatigued; are you sure you feel quite +well?' + +'Well enough to get up; I should be better, I think, out of bed.' + +'There is no hurry, you know; you need not even go by the next packet. Your +uncle, he tell me, I may use my discretion.' + +'Is there any water?' + +'They will bring some.' + +'Please, Madame, ring the bell.' + +She pulled it with alacrity. I afterwards learnt that it did not ring. + +'What has become of my gipsy pin?' I demanded, with an unaccountable +sinking of the heart. + +'Oh! the little pin with the red top? maybe it 'as fall on the ground; we +weel find when you get up.' + +I suspected that she had taken it merely to spite me. It would have been +quite the thing she would have liked. I cannot describe to you how the loss +of this little 'charm' depressed and excited me. I searched the bed; I +turned over all the bed-clothes; I searched in and outside; at last I gave +up. + +'How odious!' I cried; 'somebody has stolen it merely to vex me.' + +And, like a fool as I was, I threw myself on my face on the bed and wept, +partly in anger, partly in dismay. + +After a time, however, this blew over. I had a hope of recovering it. +If Madame had stolen it, it would turn up yet. But in the meantime its +disappearance troubled me like an omen. + +'I am afraid, my dear cheaile, you are not very well. It is really very odd +you should make such fuss about a pin! Nobody would believe! Do you not +theenk it would be a good plan to take a your breakfast in your bed? + +She continued to urge this point for some time. At last, however, having +by this time quite recovered my self-command, and resolved to preserve +ostensibly fair terms with Madame, who could contribute so essentially to +make me wretched during the rest of my journey, and possibly to prejudice +me very seriously on my arrival, I said quietly-- + +'Well, Madame, I know it is very silly; but I had kept that foolish little +pin so long and so carefully, that I had grown quite fond of it; but I +suppose it is lost, and I must content myself, though I cannot laugh as you +do. So I will get up now, and dress.' + +'I think you will do well to get all the repose you can,' answered Madame; +'but as you please,' she added, observing that I was getting up. + +So soon as I had got some of my things on, I said-- + +'Is there a pretty view from the window?' + +'No,' said Madame. + +I looked out and saw a dreary quadrangle of cut stone, in one side of which +my window was placed. As I looked a dream rose up before me. + +'This hotel,' I said, in a puzzled way. '_Is_ it a hotel? Why this is just +like--it _is_ the inner court of Bartram-Haugh!' + +Madame clapped her large hands together, made a fantastic _chasse_ on the +floor, burst into a great nasal laugh like the scream of a parrot, and then +said-- + +'Well, dearest Maud, is not clever trick?' + +I was so utterly confounded that I could only stare about me in stupid +silence, a spectacle which renewed Madame's peals of laughter. + +'We are at Bartram-Haugh!' I repeated, in utter consternation. 'How was +this done?' + +I had no reply but shrieks of laughter, and one of those Walpurgis dances +in which she excelled. + +'It is a mistake--is it? _What_ is it?' + +'All a mistake, of course. Bartram-Haugh, it is so like Dover, as all +philosophers know.' + +I sat down in total silence, looking out into the deep and dark enclosure, +and trying to comprehend the reality and the meaning of all this. + +'Well, Madame, I suppose you will be able to satisfy my uncle of your +fidelity and intelligence. But to me it seems that his money has been +ill-spent, and his directions anything but well observed.' + +'Ah, ha! Never mind; I think he will forgive me,' laughed Madame. + +Her tone frightened me. I began to think, with a vague but overpowering +sense of danger, that she had acted under the Machiavellian directions of +her superior. + +'You have brought me back, then, by my uncle's orders?' + +'Did I say so?' + +'No; but what you have said can have no other meaning, though I can't +believe it. And why have I been brought here? What is the object of all +this duplicity and trick. I _will_ know. It is not possible that my uncle, +a gentleman and a kinsman, can be privy to so disreputable a manouvre.' + +'First you will eat your breakfast, dear Maud; next you can tell your story +to your uncle, Monsieur Ruthyn; and then you shall hear what he thinks of +my so terrible misconduct. What nonsense, cheaile! Can you not think how +many things may 'appen to change a your uncle's plans? Is he not in danger +to be arrest? Bah! You are cheaile still; you cannot have intelligence more +than a cheaile. Dress yourself, and I will order breakfast.' + +I could not comprehend the strategy which had been practised on me. Why had +I been so shamelessly deceived? If it were decided that I should remain +here, for what imaginable reason had I been sent so far on my journey to +France? Why had I been conveyed back with such mystery? Why was I removed +to this uncomfortable and desolate room, on the same floor with the +apartment in which Charke had met his death, and with no window commanding +the front of the house, and no view but the deep and weed-choked court, +that looked like a deserted churchyard in a city? + +'I suppose I may go to my own room?' I said. + +'Not to-day, my dear cheaile, for it was all disarrange when we go 'way; +'twill be ready again in two three days.' + +'Where is Mary Quince?' I asked. + +'Mary Quince!--she has follow us to France,' said Madame, making what in +Ireland they call a bull. + +'They are not sure where they will go or what will do for day or two more. +I will go and get breakfast. Adieu for a moment.' + +Madame was out of the door as she said this, and I thought I heard the key +turn in the lock. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII + +_A WELL-KNOWN FACE LOOKS IN_ + + +You who have never experienced it can have no idea how angry and frightened +you become under the sinister insult of being locked into a room, as on +trying the door I found I was. + +The key was in the lock; I could see it through the hole. I called after +Madame, I shook at the solid oak-door, beat upon it with my hands, kicked +it--but all to no purpose. + +I rushed into the next room, forgetting--if indeed I had observed it, that +there was no door from it upon the gallery. I turned round in an angry and +dismayed perplexity, and, like prisoners in romances, examined the windows. + +I was shocked and affrighted on discovering in reality what they +occasionally find--a series of iron bars crossing the window! They were +firmly secured in the oak woodwork of the window-frame, and each window +was, besides, so compactly screwed down that it could not open. This +bedroom was converted into a prison. A momentary hope flashed on +me--perhaps all the windows were secured alike! But it was no such thing: +these gaol-like precautions were confined to the windows to which I had +access. + +For a few minutes I felt quite distracted; but I bethought me that I must +now, if ever, control my terrors and exert whatever faculties I possessed. + +I stood upon a chair and examined the oak-work. I thought I detected marks +of new chiselling here and there. The screws, too, looked new; and they +and the scars on the woodwork were freshly smeared over with some coloured +stuff by way of disguise. + +While I was making these observations, I heard the key stealthily stirred. +I suspect that Madame wished to surprise me. Her approaching step, indeed, +was seldom audible; she had the soft tread of the feline tribe. + +I was standing in the centre of the room confronting her when she entered. + +'Why did you lock the door, Madame?' I demanded. + +She slipped in suddenly with an insidious smirk, and locked the door +hastily. + +'Hish!' whispered Madame, raising her broad palm; and then screwing in her +cheeks, she made an ogle over her shoulder in the direction of the passage. + +'Hish! be quiate, cheaile, weel you, and I weel tale you everything +presently.' + +She paused, with her ear laid to the door. + +'Now I can speak, ma chere; I weel tale a you there is bailiff in the +house, two, three, four soche impertinent fallows! They have another as bad +as themselve to make a leest of the furniture: we most keep them out of +these rooms, dear Maud.' + +'You left the key in the door on the outside,' I retorted; 'that was not to +keep them out, but me in, Madame.' + +'_Deed_ I leave the key in the door?' ejaculated Madame, with both hands +raised, and such a genuine look of consternation as for a moment shook me. + +It was the nature of this woman's deceptions that they often puzzled though +they seldom convinced me. + +'I re-ally think, Maud, all those so frequent changes and excite-ments they +weel overturn my poor head.' + +'And the windows are secured with iron bars--what are they for?' I +whispered sternly, pointing with my finger at these grim securities. + +'That is for more a than forty years, when Sir Phileep Aylmer was to reside +here, and had this room for his children's nursery, and was afraid they +should fall out.' + +'But if you look you will find these bars have been put here very recently: +the screws and marks are quite new.' + +'_Eendeed!_' ejaculated Madame, with prolonged emphasis, in precisely the +same consternation. 'Why, my dear, they told a me down stair what I have +tell a you, when I ask the reason! Late a me see.' + +And Madame mounted on a chair, and made her scrutiny with much curiosity, +but could not agree with me as to the very recent date of the carpentry. + +There is nothing, I think, so exasperating as that sort of falsehood which +affects not to see what is quite palpable. + +'Do you mean to say, Madame, that you really think those chisellings and +screws are forty years old?' + +'How can I tell, cheaile? What does signify whether it is forty or only +fourteen years? Bah! we av other theeng to theenk about. Those villain men! +I am glad to see bar and bolt, and lock and key, at least, to our room, to +keep soche faylows out!' + +At that moment a knock came to the door, and Madame's nasal 'in moment' +answered promptly, and she opened the door, stealthily popping out her +head. + +'Oh, that is all right; go you long, no ting more, go way.' + +'Who's there?' I cried. + +'Hold a your tongue,' said Madame imperiously to the visitor, whose voice I +fancied I recognised--'_go_ way.' + +Out slipped Madame again, locking the door; but this time she returned +immediately, bearing a tray with breakfast. + +I think she fancied that I would perhaps attempt to break away and escape; +but I had no such thought at that moment. She hastily set down the tray on +the floor at the threshold, locking the door as before. + +My share of breakfast was a little tea; but Madame's digestion was seldom +disturbed by her sympathies, and she ate voraciously. During this process +there was a silence unusual in her company; but when her meal was ended she +proposed a reconnaissance, professing much uncertainty as to whether my +Uncle had been arrested or not. + +'And in case the poor old gentleman be poot in what you call stone jug, +where are _we_ to go my dear Maud--to Knowl or to Elverston? You must +direct.' + +And so she disappeared, turning the key in the door as before. It was an +old custom of hers, locking herself in her room, and leaving the key in the +lock; and the habit prevailed, for she left it there again. + +With a heavy heart I completed my simple toilet, wondering all the while +how much of Madame's story might be false and how much, if any, true. Then +I looked out upon the dingy courtyard below, in its deep damp shadow, and +thought, 'How could an assassin have scaled that height in safety, and +entered so noiselessly as not to awaken the slumbering gamester?' Then +there were the iron bars across my window. What a fool had I been to object +to that security! + +I was labouring hard to reassure myself, and keep all ghastly suspicions at +arm's length. But I wished that my room had been to the front of the house, +with some view less dismal. + +Lost in these ruminations of fear, as I stood at the window I was startled +by the sound of a sharp tread on the lobby, and by the key turning in the +lock of my door. + +In a panic I sprang back into the corner, and stood with my eyes fixed +upon the door. It opened a little, and the black head of Meg Hawkes was +introduced. + +'Oh, Meg!' I cried; 'thank God!' + +'I guessed'twas you, Miss Maud. I am feared, Miss.' + +The miller's daughter was pale, and her eyes, I thought, were red and +swollen. + +'Oh, Meg! for God's sake, what is it all?' + +'I darn't come in. The old un's gone down, and locked the cross-door, and +left me to watch. They think I care nout about ye, no more nor themselves. +I donna know all, but summat more nor her. They tell her nout, she's so +gi'n to drink; they say she's not safe, an' awful quarrelsome. I hear a +deal when fayther and Master Dudley be a-talkin' in the mill. They think, +comin' in an' out, I don't mind; but I put one think an' t'other together. +An' don't ye eat nor drink nout here, Miss; hide away this; it's black +enough, but wholesome anyhow!' and she slipt a piece of a coarse loaf from +under her apron. '_Hide_ it mind. Drink nout but the water in the jug +there--it's clean spring.' + +'Oh, Meg! Oh, Meg! I know what you mean,' said I, faintly. + +'Ay, Miss, I'm feared they'll try it; they'll try to make away wi' ye +somehow. I'm goin' to your friends arter dark; I darn't try it no sooner. +I'll git awa to Ellerston, to your lady-cousin, and I'll bring 'em back wi' +me in a rin; so keep a good hairt, lass. Meg Hawkes will stan' to ye. Ye +were better to me than fayther and mother, and a';' and she clasped me +round the waist, and buried her head in my dress; 'an I'll gie my life for +ye, darling, and if they hurt ye I'll kill myself.' + +She recovered her sterner mood quickly-- + +'Not a word, lass,' she said, in her old tone. 'Don't ye try to git +away--they'll _kill_ ye--ye _can't_ do't. Leave a' to me. It won't be, +whatever it is, till two or three o'clock in the morning. I'll ha'e them a' +here long afore; so keep a brave heart--there's a darling.' + +I suppose she heard, or fancied she heard, a step approaching, for she +said-- + +'Hish!' + +Her pale wild face vanished, the door shut quickly and softly, and the key +turned again in the lock. + +Meg, in her rude way, had spoken softly--almost under her breath; but no +prophecy shrieked by the Pythoness ever thundered so madly in the ears of +the hearer. I dare say that Meg fancied I was marvellously little moved by +her words. I felt my gaze grow intense, and my flesh and bones literally +freeze. She did not know that every word she spoke seemed to burst like a +blaze in my brain. She had delivered her frightful warning, and told +her story coarsely and bluntly, which, in effect, means distinctly and +concisely; and, I dare say, the announcement so made, like a quick bold +incision in surgery, was more tolerable than the slow imperfect mangling, +which falters and recedes and equivocates with torture. Madame was long +away. I sat down at the window, and tried to appreciate my dreadful +situation. I was stupid--the imagery was all frightful; but I beheld it as +we sometimes see horrors--heads cut off and houses burnt--in a dream, and +without the corresponding emotions. It did not seem as if all this were +really happening to me. I remember sitting at the window, and looking and +blinking at the opposite side of the building, like a person unable but +striving to see an object distinctly, and every minute pressing my hand to +the side of my head and saying-- + +'Oh, it won't be--it won't be--Oh no!--never!--it could not be!' And in +this stunned state Madame found me on her return. + +But the valley of the shadow of death has its varieties of dread. The +'horror of great darkness' is disturbed by voices and illumed by sights. +There are periods of incapacity and collapse, followed by paroxysms +of active terror. Thus in my journey during those long hours I found +it--agonies subsiding into lethargies, and these breaking again into +frenzy. I sometimes wonder how I carried my reason safely through the +ordeal. + +Madame locked the door, and amused herself with her own business, without +minding me, humming little nasal snatches of French airs, as she smirked on +her silken purchases displayed in the daylight. Suddenly it struck me that +it was very dark, considering how early it was. I looked at my watch; +it seemed to me a great effort of concentration to understand it. Four +o'clock, it said. Four o'clock! It would be dark at five--_night_ in one +hour! + +'Madame, what o'clock is it? Is it evening?' I cried with my hand to my +forehead, like a person puzzled. + +'Two three minutes past four. It had five minutes to four when I came +upstairs,' answered she, without interrupting her examination of a piece of +darned lace which she was holding close to her eyes at the window. + +'Oh, Madame! _Madame!_ I'm frightened,' cried I, with a wild and piteous +voice, grasping her arm, and looking up, as shipwrecked people may their +last to heaven, into her inexorable eyes. Madame looked frightened too, I +thought, as she stared into my face. At last she said, rather angrily, and +shaking her arm loose-- + +'What you mean, cheaile?' + +'Oh save me, Madame!--oh save me!--oh save me, Madame!' I pleaded, with the +wild monotony of perfect terror, grasping and clinging to her dress, and +looking up, with an agonised face, into the eyes of that shadowy Atropos. + +'Save a you, indeed! Save! What _niaiserie_!' + +'Oh, Madame! Oh, _dear_ Madame! for God's sake, only get me away--get me +from this, and I'll do everything you ask me all my life--I will--_indeed_, +Madame, I will! Oh save me! save me! _save_ me!' + +I was clinging to Madame as to my guardian angel in my agony. + +'And who told you, cheaile, you are in any danger?' demanded Madame, +looking down on me with a black and witchlike stare. + +'I am, Madame--I am--in great danger! Oh, Madame, think of me--take pity on +me! I have none to help me--there is no one but God and you!' + +Madame all this time viewed me with the same dismal stare, like a sorceress +reading futurity in my face. + +'Well, maybe you are--how can I tell? Maybe your uncle is mad--maybe you +are mad. You have been my enemy always--why should I care?' + +Again I burst into wild entreaty, and, clasping her fast, poured forth my +supplications with the bitterness of death. + +'I have no confidence in you, little Maud; you are little rogue--petite +traitresse! Reflect, if you can, how you 'av always treat Madame. You 'av +attempt to ruin me--you conspire with the bad domestics at Knowl to destroy +me--and you expect me here to take a your part! You would never listen to +me--you 'ad no mercy for me--you join to hunt me away from your house like +wolf. Well, what you expect to find me now? _Bah_!' + +This terrific 'Bah!' with a long nasal yell of scorn, rang in my ears like +a clap of thunder. + +'I say you are mad, petite insolente, to suppose I should care for you more +than the poor hare it will care for the hound--more than the bird who has +escape will love the oiseleur. I do not care--I ought not care. It is your +turn to suffer. Lie down on your bed there, and suffer quaitely.' + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII + +_SPICED CLARET_ + + +I did not lie down; but I despaired. I walked round and round the room, +wringing my hands in utter distraction. I threw myself at the bedside on my +knees. I could not pray; I could only shiver and moan, with hands clasped, +and eyes of horror turned up to heaven. I think Madame was, in her +malignant way, perplexed. That some evil was intended me I am sure she was +persuaded; but I dare say Meg Hawkes had said rightly in telling me that +she was not fully in their secrets. + +The first paroxysm of despair subsided into another state. All at once my +mind was filled with the idea of Meg Hawkes, her enterprise, and my chances +of escape. There is one point at which the road to Elverston makes a short +ascent: there is a sudden curve there, two great ash-trees, with a roadside +stile between, at the right side, covered with ivy. Driving back and +forward, I did not recollect having particularly remarked this point in +the highway; but now it was before me, in the thin light of the thinnest +segment of moon, and the figure of Meg Hawkes, her back toward me, always +ascending towards Elverston. It was constantly the same picture--the same +motion without progress--the same dreadful suspense and impatience. + +I was now sitting on the side of the bed, looking wistfully across the +room. When I did not see Meg Hawkes, I beheld Madame darkly eyeing first +one then another point of the chamber, evidently puzzling over some +problem, and in one of her most savage moods--sometimes muttering to +herself, sometimes protruding, and sometimes screwing up her great mouth. + +She went into her own room, where she remained, I think, nearly ten +minutes, and on her return there was that in the flash of her eyes, the +glow of her face, and the peculiar fragrance that surrounded her, that +showed she had been partaking of her favourite restorative. + +I had not moved since she left my room. + +She paused about the middle of the floor, and looked at me with what I can +only describe as her wild-beast stare. + +'You are a very secrete family, you Ruthyns--you are so coning. I hate the +coning people. By my faith, I weel see Mr. Silas Ruthyn, and ask wat he +mean. I heard him tell old Wyat that Mr. Dudley is gone away to-night. He +shall tell me everything, or else I weel make echec et mat aussi vrai que +je vis.' + +Madame's words had hardly ceased, when I was again watching Meg Hawkes on +the steep road, mounting, but never reaching, the top of the acclivity, on +the way to Elverston, and mentally praying that she might be brought +safely there. Vain prayer of an agonised heart! Meg's journey was already +frustrated: she was not to reach Elverston in time. + +Madame revisited her apartment, and returned, not, I think, improved in +temper. She walked about the room, hustling the scanty furniture hither and +thither as she encountered it. She kicked her empty box out of her way, +with a horrid crash, and a curse in French. She strode and swaggered round +the room, muttering all the way, and turning the corners of her course with +a furious whisk. At last, out of the door she went. I think she fancied she +had not been sufficiently taken into confidence as to what was intended for +me. + +It was now growing late, and yet no succour! I was seized, I remember, with +a dreadful icy shivering. + +I was listening for signals of deliverance. At ever distant sound, half +stifled with a palpitation, these sounds piercing my ear with a horrible +and exaggerated distinctness--'Oh Meg!--Oh cousin Monica!--Oh come! Oh +Heaven, have mercy!--Lord, have mercy!' I thought I heard a roaring and +jangle of voices. Perhaps it came from Uncle Silas's room. It might be the +tipsy violence of Madame. It might--merciful Heaven!--be the arrival of +friends. I started to my feet; I listened, quivering with attention. Was +it in my brain?--was it real? I was at the door, and it seemed to open of +itself. Madame had forgotten to lock it; she was losing her head a little +by this time. The key stood in the gallery door beyond; it too, was open. +I fled wildly. There was a subsiding sound of voices in my uncle's room. +I was, I know not how, on the lobby at the great stair-head outside my +uncle's apartment. My hand was on the banisters, my foot on the first step, +when below me and against the faint light that glimmered through the great +window on the landing I saw a bulky human form ascending, and a voice said +'Hush!' I staggered back, and at that instant fancied, with a thrill of +conviction, I heard Lady Knollys's voice in Uncle Silas' room. + +I don't know how I entered the room; I was there like a ghost. I was +frightened at my own state. + +Lady Knollys was not there--no one but Madame and my guardian. + +I can never forget the look that Uncle Silas fixed on me as he cowered, +seemingly as appalled as I. + +I think I must have looked like a phantom newly risen from the grave. + +'What's that?--where do you come from?' whispered he. + +'Death! death!' was my whispered answer, as I froze with terror where I +stood. + +'What does she mean?--what does all this mean?' said Uncle Silas, +recovering wonderfully, and turning with a withering sneer on Madame. 'Do +you think it right to disobey my plain directions, and let her run about +the house at this hour?' + +'Death! death! Oh, pray to God for you and me!' I whispered in the same +dreadful tones. + +My uncle stared strangely at me again; and after several horrible seconds, +in which he seemed to have recovered himself, he said, sternly and coolly-- + +'You give too much place to your imagination, niece. Your spirits are in an +odd state--you ought to have advice.' + +'Oh, uncle, pity me! Oh, uncle, you are good! you're kind; you're kind +when you think. You could not--you could not--could not! Oh, think of your +brother that was always so good to you! He sees me here. He sees us both. +Oh, save me, uncle--save me!--and I'll give up everything to you. I'll pray +to God to bless you--I'll never forget your goodness and mercy. But don't +keep me in doubt. If I'm to go, oh, for God's sake, shoot me now!' + +'You were always odd, niece; I begin to fear you are insane,' he replied, +in the same stern icy tone. + +'Oh, uncle--oh!--am I? Am I _mad_?' + +'I hope not; but you'll conduct yourself like a sane person if you wish to +enjoy the privileges of one.' + +Then, with his finger pointing at me, he turned to Madame, and said, in a +tone of suppressed ferocity-- + +'What's the meaning of this?--why is she here?' + +Madame was gabbling volubly, but to me it was only a shrilly noise. My +whole soul was concentrated in my uncle, the arbiter of my life, before +whom I stood in the wildest agony of supplication. + +That night was dreadful. The people I saw dizzily, made of smoke or shining +vapour, smiling or frowning, I could have passed my hand through them. They +were evil spirits. + +'There's no ill intended you; by ---- there's none,' said my uncle, for +the first time violently agitated. 'Madame told you why we've changed your +room. You told her about the bailiffs, did not you? 'with a stamp of fury +he demanded of Madame, whose nasal roullades of talk were running on like a +accompaniment all the time. She had told me indeed only a few hours since, +and now it sounded to me like the echo of something heard a month ago or +more. + +'You can't go about the house, d--n it, with bailiffs in occupation. There +now--there's the whole thing. Get to your room, Maud, and don't vex me. +There's a good girl.' + +He was trying to smile as he spoke these last words, and, with quavering +soft tones, to quiet me; but the old scowl was there, the smile was +corpse-like and contorted, and the softness of his tones was more dreadful +than another man's ferocity. + +'There, Madame, she'll go quite gently, and you can call if you want help. +Don't let it happen again.' + +'Come, Maud,' said Madame, encircling but not hurting my arm with her grip; +'let us go, my friend.' + +I did go, you will wonder, as well you may--as you may wonder at the +docility with which strong men walk through the press-room to the drop, +and thank the people of the prison for their civility when they bid them +good-bye, and facilitate the fixing of the rope and adjusting of the cap. +Have you never wondered that they don't make a last battle for life with +the unscrupulous energy of terror, instead of surrendering it so gently in +cold blood, on a silent calculation, the arithmetic of despair? + +I went upstairs with Madame like a somnambulist. I rather quickened my +step as I drew near my room. I went in, and stood a phantom at the window, +looking into the dark quadrange. A thin glimmering crescent hung in the +frosty sky, and all heaven was strewn with stars. Over the steep roof at +the other side spread on the dark azure of the night this glorious blazonry +of the unfathomable Creator. To me a dreadful scroll--inexorable eyes--the +cloud of cruel witnesses looking down in freezing brightness on my prayers +and agonies. + +I turned about and sat down, leaning my head upon my arms. Then suddenly I +sat up, as for the first time the picture of Uncle Silas's littered +room, and the travelling bags and black boxes plied on the floor by his +table--the desk, hat-case, umbrella, coats, rugs, and mufflers, all ready +for a journey--reached my brain and suggested thought. The _mise en +scene_ had remained in every detail fixed upon my retina; and how I +wondered--'When is he going--how soon? Is he going to carry me away and +place me in a madhouse?' + +'Am I--am I mad?' I began to think. 'Is this all a dream, or is it real?' + +I remembered how a thin polite gentleman, with a tall grizzled head and a +black velvet waistcoat, came into the carriage on our journey, and said a +few words to me; how Madame whispered him something, and he murmured 'Oh!' +very gently, with raised eyebrows, and a glance at me, and thenceforward +spoke no more to me, only to Madame, and at the next station carried his +hat and other travelling chattels into another carriage. Had she told him I +was mad? + +These horrid bars! Madame always with me! The direful hints that dropt from +my uncle! My own terrific sensations!--All these evidences revolved in my +brain, and presented themselves in turn like writings on a wheel of fire. + +There came a knock to the door-- + +Oh, Meg! Was it she? No; old Wyat whispered Madame something about her +room. + +So Madame re-entered, with a little silver tray and flagon in her hands, +and a glass. Nothing came from Uncle Silas in ungentlemanlike fashion. + +'Drink, Maud,' said Madame, raising the cover, and evidently enjoying the +fragrant steam. + +I could not. I might have done so had I been able to swallow anything--for +I was too distracted to think of Meg's warning. + +Madame suddenly recollected her mistake of that evening, and tried the +door; but it was duly locked. She took the key from her pocket and placed +it in her breast. + +'You weel 'av these rooms to yourself, ma chere. I shall sleep downstairs +to-night.' + +She poured out some of the hot claret into the glass abstractedly, and +drank it off. + +''Tis very good--I drank without theenk. Bote 'tis very good. Why don't you +drink some?' + +'I could not', I repeated. And Madame boldly helped herself. + +'Vary polite, certally, to Madame was it to send nothing at all for _hair_' +(so she pronounced 'her'); 'bote is all same thing.' And so she ran on in +her tipsy vein, which was loud and sarcastic, with a fierce laugh now and +then. + +Afterwards I heard that they were afraid of Madame, who was given to cross +purposes, and violent in her cups. She had been noisy and quarrelsome +downstairs. She was under the delusion that I was to be conveyed away that +night to a remote and safe place, and she was to be handsomely compensated +for services and evidence to be afterwards given. She was not to be +trusted, however, with the truth. That was to be known but to three people +on earth. + +I never knew, but I believe that the spiced claret which Madame drank was +drugged. She was a person who could, I have been told, drink a great deal +without exhibiting any change from it but an inflamed colour and furious +temper. I can only state for certain what I saw, and that was, that shortly +after she had finished the claret she laid down upon my bed, and, I now +know, fell asleep. I then thought she was _feigning_ sleep only, and that +she was really watching me. + +About an hour after this I suddenly heard a little _clink_ in the +yard beneath. I peeped out, but saw nothing. The sound was repeated, +however--sometimes more frequently, sometimes at long intervals. At last, +in the deep shadow next the farther wall, I thought I could discover a +figure, sometimes erect, sometimes stooping and bowing toward the earth. I +could see this figure only in the rudest outline mingling with the dark. + +Like a thunderbolt it smote my brain. 'They are making my grave!' + +After the first dreadful stun I grew quite wild, and ran up and down the +room wringing my hands and gasping prayers to heaven. Then a calm stole +over me--such a dreadful calm as I could fancy glide over one who floated +in a boat under the shadow of the 'Traitor's Gate,' leaving life and hope +and trouble behind. + +Shortly after there came a very low tap at my door; then another, like a +tiny post-knock. I could never understand why it was I made no answer. Had +I done so, and thus shown that I was awake, it might have sealed my fate. +I was standing in the middle of the floor staring at the door, which I +expected to see open, and admit I knew not what troop of spectres. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV + +_THE HOUR OF DEATH_ + + +It was a very still night and frosty. My candle had long burnt out. There +was still a faint moonlight, which fell in a square of yellow on the floor +near the window, leaving the rest of the room in what to an eye less +accustomed than mine had become to that faint light would have been total +darkness. Now, I am sure, I heard a soft whispering outside my door. I knew +that I was in a state of siege! The crisis was come, and strange to say, +I felt myself grow all at once resolute and self-possessed. It was not a +subsidence, however, of the dreadful excitement, but a sudden screwing-up +of my nerves to a pitch such as I cannot describe. + +I suppose the people outside moved with great caution; and the perfect +solidity of the floor, which had not anywhere a creaking board in it, +favoured their noiseless movements. It was well for me that there were +in the house three persons whom it was part of their plan to mystify +respecting my fate. This alone compelled the extreme caution of their +proceedings. They suspected that I had placed furniture against the door, +and were afraid to force it, lest a crash, a scream, perhaps a long and +shrilly struggle, might follow. + +I remained for a space which I cannot pretend to estimate in the same +posture, afraid to stir--afraid to move my eye from the door. + +A very peculiar grating sound above my head startled me from my +watch--something of the character of sawing, only more crunching, and with +a faint continued rumble in it--utterly inexplicable. It sounded over that +portion of the roof which was farthest from the door, toward which I now +glided; and as I took my stand under cover of the projecting angle of a +clumsy old press that stood close by it, I perceived the room a little +darkened, and I saw a man descend and take his stand upon the window-stone. +He let go a rope, which, however, was still fast round his body, and +employed both his hands, with apparently some exertion, about something at +the side of the window, which in a moment more, in one mass, bars and all, +swung noiselessly open, admitting the frosty night-air; and the man, whom +I now distinctly saw to be Dudley Ruthyn, kneeled on the sill, and stept, +after a moment's listening, into the room. His foot made no sound upon the +floor; his head was bare, and he wore his usual short shooting-jacket. + +I cowered to the ground in my post of observation. He stood, as it +seemed to me irresolutely for a moment, and then drew from his pocket an +instrument which I distinctly saw against the faint moonlight. Imagine a +hammer, one end of which had been beaten out into a longish tapering spike, +with a handle something longer than usual. He drew stealthily to the +window, and seemed to examine this hurriedly, and tested its strength with +a twist or two of his hand. And then he adjusted it very carefully in his +grasp, and made two or three little experimental picks with it in the air. + +I remained perfectly still, with a terrible composure, crouched in my +hiding-place, my teeth clenched, and prepared to struggle like a tigress +for my life when discovered. I thought his next measure would be to light a +match. I saw a lantern, I fancied, on the window-sill. But this was not his +plan. He stole, in a groping way, which seemed strange to me, who could +distinguish objects in this light, to the side of my bed, the exact +position of which he evidently knew; he stooped over it. Madame was +breathing in the deep respiration of heavy sleep. Suddenly but softly he +laid, as it seemed to me, his left hand over her face, and nearly at the +same instant there came a scrunching blow; an unnatural shriek, beginning +small and swelling for two or three seconds into a yell such as are +imagined in haunted houses, accompanied by a convulsive sound, as of the +motion of running, and the arms drumming on the bed; and then another +blow--and with a horrid gasp he recoiled a step or two, and stood perfectly +still. I heard a horrible tremor quivering through the joints and curtains +of the bedstead--the convulsions of the murdered woman. It was a dreadful +sound, like the shaking of a tree and rustling of leaves. Then once more +he steps to the side of the bed, and I heard another of those horrid +blows--and silence--and another--and more silence--and the diabolical +surgery was ended. For a few seconds, I think, I was on the point of +fainting; but a gentle stir outside the door, close to my ear, startled me, +and proved that there had been a watcher posted outside. There was a little +tapping at the door. + +'Who's that?' whispered Dudley, hoarsely. + +'A friend,' answered a sweet voice. + +And a key was introduced, the door quickly unlocked, and Uncle Silas +entered. I saw that frail, tall, white figure, the venerable silver locks +that resembled those upon the honoured head of John Wesley, and his thin +white hand, the back of which hung so close to my face that I feared to +breathe. I could see his fingers twitching nervously. The smell of perfumes +and of ether entered the room with him. + +Dudley was trembling now like a man in an ague-fit. + +'Look what you made me do!' he said, maniacally. + +'Steady, sir!' said the old man, close beside me. + +'Yes, you damned old murderer! I've a mind to do for you.' + +'There, Dudley, like a dear boy, don't give way; it's done. Right or wrong, +we can't help it. You must be quiet,' said the old man, with a stern +gentleness. + +Dudley groaned. + +'Whoever advised it, you're a gainer, Dudley,' said Uncle Silas. + +Then there was a pause. + +'I hope that was not heard,' said Uncle Silas. + +Dudley walked to the window and stood there. + +'Come, Dudley, you and Hawkes must use expedition. You know you must get +that out of the way.' + +'I've done too much. I won't do nout; I'll not touch it. I wish my hand was +off first; I wish I was a soger. Do as ye like, you an' Hawkes. I won't go +nigh it; damn ye both--and _that_!' and he hurled the hammer with all his +force upon the floor. + +'Come, come, be reasonable, Dudley, dear boy. There's nothing to fear but +your own folly. You won't make a noise?' + +'Oh, oh, my God!' said Dudley, hoarsely, and wiped his forehead with his +open hand. + +'There now, you'll be all well in a minute,' continued the old man. + +'You said 'twouldn't hurt her. If I'd a known she'd a screeched like that +I'd never a done it. 'Twas a damn lie. You're the damndest villain on +earth.' + +'Come, Dudley!' said the old man under his breath, but very sternly, 'make +up your mind. If you don't choose to go on, it can't be helped; only it's +a pity you began. For _you_ it is a good deal--it does not much matter for +_me_.' + +'Ay, for _you_!' echoed Dudley, through his set teeth. 'The old talk!' + +'Well, sir,' snarled the old man, in the same low tones, 'you should have +thought of all this before. It's only taking leave of the world a year or +two sooner, but a year or two's something. I'll leave you to do as you +please.' + +'Stop, will you? Stop here. I know it's a fixt thing now. If a fella does +a thing he's damned for, you might let him talk a bit anyhow. I don't care +much if I was shot.' + +'There now--_there_--just stick to that, and don't run off again. There's a +box and a bag here; we must change the direction, and take them away. The +box has some jewels. Can you see them? I wish we had a light.' + +'No, I'd rayther not; I can see well enough. I wish we were out o' this. +_Here's_ the box.' + +'Pull it to the window,' said the old man, to my inexpressible relief +advancing at last a few steps. + +Coolness was given me in that dreadful moment, and I knew that all depended +on my being prompt and resolute. I stood up swiftly. I often thought if I +had happened to wear silk instead of the cachmere I had on that night, its +rustle would have betrayed me. + +I distinctly saw the tall stooping figure of my uncle, and the outline of +his venerable tresses, as he stood between me and the dull light of the +window, like a shape cut in card. + +He was saying 'just to _there_,' and pointing with his long arm at that +contracting patch of moonlight which lay squared upon the floor. The door +was about a quarter open, and just as Dudley began to drag Madame's heavy +box, with my jewel-case in it, across the floor from her room, inhaling a +great breath--with a mental prayer for help--I glided on tiptoe from the +room and found myself on the gallery floor. + +I turned to my right, simply by chance, and followed a long gallery in the +dark, not running--I was too fearful of making the least noise--but walking +with the tiptoe-swiftness of terror. At the termination of this was a +cross-gallery, one end of which--that to my left--terminated in a great +window, through which the dusky night-view was visible. With the instinct +of terror I chose the darker, and turned again to my right; hurrying +through this long and nearly dark passage, I was terrified by a light, +about thirty feet before me, emerging from the ceiling. In spotted patches +this light fell through the door and sides of a stable lantern, and showed +me a ladder, down which, from an open skylight I suppose for the cool +night-air floated in my face, came Dickon Hawkes notwithstanding his +maimed condition, with so much celerity as to leave me hardly a moment for +consideration. + +He sat on the last round of the ladder, and tightened the strap of his +wooden leg. + +At my left was a door-case open, but no door. I entered; it was a short +passage about six feet long, leading perhaps to a backstair, but the door +at the end was locked. + +I was forced to stand in this recess, then, which afforded no shelter, +while Pegtop stumped by with his lantern in his hand. I fancy he had some +idea of listening to his master unperceived, for he stopped close to my +hiding-place, blew out the candle, and pinched the long snuff with his +horny finger and thumb. + +Having listened for a few seconds, he stumped stealthily along the gallery +which I had just traversed, and turned the corner in the direction of the +chamber where the crime had just been committed, and the discovery was +impending. I could see him against the broad window which in the daytime +lighted this long passage, and the moment he had passed the corner I +resumed my flight. + +I descended a stair corresponding with that backstair, as I am told, up +which Madame had led me only the night before. I tried the outer door. To +my wild surprise it was open. In a moment I was upon the step, in the free +air, and as instantaneously was seized by the arm in the gripe of a man. + +It was Tom Brice, who had already betrayed me, and who was now, in surtout +and hat, waiting to drive the carriage with the guilty father and son from +the scene of their abhorred outrage. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV + +_IN THE OAK PARLOUR_ + + +So it was vain: I was trapped, and all was over. + +I stood before him on the step, the white moon shining on my face. I was +trembling so that I wonder I could stand, my helpless hands raised towards +him, and I looked up in his face. A long shuddering moan--'Oh--oh--oh!' was +all I uttered. + +The man, still holding my arm, looked, I thought frightened, into my white +dumb face. + +Suddenly he said, in a wild, fierce whisper-- + +'Never say another word' (I had not uttered one). 'They shan't hurt ye, +Miss; git ye in; I don't care a damn!' + +It was an uncouth speech. To me it was the voice of an angel. With a burst +of gratitude that sounded in my own ears like a laugh, I thanked God for +those blessed words. + +In a moment more he had placed me in the carriage, and almost instantly we +were in motion--very cautiously while crossing the court, until he had got +the wheels upon the grass, and then at a rapid pace, improving his speed as +the distance increased. He drove along the side of the back-approach to the +house, keeping on the grass; so that our progress, though swaying like that +of a ship in a swell, was very nearly as noiseless. + +The gate had been left unlocked--he swung it open, and remounted the box. +And we were now beyond the spell of Bartram-Haugh, thundering--Heaven be +praised!--along the Queen's highway, right in the route to Elverston. It +was literally a gallop. Through the chariot windows I saw Tom stand as he +drove, and every now and then throw an awful glance over his shoulder. Were +we pursued? Never was agony of prayer like mine, as with clasped hands and +wild stare I gazed through the windows on the road, whose trees and hedges +and gabled cottages were chasing one another backward at so giddy a speed. + +We were now ascending that identical steep, with the giant ash-trees at the +right and the stile between, which my vision of Meg Hawkes had presented +all that night, when my excited eye detected a running figure within the +hedge. I saw the head of some one crossing the stile in pursuit, and I +heard Brice's name shrieked. + +'Drive on--on--on!' I screamed. + +But Brice pulled up. I was on my knees on the floor of the carriage, with +clasped hands, expecting capture, when the door opened, and Meg Hawkes, +pale as death, her cloak drawn over her black tresses, looked in. + +'Oh!--ho!--ho!--thank God!' she screamed. 'Shake hands, lass. Tom, yer a +good un! He's a good lad, Tom.' + +'Come in, Meg--you must sit by me,' I said, recovering all at once. + +Meg made no demur. 'Take my hand,' I said offering mine to her disengaged +one. + +'I can't, Miss--my arm's broke.' + +And so it was, poor thing! She had been espied and overtaken in her errand +of mercy for me, and her ruffian father had felled her with his cudgel, and +then locked her into the cottage, whence, however, she had contrived to +escape, and was now flying to Elverston, having tried in vain to get a +hearing in Feltram, whose people had been for hours in bed. + +The door being shut upon Meg, the steaming horses were instantly at a +gallop again. + +Tom was still watching as before, with many an anxious glance to rearward, +for pursuit. Again he pulled up, and came to the window. + +'Oh, what is it?' cried I. + +''Bout that letter, Miss; I couldn't help. 'Twas Dickon, he found it in my +pocket. That's a'.' + +'Oh yes!--no matter--thank you--thank Heaven! Are we near Elverston?' + +''Twill be a mile, Miss: and please'm to mind I had no finger in't.' + +'Thanks--thank you--you're very good--I shall _always_ thank you, Tom, as +long as I live!' + +At length we entered Elverston. I think I was half wild. I don't know how I +got into the hall. I was in the oak-parlour, I believe, when I saw cousin +Monica. I was standing, my arms extended. I could not speak; but I ran with +a loud long scream into her arms. I forget a great deal after that. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +Oh, my beloved cousin Monica! Thank Heaven, you are living still, and +younger, I think, than I in all things but in years. + +And Milly, my dear companion, she is now the happy wife of that good little +clergyman, Sprigge Biddlepen. It has been in my power to be of use to them, +and he shall have the next presentation to Dawling. + +Meg Hawkes, proud and wayward, and the most affectionate creature on earth, +was married to Tom Brice a few months after these events; and, as both +wished to emigrate, I furnished them with the capital, and I am told they +are likely to be rich. I hear from my kind Meg often, and she seems very +happy. + +My dear old friends, Mary Quince and Mrs. Rusk, are, alas! growing old, but +living with me, and very happy. And after long solicitation, I persuaded +Doctor Bryerly, the best and truest of ministers, with my dearest friend's +concurrence, to undertake the management of the Derbyshire estates. In this +I have been most fortunate. He is the very person for such a charge--so +punctual, so laborious, so kind, and so shrewd. + +In compliance with medical advice, cousin Monica hurried me away to the +Continent, where she would never permit me to allude to the terrific scenes +which remain branded so awfully on my brain. It needed no constraint. It is +a sort of agony to me even now to think of them. + +The plan was craftily devised. Neither old Wyat nor Giles, the butler, had +a suspicion that I had returned to Bartram. Had I been put to death, the +secret of my fate would have been deposited in the keeping of four persons +only--the two Ruthyns, Hawkes, and ultimately Madame. My dear cousin Monica +had been artfully led to believe in my departure for France, and prepared +for my silence. Suspicion might not have been excited for a year after my +death, and then would never, in all probability, have pointed to Bartram as +the scene of the crime. The weeds would have grown over me, and I should +have lain in that deep grave where the corpse of Madame de la Rougierre was +unearthed in the darksome quadrangle of Bartram-Haugh. + +It was more than two years after that I heard what had befallen at Bartram +after my flight. Old Wyat, who went early to Uncle Silas's room, to her +surprise--for he had told her that he was that night to accompany his son, +who had to meet the mailtrain to Derby at five o'clock in the morning--saw +her old master lying on the sofa, much in his usual position. + +'There was nout much strange about him,' old Wyat said, 'but that his +scent-bottle was spilt on its side over on the table, and he dead.' + +She thought he was not quite cold when she found him, and she sent the old +butler for Doctor Jolks, who said he died of too much 'loddlum.' + +Of my wretched uncle's religion what am I to say? Was it utter hypocrisy, +or had it at any time a vein of sincerity in it? I cannot say. I don't +believe that he had any heart left for religion, which is the highest form +of affection, to take hold of. Perhaps he was a sceptic with misgivings +about the future, but past the time for finding anything reliable in it. +The devil approached the citadel of his heart by stealth, with many zigzags +and parallels. The idea of marrying me to his son by fair means, then by +foul, and, when that wicked chance was gone, then the design of seizing all +by murder, supervened. I dare say that Uncle Silas thought for a while that +he was a righteous man. He wished to have heaven and to escape hell, if +there were such places. But there were other things whose existence was +not speculative, of which some he coveted, and some he dreaded more, and +temptation came. 'Now if any man build upon this foundation, gold, silver, +precious stones, wood, hay, stubble, every man's work shall be made +manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by +fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.' There +comes with old age a time when the heart is no longer fusible or malleable, +and must retain the form in which it has cooled down. 'He that is unjust, +let him be unjust still; he which is filthy, let him be filthy still.' + +Dudley had disappeared; but in one of her letters, Meg, writing from her +Australian farm, says: 'There's a fella in toon as calls hisself Colbroke, +wi' a good hoose o' wood, 15 foot length, and as by 'bout as silling o' the +pearler o' Bartram--only lots o' rats, they do say, my lady--a bying and +sellin' of goold back and forred wi' the diggin foke and the marchants. His +chick and mouth be wry wi' scar o' burns or vitterel, an' no wiskers, bless +you; but my Tom ee toll him he knowed him for Master Doodley. I ant seed +him; but he sade ad shute Tom soon is look at 'im, an' denide it, wi' +mouthful o' curses and oaf. Tom baint right shure; if I seed un wons i'd no +for sartin; but 'appen,'twil best be let be.' This was all. + +Old Hawkes stood his ground, relying on the profound cunning with which +their actual proceedings had been concealed, even from the suspicions of +the two inmates of the house, and on the mystery that habitually shrouded +Bartram-Haugh and all its belongings from the eyes of the outer world. + +Strangely enough, he fancied that I had made my escape long before the room +was entered; and, even if he were arrested, there was no evidence, he was +certain, to connect _him_ with the murder, all knowledge of which he would +stoutly deny. + +There was an inquest on the body of my uncle, and Dr. Jolks was the chief +witness. They found that his death was caused by 'an excessive dose of +laudanum, accidentally administered by himself.' + +It was not until nearly a year after the dreadful occurrences at Bartram +that Dickon Hawkes was arrested on a very awful charge, and placed in gaol. +It was an old crime, committed in Lancashire, that had found him out. +After his conviction, as a last chance, he tried a disclosure of all the +circumstances of the unsuspected death of the Frenchwoman. Her body was +discovered buried where he indicated, in the inner court of Bartram-Haugh, +and, after due legal enquiry, was interred in the churchyard of Feltram. + +Thus I escaped the horrors of the witness-box, or the far worse torture of +a dreadful secret. + +Doctor Bryerly, shortly after Lady Knollys had described to him the manner +in which Dudley entered my room, visited the house of Bartram-Haugh, and +minutely examined the windows of the room in which Mr. Charke had slept on +the night of his murder. One of these he found provided with powerful steel +hinges, very craftily sunk and concealed in the timber of the window-frame, +which was secured by an iron pin outside, and swung open on its removal. +This was the room in which they had placed me, and this the contrivance +by means of which the room had been entered. The problem of Mr. Charke's +murder was solved. + + * * * * * + +I have penned it. I sit for a moment breathless. My hands are cold and +damp. I rise with a great sigh, and look out on the sweet green landscape +and pastoral hills, and see the flowers and birds and the waving boughs of +glorious trees--all images of liberty and safety; and as the tremendous +nightmare of my youth melts into air, I lift my eyes in boundless gratitude +to the God of all comfort, whose mighty hand and outstretched arm delivered +me. When I lower my eyes and unclasp my hands, my cheeks are wet with +tears. A tiny voice is calling me 'Mamma!' and a beloved smiling face, with +his dear father's silken brown tresses, peeps in. + +'Yes, darling, our walk. Come away!' + +I am Lady Ilbury, happy in the affection of a beloved and noblehearted +husband. The shy useless girl you have known is now a mother--trying to be +a good one; and this, the last pledge, has lived. + +I am not going to tell of sorrows--how brief has been my pride of early +maternity, or how beloved were those whom the Lord gave and the Lord has +taken away. But sometimes as, smiling on my little boy, the tears gather +in my eyes, and he wonders, I can see, why they come, I am thinking--and +trembling while I smile--to think, how strong is love, how frail is life; +and rejoicing while I tremble that, in the deathless love of those who +mourn, the Lord of Life, who never gave a pang in vain, conveys the sweet +and ennobling promise of a compensation by eternal reunion. So, through +my sorrows, I have heard a voice from heaven say, 'Write, from hencefore +blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!' + +This world is a parable--the habitation of symbols--the phantoms of +spiritual things immortal shown in material shape. May the blessed +second-sight be mine--to recognise under these beautiful forms of earth the +ANGELS who wear them; for I am sure we may walk with them if we will, and +hear them speak! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncle Silas, by J. S. 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