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diff --git a/30486-h/30486-h.htm b/30486-h/30486-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..68ec786 --- /dev/null +++ b/30486-h/30486-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,30237 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Shirley, by Charlotte Brontë</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.cap { + text-indent: 0em;} +p.cap:first-letter { + float: left; clear: left; width: auto; + margin: -0.2em 0.1em -0.2em 0; + padding:0; + line-height: 1.2em; font-size: 300%; } + +hr { margin: 5em auto 3em auto; + height: 0px; + border-width: 1px 0 0 0; + border-style: solid; + border-color: #dcdcdc; + width: 400px; + clear: both; +} + +hr.white {width: 0px; margin: 2em auto 5em auto;} +hr.hr2 { margin: 3em auto 3em auto; width: 200px; +} +hr.hr3 { margin: 1em auto 0em auto; width: 5em;} +hr.hr4 { margin: 0em auto 1em auto; width: 5em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; border-collapse: collapse; +} + +table.toc {width: 30em;} +td.tdl {text-align: left; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; padding-right: 1em; vertical-align: top;} +td.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-right: 1em;} +td.tdr2 {text-align: right; padding-left: 1em; vertical-align: bottom;} + +td.tdj {text-align: justify; text-indent: 1em;} +td.tdtitle {text-align: left; padding-top: 1em;} +td.tdauthor {text-align: right;} + +td.llist {text-align: left; padding-top: 0em; padding-right: 4em; border-right: 1px solid #dcdcdc;} +td.rlist {text-align: left; padding-top: 0em; padding-left: 2em;} + +em {font-style: italic;} + +ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #dcdcdc;} + +.pagenum {/* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /*visibility: hidden;*/ + position: absolute; + right: 5px; + font-size: 10px; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: left; + color: #999999; +} /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; font-size: .9em; +} + +.books {width: 40em;} +.box {border: 1px solid #dcdcdc; margin: 5em auto 5em auto; width: 40em;} +.title {font-size: 1.2em;} +.by {font-size: .6em;} +.pub {font-size: .8em;} +.author {font-size: .9em;} +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} +.right {text-align: right; text-indent: 0em; padding-right: 2em;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} +.u {text-decoration: underline;} +.noi {text-indent: 0em;} +.caption {font-size: .8em;} +.hidden {visibility: hidden;} +.indent {text-indent: 1em;} +.hang {margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1.5em;} +.link {font-size: .8em; text-indent: 0em; padding-top: 1em;} +.tn {margin: 5em auto 5em auto; text-align: left; width: 28em; + border: 1px solid #dcdcdc; padding: 1em; background: #f5f5f5;} +.tnhang {margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; font-size: .9em; text-align: left;} +.tntext {font-size: .9em;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: 5em auto 5em auto; + text-align: center; +} +.figcenter2 { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ + +.block {margin: auto; width: 26em;} +.block2 {margin: auto; width: 20em;} +poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.io { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3.5em; +} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i8 { + display: block; + margin-left: 8em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30486 ***</div> + +<h1><big>SHIRLEY</big><br /> +<br /> +<span class="by">BY</span><br /> + +CHARLOTTE BRONTË<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pub">T. Nelson & Sons</span></h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;"> +<img src="images/front.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="Title" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="387" height="600" alt="Frontispiece" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Moore placed his hand on his cousin's shoulder, stooped, +and left a kiss on her forehead.</span> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table summary="Table of Contents" class="toc"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">I.</td> +<td class="tdl"> <span class="smcap">Levitical</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#I">3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">II.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Wagons</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#II">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">III.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mr. Yorke</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#III">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mr. Yorke (continued)</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#IV">40</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">V.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hollow's Cottage</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#V">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Coriolanus</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VI">66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Curates at Tea</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VII">85</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Noah and Moses</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#VIII">110</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Briarmains</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#IX">125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">X.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Maids</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#X">147</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fieldhead</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XI">164</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Shirley and Caroline</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XII">181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Further Communications on Business</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIII">201</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Shirley Seeks to be saved by Works</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIV">226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mr. Donne's Exodus</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XV">239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Whitsuntide</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVI">253</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The School Feast</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVII">264</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Which the Genteel Reader is recommended +to skip, Low Persons being +here introduced</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XVIII">279</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XIX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Summer Night</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XIX">290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">To-morrow</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XX">306</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Pryor</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXI">319</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Two Lives</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXII">336</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Evening Out</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIII">346</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Valley of the Shadow of Death</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIV">365</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The West Wind blows</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXV">384</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Old Copy-books</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVI">392</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The First Bluestocking</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVII">410</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Phœbe</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXVIII">433</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Louis Moore</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXIX">453</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXX.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Rushedge—a Confessional</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXX">461</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Uncle and Niece</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXI">475</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Schoolboy and the Wood-nymph</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXII">491</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Martin's Tactics</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXIII">502</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Case of Domestic Persecution—Remarkable +Instance of Pious Perseverance +in the Discharge of Religious +Duties</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXIV">513</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXV.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Wherein Matters make some Progress, +but not much</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXV">521</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Written in the Schoolroom</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXVI">534</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td> +<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Winding-up</span></td> +<td class="tdr2"><a href="#XXXVII">555</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<hr /> + +<h1>SHIRLEY.</h1> + + + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>3<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +<a name="I" id="I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +<br /> +<small>LEVITICAL.</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="smcap">Of</span> late years an abundant shower of curates has fallen +upon the north of England: they lie very thick +on the hills; every parish has one or more of them; they +are young enough to be very active, and ought to be doing +a great deal of good. But not of late years are we about +to speak; we are going back to the beginning of this century: +late years—present years are dusty, sunburnt, hot, +arid; we will evade the noon, forget it in siesta, pass the +midday in slumber, and dream of dawn.</p> + +<p>If you think, from this prelude, that anything like a +romance is preparing for you, reader, you never were more +mistaken. Do you anticipate sentiment, and poetry, and +reverie? Do you expect passion, and stimulus, and melodrama? +Calm your expectations; reduce them to a +lowly standard. Something real, cool, and solid lies before +you; something unromantic as Monday morning, when all +who have work wake with the consciousness that they +must rise and betake themselves thereto. It is not positively +affirmed that you shall not have a taste of the exciting, +perhaps towards the middle and close of the meal, +but it is resolved that the first dish set upon the table shall +be one that a Catholic—ay, even an Anglo-Catholic—might +eat on Good Friday in Passion Week: it shall be cold lentils +and vinegar without oil; it shall be unleavened bread with +bitter herbs, and no roast lamb.</p> + +<p>Of late years, I say, an abundant shower of curates has +fallen upon the north of England; but in eighteen-hundred-eleven-twelve +that affluent rain had not descended. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>4<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Curates were scarce then: there was no Pastoral Aid—no +Additional Curates' Society to stretch a helping hand +to worn-out old rectors and incumbents, and give them +the wherewithal to pay a vigorous young colleague from +Oxford or Cambridge. The present successors of the +apostles, disciples of Dr. Pusey and tools of the Propaganda, +were at that time being hatched under cradle-blankets, +or undergoing regeneration by nursery-baptism +in wash-hand basins. You could not have guessed by +looking at any one of them that the Italian-ironed double +frills of its net-cap surrounded the brows of a preordained, +specially-sanctified successor of St. Paul, St. Peter, or St. +John; nor could you have foreseen in the folds of its long +night-gown the white surplice in which it was hereafter +cruelly to exercise the souls of its parishioners, and strangely +to nonplus its old-fashioned vicar by flourishing aloft in a +pulpit the shirt-like raiment which had never before waved +higher than the reading-desk.</p> + +<p>Yet even in those days of scarcity there were curates: +the precious plant was rare, but it might be found. A +certain favoured district in the West Riding of Yorkshire +could boast three rods of Aaron blossoming within +a circuit of twenty miles. You shall see them, reader. +Step into this neat garden-house on the skirts of Whinbury, +walk forward into the little parlour. There they are at +dinner. Allow me to introduce them to you: Mr. Donne, +curate of Whinbury; Mr. Malone, curate of Briarfield; +Mr. Sweeting, curate of Nunnely. These are Mr. Donne's +lodgings, being the habitation of one John Gale, a small +clothier. Mr. Donne has kindly invited his brethren to +regale with him. You and I will join the party, see what +is to be seen, and hear what is to be heard. At present, +however, they are only eating; and while they eat we will +talk aside.</p> + +<p>These gentlemen are in the bloom of youth; they possess +all the activity of that interesting age—an activity which +their moping old vicars would fain turn into the channel of +their pastoral duties, often expressing a wish to see it expended +in a diligent superintendence of the schools, and in +frequent visits to the sick of their respective parishes. +But the youthful Levites feel this to be dull work; they +prefer lavishing their energies on a course of proceeding +which, though to other eyes it appear more heavy with +<em>ennui</em>, more cursed with monotony, than the toil of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>5<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +weaver at his loom, seems to yield them an unfailing supply +of enjoyment and occupation.</p> + +<p>I allude to a rushing backwards and forwards, amongst +themselves, to and from their respective lodgings—not a +round, but a triangle of visits, which they keep up all the +year through, in winter, spring, summer, and autumn. +Season and weather make no difference; with unintelligible +zeal they dare snow and hail, wind and rain, mire and +dust, to go and dine, or drink tea, or sup with each other. +What attracts them it would be difficult to say. It is not +friendship, for whenever they meet they quarrel. It is not +religion—the thing is never named amongst them; theology +they may discuss occasionally, but piety—never. It is not +the love of eating and drinking: each might have as good +a joint and pudding, tea as potent, and toast as succulent, +at his own lodgings, as is served to him at his brother's. +Mrs. Gale, Mrs. Hogg, and Mrs. Whipp—their respective +landladies—affirm that "it is just for naught else but to +give folk trouble." By "folk" the good ladies of course +mean themselves, for indeed they are kept in a continual +"fry" by this system of mutual invasion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Donne and his guests, as I have said, are at dinner; +Mrs. Gale waits on them, but a spark of the hot kitchen +fire is in her eye. She considers that the privilege of inviting +a friend to a meal occasionally, without additional +charge (a privilege included in the terms on which she lets +her lodgings), has been quite sufficiently exercised of late. +The present week is yet but at Thursday, and on Monday +Mr. Malone, the curate of Briarfield, came to breakfast and +stayed dinner; on Tuesday Mr. Malone and Mr. Sweeting +of Nunnely came to tea, remained to supper, occupied the +spare bed, and favoured her with their company to breakfast +on Wednesday morning; now, on Thursday, they are +both here at dinner, and she is almost certain they will stay +all night. "C'en est trop," she would say, if she could +speak French.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sweeting is mincing the slice of roast beef on his plate, +and complaining that it is very tough; Mr. Donne says +the beer is flat. Ay, that is the worst of it: if they would +only be civil Mrs. Gale wouldn't mind it so much, if they +would only seem satisfied with what they get she wouldn't +care; but "these young parsons is so high and so scornful, +they set everybody beneath their 'fit.' They treat her +with less than civility, just because she doesn't keep a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>6<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +servant, but does the work of the house herself, as her +mother did afore her; then they are always speaking against +Yorkshire ways and Yorkshire folk," and by that very +token Mrs. Gale does not believe one of them to be a real +gentleman, or come of gentle kin. "The old parsons is +worth the whole lump of college lads; they know what +belongs to good manners, and is kind to high and low."</p> + +<p>"More bread!" cries Mr. Malone, in a tone which, +though prolonged but to utter two syllables, proclaims him +at once a native of the land of shamrocks and potatoes. +Mrs. Gale hates Mr. Malone more than either of the other +two; but she fears him also, for he is a tall, strongly-built +personage, with real Irish legs and arms, and a face as +genuinely national—not the Milesian face, not Daniel +O'Connell's style, but the high-featured, North-American-Indian +sort of visage, which belongs to a certain class of the +Irish gentry, and has a petrified and proud look, better +suited to the owner of an estate of slaves than to the landlord +of a free peasantry. Mr. Malone's father termed +himself a gentleman: he was poor and in debt, and besottedly +arrogant; and his son was like him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gale offered the loaf.</p> + +<p>"Cut it, woman," said her guest; and the "woman" +cut it accordingly. Had she followed her inclinations, she +would have cut the parson also; her Yorkshire soul revolted +absolutely from his manner of command.</p> + +<p>The curates had good appetites, and though the beef +was "tough," they ate a great deal of it. They swallowed, +too, a tolerable allowance of the "flat beer," while +a dish of Yorkshire pudding, and two tureens of vegetables, +disappeared like leaves before locusts. The cheese, too, +received distinguished marks of their attention; and a +"spice-cake," which followed by way of dessert, vanished +like a vision, and was no more found. Its elegy was chanted +in the kitchen by Abraham, Mrs. Gale's son and heir, a +youth of six summers; he had reckoned upon the reversion +thereof, and when his mother brought down the empty +platter, he lifted up his voice and wept sore.</p> + +<p>The curates, meantime, sat and sipped their wine, a +liquor of unpretending vintage, moderately enjoyed. Mr. +Malone, indeed, would much rather have had whisky; +but Mr. Donne, being an Englishman, did not keep the +beverage. While they sipped they argued, not on politics, +nor on philosophy, nor on literature—these topics were now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>7<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +as ever, totally without interest for them—not even on +theology, practical or doctrinal, but on minute points of +ecclesiastical discipline, frivolities which seemed empty as +bubbles to all save themselves. Mr. Malone, who contrived +to secure two glasses of wine, when his brethren +contented themselves with one, waxed by degrees hilarious +after his fashion; that is, he grew a little insolent, said rude +things in a hectoring tone, and laughed clamorously at his +own brilliancy.</p> + +<p>Each of his companions became in turn his butt. Malone +had a stock of jokes at their service, which he was accustomed +to serve out regularly on convivial occasions like the present, +seldom varying his wit; for which, indeed, there was no +necessity, as he never appeared to consider himself monotonous, +and did not at all care what others thought. Mr. +Donne he favoured with hints about his extreme meagreness, +allusions to his turned-up nose, cutting sarcasms on +a certain threadbare chocolate surtout which that gentleman +was accustomed to sport whenever it rained or seemed +likely to rain, and criticisms on a choice set of cockney +phrases and modes of pronunciation, Mr. Donne's own +property, and certainly deserving of remark for the elegance +and finish they communicated to his style.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sweeting was bantered about his stature—he was +a little man, a mere boy in height and breadth compared +with the athletic Malone; rallied on his musical accomplishments—he +played the flute and sang hymns like a +seraph, some young ladies of his parish thought; sneered +at as "the ladies' pet;" teased about his mamma and +sisters, for whom poor Mr. Sweeting had some lingering +regard, and of whom he was foolish enough now and then +to speak in the presence of the priestly Paddy, from whose +anatomy the bowels of natural affection had somehow been +omitted.</p> + +<p>The victims met these attacks each in his own way: +Mr. Donne with a stilted self-complacency and half-sullen +phlegm, the sole props of his otherwise somewhat rickety +dignity; Mr. Sweeting with the indifference of a light, +easy disposition, which never professed to have any dignity +to maintain.</p> + +<p>When Malone's raillery became rather too offensive, +which it soon did, they joined, in an attempt to turn the +tables on him by asking him how many boys had shouted +"Irish Peter!" after him as he came along the road that +day (Malones name was Peter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>8<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Malone----the Rev. Peter Augustus Malone); requesting to be informed whether it was the +mode in Ireland for clergymen to carry loaded pistols in +their pockets, and a shillelah in their hands, when they made +pastoral visits; inquiring the signification of such words as +vele, firrum, hellum, storrum (so Mr. Malone invariably +pronounced veil, firm, helm, storm), and employing such +other methods of retaliation as the innate refinement of +their minds suggested.</p> + +<p>This, of course, would not do. Malone, being neither +good-natured nor phlegmatic, was presently in a towering +passion. He vociferated, gesticulated; Donne and Sweeting +laughed. He reviled them as Saxons and snobs at the +very top pitch of his high Celtic voice; they taunted him +with being the native of a conquered land. He menaced +rebellion in the name of his "counthry," vented bitter +hatred against English rule; they spoke of rags, beggary, +and pestilence. The little parlour was in an uproar; you +would have thought a duel must follow such virulent abuse; +it seemed a wonder that Mr. and Mrs. Gale did not take +alarm at the noise, and send for a constable to keep the +peace. But they were accustomed to such demonstrations; +they well knew that the curates never dined or took tea +together without a little exercise of the sort, and were quite +easy as to consequences, knowing that these clerical quarrels +were as harmless as they were noisy, that they resulted in +nothing, and that, on whatever terms the curates might +part to-night, they would be sure to meet the best friends +in the world to-morrow morning.</p> + +<p>As the worthy pair were sitting by their kitchen fire, +listening to the repeated and sonorous contact of Malone's +fist with the mahogany plane of the parlour table, and +to the consequent start and jingle of decanters and glasses +following each assault, to the mocking laughter of the allied +English disputants, and the stuttering declamation of the +isolated Hibernian—as they thus sat, a foot was heard on the +outer door-step, and the knocker quivered to a sharp appeal.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gale went and opened.</p> + +<p>"Whom have you upstairs in the parlour?" asked a +voice—a rather remarkable voice, nasal in tone, abrupt in +utterance.</p> + +<p>"O Mr. Helstone, is it you, sir? I could hardly see +you for the darkness; it is so soon dark now. Will you +walk in, sir?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>9<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +"I want to know first whether it is worth my while +walking in. Whom have you upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"The curates, sir."</p> + +<p>"What! all of them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Been dining here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"That will do."</p> + +<p>With these words a person entered—a middle-aged man, +in black. He walked straight across the kitchen to an inner +door, opened it, inclined his head forward, and stood listening. +There was something to listen to, for the noise above +was just then louder than ever.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" he ejaculated to himself; then turning to Mr. +Gale—"Have you often this sort of work?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Gale had been a churchwarden, and was indulgent +to the clergy.</p> + +<p>"They're young, you know, sir—they're young," said he +deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"Young! They want caning. Bad boys—bad boys! +And if you were a Dissenter, John Gale, instead of being +a good Churchman, they'd do the like—they'd expose +themselves; but I'll——"</p> + +<p>By way of finish to this sentence, he passed through +the inner door, drew it after him, and mounted the stair. +Again he listened a few minutes when he arrived at the +upper room. Making entrance without warning, he stood +before the curates.</p> + +<p>And they were silent; they were transfixed; and so +was the invader. He—a personage short of stature, but +straight of port, and bearing on broad shoulders a hawk's +head, beak, and eye, the whole surmounted by a Rehoboam, +or shovel hat, which he did not seem to think it +necessary to lift or remove before the presence in which +he then stood—<em>he</em> folded his arms on his chest and surveyed +his young friends, if friends they were, much at his +leisure.</p> + +<p>"What!" he began, delivering his words in a voice no +longer nasal, but deep—more than deep—a voice made +purposely hollow and cavernous—"what! has the miracle +of Pentecost been renewed? Have the cloven tongues +come down again? Where are they? The sound filled +the whole house just now. I heard the seventeen languages +in full action: Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>10<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Cappadocia, in Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, +in Egypt and in the parts of Libya about Cyrene, strangers +of Rome, Jews and proselytes, Cretes and Arabians; +every one of these must have had its representative in +this room two minutes since."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Helstone," began Mr. Donne; +"take a seat, pray, sir. Have a glass of wine?"</p> + +<p>His civilities received no answer. The falcon in the +black coat proceeded,—</p> + +<p>"What do I talk about the gift of tongues? Gift, +indeed! I mistook the chapter, and book, and Testament—gospel +for law, Acts for Genesis, the city of Jerusalem +for the plain of Shinar. It was no gift but the +confusion of tongues which has gabbled me deaf as a post. +<em>You</em>, apostles? What! you three? Certainly not; three +presumptuous Babylonish masons—neither more nor less!"</p> + +<p>"I assure you, sir, we were only having a little chat +together over a glass of wine after a friendly dinner—settling +the Dissenters!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! settling the Dissenters, were you? Was Malone +settling the Dissenters? It sounded to me much more +like settling his co-apostles. You were quarrelling together, +making almost as much noise—you three alone—as +Moses Barraclough, the preaching tailor, and all his +hearers are making in the Methodist chapel down yonder, +where they are in the thick of a revival. I know whose +fault it is.—It is yours, Malone."</p> + +<p>"Mine, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yours, sir. Donne and Sweeting were quiet before +you came, and would be quiet if you were gone. I wish, +when you crossed the Channel, you had left your Irish +habits behind you. Dublin student ways won't do here. +The proceedings which might pass unnoticed in a wild +bog and mountain district in Connaught will, in a decent +English parish, bring disgrace on those who indulge in +them, and, what is far worse, on the sacred institution of +which they are merely the humble appendages."</p> + +<p>There was a certain dignity in the little elderly gentleman's +manner of rebuking these youths, though it was +not, perhaps, quite the dignity most appropriate to the +occasion. Mr. Helstone, standing straight as a ramrod, +looking keen as a kite, presented, despite his clerical hat, +black coat, and gaiters, more the air of a veteran officer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>11<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +chiding his subalterns than of a venerable priest exhorting +his sons in the faith. Gospel mildness, apostolic benignity, +never seemed to have breathed their influence over that +keen brown visage, but firmness had fixed the features, +and sagacity had carved her own lines about them.</p> + +<p>"I met Supplehough," he continued, "plodding through +the mud this wet night, going to preach at Milldean opposition +shop. As I told you, I heard Barraclough bellowing +in the midst of a conventicle like a possessed bull; and I +find <em>you</em>, gentlemen, tarrying over your half-pint of muddy +port wine, and scolding like angry old women. No wonder +Supplehough should have dipped sixteen adult converts in +a day—which he did a fortnight since; no wonder Barraclough, +scamp and hypocrite as he is, should attract all the +weaver-girls in their flowers and ribbons, to witness how +much harder are his knuckles than the wooden brim of his +tub; as little wonder that <em>you</em>, when you are left to +yourselves, without your rectors—myself, and Hall, and +Boultby—to back you, should too often perform the holy +service of our church to bare walls, and read your bit of a +dry discourse to the clerk, and the organist, and the beadle. +But enough of the subject. I came to see Malone.—I have +an errand unto thee, O captain!"</p> + +<p>"What is it?" inquired Malone discontentedly. "There +can be no funeral to take at this time of day."</p> + +<p>"Have you any arms about you?"</p> + +<p>"Arms, sir?—yes, and legs." And he advanced the +mighty members.</p> + +<p>"Bah! weapons I mean."</p> + +<p>"I have the pistols you gave me yourself. I never part +with them. I lay them ready cocked on a chair by my +bedside at night. I have my blackthorn."</p> + +<p>"Very good. Will you go to Hollow's Mill?"</p> + +<p>"What is stirring at Hollow's Mill?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing as yet, nor perhaps will be; but Moore is +alone there. He has sent all the workmen he can trust +to Stilbro'; there are only two women left about the place. +It would be a nice opportunity for any of his well-wishers +to pay him a visit, if they knew how straight the path was +made before them."</p> + +<p>"I am none of his well-wishers, sir. I don't care for +him."</p> + +<p>"Soh! Malone, you are afraid."</p> + +<p>"You know me better than that. If I really thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>12<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +there was a chance of a row I would go: but Moore is a +strange, shy man, whom I never pretend to understand; +and for the sake of his sweet company only I would not stir +a step."</p> + +<p>"But there <em>is</em> a chance of a row; if a positive riot does +not take place—of which, indeed, I see no signs—yet it +is unlikely this night will pass quite tranquilly. You know +Moore has resolved to have new machinery, and he expects +two wagon-loads of frames and shears from Stilbro' this +evening. Scott, the overlooker, and a few picked men are +gone to fetch them."</p> + +<p>"They will bring them in safely and quietly enough, sir."</p> + +<p>"Moore says so, and affirms he wants nobody. Some +one, however, he must have, if it were only to bear evidence +in case anything should happen. I call him very careless. +He sits in the counting-house with the shutters unclosed; +he goes out here and there after dark, wanders right up the +hollow, down Fieldhead Lane, among the plantations, just +as if he were the darling of the neighbourhood, or—being, +as he is, its detestation—bore a 'charmed life,' as they say +in tale-books. He takes no warning from the fate of Pearson, +nor from that of Armitage—shot, one in his own house and +the other on the moor."</p> + +<p>"But he should take warning, sir, and use precautions +too," interposed Mr. Sweeting; "and I think he would if +he heard what I heard the other day."</p> + +<p>"What did you hear, Davy?"</p> + +<p>"You know Mike Hartley, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The Antinomian weaver? Yes."</p> + +<p>"When Mike has been drinking for a few weeks together, +he generally winds up by a visit to Nunnely vicarage, to +tell Mr. Hall a piece of his mind about his sermons, to denounce +the horrible tendency of his doctrine of works, and +warn him that he and all his hearers are sitting in outer +darkness."</p> + +<p>"Well, that has nothing to do with Moore."</p> + +<p>"Besides being an Antinomian, he is a violent Jacobin +and leveller, sir."</p> + +<p>"I know. When he is very drunk, his mind is always +running on regicide. Mike is not unacquainted with history, +and it is rich to hear him going over the list of tyrants of +whom, as he says, 'the revenger of blood has obtained +satisfaction.' The fellow exults strangely in murder done +on crowned heads or on any head for political reasons. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>13<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +have already heard it hinted that he seems to have a queer +hankering after Moore. Is that what you allude to, +Sweeting?"</p> + +<p>"You use the proper term, sir. Mr. Hall thinks Mike +has no personal hatred of Moore. Mike says he even likes +to talk to him and run after him, but he has a <em>hankering</em> +that Moore should be made an example of. He was extolling +him to Mr. Hall the other day as the mill-owner with +the most brains in Yorkshire, and for that reason he affirms +Moore should be chosen as a sacrifice, an oblation of a +sweet savour. Is Mike Hartley in his right mind, do you +think, sir?" inquired Sweeting simply.</p> + +<p>"Can't tell, Davy. He may be crazed, or he may be +only crafty, or perhaps a little of both."</p> + +<p>"He talks of seeing visions, sir."</p> + +<p>"Ay! He is a very Ezekiel or Daniel for visions. He +came just when I was going to bed last Friday night to +describe one that had been revealed to him in Nunnely +Park that very afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Tell it, sir. What was it?" urged Sweeting.</p> + +<p>"Davy, thou hast an enormous organ of wonder in thy +cranium. Malone, you see, has none. Neither murders +nor visions interest him. See what a big vacant Saph he +looks at this moment."</p> + +<p>"Saph! Who was Saph, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I thought you would not know. You may find it out. +It is biblical. I know nothing more of him than his name +and race; but from a boy upwards I have always attached +a personality to Saph. Depend on it he was honest, heavy, +and luckless. He met his end at Gob by the hand of +Sibbechai."</p> + +<p>"But the vision, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Davy, thou shalt hear. Donne is biting his nails, and +Malone yawning, so I will tell it but to thee. Mike is out +of work, like many others, unfortunately. Mr. Grame, Sir +Philip Nunnely's steward, gave him a job about the priory. +According to his account, Mike was busy hedging rather +late in the afternoon, but before dark, when he heard what +he thought was a band at a distance—bugles, fifes, and the +sound of a trumpet; it came from the forest, and he wondered +that there should be music there. He looked up. +All amongst the trees he saw moving objects, red, like +poppies, or white, like may-blossom. The wood was full +of them; they poured out and filled the park. He then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>14<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +perceived they were soldiers—thousands and tens of thousands; +but they made no more noise than a swarm of +midges on a summer evening. They formed in order, he +affirmed, and marched, regiment after regiment, across the +park. He followed them to Nunnely Common; the music +still played soft and distant. On the common he watched +them go through a number of evolutions. A man clothed +in scarlet stood in the centre and directed them. They +extended, he declared, over fifty acres. They were in +sight half an hour; then they marched away quite silently. +The whole time he heard neither voice nor tread—nothing +but the faint music playing a solemn march."</p> + +<p>"Where did they go, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Towards Briarfield. Mike followed them. They +seemed passing Fieldhead, when a column of smoke, such +as might be vomited by a park of artillery, spread noiseless +over the fields, the road, the common, and rolled, he +said, blue and dim, to his very feet. As it cleared away he +looked again for the soldiers, but they were vanished; he +saw them no more. Mike, like a wise Daniel as he is, not +only rehearsed the vision but gave the interpretation +thereof. It signifies, he intimated, bloodshed and civil +conflict."</p> + +<p>"Do you credit it, sir?" asked Sweeting.</p> + +<p>"Do you, Davy?—But come, Malone; why are you +not off?"</p> + +<p>"I am rather surprised, sir, you did not stay with Moore +yourself. You like this kind of thing."</p> + +<p>"So I should have done, had I not unfortunately happened +to engage Boultby to sup with me on his way home +from the Bible Society meeting at Nunnely. I promised +to send you as my substitute; for which, by-the-bye, he did +not thank me. He would much rather have had me than +you, Peter. Should there be any real need of help I shall +join you. The mill-bell will give warning. Meantime, go—unless +(turning suddenly to Messrs. Sweeting and Donne)—unless +Davy Sweeting or Joseph Donne prefers going.—What +do you say, gentlemen? The commission is an +honourable one, not without the seasoning of a little real +peril; for the country is in a queer state, as you all know, +and Moore and his mill and his machinery are held in +sufficient odium. There are chivalric sentiments, there is +high-beating courage, under those waistcoats of yours, I +doubt not. Perhaps I am too partial to my favourite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>15<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Peter. Little David shall be the champion, or spotless +Joseph.—Malone, you are but a great floundering Saul +after all, good only to lend your armour. Out with your +firearms; fetch your shillelah. It is there—in the corner."</p> + +<p>With a significant grin Malone produced his pistols, +offering one to each of his brethren. They were not readily +seized on. With graceful modesty each gentleman retired +a step from the presented weapon.</p> + +<p>"I never touch them. I never did touch anything of +the kind," said Mr. Donne.</p> + +<p>"I am almost a stranger to Mr. Moore," murmured +Sweeting.</p> + +<p>"If you never touched a pistol, try the feel of it now, +great satrap of Egypt. As to the little minstrel, he probably +prefers encountering the Philistines with no other +weapon than his flute.—Get their hats, Peter. They'll +both of 'em go."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; no, Mr. Helstone. My mother wouldn't like +it," pleaded Sweeting.</p> + +<p>"And I make it a rule never to get mixed up in affairs +of the kind," observed Donne.</p> + +<p>Helstone smiled sardonically; Malone laughed a horse-laugh. +He then replaced his arms, took his hat and cudgel, +and saying that "he never felt more in tune for a shindy +in his life, and that he wished a score of greasy cloth-dressers +might beat up Moore's quarters that night," he +made his exit, clearing the stairs at a stride or two, and +making the house shake with the bang of the front-door +behind him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>16<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE WAGONS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> evening was pitch dark: star and moon were quenched +in gray rain-clouds—gray they would have been by day; +by night they looked sable. Malone was not a man given +to close observation of nature; her changes passed, for +the most part, unnoticed by him. He could walk miles on +the most varying April day and never see the beautiful +dallying of earth and heaven—never mark when a sunbeam +kissed the hill-tops, making them smile clear in green light, +or when a shower wept over them, hiding their crests with +the low-hanging, dishevelled tresses of a cloud. He did +not, therefore, care to contrast the sky as it now appeared—a +muffled, streaming vault, all black, save where, towards +the east, the furnaces of Stilbro' ironworks threw a tremulous +lurid shimmer on the horizon—with the same sky on +an unclouded frosty night. He did not trouble himself to +ask where the constellations and the planets were gone, or +to regret the "black-blue" serenity of the air-ocean which +those white islets stud, and which another ocean, of heavier +and denser element, now rolled below and concealed. He +just doggedly pursued his way, leaning a little forward as +he walked, and wearing his hat on the back of his head, as +his Irish manner was. "Tramp, tramp," he went along +the causeway, where the road boasted the privilege of +such an accommodation; "splash, splash," through the +mire-filled cart ruts, where the flags were exchanged for +soft mud. He looked but for certain landmarks—the +spire of Briarfield Church; farther on, the lights of Redhouse. +This was an inn; and when he reached it, the +glow of a fire through a half-curtained window, a vision +of glasses on a round table, and of revellers on an oaken +settle, had nearly drawn aside the curate from his course. +He thought longingly of a tumbler of whisky-and-water. +In a strange place he would instantly have realized the +dream; but the company assembled in that kitchen were +Mr. Helstone's own parishioners; they all knew him. He +sighed, and passed on.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>17<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>The highroad was now to be quitted, as the remaining +distance to Hollow's Mill might be considerably reduced +by a short cut across fields. These fields were level and +monotonous. Malone took a direct course through them, +jumping hedge and wall. He passed but one building +here, and that seemed large and hall-like, though irregular. +You could see a high gable, then a long front, then a low +gable, then a thick, lofty stack of chimneys. There were +some trees behind it. It was dark; not a candle shone +from any window. It was absolutely still; the rain running +from the eaves, and the rather wild but very low +whistle of the wind round the chimneys and through the +boughs were the sole sounds in its neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>This building passed, the fields, hitherto flat, declined in +a rapid descent. Evidently a vale lay below, through +which you could hear the water run. One light glimmered +in the depth. For that beacon Malone steered.</p> + +<p>He came to a little white house—you could see it was +white even through this dense darkness—and knocked at +the door. A fresh-faced servant opened it. By the candle +she held was revealed a narrow passage, terminating in +a narrow stair. Two doors covered with crimson baize, a +strip of crimson carpet down the steps, contrasted with +light-coloured walls and white floor, made the little interior +look clean and fresh.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore is at home, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, but he is not in."</p> + +<p>"Not in! Where is he then?"</p> + +<p>"At the mill—in the counting-house."</p> + +<p>Here one of the crimson doors opened.</p> + +<p>"Are the wagons come, Sarah?" asked a female voice, +and a female head at the same time was apparent. It +might not be the head of a goddess—indeed a screw of +curl-paper on each side the temples quite forbade that +supposition—but neither was it the head of a Gorgon; yet +Malone seemed to take it in the latter light. Big as he was, +he shrank bashfully back into the rain at the view thereof, +and saying, "I'll go to him," hurried in seeming trepidation +down a short lane, across an obscure yard, towards a +huge black mill.</p> + +<p>The work-hours were over; the "hands" were gone. +The machinery was at rest, the mill shut up. Malone +walked round it. Somewhere in its great sooty flank he +found another chink of light; he knocked at another door,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>18<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +using for the purpose the thick end of his shillelah, with +which he beat a rousing tattoo. A key turned; the door +unclosed.</p> + +<p>"Is it Joe Scott? What news of the wagons, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"No; it's myself. Mr. Helstone would send me."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Mr. Malone." The voice in uttering this name had +the slightest possible cadence of disappointment. After a +moment's pause it continued, politely but a little formally,—</p> + +<p>"I beg you will come in, Mr. Malone. I regret extremely +Mr. Helstone should have thought it necessary +to trouble you so far. There was no necessity—I told him +so—and on such a night; but walk forwards."</p> + +<p>Through a dark apartment, of aspect undistinguishable, +Malone followed the speaker into a light and bright room +within—very light and bright indeed it seemed to eyes +which, for the last hour, had been striving to penetrate the +double darkness of night and fog; but except for its excellent +fire, and for a lamp of elegant design and vivid +lustre burning on a table, it was a very plain place. The +boarded floor was carpetless; the three or four stiff-backed, +green-painted chairs seemed once to have furnished the +kitchen of some farm-house; a desk of strong, solid formation, +the table aforesaid, and some framed sheets on the +stone-coloured walls, bearing plans for building, for gardening, +designs of machinery, etc., completed the furniture of +the place.</p> + +<p>Plain as it was, it seemed to satisfy Malone, who, when he +had removed and hung up his wet surtout and hat, drew +one of the rheumatic-looking chairs to the hearth, and set +his knees almost within the bars of the red grate.</p> + +<p>"Comfortable quarters you have here, Mr. Moore; and +all snug to yourself."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but my sister would be glad to see you, if you +would prefer stepping into the house."</p> + +<p>"Oh no! The ladies are best alone, I never was a +lady's man. You don't mistake me for my friend Sweeting, +do you, Mr. Moore?"</p> + +<p>"Sweeting! Which of them is that? The gentleman +in the chocolate overcoat, or the little gentleman?"</p> + +<p>"The little one—he of Nunnely; the cavalier of the +Misses Sykes, with the whole six of whom he is in love, +ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>"Better be generally in love with all than specially with +one, I should think, in that quarter."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>19<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"But he is specially in love with one besides, for when +I and Donne urged him to make a choice amongst the fair +bevy, he named—which do you think?"</p> + +<p>With a queer, quiet smile Mr. Moore replied, "Dora, of +course, or Harriet."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! you've an excellent guess. But what made +you hit on those two?"</p> + +<p>"Because they are the tallest, the handsomest, and +Dora, at least, is the stoutest; and as your friend Mr. +Sweeting is but a little slight figure, I concluded that, +according to a frequent rule in such cases, he preferred his +contrast."</p> + +<p>"You are right; Dora it is. But he has no chance, has +he, Moore?"</p> + +<p>"What has Mr. Sweeting besides his curacy?"</p> + +<p>This question seemed to tickle Malone amazingly. He +laughed for full three minutes before he answered it.</p> + +<p>"What has Sweeting? Why, David has his harp, or +flute, which comes to the same thing. He has a sort of +pinchbeck watch; ditto, ring; ditto, eyeglass. That's +what he has."</p> + +<p>"How would he propose to keep Miss Sykes in gowns +only?"</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! Excellent! I'll ask him that next time I +see him. I'll roast him for his presumption. But no +doubt he expects old Christopher Sykes would do something +handsome. He is rich, is he not? They live in a +large house."</p> + +<p>"Sykes carries on an extensive concern."</p> + +<p>"Therefore he must be wealthy, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Therefore he must have plenty to do with his wealth, +and in these times would be about as likely to think of +drawing money from the business to give dowries to his +daughters as I should be to dream of pulling down the +cottage there, and constructing on its ruins a house as +large as Fieldhead."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I heard, Moore, the other day?"</p> + +<p>"No. Perhaps that I <em>was</em> about to effect some such +change. Your Briarfield gossips are capable of saying +that or sillier things."</p> + +<p>"That you were going to take Fieldhead on a lease (I +thought it looked a dismal place, by-the-bye, to-night, as I +passed it), and that it was your intention to settle a Miss +Sykes there as mistress—to be married, in short, ha! ha!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>20<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Now, which is it? Dora, I am sure. You said she was +the handsomest."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how often it has been settled that I was to +be married since I came to Briarfield. They have assigned +me every marriageable single woman by turns in the district. +Now it was the two Misses Wynns—first the dark, +then the light one; now the red-haired Miss Armitage; +then the mature Ann Pearson. At present you throw on +my shoulders all the tribe of the Misses Sykes. On what +grounds this gossip rests God knows. I visit nowhere; I +seek female society about as assiduously as you do, Mr. +Malone. If ever I go to Whinbury, it is only to give Sykes +or Pearson a call in their counting-house, where our discussions +run on other topics than matrimony, and our +thoughts are occupied with other things than courtships, +establishments, dowries. The cloth we can't sell, the +hands we can't employ, the mills we can't run, the perverse +course of events generally, which we cannot alter, fill our +hearts, I take it, pretty well at present, to the tolerably +complete exclusion of such figments as love-making, etc."</p> + +<p>"I go along with you completely, Moore. If there is +one notion I hate more than another, it is that of marriage—I +mean marriage in the vulgar weak sense, as a mere +matter of sentiment—two beggarly fools agreeing to unite +their indigence by some fantastic tie of feeling. Humbug! +But an advantageous connection, such as can be formed in +consonance with dignity of views and permanency of +solid interests, is not so bad—eh?"</p> + +<p>"No," responded Moore, in an absent manner. The +subject seemed to have no interest for him; he did not pursue +it. After sitting for some time gazing at the fire with a +preoccupied air, he suddenly turned his head.</p> + +<p>"Hark!" said he. "Did you hear wheels?"</p> + +<p>Rising, he went to the window, opened it, and listened. He +soon closed it. "It is only the sound of the wind rising," he +remarked, "and the rivulet a little swollen, rushing down the +hollow. I expected those wagons at six; it is near nine now."</p> + +<p>"Seriously, do you suppose that the putting up of this +new machinery will bring you into danger?" inquired +Malone. "Helstone seems to think it will."</p> + +<p>"I only wish the machines—the frames—were safe here, +and lodged within the walls of this mill. Once put up, I +defy the frame-breakers. Let them only pay me a visit +and take the consequences. My mill is my castle."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>21<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"One despises such low scoundrels," observed Malone, +in a profound vein of reflection. "I almost wish a party +would call upon you to-night; but the road seemed extremely +quiet as I came along. I saw nothing astir."</p> + +<p>"You came by the Redhouse?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"There would be nothing on that road. It is in the +direction of Stilbro' the risk lies."</p> + +<p>"And you think there is risk?"</p> + +<p>"What these fellows have done to others they may do +to me. There is only this difference: most of the manufacturers +seem paralyzed when they are attacked. Sykes, +for instance, when his dressing-shop was set on fire and +burned to the ground, when the cloth was torn from his +tenters and left in shreds in the field, took no steps to discover +or punish the miscreants: he gave up as tamely as a +rabbit under the jaws of a ferret. Now I, if I know myself, +should stand by my trade, my mill, and my machinery."</p> + +<p>"Helstone says these three are your gods; that the +'Orders in Council' are with you another name for the +seven deadly sins; that Castlereagh is your Antichrist, and +the war-party his legions."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I abhor all these things because they ruin me. +They stand in my way. I cannot get on. I cannot execute +my plans because of them. I see myself baffled at +every turn by their untoward effects."</p> + +<p>"But you are rich and thriving, Moore?"</p> + +<p>"I am very rich in cloth I cannot sell. You should step +into my warehouse yonder, and observe how it is piled to +the roof with pieces. Roakes and Pearson are in the same +condition. America used to be their market, but the +Orders in Council have cut that off."</p> + +<p>Malone did not seem prepared to carry on briskly a +conversation of this sort. He began to knock the heels of +his boots together, and to yawn.</p> + +<p>"And then to think," continued Mr. Moore who seemed +too much taken up with the current of his own thoughts +to note the symptoms of his guest's <em>ennui</em>—"to think that +these ridiculous gossips of Whinbury and Briarfield will +keep pestering one about being married! As if there was +nothing to be done in life but to 'pay attention,' as they +say, to some young lady, and then to go to church with her, +and then to start on a bridal tour, and then to run through +a round of visits, and then, I suppose, to be 'having a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>22<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +family.' Oh, que le diable emporte!" He broke off the +aspiration into which he was launching with a certain +energy, and added, more calmly, "I believe women talk +and think only of these things, and they naturally fancy +men's minds similarly occupied."</p> + +<p>"Of course—of course," assented Malone; "but never +mind them." And he whistled, looked impatiently round, +and seemed to feel a great want of something. This time +Moore caught and, it appeared, comprehended his demonstrations.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Malone," said he, "you must require refreshment +after your wet walk. I forget hospitality."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," rejoined Malone; but he looked as if the +right nail was at last hit on the head, nevertheless. Moore +rose and opened a cupboard.</p> + +<p>"It is my fancy," said he, "to have every convenience +within myself, and not to be dependent on the feminity +in the cottage yonder for every mouthful I eat or every +drop I drink. I often spend the evening and sup here +alone, and sleep with Joe Scott in the mill. Sometimes +I am my own watchman. I require little sleep, and it +pleases me on a fine night to wander for an hour or two +with my musket about the hollow. Mr. Malone, can you +cook a mutton chop?"</p> + +<p>"Try me. I've done it hundreds of times at college."</p> + +<p>"There's a dishful, then, and there's the gridiron. Turn +them quickly. You know the secret of keeping the juices +in?"</p> + +<p>"Never fear me; you shall see. Hand a knife and fork, +please."</p> + +<p>The curate turned up his coat-cuffs, and applied himself +to the cookery with vigour. The manufacturer placed +on the table plates, a loaf of bread, a black bottle, and two +tumblers. He then produced a small copper kettle—still +from the same well-stored recess, his cupboard—filled it +with water from a large stone jar in a corner, set it on the +fire beside the hissing gridiron, got lemons, sugar, and a +small china punch-bowl; but while he was brewing the +punch a tap at the door called him away.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, Sarah?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Will you come to supper, please, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No; I shall not be in to-night; I shall sleep in the mill. +So lock the doors, and tell your mistress to go to bed."</p> + +<p>He returned.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>23<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You have your household in proper order," observed +Malone approvingly, as, with his fine face ruddy as the +embers over which he bent, he assiduously turned the +mutton chops. "You are not under petticoat government, +like poor Sweeting, a man—whew! how the fat +spits! it has burnt my hand—destined to be ruled by +women. Now you and I, Moore—there's a fine brown +one for you, and full of gravy—you and I will have no gray +mares in our stables when we marry."</p> + +<p>"I don't know; I never think about it. If the gray +mare is handsome and tractable, why not?"</p> + +<p>"The chops are done. Is the punch brewed?"</p> + +<p>"There is a glassful. Taste it. When Joe Scott and +his minions return they shall have a share of this, provided +they bring home the frames intact."</p> + +<p>Malone waxed very exultant over the supper. He +laughed aloud at trifles, made bad jokes and applauded +them himself, and, in short, grew unmeaningly noisy. His +host, on the contrary, remained quiet as before. It is +time, reader, that you should have some idea of the appearance +of this same host. I must endeavour to sketch him +as he sits at table.</p> + +<p>He is what you would probably call, at first view, rather +a strange-looking man; for he is thin, dark, sallow, very +foreign of aspect, with shadowy hair carelessly streaking +his forehead. It appears that he spends but little time at +his toilet, or he would arrange it with more taste. He +seems unconscious that his features are fine, that they +have a southern symmetry, clearness, regularity in their +chiselling; nor does a spectator become aware of this +advantage till he has examined him well, for an anxious +countenance and a hollow, somewhat haggard, outline of +face disturb the idea of beauty with one of care. His eyes +are large, and grave, and gray; their expression is intent +and meditative, rather searching than soft, rather thoughtful +than genial. When he parts his lips in a smile, his +physiognomy is agreeable—not that it is frank or cheerful +even then, but you feel the influence of a certain sedate +charm, suggestive, whether truly or delusively, of a considerate, +perhaps a kind nature, of feelings that may +wear well at home—patient, forbearing, possibly faithful +feelings. He is still young—not more than thirty; his +stature is tall, his figure slender. His manner of speaking +displeases. He has an outlandish accent, which, notwithstanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>24<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +a studied carelessness of pronunciation and diction, +grates on a British, and especially on a Yorkshire, ear.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore, indeed, was but half a Briton, and scarcely +that. He came of a foreign ancestry by the mother's side, +and was himself born and partly reared on a foreign soil. A +hybrid in nature, it is probable he had a hybrid's feeling +on many points—patriotism for one; it is likely that he +was unapt to attach himself to parties, to sects, even to +climes and customs; it is not impossible that he had a +tendency to isolate his individual person from any community +amidst which his lot might temporarily happen to +be thrown, and that he felt it to be his best wisdom to push +the interests of Robert Gérard Moore, to the exclusion of +philanthropic consideration for general interests, with +which he regarded the said Gérard Moore as in a great +measure disconnected. Trade was Mr. Moore's hereditary +calling: the Gérards of Antwerp had been merchants for +two centuries back. Once they had been wealthy merchants; +but the uncertainties, the involvements, of business +had come upon them; disastrous speculations had loosened +by degrees the foundations of their credit. The house had +stood on a tottering base for a dozen years; and at last, in +the shock of the French Revolution, it had rushed down a +total ruin. In its fall was involved the English and Yorkshire +firm of Moore, closely connected with the Antwerp +house, and of which one of the partners, resident in Antwerp, +Robert Moore, had married Hortense Gérard, with the +prospect of his bride inheriting her father Constantine +Gérard's share in the business. She inherited, as we have +seen, but his share in the liabilities of the firm; and these +liabilities, though duly set aside by a composition with +creditors, some said her son Robert accepted, in his turn, +as a legacy, and that he aspired one day to discharge them, +and to rebuild the fallen house of Gérard and Moore on a +scale at least equal to its former greatness. It was even +supposed that he took by-past circumstances much to heart; +and if a childhood passed at the side of a saturnine mother, +under foreboding of coming evil, and a manhood drenched +and blighted by the pitiless descent of the storm, could +painfully impress the mind, <em>his</em> probably was impressed in +no golden characters.</p> + +<p>If, however, he had a great end of restoration in view, +it was not in his power to employ great means for its attainment. +He was obliged to be content with the day of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>25<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +small things. When he came to Yorkshire, he—whose +ancestors had owned warehouses in this seaport, and +factories in that inland town, had possessed their town-house +and their country-seat—saw no way open to him +but to rent a cloth-mill in an out-of-the-way nook of an +out-of-the-way district; to take a cottage adjoining it for +his residence, and to add to his possessions, as pasture for +his horse, and space for his cloth-tenters, a few acres of +the steep, rugged land that lined the hollow through which +his mill-stream brawled. All this he held at a somewhat +high rent (for these war times were hard, and everything +was dear) of the trustees of the Fieldhead estate, then the +property of a minor.</p> + +<p>At the time this history commences, Robert Moore had +lived but two years in the district, during which period he +had at least proved himself possessed of the quality of +activity. The dingy cottage was converted into a neat, +tasteful residence. Of part of the rough land he had made +garden-ground, which he cultivated with singular, even +with Flemish, exactness and care. As to the mill, which +was an old structure, and fitted up with old machinery, now +become inefficient and out of date, he had from the first +evinced the strongest contempt for all its arrangements +and appointments. His aim had been to effect a radical +reform, which he had executed as fast as his very limited +capital would allow; and the narrowness of that capital, +and consequent check on his progress, was a restraint +which galled his spirit sorely. Moore ever wanted to push +on. "Forward" was the device stamped upon his soul; +but poverty curbed him. Sometimes (figuratively) he +foamed at the mouth when the reins were drawn very +tight.</p> + +<p>In this state of feeling, it is not to be expected that he +would deliberate much as to whether his advance was or +was not prejudicial to others. Not being a native, nor for +any length of time a resident of the neighbourhood, he did +not sufficiently care when the new inventions threw +the old workpeople out of employ. He never asked himself +where those to whom he no longer paid weekly wages +found daily bread; and in this negligence he only resembled +thousands besides, on whom the starving poor of +Yorkshire seemed to have a closer claim.</p> + +<p>The period of which I write was an overshadowed one in +British history, and especially in the history of the northern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>26<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +provinces. War was then at its height. Europe was all +involved therein. England, if not weary, was worn with +long resistance—yes, and half her people were weary too, +and cried out for peace on any terms. National honour +was become a mere empty name, of no value in the eyes of +many, because their sight was dim with famine; and for +a morsel of meat they would have sold their birthright.</p> + +<p>The "Orders in Council," provoked by Napoleon's Milan +and Berlin decrees, and forbidding neutral powers to trade +with France, had, by offending America, cut off the principal +market of the Yorkshire woollen trade, and brought +it consequently to the verge of ruin. Minor foreign markets +were glutted, and would receive no more. The Brazils, +Portugal, Sicily, were all overstocked by nearly two years' +consumption. At this crisis certain inventions in machinery +were introduced into the staple manufactures of the north, +which, greatly reducing the number of hands necessary to +be employed, threw thousands out of work, and left them +without legitimate means of sustaining life. A bad harvest +supervened. Distress reached its climax. Endurance, +overgoaded, stretched the hand of fraternity to sedition. +The throes of a sort of moral earthquake were felt heaving +under the hills of the northern counties. But, as is usual +in such cases, nobody took much notice. When a food-riot +broke out in a manufacturing town, when a gig-mill +was burnt to the ground, or a manufacturer's house was +attacked, the furniture thrown into the streets, and the +family forced to flee for their lives, some local measures +were or were not taken by the local magistracy. A ringleader +was detected, or more frequently suffered to elude +detection; newspaper paragraphs were written on the +subject, and there the thing stopped. As to the sufferers, +whose sole inheritance was labour, and who had lost that +inheritance—who could not get work, and consequently +could not get wages, and consequently could not get bread—they +were left to suffer on, perhaps inevitably left. It +would not do to stop the progress of invention, to damage +science by discouraging its improvements; the war could +not be terminated; efficient relief could not be raised. +There was no help then; so the unemployed underwent +their destiny—ate the bread and drank the waters of +affliction.</p> + +<p>Misery generates hate. These sufferers hated the machines +which they believed took their bread from them; they hated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>27<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the buildings which contained those machines; they hated +the manufacturers who owned those buildings. In the parish +of Briarfield, with which we have at present to do, Hollow's +Mill was the place held most abominable; Gérard Moore, +in his double character of semi-foreigner and thorough-going +progressist, the man most abominated. And it perhaps +rather agreed with Moore's temperament than otherwise +to be generally hated, especially when he believed the thing +for which he was hated a right and an expedient thing; and +it was with a sense of warlike excitement he, on this night, +sat in his counting-house waiting the arrival of his frame-laden +wagons. Malone's coming and company were, it may +be, most unwelcome to him. He would have preferred +sitting alone; for he liked a silent, sombre, unsafe solitude. +His watchman's musket would have been company enough +for him; the full-flowing beck in the den would have +delivered continuously the discourse most genial to his ear.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>With the queerest look in the world had the manufacturer +for some ten minutes been watching the Irish curate, as the +latter made free with the punch, when suddenly that steady +gray eye changed, as if another vision came between it and +Malone. Moore raised his hand.</p> + +<p>"Chut!" he said in his French fashion, as Malone made +a noise with his glass. He listened a moment, then rose, +put his hat on, and went out at the counting-house door.</p> + +<p>The night was still, dark, and stagnant: the water yet +rushed on full and fast; its flow almost seemed a flood in +the utter silence. Moore's ear, however, caught another +sound, very distant but yet dissimilar, broken and rugged—in +short, a sound of heavy wheels crunching a stony road. +He returned to the counting-house and lit a lantern, with +which he walked down the mill-yard, and proceeded to +open the gates. The big wagons were coming on; the +dray-horses' huge hoofs were heard splashing in the mud +and water. Moore hailed them.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Joe Scott! Is all right?"</p> + +<p>Probably Joe Scott was yet at too great a distance to +hear the inquiry. He did not answer it.</p> + +<p>"Is all right, I say?" again asked Moore, when the +elephant-like leader's nose almost touched his.</p> + +<p>Some one jumped out from the foremost wagon into the +road; a voice cried aloud, "Ay, ay, divil; all's raight! +We've smashed 'em."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>28<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>And there was a run. The wagons stood still; they +were now deserted.</p> + +<p>"Joe Scott!" No Joe Scott answered. "Murgatroyd! +Pighills! Sykes!" No reply. Mr. Moore lifted his lantern +and looked into the vehicles. There was neither man +nor machinery; they were empty and abandoned.</p> + +<p>Now Mr. Moore loved his machinery. He had risked the +last of his capital on the purchase of these frames and +shears which to-night had been expected. Speculations +most important to his interests depended on the results to +be wrought by them. Where were they?</p> + +<p>The words "we've smashed 'em" rang in his ears. How +did the catastrophe affect him? By the light of the lantern +he held were his features visible, relaxing to a singular +smile—the smile the man of determined spirit wears when +he reaches a juncture in his life where this determined +spirit is to feel a demand on its strength, when the strain +is to be made, and the faculty must bear or break. Yet he +remained silent, and even motionless; for at the instant +he neither knew what to say nor what to do. He placed +the lantern on the ground, and stood with his arms folded, +gazing down and reflecting.</p> + +<p>An impatient trampling of one of the horses made him +presently look up. His eye in the moment caught the +gleam of something white attached to a part of the harness. +Examined by the light of the lantern this proved +to be a folded paper—a billet. It bore no address without; +within was the superscription:—</p> + +<p>"To the Divil of Hollow's Miln."</p> + +<p>We will not copy the rest of the orthography, which was +very peculiar, but translate it into legible English. It ran +thus:—</p> + +<p>"Your hellish machinery is shivered to smash on Stilbro' +Moor, and your men are lying bound hand and foot in a +ditch by the roadside. Take this as a warning from men +that are starving, and have starving wives and children +to go home to when they have done this deed. If you get +new machines, or if you otherwise go on as you have done, +you shall hear from us again. Beware!"</p> + +<p>"Hear from you again? Yes, I'll hear from you again, +and you shall hear from me. I'll speak to you directly. +On Stilbro' Moor you shall hear from me in a moment."</p> + +<p>Having led the wagons within the gates, he hastened +towards the cottage. Opening the door, he spoke a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>29<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +words quickly but quietly to two females who ran to meet +him in the passage. He calmed the seeming alarm of one +by a brief palliative account of what had taken place; to +the other he said, "Go into the mill, Sarah—there is the +key—and ring the mill-bell as loud as you can. Afterwards +you will get another lantern and help me to light up the +front."</p> + +<p>Returning to his horses, he unharnessed, fed, and stabled +them with equal speed and care, pausing occasionally, +while so occupied, as if to listen for the mill-bell. It clanged +out presently, with irregular but loud and alarming din. +The hurried, agitated peal seemed more urgent than if the +summons had been steadily given by a practised hand. On +that still night, at that unusual hour, it was heard a long +way round. The guests in the kitchen of the Redhouse +were startled by the clamour, and declaring that "there +must be summat more nor common to do at Hollow's Miln," +they called for lanterns, and hurried to the spot in a body. +And scarcely had they thronged into the yard with their +gleaming lights, when the tramp of horses was heard, and +a little man in a shovel hat, sitting erect on the back of a +shaggy pony, "rode lightly in," followed by an aide-de-camp +mounted on a larger steed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore, meantime, after stabling his dray-horses, +had saddled his hackney, and with the aid of Sarah, the +servant, lit up his mill, whose wide and long front now +glared one great illumination, throwing a sufficient light +on the yard to obviate all fear of confusion arising from +obscurity. Already a deep hum of voices became audible. +Mr. Malone had at length issued from the counting-house, +previously taking the precaution to dip his head +and face in the stone water-jug; and this precaution, together +with the sudden alarm, had nearly restored to him +the possession of those senses which the punch had partially +scattered. He stood with his hat on the back of his head, +and his shillelah grasped in his dexter fist, answering much +at random the questions of the newly-arrived party from +the Redhouse. Mr. Moore now appeared, and was immediately +confronted by the shovel hat and the shaggy +pony.</p> + +<p>"Well, Moore, what is your business with us? I thought +you would want us to-night—me and the hetman here +(patting his pony's neck), and Tom and his charger. When +I heard your mill-bell I could sit still no longer, so I left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>30<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Boultby to finish his supper alone. But where is the +enemy? I do not see a mask or a smutted face present; +and there is not a pane of glass broken in your windows. +Have you had an attack, or do you expect one?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not at all! I have neither had one nor expect +one," answered Moore coolly. "I only ordered the bell +to be rung because I want two or three neighbours to stay +here in the Hollow while I and a couple or so more go over +to Stilbro' Moor."</p> + +<p>"To Stilbro' Moor! What to do? To meet the +wagons?"</p> + +<p>"The wagons are come home an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Then all's right. What more would you have?"</p> + +<p>"They came home empty; and Joe Scott and company +are left on the moor, and so are the frames. Read that +scrawl."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone received and perused the document of +which the contents have before been given.</p> + +<p>"Hum! They've only served you as they serve others. +But, however, the poor fellows in the ditch will be expecting +help with some <a name="impatience" id="impatience"></a><ins title="was inpatience">impatience</ins>. This is a wet night for such +a berth. I and Tom will go with you. Malone may stay +behind and take care of the mill. What is the matter with +him? His eyes seem starting out of his head."</p> + +<p>"He has been eating a mutton chop."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!—Peter Augustus, be on your guard. Eat no +more mutton chops to-night. You are left here in command +of these premises—an honourable post!"</p> + +<p>"Is anybody to stay with me?"</p> + +<p>"As many of the present assemblage as choose.—My +lads, how many of you will remain here, and how many +will go a little way with me and Mr. Moore on the Stilbro' +road, to meet some men who have been waylaid and assaulted +by frame-breakers?"</p> + +<p>The small number of three volunteered to go; the rest +preferred staying behind. As Mr. Moore mounted his +horse, the rector asked him in a low voice whether he had +locked up the mutton chops, so that Peter Augustus could +not get at them? The manufacturer nodded an affirmative, +and the rescue-party set out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>31<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +<br /> +<small>MR. YORKE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Cheerfulness</span>, it would appear, is a matter which depends +fully as much on the state of things within as on +the state of things without and around us. I make this +trite remark, because I happen to know that Messrs. Helstone +and Moore trotted forth from the mill-yard gates, +at the head of their very small company, in the best possible +spirits. When a ray from a lantern (the three pedestrians +of the party carried each one) fell on Mr. Moore's +face, you could see an unusual, because a lively, spark +dancing in his eyes, and a new-found vivacity mantling on +his dark physiognomy; and when the rector's visage was +illuminated, his hard features were revealed all agrin and +ashine with glee. Yet a drizzling night, a somewhat perilous +expedition, you would think were not circumstances calculated +to enliven those exposed to the wet and engaged in +the adventure. If any member or members of the crew +who had been at work on Stilbro' Moor had caught a view +of this party, they would have had great pleasure in shooting +either of the leaders from behind a wall: and the leaders +knew this; and the fact is, being both men of steely nerves +and steady-beating hearts, were elate with the knowledge.</p> + +<p>I am aware, reader, and you need not remind me, that +it is a dreadful thing for a parson to be warlike; I am +aware that he should be a man of peace. I have some +faint outline of an idea of what a clergyman's mission is +amongst mankind, and I remember distinctly whose servant +he is, whose message he delivers, whose example he +should follow; yet, with all this, if you are a parson-hater, +you need not expect me to go along with you every step +of your dismal, downward-tending, unchristian road; you +need not expect me to join in your deep anathemas, at once +so narrow and so sweeping, in your poisonous rancour, so +intense and so absurd, against "the cloth;" to lift up my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>32<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +eyes and hands with a Supplehough, or to inflate my lungs +with a Barraclough, in horror and denunciation of the +diabolical rector of Briarfield.</p> + +<p>He was not diabolical at all. The evil simply was—he +had missed his vocation. He should have been a soldier, +and circumstances had made him a priest. For the rest, +he was a conscientious, hard-headed, hard-handed, brave, +stern, implacable, faithful little man; a man almost without +sympathy, ungentle, prejudiced, and rigid, but a man true +to principle, honourable, sagacious, and sincere. It seems +to me, reader, that you cannot always cut out men to fit +their profession, and that you ought not to curse them +because their profession sometimes hangs on them ungracefully. +Nor will I curse Helstone, clerical Cossack as +he was. Yet he <em>was</em> cursed, and by many of his own parishioners, +as by others he was adored—which is the frequent +fate of men who show partiality in friendship and bitterness +in enmity, who are equally attached to principles and +adherent to prejudices.</p> + +<p>Helstone and Moore being both in excellent spirits, and +united for the present in one cause, you would expect that, +as they rode side by side, they would converse amicably. +Oh no! These two men, of hard, bilious natures both, +rarely came into contact but they chafed each other's moods. +Their frequent bone of contention was the war. Helstone +was a high Tory (there were Tories in those days), and +Moore was a bitter Whig—a Whig, at least, as far as opposition +to the war-party was concerned, that being the question +which affected his own interest; and only on that question +did he profess any British politics at all. He liked to +infuriate Helstone by declaring his belief in the invincibility +of Bonaparte, by taunting England and Europe +with the impotence of their efforts to withstand him, and +by coolly advancing the opinion that it was as well to yield +to him soon as late, since he must in the end crush every +antagonist, and reign supreme.</p> + +<p>Helstone could not bear these sentiments. It was only +on the consideration of Moore being a sort of outcast and +alien, and having but half measure of British blood to +temper the foreign gall which corroded his veins, that he +brought himself to listen to them without indulging the +wish he felt to cane the speaker. Another thing, too, +somewhat allayed his disgust—namely, a fellow-feeling for +the dogged tone with which these opinions were asserted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>33<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and a respect for the consistency of Moore's crabbed contumacy.</p> + +<p>As the party turned into the Stilbro' road, they met +what little wind there was; the rain dashed in their faces. +Moore had been fretting his companion previously, and +now, braced up by the raw breeze, and perhaps irritated by +the sharp drizzle, he began to goad him.</p> + +<p>"Does your Peninsular news please you still?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" was the surly demand of the +rector.</p> + +<p>"I mean, have you still faith in that Baal of a Lord +Wellington?"</p> + +<p>"And what do you mean now?"</p> + +<p>"Do you still believe that this wooden-faced and pebble-hearted +idol of England has power to send fire down from +heaven to consume the French holocaust you want to +offer up?"</p> + +<p>"I believe Wellington will flog Bonaparte's marshals +into the sea the day it pleases him to lift his arm."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear sir, you can't be serious in what you say. +Bonaparte's marshals are great men, who act under the +guidance of an omnipotent master-spirit. Your Wellington +is the most humdrum of commonplace martinets, +whose slow, mechanical movements are further cramped +by an ignorant home government."</p> + +<p>"Wellington is the soul of England. Wellington is the +right champion of a good cause, the fit representative of a +powerful, a resolute, a sensible, and an honest nation."</p> + +<p>"Your good cause, as far as I understand it, is simply +the restoration of that filthy, feeble Ferdinand to a throne +which he disgraced. Your fit representative of an honest +people is a dull-witted drover, acting for a duller-witted +farmer; and against these are arrayed victorious supremacy +and invincible genius."</p> + +<p>"Against legitimacy is arrayed usurpation; against +modest, single-minded, righteous, and brave resistance to +encroachment is arrayed boastful, double-tongued, selfish, +and treacherous ambition to possess. God defend the +right!"</p> + +<p>"God often defends the powerful."</p> + +<p>"What! I suppose the handful of Israelites standing +dryshod on the Asiatic side of the Red Sea was more powerful +than the host of the Egyptians drawn up on the African<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>34<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +side? Were they more numerous? Were they better +appointed? Were they more mighty, in a word—eh? +Don't speak, or you'll tell a lie, Moore; you know you will. +They were a poor, overwrought band of bondsmen. Tyrants +had oppressed them through four hundred years; a feeble +mixture of women and children diluted their thin ranks; +their masters, who roared to follow them through the +divided flood, were a set of pampered Ethiops, about as +strong and brutal as the lions of Libya. They were armed, +horsed, and charioted; the poor Hebrew wanderers were +afoot. Few of them, it is likely, had better weapons than +their shepherds' crooks or their masons' building-tools; +their meek and mighty leader himself had only his rod. +But bethink you, Robert Moore, right was with them; the +God of battles was on their side. Crime and the lost +archangel generalled the ranks of Pharaoh, and which +triumphed? We know that well. 'The Lord saved Israel +that day out of the hand of the Egyptians, and Israel saw +the Egyptians dead upon the sea-shore'—yea, 'the depths +covered them, they sank to the bottom as a stone.' The +right hand of the Lord became glorious in power; the +right hand of the Lord dashed in pieces the enemy!"</p> + +<p>"You are all right; only you forget the true parallel. +France is Israel, and Napoleon is Moses. Europe, with +her old overgorged empires and rotten dynasties, is corrupt +Egypt; gallant France is the Twelve Tribes, and +her fresh and vigorous Usurper the Shepherd of Horeb."</p> + +<p>"I scorn to answer you."</p> + +<p>Moore accordingly answered himself—at least, he subjoined +to what he had just said an additional observation +in a lower voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, in Italy he was as great as any Moses! He was +the right thing there, fit to head and organize measures for +the regeneration of nations. It puzzles me to this day how +the conqueror of Lodi should have condescended to become +an emperor, a vulgar, a stupid humbug; and still more +how a people who had once called themselves republicans +should have sunk again to the grade of mere slaves. I +despise France! If England had gone as far on the march +of civilization as France did, she would hardly have retreated +so shamelessly."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that besotted imperial France +is any worse than bloody republican France?" demanded +Helstone fiercely.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>35<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I mean to say nothing, but I can think what I please, +you know, Mr. Helstone, both about France and England; +and about revolutions, and regicides, and restorations in +general; and about the divine right of kings, which you +often stickle for in your sermons, and the duty of non-resistance, +and the sanity of war, and——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore's sentence was here cut short by the rapid +rolling up of a gig, and its sudden stoppage in the middle +of the road. Both he and the rector had been too much +occupied with their discourse to notice its approach till +it was close upon them.</p> + +<p>"Nah, maister; did th' wagons hit home?" demanded +a voice from the vehicle.</p> + +<p>"Can that be Joe Scott?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay!" returned another voice; for the gig contained +two persons, as was seen by the glimmer of its lamp. +The men with the lanterns had now fallen into the rear, +or rather, the equestrians of the rescue-party had outridden +the pedestrians. "Ay, Mr. Moore, it's Joe Scott. I'm +bringing him back to you in a bonny pickle. I fand him +on the top of the moor yonder, him and three others. What +will you give me for restoring him to you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, my thanks, I believe; for I could better have +afforded to lose a better man. That is you, I suppose, +Mr. Yorke, by your voice?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, lad, it's me. I was coming home from Stilbro' +market, and just as I got to the middle of the moor, and +was whipping on as swift as the wind (for these, they say, +are not safe times, thanks to a bad government!), I heard +a groan. I pulled up. Some would have whipt on faster; +but I've naught to fear that I know of. I don't believe +there's a lad in these parts would harm me—at least, I'd +give them as good as I got if they offered to do it. I said, +'Is there aught wrong anywhere?' ''Deed is there,' +somebody says, speaking out of the ground, like. 'What's +to do? Be sharp and tell me,' I ordered. 'Nobbut four +on us ligging in a ditch,' says Joe, as quiet as could be. I +telled 'em more shame to 'em, and bid them get up and +move on, or I'd lend them a lick of the gig-whip; for my +notion was they were all fresh. 'We'd ha' done that an +hour sin', but we're teed wi' a bit o' band,' says Joe. So in +a while I got down and loosed 'em wi' my penknife; and +Scott would ride wi' me, to tell me all how it happened; and +t' others are coming on as fast as their feet will bring them."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>36<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Well, I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Yorke."</p> + +<p>"Are you, my lad? You know you're not. However, +here are the rest approaching. And here, by the Lord, +is another set with lights in their pitchers, like the army +of Gideon; and as we've th' parson wi', us—good-evening, +Mr. Helstone—we'se do."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone returned the salutation of the individual +in the gig very stiffly indeed. That individual proceeded,—</p> + +<p>"We're eleven strong men, and there's both horses and +chariots amang us. If we could only fall in wi' some of +these starved ragamuffins of frame-breakers we could win +a grand victory. We could iv'ry one be a Wellington—that +would please ye, Mr. Helstone—and sich paragraphs as +we could contrive for t' papers! Briarfield suld be famous. +But we'se hev a column and a half i' th' <em>Stilbro' Courier</em> +ower this job, as it is, I dare say. I'se expect no less."</p> + +<p>"And I'll promise you no less, Mr. Yorke, for I'll write +the article myself," returned the rector.</p> + +<p>"To be sure—sartainly! And mind ye recommend weel +that them 'at brake t' bits o' frames, and teed Joe Scott's +legs wi' band, suld be hung without benefit o' clergy. +It's a hanging matter, or suld be. No doubt o' that."</p> + +<p>"If I judged them I'd give them short shrift!" cried +Moore. "But I mean to let them quite alone this bout, to +give them rope enough, certain that in the end they will +hang themselves."</p> + +<p>"Let them alone, will ye, Moore? Do you promise that?"</p> + +<p>"Promise! No. All I mean to say is, I shall give myself +no particular trouble to catch them; but if one falls +in my way——"</p> + +<p>"You'll snap him up, of course. Only you would rather +they would do something worse than merely stop a wagon +before you reckon with them. Well, we'll say no more +on the subject at present. Here we are at my door, gentlemen, +and I hope you and the men will step in. You will +none of you be the worse of a little refreshment."</p> + +<p>Moore and Helstone opposed this proposition as unnecessary. +It was, however, pressed on them so courteously, +and the night, besides, was so inclement, and the +gleam from the muslin-curtained windows of the house +before which they had halted looked so inviting, that at +length they yielded. Mr. Yorke, after having alighted from +his gig, which he left in charge of a man who issued from +an outbuilding on his arrival, led the way in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>37<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>It will have been remarked that Mr. Yorke varied a +little in his phraseology. Now he spoke broad Yorkshire, +and anon he expressed himself in very pure English. His +manner seemed liable to equal alternations. He could be +polite and affable, and he could be blunt and rough. His +station then you could not easily determine by his speech +and demeanour. Perhaps the appearance of his residence +may decide it.</p> + +<p>The men he recommended to take the kitchen way, saying +that he would "see them served wi' summat to taste +presently." The gentlemen were ushered in at the front +entrance. They found themselves in a matted hall, lined +almost to the ceiling with pictures. Through this they were +conducted to a large parlour, with a magnificent fire in the +grate—the most cheerful of rooms it appeared as a whole, +and when you came to examine details, the enlivening +effect was not diminished. There was no splendour, but +there was taste everywhere, unusual taste—the taste, you +would have said, of a travelled man, a scholar, and a gentleman. +A series of Italian views decked the walls. Each +of these was a specimen of true art. A connoisseur had +selected them; they were genuine and valuable. Even +by candle-light the bright clear skies, the soft distances, +with blue air quivering between the eye and the hills, the +fresh tints, and well-massed lights and shadows, charmed +the view. The subjects were all pastoral, the scenes were +all sunny. There was a guitar and some music on a sofa; +there were cameos, beautiful miniatures; a set of Grecian-looking +vases on the mantelpiece; there were books well +arranged in two elegant bookcases.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke bade his guests be seated. He then rang for +wine. To the servant who brought it he gave hospitable +orders for the refreshment of the men in the kitchen. +The rector remained standing; he seemed not to like his +quarters; he would not touch the wine his host offered him.</p> + +<p>"E'en as you will," remarked Mr. Yorke. "I reckon +you're thinking of Eastern customs, Mr. Helstone, and +you'll not eat nor drink under my roof, feared we suld be +forced to be friends; but I am not so particular or superstitious. +You might sup the contents of that decanter, +and you might give me a bottle of the best in your own +cellar, and I'd hold myself free to oppose you at every turn +still—in every vestry-meeting and justice-meeting where +we encountered one another."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>38<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke."</p> + +<p>"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding +out after rioters, of a wet night, at your age?"</p> + +<p>"It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and +in this case my duty is a thorough pleasure. To hunt +down vermin is a noble occupation, fit for an archbishop."</p> + +<p>"Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's +happen gone to visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's +happen hunting down vermin in another direction."</p> + +<p>"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill."</p> + +<p>"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to +Mr. Moore), "to keep his courage up?"</p> + +<p>He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly, +still addressing Moore, who had thrown himself into an +old-fashioned chair by the fireside—"Move it, Robert! +Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the sofa, or +three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to +me, and nob'dy else."</p> + +<p>"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" +asked Moore, lazily vacating the place in obedience to +orders.</p> + +<p>"My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I +sall gie thee; and it's as good a reason as Mr. Helstone +can give for the main feck o' his notions."</p> + +<p>"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector.</p> + +<p>"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready +to part wi' him. He's an ill lad, and wants correcting."</p> + +<p>"Why, sir? What have I done?"</p> + +<p>"Made thyself enemies on every hand."</p> + +<p>"What do I care for that? What difference does it +make to me whether your Yorkshire louts hate me or like +me?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, there it is. The lad is a mak' of an alien amang +us. His father would never have talked i' that way.—Go +back to Antwerp, where you were born and bred, mauvaise +tête!"</p> + +<p>"Mauvaise tête vous-même; je ne fais que mon devoir; +quant à vos lourdauds de paysans, je m'en moque!"</p> + +<p>"En ravanche, mon garçon, nos lourdauds de paysans +se moqueront de toi; sois en certain," replied Yorke, +speaking with nearly as pure a French accent as Gérard +Moore.</p> + +<p>"C'est bon! c'est bon! Et puisque cela m'est égal, +que mes amis ne s'en inquiètent pas."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>39<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Tes amis! Où sont-ils, tes amis?"</p> + +<p>"Je fais écho, où sont-ils? et je suis fort aise que l'écho +seul y répond. Au diable les amis! Je me souviens encore +du moment où mon père et mes oncles Gérard appellèrent +autour d'eux leurs amis, et Dieu sait si les amis se +sont empressés d'accourir à leur secours! Tenez, M. +Yorke, ce mot, ami, m'irrite trop; ne m'en parlez plus."</p> + +<p>"Comme tu voudras."</p> + +<p>And here Mr. Yorke held his peace; and while he sits +leaning back in his three-cornered carved oak chair, I will +snatch my opportunity to sketch the portrait of this French-speaking +Yorkshire gentleman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>40<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>MR. YORKE (<em>continued</em>).</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">A Yorkshire</span> gentleman he was, <em>par excellence</em>, in every +point; about fifty-five years old, but looking at first sight +still older, for his hair was silver white. His forehead was +broad, not high; his face fresh and hale; the harshness +of the north was seen in his features, as it was heard in his +voice; every trait was thoroughly English—not a Norman +line anywhere; it was an inelegant, unclassic, unaristocratic +mould of visage. Fine people would perhaps have +called it vulgar; sensible people would have termed it +characteristic; shrewd people would have delighted in it +for the pith, sagacity, intelligence, the rude yet real originality +marked in every lineament, latent in every furrow. +But it was an indocile, a scornful, and a sarcastic face—the +face of a man difficult to lead, and impossible to drive. +His stature was rather tall, and he was well made and wiry, +and had a stately integrity of port; there was not a suspicion +of the clown about him anywhere.</p> + +<p>I did not find it easy to sketch Mr. Yorke's person, but +it is more difficult to indicate his mind. If you expect to +be treated to a Perfection, reader, or even to a benevolent, +philanthropic old gentleman in him, you are mistaken. +He has spoken with some sense and with some good feeling +to Mr. Moore, but you are not thence to conclude that he +always spoke and thought justly and kindly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, in the first place, was without the organ of +veneration—a great want, and which throws a man wrong +on every point where veneration is required. Secondly, +he was without the organ of comparison—a deficiency which +strips a man of sympathy; and thirdly, he had too little +of the organs of benevolence and ideality, which took the +glory and softness from his nature, and for him diminished +those divine qualities throughout the universe.</p> + +<p>The want of veneration made him intolerant to those +above him—kings and nobles and priests, dynasties and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>41<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +parliaments and establishments, with all their doings, most +of their enactments, their forms, their rights, their claims, +were to him an abomination, all rubbish; he found no use or +pleasure in them, and believed it would be clear gain, and +no damage to the world, if its high places were razed, and +their occupants crushed in the fall. The want of veneration, +too, made him dead at heart to the electric delight of admiring +what is admirable; it dried up a thousand pure sources +of enjoyment; it withered a thousand vivid pleasures. He +was not irreligious, though a member of no sect; but his religion +could not be that of one who knows how to venerate. +He believed in God and heaven; but his God and heaven +were those of a man in whom awe, imagination, and tenderness +lack.</p> + +<p>The weakness of his powers of comparison made him +inconsistent; while he professed some excellent general +doctrines of mutual toleration and forbearance, he cherished +towards certain classes a bigoted antipathy. He spoke of +"parsons" and all who belonged to parsons, of "lords" +and the appendages of lords, with a harshness, sometimes +an insolence, as unjust as it was insufferable. He could +not place himself in the position of those he vituperated; +he could not compare their errors with their temptations, +their defects with their disadvantages; he could not realize +the effect of such and such circumstances on himself similarly +situated, and he would often express the most ferocious +and tyrannical wishes regarding those who had acted, +as he thought, ferociously and tyrannically. To judge by +his threats, he would have employed arbitrary, even cruel, +means to advance the cause of freedom and equality. +Equality! yes, Mr. Yorke talked about equality, but at +heart he was a proud man—very friendly to his workpeople, +very good to all who were beneath him, and submitted +quietly to be beneath him, but haughty as Beelzebub to +whomsoever the world deemed (for he deemed no man) his +superior. Revolt was in his blood: he could not bear +control; his father, his grandfather before him, could not +bear it, and his children after him never could.</p> + +<p>The want of general benevolence made him very impatient +of imbecility, and of all faults which grated on his +strong, shrewd nature; it left no check to his cutting sarcasm. +As he was not merciful, he would sometimes wound +and wound again, without noticing how much he hurt, or +caring how deep he thrust.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>42<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>As to the paucity of ideality in his mind, that can scarcely +be called a fault: a fine ear for music, a correct eye for +colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who +cares for imagination? Who does not think it a rather +dangerous, senseless attribute, akin to weakness, perhaps +partaking of frenzy—a disease rather than a gift of the mind?</p> + +<p>Probably all think it so but those who possess, or fancy +they possess, it. To hear them speak, you would believe +that their hearts would be cold if that elixir did not flow +about them, that their eyes would be dim if that flame did +not refine their vision, that they would be lonely if this +strange companion abandoned them. You would suppose +that it imparted some glad hope to spring, some fine charm +to summer, some tranquil joy to autumn, some consolation +to winter, which you do not feel. An illusion, of course; +but the fanatics cling to their dream, and would not give +it for gold.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Yorke did not possess poetic imagination himself, +he considered it a most superfluous quality in others. +Painters and musicians he could tolerate, and even encourage, +because he could relish the results of their art; +he could see the charm of a fine picture, and feel the pleasure +of good music; but a quiet poet—whatever force struggled, +whatever fire glowed, in his breast—if he could not have +played the man in the counting-house, of the tradesman in +the Piece Hall, might have lived despised, and died scorned, +under the eyes of Hiram Yorke.</p> + +<p>And as there are many Hiram Yorkes in the world, it is +well that the true poet, quiet externally though he may be, +has often a truculent spirit under his placidity, and is full +of shrewdness in his meekness, and can measure the whole +stature of those who look down on him, and correctly ascertain +the weight and value of the pursuits they disdain +him for not having followed. It is happy that he can have +his own bliss, his own society with his great friend and +goddess Nature, quite independent of those who find little +pleasure in him, and in whom he finds no pleasure at all. +It is just that while the world and circumstances often turn +a dark, cold side to him—and properly, too, because he first +turns a dark, cold, careless side to them—he should be able +to maintain a festal brightness and cherishing glow in his +bosom, which makes all bright and genial for him; while +strangers, perhaps, deem his existence a Polar winter never +gladdened by a sun. The true poet is not one whit to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>43<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +pitied, and he is apt to laugh in his sleeve when any misguided +sympathizer whines over his wrongs. Even when +utilitarians sit in judgment on him, and pronounce him and +his art useless, he hears the sentence with such a hard +derision, such a broad, deep, comprehensive, and merciless +contempt of the unhappy Pharisees who pronounce it, +that he is rather to be chidden than condoled with. These, +however, are not Mr. Yorke's reflections, and it is with +Mr. Yorke we have at present to do.</p> + +<p>I have told you some of his faults, reader: as to his +good points, he was one of the most honourable and capable +men in Yorkshire; even those who disliked him were +forced to respect him. He was much beloved by the poor, +because he was thoroughly kind and very fatherly to them. +To his workmen he was considerate and cordial. When +he dismissed them from an occupation, he would try to set +them on to something else, or, if that was impossible, help +them to remove with their families to a district where work +might possibly be had. It must also be remarked that if, as +sometimes chanced, any individual amongst his "hands" +showed signs of insubordination, Yorke—who, like many +who abhor being controlled, knew how to control with +vigour—had the secret of crushing rebellion in the germ, of +eradicating it like a bad weed, so that it never spread or +developed within the sphere of his authority. Such being +the happy state of his own affairs, he felt himself at liberty +to speak with the utmost severity of those who were differently +situated, to ascribe whatever was unpleasant in their +position entirely to their own fault, to sever himself from +the masters, and advocate freely the cause of the operatives.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke's family was the first and oldest in the district; +and he, though not the wealthiest, was one of the most +influential men. His education had been good. In his +youth, before the French Revolution, he had travelled on +the Continent. He was an adept in the French and Italian +languages. During a two years' sojourn in Italy he had +collected many good paintings and tasteful rarities, with +which his residence was now adorned. His manners, when +he liked, were those of a finished gentleman of the old +school; his conversation, when he was disposed to please, +was singularly interesting and original; and if he usually +expressed himself in the Yorkshire dialect, it was because +he chose to do so, preferring his native Doric to a more +refined vocabulary, "A Yorkshire burr," he affirmed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>44<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +"was as much better than a cockney's lisp as a bull's bellow +than a raton's squeak."</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke knew every one, and was known by every one, +for miles round; yet his intimate acquaintances were very +few. Himself thoroughly original, he had no taste for what +was ordinary: a racy, rough character, high or low, ever +found acceptance with him; a refined, insipid personage, +however exalted in station, was his aversion. He would +spend an hour any time in talking freely with a shrewd +workman of his own, or with some queer, sagacious old +woman amongst his cottagers, when he would have grudged +a moment to a commonplace fine gentleman or to the most +fashionable and elegant, if frivolous, lady. His preferences +on these points he carried to an extreme, forgetting that +there may be amiable and even admirable characters +amongst those who cannot be original. Yet he made exceptions +to his own rule. There was a certain order of +mind, plain, ingenuous, neglecting refinement, almost devoid +of intellectuality, and quite incapable of appreciating what +was intellectual in him, but which, at the same time, never +felt disgust at his rudeness, was not easily wounded by his +sarcasm, did not closely analyze his sayings, doings, or +opinions, with which he was peculiarly at ease, and, consequently, +which he peculiarly preferred. He was lord +amongst such characters. They, while submitting implicitly +to his influence, never acknowledged, because they +never reflected on, his superiority; they were quite tractable, +therefore, without running the smallest danger of +being servile; and their unthinking, easy, artless insensibility +was as acceptable, because as convenient, to Mr. +Yorke as that of the chair he sat on, or of the floor he trod.</p> + +<p>It will have been observed that he was not quite uncordial +with Mr. Moore. He had two or three reasons for +entertaining a faint partiality to that gentleman. It may +sound odd, but the first of these was that Moore spoke +English with a foreign, and French with a perfectly pure, +accent; and that his dark, thin face, with its fine though +rather wasted lines, had a most anti-British and anti-Yorkshire +look. These points seem frivolous, unlikely to +influence a character like Yorke's; but the fact is they recalled +old, perhaps pleasurable, associations—they brought +back his travelling, his youthful days. He had seen, +amidst Italian cities and scenes, faces like Moore's; he had +heard, in Parisian cafés and theatres, voices like his. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>45<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +was young then, and when he looked at and listened to the +alien, he seemed young again.</p> + +<p>Secondly, he had known Moore's father, and had had +dealings with him. That was a more substantial, though +by no means a more agreeable tie; for as his firm had been +connected with Moore's in business, it had also, in some +measure, been implicated in its losses.</p> + +<p>Thirdly, he had found Robert himself a sharp man of +business. He saw reason to anticipate that he would, +in the end, by one means or another, make money; and +he respected both his resolution and acuteness—perhaps, +also, his hardness. A fourth circumstance which drew +them together was that of Mr. Yorke being one of the +guardians of the minor on whose estate Hollow's Mill was +situated; consequently Moore, in the course of his alterations +and improvements, had frequent occasion to consult +him.</p> + +<p>As to the other guest now present in Mr. Yorke's parlour, +Mr. Helstone, between him and his host there existed a +double antipathy—the antipathy of nature and that of +circumstances. The free-thinker hated the formalist; the +lover of liberty detested the disciplinarian. Besides, it +was said that in former years they had been rival suitors +of the same lady.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, as a general rule, was, when young, noted +for his preference of sprightly and dashing women: a +showy shape and air, a lively wit, a ready tongue, chiefly +seemed to attract him. He never, however, proposed to +any of these brilliant belles whose society he sought; +and all at once he seriously fell in love with and eagerly +wooed a girl who presented a complete contrast to +those he had hitherto noticed—a girl with the face of a +Madonna; a girl of living marble—stillness personified. +No matter that, when he spoke to her, she only answered +him in monosyllables; no matter that his sighs seemed +unheard, that his glances were unreturned, that she never +responded to his opinions, rarely smiled at his jests, paid +him no respect and no attention; no matter that she +seemed the opposite of everything feminine he had ever +in his whole life been known to admire. For him Mary +Cave was perfect, because somehow, for some reason—no +doubt he had a reason—he loved her.</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved +Mary too—or, at any rate, he fancied her. Several others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>46<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +admired her, for she was beautiful as a monumental angel; +but the clergyman was preferred for his office's sake—that +office probably investing him with some of the illusion +necessary to allure to the commission of matrimony, and +which Miss Cave did not find in any of the young wool-staplers, +her other adorers. Mr. Helstone neither had, nor +professed to have, Mr. Yorke's absorbing passion for her. +He had none of the humble reverence which seemed to +subdue most of her suitors; he saw her more as she really +was than the rest did. He was, consequently, more master +of her and himself. She accepted him at the first offer, and +they were married.</p> + +<p>Nature never intended Mr. Helstone to make a very +good husband, especially to a quiet wife. He thought so +long as a woman was silent nothing ailed her, and she +wanted nothing. If she did not complain of solitude, +solitude, however continued, could not be irksome to her. +If she did not talk and put herself forward, express a partiality +for this, an aversion to that, she had no partialities +or aversions, and it was useless to consult her tastes. He +made no pretence of comprehending women, or comparing +them with men. They were a different, probably a very +inferior, order of existence. A wife could not be her +husband's companion, much less his confidante, much less +his stay. <em>His</em> wife, after a year or two, was of no great +importance to him in any shape; and when she one day, +as he thought, suddenly—for he had scarcely noticed her +decline—but, as others thought, gradually, took her leave +of him and of life, and there was only a still, beautiful-featured +mould of clay left, cold and white, in the conjugal +couch, he felt his bereavement—who shall say how little? +Yet, perhaps, more than he seemed to feel it; for he was +not a man from whom grief easily wrung tears.</p> + +<p>His dry-eyed and sober mourning scandalized an old +housekeeper, and likewise a female attendant, who had +waited upon Mrs. Helstone in her sickness, and who, perhaps, +had had opportunities of learning more of the deceased +lady's nature, of her capacity for feeling and loving, +than her husband knew. They gossiped together over the +corpse, related anecdotes, with embellishments of her +lingering decline, and its real or supposed cause. In short, +they worked each other up to some indignation against the +austere little man, who sat examining papers in an adjoining +room, unconscious of what opprobrium he was the object.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>47<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Mrs. Helstone was hardly under the sod when rumours +began to be rife in the neighbourhood that she had died +of a broken heart. These magnified quickly into reports +of hard usage, and, finally, details of harsh treatment on +the part of her husband—reports grossly untrue, but not +the less eagerly received on that account. Mr. Yorke heard +them, partly believed them. Already, of course, he had +no friendly feeling to his successful rival. Though himself +a married man now, and united to a woman who seemed +a complete contrast to Mary Cave in all respects, he could +not forget the great disappointment of his life; and when +he heard that what would have been so precious to him +had been neglected, perhaps abused, by another, he conceived +for that other a rooted and bitter animosity.</p> + +<p>Of the nature and strength of this animosity Mr. Helstone +was but half aware. He neither knew how much +Yorke had loved Mary Cave, what he had felt on losing +her, nor was he conscious of the calumnies concerning his +treatment of her, familiar to every ear in the neighbourhood +but his own. He believed political and religious differences +alone separated him and Mr. Yorke. Had he known how +the case really stood, he would hardly have been induced by +any persuasion to cross his former rival's threshold.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mr. Yorke did not resume his lecture of Robert Moore. +The conversation ere long recommenced in a more general +form, though still in a somewhat disputative tone. The +unquiet state of the country, the various depredations +lately committed on mill-property in the district, supplied +abundant matter for disagreement, especially as each of +the three gentlemen present differed more or less in his views +on these subjects. Mr. Helstone thought the masters +aggrieved, the workpeople unreasonable; he condemned +sweepingly the widespread spirit of disaffection against +constituted authorities, the growing indisposition to bear +with patience evils he regarded as inevitable. The cures +he prescribed were vigorous government interference, strict +magisterial vigilance; when necessary, prompt military +coercion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke wished to know whether this interference, +vigilance, and coercion would feed those who were hungry, +give work to those who wanted work, and whom no man +would hire. He scouted the idea of inevitable evils. He +said public patience was a camel, on whose back the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>48<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +atom that could be borne had already been laid, and that +resistance was now a duty; the widespread spirit of disaffection +against constituted authorities he regarded as the +most promising sign of the times; the masters, he allowed, +were truly aggrieved, but their main grievances had been +heaped on them by a "corrupt, base, and bloody" government +(these were Mr. Yorke's epithets). Madmen like Pitt, +demons like Castlereagh, mischievous idiots like Perceval, +were the tyrants, the curses of the country, the destroyers +of her trade. It was their infatuated perseverance in an +unjustifiable, a hopeless, a ruinous war, which had brought +the nation to its present pass. It was their monstrously +oppressive taxation, it was the infamous "Orders in +Council"—the originators of which deserved impeachment +and the scaffold, if ever public men did—that hung a +millstone about England's neck.</p> + +<p>"But where was the use of talking?" he demanded. +"What chance was there of reason being heard in a land +that was king-ridden, priest-ridden, peer-ridden; where a +lunatic was the nominal monarch, an unprincipled debauchee +the real ruler; where such an insult to common sense as +hereditary legislators was tolerated; where such a humbug +as a bench of bishops, such an arrogant abuse as a pampered, +persecuting established church was endured and venerated; +where a standing army was maintained, and a host of lazy +parsons and their pauper families were kept on the fat of +the land?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone, rising up and putting on his shovel-hat, +observed in reply, "that in the course of his life he had +met with two or three instances where sentiments of this +sort had been very bravely <a name="maintained" id="maintained"></a><ins title="was mantained">maintained</ins> so long as health, +strength, and worldly prosperity had been the allies of him +who professed them; but there came a time," he said, "to +all men, 'when the keepers of the house should tremble; +when they should be afraid of that which is high, and fear +should be in the way;' and that time was the test of the +advocate of anarchy and rebellion, the enemy of religion +and order. Ere now," he affirmed, "he had been called +upon to read those prayers our church has provided for the +sick by the miserable dying-bed of one of her most rancorous +foes; he had seen such a one stricken with remorse, +solicitous to discover a place for repentance, and unable +to find any, though he sought it carefully with tears. He +must forewarn Mr. Yorke that blasphemy against God and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>49<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the king was a deadly sin, and that there was such a thing +as 'judgment to come.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke "believed fully that there was such a thing +as judgment to come. If it were otherwise, it would be +difficult to imagine how all the scoundrels who seemed +triumphant in this world, who broke innocent hearts with +impunity, abused unmerited privileges, were a scandal to +honourable callings, took the bread out of the mouths of +the poor, browbeat the humble, and truckled meanly to the +rich and proud, were to be properly paid off in such coin +as they had earned. But," he added, "whenever he got +low-spirited about such-like goings-on, and their seeming +success in this mucky lump of a planet, he just reached +down t' owd book" (pointing to a great Bible in the bookcase), +"opened it like at a chance, and he was sure to light +of a verse blazing wi' a blue brimstone low that set all +straight. He knew," he said, "where some folk war +bound for, just as weel as if an angel wi' great white wings +had come in ower t' door-stone and told him."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Mr. Helstone, collecting all his dignity—"sir, +the great knowledge of man is to know himself, and the +bourne whither his own steps tend."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay. You'll recollect, Mr. Helstone, that Ignorance +was carried away from the very gates of heaven, borne +through the air, and thrust in at a door in the side of the +hill which led down to hell."</p> + +<p>"Nor have I forgotten, Mr. Yorke, that Vain-Confidence, +not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit, which +was on purpose there made by the prince of the grounds, to +catch vainglorious fools withal, and was dashed to pieces +with his fall."</p> + +<p>"Now," interposed Mr. Moore, who had hitherto sat a +silent but amused spectator of this worldly combat, and +whose indifference to the party politics of the day, as well +as to the gossip of the neighbourhood, made him an impartial, +if apathetic, judge of the merits of such an encounter, +"you have both sufficiently blackballed each other, +and proved how cordially you detest each other, and how +wicked you think each other. For my part, my hate is +still running in such a strong current against the fellows +who have broken my frames that I have none to spare for +my private acquaintance, and still less for such a vague +thing as a sect or a government. But really, gentlemen, +you both seem very bad by your own showing—worse than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>50<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +ever I suspected you to be.—I dare not stay all night with +a rebel and blasphemer like you, Yorke; and I hardly +dare ride home with a cruel and tyrannical ecclesiastic like +Mr. Helstone."</p> + +<p>"I am going, however, Mr. Moore," said the rector +sternly. "Come with me or not, as you please."</p> + +<p>"Nay, he shall not have the choice; he <em>shall</em> go with +you," responded Yorke. "It's midnight, and past; and +I'll have nob'dy staying up i' my house any longer. Ye +mun all go."</p> + +<p>He rang the bell.</p> + +<p>"Deb," said he to the servant who answered it, "clear +them folk out o' t' kitchen, and lock t' doors, and be off +to bed.—Here is your way, gentlemen," he continued to +his guests; and, lighting them through the passage, he +fairly put them out at his front door.</p> + +<p>They met their party hurrying out pell-mell by the back +way. Their horses stood at the gate; they mounted, and +rode off, Moore laughing at their abrupt dismissal, Helstone +deeply indignant thereat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>51<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +<br /> +<small>HOLLOW'S COTTAGE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Moore's</span> good spirits were still with him when he rose next +morning. He and Joe Scott had both spent the night in +the mill, availing themselves of certain sleeping accommodations +producible from recesses in the front and back +counting-houses. The master, always an early riser, +was up somewhat sooner even than usual. He awoke his +man by singing a French song as he made his toilet.</p> + +<p>"Ye're not custen dahn, then, maister?" cried Joe.</p> + +<p>"Not a stiver, mon garçon—which means, my lad. +Get up, and we'll take a turn through the mill before the +hands come in, and I'll explain my future plans. We'll +have the machinery yet, Joseph. You never heard of +Bruce, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"And th' arrand (spider)? Yes, but I hev. I've read +th' history o' Scotland, and happen knaw as mich on't as +ye; and I understand ye to mean to say ye'll persevere."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Is there mony o' your mak' i' your country?" inquired +Joe, as he folded up his temporary bed, and put it away.</p> + +<p>"In my country! Which is my country?"</p> + +<p>"Why, France—isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Not it, indeed! The circumstance of the French +having seized Antwerp, where I was born, does not make +me a Frenchman."</p> + +<p>"Holland, then?"</p> + +<p>"I am not a Dutchman. Now you are confounding +Antwerp with Amsterdam."</p> + +<p>"Flanders?"</p> + +<p>"I scorn the insinuation, Joe! I a Flamand! Have I a +Flemish face—the clumsy nose standing out, the mean forehead +falling back, the pale blue eyes 'à fleur de tête'? Am +I all body and no legs, like a Flamand? But you don't +know what they are like, those Netherlanders. Joe, I'm an +Anversois. My mother was an Anversoise, though she came +of French lineage, which is the reason I speak French."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>52<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"But your father war Yorkshire, which maks ye a bit +Yorkshire too; and onybody may see ye're akin to us, +ye're so keen o' making brass, and getting forrards."</p> + +<p>"Joe, you're an impudent dog; but I've always been +accustomed to a boorish sort of insolence from my youth +up. The 'classe ouvrière'—that is, the working people in +Belgium—bear themselves brutally towards their employers; +and by <em>brutally</em>, Joe, I mean <em>brutalement</em>—which, +perhaps, when properly translated, should be <em>roughly</em>."</p> + +<p>"We allus speak our minds i' this country; and them +young parsons and grand folk fro' London is shocked +at wer 'incivility;' and we like weel enough to gi'e 'em +summat to be shocked at, 'cause it's sport to us to watch +'em turn up the whites o' their een, and spreed out their +bits o' hands, like as they're flayed wi' bogards, and then +to hear 'em say, nipping off their words short like, 'Dear! +dear! Whet seveges! How very corse!'"</p> + +<p>"You <em>are</em> savages, Joe. You don't suppose you're +civilized, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Middling, middling, maister. I reckon 'at us manufacturing +lads i' th' north is a deal more intelligent, and +knaws a deal more nor th' farming folk i' th' south. Trade +sharpens wer wits; and them that's mechanics like me is +forced to think. Ye know, what wi' looking after machinery +and sich like, I've getten into that way that when I see an +effect, I look straight out for a cause, and I oft lig hold +on't to purpose; and then I like reading, and I'm curious +to knaw what them that reckons to govern us aims to do +for us and wi' us. And there's many 'cuter nor me; there's +many a one amang them greasy chaps 'at smells o' oil, and +amang them dyers wi' blue and black skins, that has a long +head, and that can tell what a fooil of a law is, as well as +ye or old Yorke, and a deal better nor soft uns like Christopher +Sykes o' Whinbury, and greet hectoring nowts like +yond' Irish Peter, Helstone's curate."</p> + +<p>"You think yourself a clever fellow, I know, Scott."</p> + +<p>"Ay! I'm fairish. I can tell cheese fro' chalk, and I'm +varry weel aware that I've improved sich opportunities as +I have had, a deal better nor some 'at reckons to be aboon +me; but there's thousands i' Yorkshire that's as good as +me, and a two-three that's better."</p> + +<p>"You're a great man—you're a sublime fellow; but +you're a prig, a conceited noodle with it all, Joe! You +need not to think that because you've picked up a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>53<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +knowledge of practical mathematics, and because you have +found some scantling of the elements of chemistry at the +bottom of a dyeing vat, that therefore you're a neglected +man of science; and you need not to suppose that because +the course of trade does not always run smooth, and you, +and such as you, are sometimes short of work and of bread, +that therefore your class are martyrs, and that the whole +form of government under which you live is wrong. And, +moreover, you need not for a moment to insinuate that the +virtues have taken refuge in cottages and wholly abandoned +slated houses. Let me tell you, I particularly abominate +that sort of trash, because I know so well that human +nature is human nature everywhere, whether under tile or +thatch, and that in every specimen of human nature that +breathes, vice and virtue are ever found blended, in smaller +or greater proportions, and that the proportion is not +determined by station. I have seen villains who were rich, +and I have seen villains who were poor, and I have seen +villains who were neither rich nor poor, but who had realized +Agar's wish, and lived in fair and modest competency. +The clock is going to strike six. Away with you, Joe, and +ring the mill bell."</p> + +<p>It was now the middle of the month of February; by +six o'clock therefore dawn was just beginning to steal on +night, to penetrate with a pale ray its brown obscurity, and +give a demi-translucence to its opaque shadows. Pale +enough that ray was on this particular morning: no colour +tinged the east, no flush warmed it. To see what a heavy +lid day slowly lifted, what a wan glance she flung along the +hills, you would have thought the sun's fire quenched in +last night's floods. The breath of this morning was chill as +its aspect; a raw wind stirred the mass of night-cloud, and +showed, as it slowly rose, leaving a colourless, silver-gleaming +ring all round the horizon, not blue sky, but a stratum of +paler vapour beyond. It had ceased to rain, but the earth +was sodden, and the pools and rivulets were full.</p> + +<p>The mill-windows were alight, the bell still rung loud, +and now the little children came running in, in too great +a hurry, let us hope, to feel very much nipped by the inclement +air; and indeed, by contrast, perhaps the morning +appeared rather favourable to them than otherwise, +for they had often come to their work that winter through +snow-storms, through heavy rain, through hard frost.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore stood at the entrance to watch them pass.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>54<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +He counted them as they went by. To those who came +rather late he said a word of reprimand, which was a little +more sharply repeated by Joe Scott when the lingerers +reached the work-rooms. Neither master nor overlooker +spoke savagely. They were not savage men either of them, +though it appeared both were rigid, for they fined a delinquent +who came considerably too late. Mr. Moore made +him pay his penny down ere he entered, and informed him +that the next repetition of the fault would cost him twopence.</p> + +<p>Rules, no doubt, are necessary in such cases, and coarse +and cruel masters will make coarse and cruel rules, which, +at the time we treat of at least, they used sometimes to +enforce tyrannically; but though I describe imperfect +characters (every character in this book will be found to +be more or less imperfect, my pen refusing to draw anything +in the model line), I have not undertaken to handle +degraded or utterly infamous ones. Child-torturers, slave +masters and drivers, I consign to the hands of jailers. The +novelist may be excused from sullying his page with the +record of their deeds.</p> + +<p>Instead, then, of harrowing up my reader's soul and +delighting his organ of wonder with effective descriptions +of stripes and scourgings, I am happy to be able to inform +him that neither Mr. Moore nor his overlooker ever struck +a child in their mill. Joe had, indeed, once very severely +flogged a son of his own for telling a lie and persisting in it; +but, like his employer, he was too phlegmatic, too calm, as +well as too reasonable a man, to make corporal chastisement +other than the exception to his treatment of the young.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore haunted his mill, his mill-yard, his dye-house, +and his warehouse till the sickly dawn strengthened into +day. The sun even rose—at least a white disc, clear, +tintless, and almost chill-looking as ice, peeped over the +dark crest of a hill, changed to silver the livid edge of the +cloud above it, and looked solemnly down the whole length +of the den, or narrow dale, to whose strait bounds we are +at present limited. It was eight o'clock; the mill lights +were all extinguished; the signal was given for breakfast; +the children, released for half an hour from toil, betook +themselves to the little tin cans which held their coffee, +and to the small baskets which contained their allowance +of bread. Let us hope they have enough to eat; it would +be a pity were it otherwise.</p> + +<p>And now at last Mr. Moore quitted the mill-yard, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>55<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +bent his steps to his dwelling-house. It was only a short +distance from the factory, but the hedge and high bank on +each side of the lane which conducted to it seemed to give +it something of the appearance and feeling of seclusion. +It was a small, whitewashed place, with a green porch +over the door; scanty brown stalks showed in the garden +soil near this porch, and likewise beneath the windows—stalks +budless and flowerless now, but giving dim prediction +of trained and blooming creepers for summer days. +A grass plat and borders fronted the cottage. The borders +presented only black mould yet, except where, in sheltered +nooks, the first shoots of snowdrop or crocus peeped, green +as emerald, from the earth. The spring was late; it had +been a severe and prolonged winter; the last deep snow +had but just disappeared before yesterday's rains; on the +hills, indeed, white remnants of it yet gleamed, flecking the +hollows and crowning the peaks; the lawn was not verdant, +but bleached, as was the grass on the bank, and under +the hedge in the lane. Three trees, gracefully grouped, +rose beside the cottage. They were not lofty, but having +no rivals near, they looked well and imposing where they +grew. Such was Mr. Moore's home—a snug nest for content +and contemplation, but one within which the wings +of action and ambition could not long lie folded.</p> + +<p>Its air of modest comfort seemed to possess no particular +attraction for its owner. Instead of entering the house at +once he fetched a spade from a little shed and began to +work in the garden. For about a quarter of an hour he +dug on uninterrupted. At length, however, a window +opened, and a female voice called to him,—</p> + +<p>"Eh, bien! Tu ne déjeûnes pas ce matin?"</p> + +<p>The answer, and the rest of the conversation, was in +French; but as this is an English book, I shall translate +it into English.</p> + +<p>"Is breakfast ready, Hortense?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; it has been ready half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Then I am ready too. I have a canine hunger."</p> + +<p>He threw down his spade, and entered the house. The +narrow passage conducted him to a small parlour, where +a breakfast of coffee and bread and butter, with the somewhat +un-English accompaniment of stewed pears, was +spread on the table. Over these viands presided the lady +who had spoken from the window. I must describe her +before I go any farther.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>56<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She seemed a little older than Mr. Moore—perhaps she +was thirty-five, tall, and proportionately stout; she had +very black hair, for the present twisted up in curl-papers, +a high colour in her cheeks, a small nose, a pair of little +black eyes. The lower part of her face was large in proportion +to the upper; her forehead was small and rather +corrugated; she had a fretful though not an ill-natured +expression of countenance; there was something in her +whole appearance one felt inclined to be half provoked with +and half amused at. The strangest point was her dress—a +stuff petticoat and a striped cotton camisole. The petticoat +was short, displaying well a pair of feet and ankles +which left much to be desired in the article of symmetry.</p> + +<p>You will think I have depicted a remarkable slattern, +reader. Not at all. Hortense Moore (she was Mr. Moore's +sister) was a very orderly, economical person. The petticoat, +camisole, and curl-papers were her morning costume, +in which, of forenoons, she had always been accustomed to +"go her household ways" in her own country. She did +not choose to adopt English fashions because she was +obliged to live in England; she adhered to her old Belgian +modes, quite satisfied that there was a merit in so doing.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle had an excellent opinion of herself—an +opinion not wholly undeserved, for she possessed some +good and sterling qualities; but she rather over-estimated +the kind and degree of these qualities, and quite left out +of the account sundry little defects which accompanied +them. You could never have persuaded her that she was a +prejudiced and narrow-minded person, that she was too +susceptible on the subject of her own dignity and importance, +and too apt to take offence about trifles; yet all this +was true. However, where her claims to distinction were +not opposed, and where her prejudices were not offended, +she could be kind and friendly enough. To her two brothers +(for there was another Gérard Moore besides Robert) she +was very much attached. As the sole remaining representatives +of their decayed family, the persons of both +were almost sacred in her eyes. Of Louis, however, she +knew less than of Robert. He had been sent to England +when a mere boy, and had received his education at an +English school. His education not being such as to adapt +him for trade, perhaps, too, his natural bent not inclining +him to mercantile pursuits, he had, when the blight of +hereditary prospects rendered it necessary for him to push<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>57<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +his own fortune, adopted the very arduous and very modest +career of a teacher. He had been usher in a school, and +was said now to be tutor in a private family. Hortense, +when she mentioned Louis, described him as having what +she called "des moyens," but as being too backward and +quiet. Her praise of Robert was in a different strain, less +qualified: she was very proud of him; she regarded him +as the greatest man in Europe; all he said and did was +remarkable in her eyes, and she expected others to behold +him from the same point of view; nothing could be more +irrational, monstrous, and infamous than opposition from +any quarter to Robert, unless it were opposition to herself.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, as soon as the said Robert was seated at +the breakfast-table, and she had helped him to a portion +of stewed pears, and cut him a good-sized Belgian tartine, +she began to pour out a flood of amazement and horror at +the transaction of last night, the destruction of the frames.</p> + +<p>"Quelle idée! to destroy them. Quelle action honteuse! +On voyait bien que les ouvriers de ce pays étaient à la fois +betes et méchants. C'était absolument comme les domestiques +anglais, les servantes surtout: rien d'insupportable +comme cette Sara, par exemple!"</p> + +<p>"She looks clean and industrious," Mr. Moore remarked.</p> + +<p>"Looks! I don't know how she looks, and I do not say +that she is altogether dirty or idle, mais elle est d'une insolence! +She disputed with me a quarter of an hour +yesterday about the cooking of the beef; she said I boiled +it to rags, that English people would never be able to eat +such a dish as our bouilli, that the bouillon was no better +than greasy warm water, and as to the choucroute, she +affirms she cannot touch it! That barrel we have in the +cellar—delightfully prepared by my own hands—she +termed a tub of hog-wash, which means food for pigs. +I am harassed with the girl, and yet I cannot part with her +lest I should get a worse. You are in the same position +with your workmen, pauvre cher frère!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are not very happy in England, Hortense."</p> + +<p>"It is my duty to be happy where you are, brother; but +otherwise there are certainly a thousand things which make +me regret our native town. All the world here appears to +me ill-bred (mal-élevé). I find my habits considered +ridiculous. If a girl out of your mill chances to come into +the kitchen and find me in my jupon and camisole preparing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>58<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +dinner (for you know I cannot trust Sarah to cook a single +dish), she sneers. If I accept an invitation out to tea, +which I have done once or twice, I perceive I am put quite +into the background; I have not that attention paid me which +decidedly is my due. Of what an excellent family are the +Gérards, as we know, and the Moores also! They have a +right to claim a certain respect, and to feel wounded when +it is withheld from them. In Antwerp I was always treated +with distinction; here, one would think that when I open +my lips in company I speak English with a ridiculous +accent, whereas I am quite assured that I pronounce it +perfectly."</p> + +<p>"Hortense, in Antwerp we were known rich; in England +we were never known but poor."</p> + +<p>"Precisely, and thus mercenary are mankind. Again, +dear brother, last Sunday, if you recollect, was very wet; +accordingly I went to church in my neat black sabots, +objects one would not indeed wear in a fashionable city, +but which in the country I have ever been accustomed to +use for walking in dirty roads. Believe me, as I paced up +the aisle, composed and tranquil, as I am always, four +ladies, and as many gentlemen, laughed and hid their faces +behind their prayer-books."</p> + +<p>"Well, well! don't put on the sabots again. I told you +before I thought they were not quite the thing for this +country."</p> + +<p>"But, brother, they are not common sabots, such as +the peasantry wear. I tell you, they are sabots noirs, +très propres, très convenables. At Mons and Leuze—cities +not very far removed from the elegant capital of +Brussels—it is very seldom that the respectable people +wear anything else for walking in winter. Let any one +try to wade the mud of the Flemish chaussées in a pair of +Paris brodequins, on m'en dirait des nouvelles!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind Mons and Leuze and the Flemish chaussées; +do at Rome as the Romans do. And as to the +camisole and jupon, I am not quite sure about them either. +I never see an English lady dressed in such garments. Ask +Caroline Helstone."</p> + +<p>"Caroline! <em>I</em> ask Caroline? <em>I</em> consult her about my +dress? It is <em>she</em> who on all points should consult <em>me</em>. +She is a child."</p> + +<p>"She is eighteen, or at least seventeen—old enough to +know all about gowns, petticoats, and chaussures."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>59<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Do not spoil Caroline, I entreat you, brother. Do not +make her of more consequence than she ought to be. At +present she is modest and unassuming: let us keep her so."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart. Is she coming this morning?"</p> + +<p>"She will come at ten, as usual, to take her French +lesson."</p> + +<p>"You don't find that she sneers at you, do you?"</p> + +<p>"She does not. She appreciates me better than any one +else here; but then she has more intimate opportunities of +knowing me. She sees that I have education, intelligence, +manner, principles—all, in short, which belongs to a person +well born and well bred."</p> + +<p>"Are you at all fond of her?"</p> + +<p>"For <em>fond</em> I cannot say. I am not one who is prone to +take violent fancies, and, consequently, my friendship is +the more to be depended on. I have a regard for her as +my relative; her position also inspires interest, and her +conduct as my pupil has hitherto been such as rather to +enhance than diminish the attachment that springs from +other causes."</p> + +<p>"She behaves pretty well at lessons?"</p> + +<p>"To <em>me</em> she behaves very well; but you are conscious, +brother, that I have a manner calculated to repel over-familiarity, +to win esteem, and to command respect. Yet, +possessed of penetration, I perceive clearly that Caroline is +not perfect, that there is much to be desired in her."</p> + +<p>"Give me a last cup of coffee, and while I am drinking +it amuse me with an account of her faults."</p> + +<p>"Dear brother, I am happy to see you eat your breakfast +with relish, after the fatiguing night you have passed. +Caroline, then, is defective; but with my forming hand +and almost motherly care she may improve. There is +about her an occasional something—a reserve, I think—which +I do not quite like, because it is not sufficiently +girlish and submissive; and there are glimpses of an unsettled +hurry in her nature, which put me out. Yet she is +usually most tranquil, too dejected and thoughtful indeed +sometimes. In time, I doubt not, I shall make her uniformly +sedate and decorous, without being unaccountably +pensive. I ever disapprove what is not intelligible."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand your account in the least. What +do you mean by 'unsettled hurries,' for instance?"</p> + +<p>"An example will, perhaps, be the most satisfactory +explanation. I sometimes, you are aware, make her read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>60<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +French poetry by way of practice in pronunciation. +She has in the course of her lessons gone through much +of Corneille and Racine, in a very steady, sober spirit, +such as I approve. Occasionally she showed, indeed, a +degree of languor in the perusal of those esteemed authors, +partaking rather of apathy than sobriety; and apathy is +what I cannot tolerate in those who have the benefit of +my instructions—besides, one should not be apathetic in +studying standard works. The other day I put into her +hands a volume of short fugitive pieces. I sent her to the +window to learn one by heart, and when I looked up I saw +her turning the leaves over impatiently, and curling her lip, +absolutely with scorn, as she surveyed the little poems +cursorily. I chid her. 'Ma cousine,' said she, 'tout cela +m'ennuie à la mort.' I told her this was improper language. +'Dieu!' she exclaimed, 'il n'y a donc pas deux lignes de +poësie dans toute la littérature française?' I inquired +what she meant. She begged my pardon with proper +submission. Ere long she was still. I saw her smiling to +herself over the book. She began to learn assiduously. +In half an hour she came and stood before me, presented +the volume, folded her hands, as I always require her to do, +and commenced the repetition of that short thing by +Chénier, 'La Jeune Captive.' If you had heard the manner +in which she went through this, and in which she uttered a +few incoherent comments when she had done, you would +have known what I meant by the phrase 'unsettled hurry.' +One would have thought Chénier was more moving than +all Racine and all Corneille. You, brother, who have so +much sagacity, will discern that this disproportionate preference +argues an ill-regulated mind; but she is fortunate +in her preceptress. I will give her a system, a method of +thought, a set of opinions; I will give her the perfect +control and guidance of her feelings."</p> + +<p>"Be sure you do, Hortense. Here she comes. That was +her shadow passed the window, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Ah! truly. She is too early—half an hour before her +time.—My child, what brings you here before I have breakfasted?"</p> + +<p>This question was addressed to an individual who now +entered the room, a young girl, wrapped in a winter mantle, +the folds of which were gathered with some grace round an +apparently slender figure.</p> + +<p>"I came in haste to see how you were, Hortense, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>61<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +how Robert was too. I was sure you would be both grieved +by what happened last night. I did not hear till this +morning. My uncle told me at breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Ah! it is unspeakable. You sympathize with us? +Your uncle sympathizes with us?"</p> + +<p>"My uncle is very angry—but he was with Robert, I +believe, was he not?—Did he not go with you to Stilbro' +Moor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we set out in very martial style, Caroline; but the +prisoners we went to rescue met us half-way."</p> + +<p>"Of course nobody was hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no; only Joe Scott's wrists were a little galled +with being pinioned too tightly behind his back."</p> + +<p>"You were not there? You were not with the wagons +when they were attacked?"</p> + +<p>"No. One seldom has the fortune to be present at occurrences +at which one would particularly wish to assist."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going this morning? I saw Murgatroyd +saddling your horse in the yard."</p> + +<p>"To Whinbury. It is market day."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Yorke is going too. I met him in his gig. Come +home with him."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Two are better than one, and nobody dislikes Mr. +Yorke—at least, poor people do not dislike him."</p> + +<p>"Therefore he would be a protection to me, who am +hated?"</p> + +<p>"Who are <em>misunderstood</em>. That, probably, is the word. +Shall you be late?—Will he be late, Cousin Hortense?"</p> + +<p>"It is too probable. He has often much business to +transact at Whinbury. Have you brought your exercise-book, +child?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.—What time will you return, Robert?"</p> + +<p>"I generally return at seven. Do you wish me to be +at home earlier?"</p> + +<p>"Try rather to be back by six. It is not absolutely dark +at six now, but by seven daylight is quite gone."</p> + +<p>"And what danger is to be apprehended, Caroline, when +daylight <em>is</em> gone? What peril do you conceive comes as +the companion of darkness for me?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I can define my fears, but we all +have a certain anxiety at present about our friends. My +uncle calls these times dangerous. He says, too, that mill-owners +are unpopular."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>62<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And I am one of the most unpopular? Is not that the +fact? You are reluctant to speak out plainly, but at heart +you think me liable to Pearson's fate, who was shot at—not, +indeed, from behind a hedge, but in his own house, +through his staircase window, as he was going to bed."</p> + +<p>"Anne Pearson showed me the bullet in the chamber-door," +remarked Caroline gravely, as she folded her mantle +and arranged it and her muff on a side-table. "You +know," she continued, "there is a hedge all the way along +the road from here to Whinbury, and there are the Fieldhead +plantations to pass; but you will be back by six—or +before?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly he will," affirmed Hortense. "And now, my +child, prepare your lessons for repetition, while I put the +peas to soak for the purée at dinner."</p> + +<p>With this direction she left the room.</p> + +<p>"You suspect I have many enemies, then, Caroline," +said Mr. Moore, "and doubtless you know me to be destitute +of friends?"</p> + +<p>"Not destitute, Robert. There is your sister, your +brother Louis, whom I have never seen; there is Mr. Yorke, +and there is my uncle—besides, of course, many more."</p> + +<p>Robert smiled. "You would be puzzled to name your +'many more,'" said he. "But show me your exercise-book. +What extreme pains you take with the writing! +My sister, I suppose, exacts this care. She wants to form +you in all things after the model of a Flemish school-girl. +What life are you destined for, Caroline? What will you +do with your French, drawing, and other accomplishments, +when they are acquired?"</p> + +<p>"You may well say, when they are acquired; for, as +you are aware, till Hortense began to teach me, I knew +precious little. As to the life I am destined for, I cannot +tell. I suppose to keep my uncle's house till——" She +hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Till what? Till he dies?"</p> + +<p>"No. How harsh to say that! I never think of his +dying. He is only fifty-five. But till—in short, till events +offer other occupations for me."</p> + +<p>"A remarkably vague prospect! Are you content +with it?"</p> + +<p>"I used to be, formerly. Children, you know, have +little reflection, or rather their reflections run on ideal themes. +There are moments <em>now</em> when I am not quite satisfied."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>63<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I am making no money—earning nothing."</p> + +<p>"You come to the point, Lina. You too, then, wish to +make money?"</p> + +<p>"I do. I should like an occupation; and if I were a +boy, it would not be so difficult to find one. I see such an +easy, pleasant way of learning a business, and making my +way in life."</p> + +<p>"Go on. Let us hear what way."</p> + +<p>"I could be apprenticed to your trade—the cloth-trade. +I could learn it of you, as we are distant relations. I would +do the counting-house work, keep the books, and write the +letters, while you went to market. I know you greatly +desire to be rich, in order to pay your father's debts; perhaps +I could help you to get rich."</p> + +<p>"Help <em>me</em>? You should think of yourself."</p> + +<p>"I do think of myself; but must one for ever think only +of oneself?"</p> + +<p>"Of whom else do I think? Of whom else <em>dare</em> I think? +The poor ought to have no large sympathies; it is their +duty to be narrow."</p> + +<p>"No, Robert——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Caroline. Poverty is necessarily selfish, contracted, +grovelling, anxious. Now and then a poor man's +heart, when certain beams and dews visit it, may smell +like the budding vegetation in yonder garden on this spring +day, may feel ripe to evolve in foliage, perhaps blossom; +but he must not encourage the pleasant impulse; he must +invoke Prudence to check it, with that frosty breath of +hers, which is as nipping as any north wind."</p> + +<p>"No cottage would be happy then."</p> + +<p>"When I speak of poverty, I do not so much mean the +natural, habitual poverty of the working-man, as the embarrassed +penury of the man in debt. My grub-worm is +always a straitened, struggling, care-worn tradesman."</p> + +<p>"Cherish hope, not anxiety. Certain ideas have become +too fixed in your mind. It may be presumptuous to say +it, but I have the impression that there is something wrong +in your notions of the best means of attaining happiness, +as there is in——" Second hesitation.</p> + +<p>"I am all ear, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"In (courage! let me speak the truth)—in your manner—mind, +I say only <em>manner</em>—to these Yorkshire workpeople."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>64<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You have often wanted to tell me that, have you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; often—very often."</p> + +<p>"The faults of my manner are, I think, only negative. +I am not proud. What has a man in my position to be +proud of? I am only taciturn, phlegmatic, and joyless."</p> + +<p>"As if your living cloth-dressers were all machines like +your frames and shears. In your own house you seem +different."</p> + +<p>"To those of my own house I am no alien, which I am +to these English clowns. I might act the benevolent with +them, but acting is not my <em>forte</em>. I find them irrational, +perverse; they hinder me when I long to hurry forward. +In treating them justly I fulfil my whole duty towards +them."</p> + +<p>"You don't expect them to love you, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Nor wish it."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the monitress, shaking her head and heaving +a deep sigh. With this ejaculation, indicative that she +perceived a screw to be loose somewhere, but that it was +out of her reach to set it right, she bent over her grammar, +and sought the rule and exercise for the day.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am not an affectionate man, Caroline. +The attachment of a very few suffices me."</p> + +<p>"If you please, Robert, will you mend me a pen or two +before you go?"</p> + +<p>"First let me rule your book, for you always contrive +to draw the lines aslant. There now. And now for the +pens. You like a fine one, I think?"</p> + +<p>"Such as you generally make for me and Hortense; +not your own broad points."</p> + +<p>"If I were of Louis's calling I might stay at home and +dedicate this morning to you and your studies, whereas I +must spend it in Skyes's wool-warehouse."</p> + +<p>"You will be making money."</p> + +<p>"More likely losing it."</p> + +<p>As he finished mending the pens, a horse, saddled and +bridled, was brought up to the garden-gate.</p> + +<p>"There, Fred is ready for me; I must go. I'll take one +look to see what the spring has done in the south border, too, +first."</p> + +<p>He quitted the room, and went out into the garden +ground behind the mill. A sweet fringe of young verdure +and opening flowers—snowdrop, crocus, even primrose—bloomed +in the sunshine under the hot wall of the factory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>65<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Moore plucked here and there a blossom and leaf, till he +had collected a little bouquet. He returned to the parlour, +pilfered a thread of silk from his sister's work-basket, tied +the flowers, and laid them on Caroline's desk.</p> + +<p>"Now, good-morning."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Robert. It is pretty; it looks, as it lies +there, like sparkles of sunshine and blue sky. Good-morning."</p> + +<p>He went to the door, stopped, opened his lips as if to +speak, said nothing, and moved on. He passed through +the wicket, and mounted his horse. In a second he had +flung himself from his saddle again, transferred the reins +to Murgatroyd, and re-entered the cottage.</p> + +<p>"I forgot my gloves," he said, appearing to take something +from the side-table; then, as an impromptu thought, +he remarked, "You have no binding engagement at home +perhaps, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"I never have. Some children's socks, which Mrs. +Ramsden has ordered, to knit for the Jew's basket; but +they will keep."</p> + +<p>"Jew's basket be—sold! Never was utensil better +named. Anything more Jewish than it—its contents and +their prices—cannot be conceived. But I see something, +a very tiny curl, at the corners of your lip, which tells me +that you know its merits as well as I do. Forget the Jew's +basket, then, and spend the day here as a change. Your +uncle won't break his heart at your absence?"</p> + +<p>She smiled. "No."</p> + +<p>"The old Cossack! I dare say not," muttered Moore.</p> + +<p>"Then stay and dine with Hortense; she will be glad +of your company. I shall return in good time. We will +have a little reading in the evening. The moon rises at +half-past eight, and I will walk up to the rectory with you +at nine. Do you agree?"</p> + +<p>She nodded her head, and her eyes lit up.</p> + +<p>Moore lingered yet two minutes. He bent over Caroline's +desk and glanced at her grammar, he fingered her pen, +he lifted her bouquet and played with it; his horse stamped +impatient; Fred Murgatroyd hemmed and coughed at +the gate, as if he wondered what in the world his master +was doing. "Good-morning," again said Moore, and +finally vanished.</p> + +<p>Hortense, coming in ten minutes after, found, to her +surprise, that Caroline had not yet commenced her exercise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>66<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>CORIOLANUS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Mademoiselle Moore</span> had that morning a somewhat +absent-minded pupil. Caroline forgot, again and again, +the explanations which were given to her. However, she +still bore with unclouded mood the chidings her inattention +brought upon her. Sitting in the sunshine near the window, +she seemed to receive with its warmth a kind influence, +which made her both happy and good. Thus disposed, +she looked her best, and her best was a pleasing vision.</p> + +<p>To her had not been denied the gift of beauty. It was +not absolutely necessary to know her in order to like her; +she was fair enough to please, even at the first view. Her +shape suited her age: it was girlish, light, and pliant; +every curve was neat, every limb proportionate; her face +was expressive and gentle; her eyes were handsome, and +gifted at times with a winning beam that stole into the +heart, with a language that spoke softly to the affections. +Her mouth was very pretty; she had a delicate skin, and +a fine flow of brown hair, which she knew how to arrange +with taste; curls became her, and she possessed them in +picturesque profusion. Her style of dress announced taste +in the wearer—very unobtrusive in fashion, far from costly +in material, but suitable in colour to the fair complexion +with which it contrasted, and in make to the slight form +which it draped. Her present winter garb was of merino—the +same soft shade of brown as her hair; the little collar +round her neck lay over a pink ribbon, and was fastened +with a pink knot. She wore no other decoration.</p> + +<p>So much for Caroline Helstone's appearance. As to her +character or intellect, if she had any, they must speak for +themselves in due time.</p> + +<p>Her connections are soon explained. She was the child +of parents separated soon after her birth, in consequence +of disagreement of disposition. Her mother was the half-sister +of Mr. Moore's father; thus, though there was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>67<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +mixture of blood, she was, in a distant sense, the cousin of +Robert, Louis, and Hortense. Her father was the brother +of Mr. Helstone—a man of the character friends desire not +to recall, after death has once settled all earthly accounts. +He had rendered his wife unhappy. The reports which +were known to be true concerning him had given an air of +probability to those which were falsely circulated respecting +his better-principled brother. Caroline had never known +her mother, as she was taken from her in infancy, and had +not since seen her; her father died comparatively young, +and her uncle, the rector, had for some years been her sole +guardian. He was not, as we are aware, much adapted, +either by nature or habits, to have the charge of a young +girl. He had taken little trouble about her education; +probably he would have taken none if she, finding herself +neglected, had not grown anxious on her own account, and +asked, every now and then, for a little attention, and for +the means of acquiring such amount of knowledge as could +not be dispensed with. Still, she had a depressing feeling +that she was inferior, that her attainments were fewer than +were usually possessed by girls of her age and station; +and very glad was she to avail herself of the kind offer +made by her cousin Hortense, soon after the arrival of the +latter at Hollow's Mill, to teach her French and fine needle-work. +Mdlle. Moore, for her part, delighted in the task, +because it gave her importance; she liked to lord it a little +over a docile yet quick pupil. She took Caroline precisely +at her own estimate, as an irregularly-taught, even ignorant +girl; and when she found that she made rapid and +eager progress, it was to no talent, no application, in the +scholar she ascribed the improvement, but entirely to her +own superior method of teaching. When she found that +Caroline, unskilled in routine, had a knowledge of her own, +desultory but varied, the discovery caused her no surprise, +for she still imagined that from her conversation had the +girl unawares gleaned these treasures. She thought it even +when forced to feel that her pupil knew much on subjects +whereof she knew little. The idea was not logical, but +Hortense had perfect faith in it.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle, who prided herself on possessing "un +esprit positif," and on entertaining a decided preference +for dry studies, kept her young cousin to the same as +closely as she could. She worked her unrelentingly at +the grammar of the French language, assigning her, as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>68<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +most improving exercise she could devise, interminable +"analyses logiques." These "analyses" were by no means +a source of particular pleasure to Caroline; she thought +she could have learned French just as well without them, +and grudged excessively the time spent in pondering over +"propositions, principales, et incidents;" in deciding the +"incidente determinative," and the "incidente applicative;" +in examining whether the proposition was "pleine," +"elliptique," or "implicite." Sometimes she lost herself +in the maze, and when so lost she would, now and then +(while Hortense was rummaging her drawers upstairs—an +unaccountable occupation in which she spent a large portion +of each day, arranging, disarranging, rearranging, and +counter-arranging), carry her book to Robert in the counting-house, +and get the rough place made smooth by his aid. +Mr. Moore possessed a clear, tranquil brain of his own. +Almost as soon as he looked at Caroline's little difficulties +they seemed to dissolve beneath his eye. In two minutes +he would explain all, in two words give the key to the puzzle. +She thought if Hortense could only teach like him, how +much faster she might learn! Repaying him by an admiring +and grateful smile, rather shed at his feet than lifted +to his face, she would leave the mill reluctantly to go back +to the cottage, and then, while she completed the exercise, +or worked out the sum (for Mdlle. Moore taught her arithmetic +too), she would wish nature had made her a boy +instead of a girl, that she might ask Robert to let her be +his clerk, and sit with him in the counting-house, instead +of sitting with Hortense in the parlour.</p> + +<p>Occasionally—but this happened very rarely—she spent +the evening at Hollow's Cottage. Sometimes during these +visits Moore was away attending a market; sometimes he +was gone to Mr. Yorke's; often he was engaged with a +male visitor in another room; but sometimes, too, he was +at home, disengaged, free to talk with Caroline. When +this was the case, the evening hours passed on wings of +light; they were gone before they were counted. There +was no room in England so pleasant as that small parlour +when the three cousins occupied it. Hortense, when she +was not teaching, or scolding, or cooking, was far from +ill-humoured; it was her custom to relax towards evening, +and to be kind to her young English kinswoman. There +was a means, too, of rendering her delightful, by inducing +her to take her guitar and sing and play. She then became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>69<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +quite good-natured. And as she played with skill, and had +a well-toned voice, it was not disagreeable to listen to her. +It would have been absolutely agreeable, except that her +formal and self-important character modulated her strains, +as it impressed her manners and moulded her countenance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore, released from the business yoke, was, if not +lively himself, a willing spectator of Caroline's liveliness, +a complacent listener to her talk, a ready respondent to her +questions. He was something agreeable to sit near, to +hover round, to address and look at. Sometimes he was +better than this—almost animated, quite gentle and friendly.</p> + +<p>The drawback was that by the next morning he was sure +to be frozen up again; and however much he seemed, +in his quiet way, to enjoy these social evenings, he rarely +contrived their recurrence. This circumstance puzzled the +inexperienced head of his cousin. "If I had a means of +happiness at my command," she thought, "I would employ +that means often. I would keep it bright with use, and +not let it lie for weeks aside, till it gets rusty."</p> + +<p>Yet she was careful not to put in practice her own theory. +Much as she liked an evening visit to the cottage, she never +paid one unasked. Often, indeed, when pressed by Hortense +to come, she would refuse, because Robert did not +second, or but slightly seconded the request. This morning +was the first time he had ever, of his own unprompted will, +given her an invitation; and then he had spoken so kindly +that in hearing him she had received a sense of happiness +sufficient to keep her glad for the whole day.</p> + +<p>The morning passed as usual. Mademoiselle, ever +breathlessly busy, spent it in bustling from kitchen to +parlour, now scolding Sarah, now looking over Caroline's +exercise or hearing her repetition-lesson. However faultlessly +these tasks were achieved, she never commended: +it was a maxim with her that praise is inconsistent with +a teacher's dignity, and that blame, in more or less unqualified +measure, is indispensable to it. She thought +incessant reprimand, severe or slight, quite necessary to +the maintenance of her authority; and if no possible error +was to be found in the lesson, it was the pupil's carriage, +or air, or dress, or mien, which required correction.</p> + +<p>The usual affray took place about the dinner, which +meal, when Sarah at last brought it into the room, she +almost flung upon the table, with a look that expressed +quite plainly, "I never dished such stuff i' my life afore;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>70<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +it's not fit for dogs." Notwithstanding Sarah's scorn, it +was a savoury repast enough. The soup was a sort of +purée of dried peas, which mademoiselle had prepared +amidst bitter lamentations that in this desolate country +of England no haricot beans were to be had. Then came +a dish of meat—nature unknown, but supposed to be miscellaneous—singularly +chopped up with crumbs of bread, +seasoned uniquely though not unpleasantly, and baked in +a mould—a queer but by no means unpalatable dish. +Greens, oddly bruised, formed the accompanying vegetable; +and a pâté of fruit, conserved after a recipe devised by +Madame Gérard Moore's "grand'mère," and from the +taste of which it appeared probable that "mélasse" had +been substituted for sugar, completed the dinner.</p> + +<p>Caroline had no objection to this Belgian cookery—indeed +she rather liked it for a change; and it was well +she did so, for had she evinced any disrelish thereof, such +manifestation would have injured her in mademoiselle's +good graces for ever; a positive crime might have been +more easily pardoned than a symptom of distaste for the +foreign comestibles.</p> + +<p>Soon after dinner Caroline coaxed her governess-cousin +upstairs to dress. This manœuvre required management. +To have hinted that the jupon, camisole, and curl-papers +were odious objects, or indeed other than quite meritorious +points, would have been a felony. Any premature +attempt to urge their disappearance was therefore unwise, +and would be likely to issue in the persevering wear +of them during the whole day. Carefully avoiding rocks +and quicksands, however, the pupil, on pretence of requiring +a change of scene, contrived to get the teacher +aloft; and, once in the bedroom, she persuaded her that +it was not worth while returning thither, and that she +might as well make her toilet now; and while mademoiselle +delivered a solemn homily on her own surpassing merit +in disregarding all frivolities of fashion, Caroline denuded +her of the camisole, invested her with a decent gown, +arranged her collar, hair, etc., and made her quite presentable. +But Hortense would put the finishing touches +herself, and these finishing touches consisted in a thick +handkerchief tied round the throat, and a large, servant-like +black apron, which spoiled everything. On no account +would mademoiselle have appeared in her own house without +the thick handkerchief and the voluminous apron. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>71<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +first was a positive matter of morality—it was quite improper +not to wear a fichu; the second was the ensign of a good +housewife—she appeared to think that by means of it she +somehow effected a large saving in her brother's income. +She had, with her own hands, made and presented to +Caroline similar equipments; and the only serious quarrel +they had ever had, and which still left a soreness in the +elder cousin's soul, had arisen from the refusal of the +younger one to accept of and profit by these elegant +presents.</p> + +<p>"I wear a high dress and a collar," said Caroline, "and +I should feel suffocated with a handkerchief in addition; +and my short aprons do quite as well as that very long +one. I would rather make no change."</p> + +<p>Yet Hortense, by dint of perseverance, would probably +have compelled her to make a change, had not Mr. Moore +chanced to overhear a dispute on the subject, and decided +that Caroline's little aprons would suffice, and that, in his +opinion, as she was still but a child, she might for the present +dispense with the fichu, especially as her curls were long, +and almost touched her shoulders.</p> + +<p>There was no appeal against Robert's opinion, therefore +his sister was compelled to yield; but she disapproved +entirely of the piquant neatness of Caroline's costume, and +the ladylike grace of her appearance. Something more +solid and homely she would have considered "beaucoup +plus convenable."</p> + +<p>The afternoon was devoted to sewing. Mademoiselle, +like most Belgian ladies, was specially skilful with her +needle. She by no means thought it waste of time to devote +unnumbered hours to fine embroidery, sight-destroying +lace-work, marvellous netting and knitting, and, above all, +to most elaborate stocking-mending. She would give a +day to the mending of two holes in a stocking any time, and +think her "mission" nobly fulfilled when she had accomplished +it. It was another of Caroline's troubles to be +condemned to learn this foreign style of darning, which +was done stitch by stitch, so as exactly to imitate the fabric +of the stocking itself—a wearifu' process, but considered +by Hortense Gérard, and by her ancestresses before her for +long generations back, as one of the first "duties of a +woman." She herself had had a needle, cotton, and a +fearfully torn stocking put into her hand while she yet +wore a child's coif on her little black head; her "hauts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>72<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +faits" in the darning line had been exhibited to company +ere she was six years old; and when she first discovered +that Caroline was profoundly ignorant of this most essential +of attainments, she could have wept with pity over her +miserably-neglected youth.</p> + +<p>No time did she lose in seeking up a hopeless pair of +hose, of which the heels were entirely gone, and in setting +the ignorant English girl to repair the deficiency. This +task had been commenced two years ago, and Caroline +had the stockings in her work-bag yet. She did a few +rows every day, by way of penance for the expiation of +her sins. They were a grievous burden to her; she would +much have liked to put them in the fire; and once Mr. +Moore, who had observed her sitting and sighing over +them, had proposed a private incremation in the counting-house; +but to this proposal Caroline knew it would have +been impolitic to accede—the result could only be a fresh +pair of hose, probably in worse condition. She adhered, +therefore, to the ills she knew.</p> + +<p>All the afternoon the two ladies sat and sewed, till the +eyes and fingers, and even the spirits of one of them, were +weary. The sky since dinner had darkened; it had begun +to rain again, to pour fast. Secret fears began to steal on +Caroline that Robert would be persuaded by Mr. Sykes +or Mr. Yorke to remain at Whinbury till it cleared, and +of that there appeared no present chance. Five o'clock +struck, and time stole on; still the clouds streamed. A +sighing wind whispered in the roof-trees of the cottage; +day seemed already closing; the parlour fire shed on the +clear hearth a glow ruddy as at twilight.</p> + +<p>"It will not be fair till the moon rises," pronounced +Mademoiselle Moore, "consequently I feel assured that +my brother will not return till then. Indeed I should be +sorry if he did. We will have coffee. It would be vain +to wait for him."</p> + +<p>"I am tired. May I leave my work now, cousin?"</p> + +<p>"You may, since it grows too dark to see to do it well. +Fold it up; put it carefully in your bag; then step into +the kitchen and desire Sarah to bring in the goûter, or +tea, as you call it."</p> + +<p>"But it has not yet struck six. He may still come."</p> + +<p>"He will not, I tell you. I can calculate his movements. +I understand my brother."</p> + +<p>Suspense is irksome, disappointment bitter. All the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>73<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +world has, some time or other, felt that. Caroline, obedient +to orders, passed into the kitchen. Sarah was making a +dress for herself at the table.</p> + +<p>"You are to bring in coffee," said the young lady in +a spiritless tone; and then she leaned her arm and head +against the kitchen mantelpiece, and hung listlessly over +the fire.</p> + +<p>"How low you seem, miss! But it's all because your +cousin keeps you so close to work. It's a shame!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the kind, Sarah," was the brief reply.</p> + +<p>"Oh! but I know it is. You're fit to cry just this minute, +for nothing else but because you've sat still the whole day. +It would make a kitten dull to be mewed up so."</p> + +<p>"Sarah, does your master often come home early from +market when it is wet?"</p> + +<p>"Never, hardly; but just to-day, for some reason, he +has made a difference."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"He is come. I am certain I saw Murgatroyd lead his +horse into the yard by the back-way, when I went to get +some water at the pump five minutes since. He was in the +counting-house with Joe Scott, I believe."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken."</p> + +<p>"What should I be mistaken for? I know his horse +surely?"</p> + +<p>"But you did not see himself?"</p> + +<p>"I heard him speak, though. He was saying something +to Joe Scott about having settled all concerning +ways and means, and that there would be a new set of +frames in the mill before another week passed, and that +this time he would get four soldiers from Stilbro' barracks +to guard the wagon."</p> + +<p>"Sarah, are you making a gown?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Is it a handsome one?"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful! Get the coffee ready. I'll finish cutting +out that sleeve for you, and I'll give you some trimming +for it. I have some narrow satin ribbon of a colour that +will just match it."</p> + +<p>"You're very kind, miss."</p> + +<p>"Be quick; there's a good girl. But first put your +master's shoes on the hearth: he will take his boots off +when he comes in. I hear him; he is coming."</p> + +<p>"Miss, you are cutting the stuff wrong."</p> + +<p>"So I am; but it is only a snip. There is no harm done."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>74<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>The kitchen door opened; Mr. Moore entered, very +wet and cold. Caroline half turned from her dressmaking +occupation, but renewed it for a moment, as if to gain a +minute's time for some purpose. Bent over the dress, +her face was hidden; there was an attempt to settle her +features and veil their expression, which failed. When she +at last met Mr. Moore, her countenance beamed.</p> + +<p>"We had ceased to expect you. They asserted you +would not come," she said.</p> + +<p>"But I promised to return soon. <em>You</em> expected me, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No, Robert; I dared not when it rained so fast. And +you are wet and chilled. Change everything. If you +took cold, I should—we should blame ourselves in some +measure."</p> + +<p>"I am not wet through: my riding-coat is waterproof. +Dry shoes are all I require. There—the fire is pleasant +after facing the cold wind and rain for a few miles."</p> + +<p>He stood on the kitchen hearth; Caroline stood beside +him. Mr. Moore, while enjoying the genial glow, kept +his eyes directed towards the glittering brasses on the +shelf above. Chancing for an instant to look down, his +glance rested on an uplifted face, flushed, smiling, happy, +shaded with silky curls, lit with fine eyes. Sarah was gone +into the parlour with the tray; a lecture from her mistress +detained her there. Moore placed his hand a moment on +his young cousin's shoulder, stooped, and left a kiss on her +forehead.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said she, as if the action had unsealed her lips, +"I was miserable when I thought you would not come. +I am almost too happy now. Are you happy, Robert? +Do you like to come home?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do—to-night, at least."</p> + +<p>"Are you certain you are not fretting about your frames, +and your business, and the war?"</p> + +<p>"Not just now."</p> + +<p>"Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's Cottage too +small for you, and narrow, and dismal?"</p> + +<p>"At this moment, no."</p> + +<p>"Can you affirm that you are not bitter at heart because +rich and great people forget you?"</p> + +<p>"No more questions. You are mistaken if you think I +am anxious to curry favour with rich and great people. I +only want means—a position—a career."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>75<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Which your own talent and goodness shall win you. +You were made to be great; you <em>shall</em> be great."</p> + +<p>"I wonder now, if you spoke honestly out of your heart, +what recipe you would give me for acquiring this same +greatness; but I know it—better than you know it yourself. +Would it be efficacious? Would it work? Yes—poverty, +misery, bankruptcy. Oh, life is not what you +think it, Lina!"</p> + +<p>"But you are what I think you."</p> + +<p>"I am not."</p> + +<p>"You are better, then?"</p> + +<p>"Far worse."</p> + +<p>"No; far better. I know you are good."</p> + +<p>"How do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"You look so, and I feel you <em>are</em> so."</p> + +<p>"Where do you feel it?"</p> + +<p>"In my heart."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You judge me with your heart, Lina: you +should judge me with your head."</p> + +<p>"I do; and then I am quite proud of you. Robert, you +cannot tell all my thoughts about you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, +and yet were compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he +resolutely knit his brow.</p> + +<p>"Think meanly of me, Lina," said he. "Men, in general, +are a sort of scum, very different to anything of which you +have an idea. I make no pretension to be better than my +fellows."</p> + +<p>"If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is +because you are modest that I have such confidence in +your merit."</p> + +<p>"Are you flattering me?" he demanded, turning sharply +upon her, and searching her face with an eye of acute +penetration.</p> + +<p>"No," she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. +She seemed to think it unnecessary to proffer any eager +disavowal of the charge.</p> + +<p>"You don't care whether I think you flatter me or +not?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You are so secure of your own intentions?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"What are they, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Only to ease my mind by expressing for once part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>76<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +what I think, and then to make you better satisfied with +yourself."</p> + +<p>"By assuring me that my kinswoman is my sincere +friend?"</p> + +<p>"Just so. I am your sincere friend, Robert."</p> + +<p>"And I am—what chance and change shall make me, +Lina."</p> + +<p>"Not my enemy, however?"</p> + +<p>The answer was cut short by Sarah and her mistress +entering the kitchen together in some commotion. They +had been improving the time which Mr. Moore and Miss +Helstone had spent in dialogue by a short dispute on the +subject of "café au lait," which Sarah said was the queerest +mess she ever saw, and a waste of God's good gifts, as it was +"the nature of coffee to be boiled in water," and which +mademoiselle affirmed to be "un breuvage royal," a thousand +times too good for the mean person who objected +to it.</p> + +<p>The former occupants of the kitchen now withdrew +into the parlour. Before Hortense followed them thither, +Caroline had only time again to question, "Not my enemy, +Robert?" And Moore, Quaker-like, had replied with +another query, "Could I be?" And then, seating himself +at the table, had settled Caroline at his side.</p> + +<p>Caroline scarcely heard mademoiselle's explosion of +wrath when she rejoined them; the long declamation +about the "conduite indigne de cette méchante créature" +sounded in her ear as confusedly as the agitated rattling +of the china. Robert laughed a little at it, in very subdued +sort, and then, politely and calmly entreating his sister to +be tranquil, assured her that if it would yield her any +satisfaction, she should have her choice of an attendant +amongst all the girls in his mill. Only he feared they +would scarcely suit her, as they were most of them, he was +informed, completely ignorant of household work; and pert +and self-willed as Sarah was, she was, perhaps, no worse +than the majority of the women of her class.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle admitted the truth of this conjecture: +according to her, "ces paysannes anglaises étaient tout +insupportables." What would she not give for some +"bonne cuisinière anversoise," with the high cap, short +petticoat, and decent sabots proper to her class—something +better, indeed, than an insolent coquette in a flounced +gown, and absolutely without cap! (For Sarah, it appears,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>77<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +did not partake the opinion of St. Paul that "it is a shame +for a woman to go with her head uncovered;" but, holding +rather a contrary doctrine, resolutely refused to imprison +in linen or muslin the plentiful tresses of her yellow hair, +which it was her wont to fasten up smartly with a comb +behind, and on Sundays to wear curled in front.)</p> + +<p>"Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?" asked Mr. +Moore, who, stern in public, was on the whole very kind +in private.</p> + +<p>"Merci du cadeau!" was the answer. "An Antwerp +girl would not stay here ten days, sneered at as she would +be by all the young coquines in your factory;" then softening, +"You are very good, dear brother—excuse my +petulance—but truly my domestic trials are severe, yet +they are probably my destiny; for I recollect that our +revered mother experienced similar sufferings, though +she had the choice of all the best servants in Antwerp. +Domestics are in all countries a spoiled and unruly set."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore had also certain reminiscences about the +trials of his revered mother. A good mother she had +been to him, and he honoured her memory; but he recollected +that she kept a hot kitchen of it in Antwerp, just +as his faithful sister did here in England. Thus, therefore, +he let the subject drop, and when the coffee-service was +removed, proceeded to console Hortense by fetching her +music-book and guitar; and having arranged the ribbon +of the instrument round her neck with a quiet fraternal +kindness he knew to be all-powerful in soothing her most +ruffled moods, he asked her to give him some of their +mother's favourite songs.</p> + +<p>Nothing refines like affection. Family jarring vulgarizes; +family union elevates. Hortense, pleased with her +brother, and grateful to him, looked, as she touched her +guitar, almost graceful, almost handsome; her everyday +fretful look was gone for a moment, and was replaced by +a "sourire plein de bonté." She sang the songs he asked +for, with feeling; they reminded her of a parent to whom +she had been truly attached; they reminded her of her +young days. She observed, too, that Caroline listened +with naïve interest; this augmented her good-humour; +and the exclamation at the close of the song, "I wish I +could sing and play like Hortense!" achieved the business, +and rendered her charming for the evening.</p> + +<p>It is true a little lecture to Caroline followed, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>78<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +vanity of <em>wishing</em> and the duty of <em>trying</em>. "As Rome," +it was suggested, "had not been built in a day, so neither +had Mademoiselle Gérard Moore's education been completed +in a week, or by merely <em>wishing</em> to be clever. It +was effort that had accomplished that great work. She +was ever remarkable for her perseverance, for her industry. +Her masters had remarked that it was as delightful as it +was uncommon to find so much talent united with so +much solidity, and so on." Once on the theme of her own +merits, mademoiselle was fluent.</p> + +<p>Cradled at last in blissful self-complacency, she took +her knitting, and sat down tranquil. Drawn curtains, a +clear fire, a softly-shining lamp, gave now to the little +parlour its best, its evening charm. It is probable that +the three there present felt this charm. They all looked +happy.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do now, Caroline?" asked Mr. Moore, +returning to his seat beside his cousin.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do, Robert?" repeated she playfully. +"You decide."</p> + +<p>"Not play at chess?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Nor draughts, nor backgammon?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; we both hate silent games that only keep +one's hands employed, don't we?"</p> + +<p>"I believe we do. Then shall we talk scandal?"</p> + +<p>"About whom? Are we sufficiently interested in anybody +to take a pleasure in pulling their character to +pieces?"</p> + +<p>"A question that comes to the point. For my part, +unamiable as it sounds, I must say no."</p> + +<p>"And I too. But it is strange, though we want no +third—fourth, I mean (she hastily and with contrition +glanced at Hortense), living person among us—so selfish +we are in our happiness—though we don't want to think +of the present existing world, it would be pleasant to go +back to the past, to hear people that have slept for generations +in graves that are perhaps no longer graves now, but +gardens and fields, speak to us and tell us their thoughts, +and impart their ideas."</p> + +<p>"Who shall be the speaker? What language shall he +utter? French?"</p> + +<p>"Your French forefathers don't speak so sweetly, nor so +solemnly, nor so impressively as your English ancestors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>79<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Robert. To-night you shall be entirely English. You +shall read an English book."</p> + +<p>"An old English book?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, an old English book—one that you like; and I +will choose a part of it that is toned quite in harmony with +something in you. It shall waken your nature, fill your +mind with music; it shall pass like a skilful hand over +your heart, and make its strings sound. Your heart is a +lyre, Robert; but the lot of your life has not been a minstrel +to sweep it, and it is often silent. Let glorious William +come near and touch it. You will see how he will draw +the English power and melody out of its chords."</p> + +<p>"I must read Shakespeare?"</p> + +<p>"You must have his spirit before you; you must hear +his voice with your mind's ear; you must take some of +his soul into yours."</p> + +<p>"With a view to making me better? Is it to operate +like a sermon?"</p> + +<p>"It is to stir you, to give you new sensations. It is to +make you feel your life strongly—not only your virtues, +but your vicious, perverse points."</p> + +<p>"Dieu! que dit-elle?" cried Hortense, who hitherto +had been counting stitches in her knitting, and had not +much attended to what was said, but whose ear these +two strong words caught with a tweak.</p> + +<p>"Never mind her, sister; let her talk. Now just let +her say anything she pleases to-night. She likes to come +down hard upon your brother sometimes. It amuses me, +so let her alone."</p> + +<p>Caroline, who, mounted on a chair, had been rummaging +the bookcase, returned with a book.</p> + +<p>"Here's Shakespeare," she said, "and there's 'Coriolanus.' +Now, read, and discover by the feelings the reading +will give you at once how low and how high you are."</p> + +<p>"Come, then, sit near me, and correct when I mispronounce."</p> + +<p>"I am to be the teacher then, and you my pupil?"</p> + +<p>"Ainsi, soit-il!"</p> + +<p>"And Shakespeare is our science, since we are going to +study?"</p> + +<p>"It appears so."</p> + +<p>"And you are not going to be French, and sceptical, and +sneering? You are not going to think it a sign of wisdom +to refuse to admire?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>80<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"If you do, Robert, I'll take Shakespeare away; and +I'll shrivel up within myself, and put on my bonnet and go +home."</p> + +<p>"Sit down. Here I begin."</p> + +<p>"One minute, if you please, brother," interrupted mademoiselle. +"When the gentleman of a family reads, the +ladies should always sew.—Caroline, dear child, take your +embroidery. You may get three sprigs done to-night."</p> + +<p>Caroline looked dismayed. "I can't see by lamp-light; +my eyes are tired, and I can't do two things well at once. +If I sew, I cannot listen; if I listen, I cannot sew."</p> + +<p>"Fi, donc! Quel enfantillage!" began Hortense. Mr. +Moore, as usual, suavely interposed.</p> + +<p>"Permit her to neglect the embroidery for this evening. +I wish her whole attention to be fixed on my accent; and +to ensure this, she must follow the reading with her eyes—she +must look at the book."</p> + +<p>He placed it between them, reposed his arm on the back +of Caroline's chair, and thus began to read.</p> + +<p>The very first scene in "Coriolanus" came with smart +relish to his intellectual palate, and still as he read he +warmed. He delivered the haughty speech of Caius Marcius +to the starving citizens with unction; he did not say he +thought his irrational pride right, but he seemed to feel it +so. Caroline looked up at him with a singular smile.</p> + +<p>"There's a vicious point hit already," she said. "You +sympathize with that proud patrician who does not sympathize +with his famished fellow-men, and insults them. +There, go on." He proceeded. The warlike portions did +not rouse him much; he said all that was out of date, or +should be; the spirit displayed was barbarous; yet the +encounter single-handed between Marcius and Tullus Aufidius +he delighted in. As he advanced, he forgot to criticise; +it was evident he appreciated the power, the truth of +each portion; and, stepping out of the narrow line of +private prejudices, began to revel in the large picture of +human nature, to feel the reality stamped upon the characters +who were speaking from that page before him.</p> + +<p>He did not read the comic scenes well; and Caroline, +taking the book out of his hand, read these parts for him. +From her he seemed to enjoy them, and indeed she gave +them with a spirit no one could have expected of her, with +a pithy expression with which she seemed gifted on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>81<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +spot, and for that brief moment only. It may be remarked, +in passing, that the general character of her conversation +that evening, whether serious or sprightly, grave or gay, +was as of something untaught, unstudied, intuitive, fitful—when +once gone, no more to be reproduced as it had been +than the glancing ray of the meteor, than the tints of the +dew-gem, than the colour or form of the sunset cloud, +than the fleeting and glittering ripple varying the flow of a +rivulet.</p> + +<p>Coriolanus in glory, Coriolanus in disaster, Coriolanus +banished, followed like giant shades one after the other. +Before the vision of the banished man Moore's spirit seemed +to pause. He stood on the hearth of Aufidius's hall, facing +the image of greatness fallen, but greater than ever in that +low estate. He saw "the grim appearance," the dark face +"bearing command in it," "the noble vessel with its tackle +torn." With the revenge of Caius Marcius, Moore perfectly +sympathized; he was not scandalized by it; and again +Caroline whispered, "There I see another glimpse of +brotherhood in error."</p> + +<p>The march on Rome, the mother's supplication, the long +resistance, the final yielding of bad passions to good, which +ever must be the case in a nature worthy the epithet of +noble, the rage of Aufidius at what he considered his ally's +weakness, the death of Coriolanus, the final sorrow of his +great enemy—all scenes made of condensed truth and +strength—came on in succession and carried with them in +their deep, fast flow the heart and mind of reader and +listener.</p> + +<p>"Now, have you felt Shakespeare?" asked Caroline, +some ten minutes after her cousin had closed the book.</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"And have you felt anything in Coriolanus like you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I have."</p> + +<p>"Was he not faulty as well as great?"</p> + +<p>Moore nodded.</p> + +<p>"And what was his fault? What made him hated by +the citizens? What caused him to be banished by his +countrymen?"</p> + +<p>"What do you think it was?"</p> + +<p>"I ask again—</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">'Whether was it pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which out of daily fortune ever taints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy man? whether defect of judgment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>82<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fail in the disposing of those chances<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which he was lord of? or whether nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to be other than one thing, not moving<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even with the same austerity and garb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he controlled the war?'"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Well, answer yourself, Sphinx."</p> + +<p>"It was a spice of all; and you must not be proud to +your workpeople; you must not neglect chances of +soothing them; and you must not be of an inflexible +nature, uttering a request as austerely as if it were a +command."</p> + +<p>"That is the moral you tack to the play. What puts +such notions into your head?"</p> + +<p>"A wish for your good, a care for your safety, dear +Robert, and a fear, caused by many things which I have +heard lately, that you will come to harm."</p> + +<p>"Who tells you these things?"</p> + +<p>"I hear my uncle talk about you. He praises your hard +spirit, your determined cast of mind, your scorn of low +enemies, your resolution not 'to truckle to the mob,' as he +says."</p> + +<p>"And would you have me truckle to them?"</p> + +<p>"No, not for the world. I never wish you to lower +yourself; but somehow I cannot help thinking it unjust +to include all poor working-people under the general and +insulting name of 'the mob,' and continually to think of +them and treat them haughtily."</p> + +<p>"You are a little democrat, Caroline. If your uncle +knew, what would he say?"</p> + +<p>"I rarely talk to my uncle, as you know, and never +about such things. He thinks everything but sewing and +cooking above women's comprehension, and out of their +line."</p> + +<p>"And do you fancy you comprehend the subjects on +which you advise me?"</p> + +<p>"As far as they concern you, I comprehend them. I +know it would be better for you to be loved by your workpeople +than to be hated by them, and I am sure that kindness +is more likely to win their regard than pride. If you +were proud and cold to me and Hortense, should we love +you? When you are cold to me, as you <em>are</em> sometimes, +can I venture to be affectionate in return?"</p> + +<p>"Now, Lina, I've had my lesson both in languages and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>83<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +ethics, with a touch on politics; it is your turn. Hortense +tells me you were much taken by a little piece of +poetry you learned the other day, a piece by poor André +Chénier—'La Jeune Captive.' Do you remember it still?"</p> + +<p>"I think so."</p> + +<p>"Repeat it, then. Take your time and mind your +accent; especially let us have no English <em>u</em>'s."</p> + +<p>Caroline, beginning in a low, rather tremulous voice, but +gaining courage as she proceeded, repeated the sweet verses +of Chénier. The last three stanzas she rehearsed well.</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa fin!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Je pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">J'ai passé le premiers à peine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Au banquet de la vie à peine commencé,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Un instant seulement mes lèvres ont pressé<br /></span> +<span class="i2">La coupe en mes mains encore pleine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Je ne suis qu'au printemps—je veux voir la moisson;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Et comme le soleil, de saison en saison,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Je veux achever mon année,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brillante sur ma tige, et l'honneur du jardin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Je n'ai vu luire encore que les feux du matin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Je veux achever ma journée!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Moore listened at first with his eyes cast down, but soon +he furtively raised them. Leaning back in his chair he +could watch Caroline without her perceiving where his gaze +was fixed. Her cheek had a colour, her eyes a light, her +countenance an expression this evening which would have +made even plain features striking; but there was not the +grievous defect of plainness to pardon in her case. The +sunshine was not shed on rough barrenness; it fell on soft +bloom. Each lineament was turned with grace; the +whole aspect was pleasing. At the present moment—animated, +interested, touched—she might be called beautiful. +Such a face was calculated to awaken not only the +calm sentiment of esteem, the distant one of admiration, +but some feeling more tender, genial, intimate—friendship, +perhaps, affection, interest. When she had finished, she +turned to Moore, and met his eye.</p> + +<p>"Is that pretty well repeated?" she inquired, smiling +like any happy, docile child.</p> + +<p>"I really don't know."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you know? Have you not listened?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and looked. You are fond of poetry, Lina?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>84<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"When I meet with <em>real</em> poetry, I cannot rest till I have +learned it by heart, and so made it partly mine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore now sat silent for several minutes. It struck +nine o'clock. Sarah entered, and said that Mr. Helstone's +servant was come for Miss Caroline.</p> + +<p>"Then the evening is gone already," she observed, "and +it will be long, I suppose, before I pass another here."</p> + +<p>Hortense had been for some time nodding over her +knitting; fallen into a doze now, she made no response +to the remark.</p> + +<p>"You would have no objection to come here oftener of +an evening?" inquired Robert, as he took her folded +mantle from the side-table, where it still lay, and carefully +wrapped it round her.</p> + +<p>"I like to come here; but I have no desire to be intrusive. +I am not hinting to be asked; you must understand +that."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I understand thee, child. You sometimes lecture +me for wishing to be rich, Lina; but if I <em>were</em> rich, +you should live here always—at any rate, you should live +with me wherever my habitation might be."</p> + +<p>"That would be pleasant; and if you were poor—ever +so poor—it would still be pleasant. Good-night, Robert."</p> + +<p>"I promised to walk with you up to the rectory."</p> + +<p>"I know you did; but I thought you had forgotten, and +I hardly knew how to remind you, though I wished to do +it. But would you like to go? It is a cold night, and as +Fanny is come, there is no necessity——"</p> + +<p>"Here is your muff; don't wake Hortense—come."</p> + +<p>The half mile to the rectory was soon traversed. They +parted in the garden without kiss, scarcely with a pressure +of hands; yet Robert sent his cousin in excited and joyously +troubled. He had been singularly kind to her that +day—not in phrase, compliment, profession, but in manner, +in look, and in soft and friendly tones.</p> + +<p>For himself, he came home grave, almost morose. As he +stood leaning on his own yard-gate, musing in the watery +moonlight all alone, the hushed, dark mill before him, the +hill-environed hollow round, he exclaimed, abruptly,—</p> + +<p>"This won't do! There's weakness—there's downright +ruin in all this. However," he added, dropping his voice, +"the frenzy is quite temporary. I know it very well; I +have had it before. It will be gone to-morrow."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>85<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE CURATES AT TEA.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Caroline Helstone</span> was just eighteen years old, and at +eighteen the true narrative of life is yet to be commenced. +Before that time we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous +fiction, delightful sometimes, and sad sometimes, almost +always unreal. Before that time our world is heroic, its +inhabitants half-divine or semi-demon; its scenes are +dream-scenes; darker woods and stranger hills, brighter +skies, more dangerous waters, sweeter flowers, more tempting +fruits, wider plains, drearier deserts, sunnier fields than +are found in nature, overspread our enchanted globe. What a +moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of our +hearts at her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! +As to our sun, it is a burning heaven—the world of gods.</p> + +<p>At that time, at eighteen, drawing near the confines of +illusive, void dreams, Elf-land lies behind us, the shores of +Reality rise in front. These shores are yet distant; they +look so blue, soft, gentle, we long to reach them. In sunshine +we see a greenness beneath the azure, as of spring +meadows; we catch glimpses of silver lines, and imagine +the roll of living waters. Could we but reach this land, we +think to hunger and thirst no more; whereas many a +wilderness, and often the flood of death, or some stream +of sorrow as cold and almost as black as death, is to be +crossed ere true bliss can be tasted. Every joy that life +gives must be earned ere it is secured; and how hardly +earned, those only know who have wrestled for great prizes. +The heart's blood must gem with red beads the brow of +the combatant, before the wreath of victory rustles over it.</p> + +<p>At eighteen we are not aware of this. Hope, when she +smiles on us, and promises happiness to-morrow, is implicitly +believed; Love, when he comes wandering like a +lost angel to our door, is at once admitted, welcomed, +embraced. His quiver is not seen; if his arrows penetrate, +their wound is like a thrill of new life. There are no fears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>86<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of poison, none of the barb which no leech's hand can +extract. That perilous passion—an agony ever in some +of its phases; with many, an agony throughout—is believed +to be an unqualified good. In short, at eighteen the +school of experience is to be entered, and her humbling, +crushing, grinding, but yet purifying and invigorating +lessons are yet to be learned.</p> + +<p>Alas, Experience! No other mentor has so wasted and +frozen a face as yours, none wears a robe so black, none +bears a rod so heavy, none with hand so inexorable draws +the novice so sternly to his task, and forces him with authority +so resistless to its acquirement. It is by your +instructions alone that man or woman can ever find a safe +track through life's wilds; without it, how they stumble, +how they stray! On what forbidden grounds do they +intrude, down what dread declivities are they hurled!</p> + +<p>Caroline, having been convoyed home by Robert, had no +wish to pass what remained of the evening with her uncle. +The room in which he sat was very sacred ground to her; +she seldom intruded on it; and to-night she kept aloof +till the bell rang for prayers. Part of the evening church +service was the form of worship observed in Mr. Helstone's +household. He read it in his usual nasal voice, clear, loud, +and monotonous. The rite over, his niece, according to +her wont, stepped up to him.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, uncle."</p> + +<p>"Hey! You've been gadding abroad all day—visiting, +dining out, and what not!"</p> + +<p>"Only at the cottage."</p> + +<p>"And have you learned your lessons?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And made a shirt?"</p> + +<p>"Only part of one."</p> + +<p>"Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirt-making +and gown-making and piecrust-making, and you'll +be a clever woman some day. Go to bed now. I'm busy +with a pamphlet here."</p> + +<p>Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, +the door bolted, her white dressing-gown assumed, her +long hair loosened and falling thick, soft, and wavy to her +waist; and as, resting from the task of combing it out, she +leaned her check on her hand and fixed her eyes on the +carpet, before her rose, and close around her drew, the +visions we see at eighteen years.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>87<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Her thoughts were speaking with her, speaking pleasantly, +as it seemed, for she smiled as she listened. She looked +pretty meditating thus; but a brighter thing than she was +in that apartment—the spirit of youthful Hope. According +to this flattering prophet, she was to know disappointment, +to feel chill no more; she had entered on the dawn +of a summer day—no false dawn, but the true spring of +morning—and her sun would quickly rise. Impossible for +her now to suspect that she was the sport of delusion; her +expectations seemed warranted, the foundation on which +they rested appeared solid.</p> + +<p>"When people love, the next step is they marry," was +her argument. "Now, I love Robert, and I feel sure that +Robert loves me. I have thought so many a time before; +to-day I <em>felt</em> it. When I looked up at him after repeating +Chénier's poem, his eyes (what handsome eyes he has!) +sent the truth through my heart. Sometimes I am afraid +to speak to him, lest I should be too frank, lest I should +seem forward—for I have more than once regretted bitterly +overflowing, superfluous words, and feared I had said +more than he expected me to say, and that he would disapprove +what he might deem my indiscretion; now, to-night +I could have ventured to express any thought, he +was so indulgent. How kind he was as we walked up the +lane! He does not flatter or say foolish things; his love-making +(friendship, I mean; of course I don't yet account +him my lover, but I hope he will be so some day) is not like +what we read of in books,—it is far better—original, quiet, +manly, sincere. I <em>do</em> like him; I would be an excellent +wife to him if he did marry me; I would tell him of his +faults (for he has a few faults), but I would study his comfort, +and cherish him, and do my best to make him happy. +Now, I am sure he will not be cold to-morrow. I feel +almost certain that to-morrow evening he will either come +here, or ask me to go there."</p> + +<p>She recommenced combing her hair, long as a mermaid's. +Turning her head as she arranged it she saw her own face +and form in the glass. Such reflections are soberizing to +plain people: their own eyes are not enchanted with the +image; they are confident then that the eyes of others can +see in it no fascination. But the fair must naturally draw +other conclusions: the picture is charming, and must +charm. Caroline saw a shape, a head, that, daguerreotyped +in that attitude and with that expression, would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>88<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +have been lovely. She could not choose but derive from the +spectacle confirmation to her hopes. It was then in undiminished +gladness she sought her couch.</p> + +<p>And in undiminished gladness she rose the next day. As +she entered her uncle's breakfast-room, and with soft cheerfulness +wished him good-morning, even that little man of +bronze himself thought, for an instant, his niece was growing +"a fine girl." Generally she was quiet and timid with +him—very docile, but not communicative; this morning, +however, she found many things to say. Slight topics +alone might be discussed between them; for with a woman—a +girl—Mr. Helstone would touch on no other. She had +taken an early walk in the garden, and she told him what +flowers were beginning to spring there; she inquired when +the gardener was to come and trim the borders; she informed +him that certain starlings were beginning to build +their nests in the church-tower (Briarfield church was close +to Briarfield rectory); she wondered the tolling of the +bells in the belfry did not scare them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone opined that "they were like other fools +who had just paired—insensible to inconvenience just for +the moment." Caroline, made perhaps a little too courageous +by her temporary good spirits, here hazarded a +remark of a kind she had never before ventured to make +on observations dropped by her revered relative.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," said she, "whenever you speak of marriage +you speak of it scornfully. Do you think people shouldn't +marry?"</p> + +<p>"It is decidedly the wisest plan to remain single, especially +for women."</p> + +<p>"Are all marriages unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"Millions of marriages are unhappy. If everybody +confessed the truth, perhaps all are more or less so."</p> + +<p>"You are always vexed when you are asked to come +and marry a couple. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because one does not like to act as accessory to the +commission of a piece of pure folly."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone spoke so readily, he seemed rather glad of +the opportunity to give his niece a piece of his mind on +this point. Emboldened by the impunity which had +hitherto attended her questions, she went a little further.</p> + +<p>"But why," said she, "should it be pure folly? If +two people like each other, why shouldn't they consent to +live together?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>89<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"They tire of each other—they tire of each other in a +month. A yokefellow is not a companion; he or she is +a fellow-sufferer."</p> + +<p>It was by no means naïve simplicity which inspired +Caroline's next remark; it was a sense of antipathy to +such opinions, and of displeasure at him who held them.</p> + +<p>"One would think you had never been married, uncle. +One would think you were an old bachelor."</p> + +<p>"Practically, I am so."</p> + +<p>"But you have been married. Why were you so inconsistent +as to marry?"</p> + +<p>"Every man is mad once or twice in his life."</p> + +<p>"So you tired of my aunt, and my aunt of you, and you +were miserable together?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone pushed out his cynical lip, wrinkled his +brown forehead, and gave an inarticulate grunt.</p> + +<p>"Did she not suit you? Was she not good-tempered? +Did you not get used to her? Were you not sorry when +she died?"</p> + +<p>"Caroline," said Mr. Helstone, bringing his hand slowly +down to within an inch or two of the table, and then +smiting it suddenly on the mahogany, "understand this: +it is vulgar and puerile to confound generals with particulars. +In every case there is the rule and there are the +exceptions. Your questions are stupid and babyish. Ring +the bell, if you have done breakfast."</p> + +<p>The breakfast was taken away, and that meal over, it +was the general custom of uncle and niece to separate, and +not to meet again till dinner; but to-day the niece, instead +of quitting the room, went to the window-seat, and sat +down there. Mr. Helstone looked round uneasily once or +twice, as if he wished her away; but she was gazing from +the window, and did not seem to mind him: so he continued +the perusal of his morning paper—a particularly +interesting one it chanced to be, as new movements had +just taken place in the Peninsula, and certain columns of +the journal were rich in long dispatches from General Lord +Wellington. He little knew, meantime, what thoughts were +busy in his niece's mind—thoughts the conversation of the +past half-hour had revived but not generated; tumultuous +were they now, as disturbed bees in a hive, but it was years +since they had first made their cells in her brain.</p> + +<p>She was reviewing his character, his disposition, repeating +his sentiments on marriage. Many a time had she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>90<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +reviewed them before, and sounded the gulf between her +own mind and his; and then, on the other side of the wide +and deep chasm, she had seen, and she now saw, another +figure standing beside her uncle's—a strange shape, dim, +sinister, scarcely earthly—the half-remembered image of her +own father, James Helstone, Matthewson Helstone's brother.</p> + +<p>Rumours had reached her ear of what that father's character +was; old servants had dropped hints; she knew, +too, that he was not a good man, and that he was never +kind to her. She recollected—a dark recollection it was—some +weeks that she had spent with him in a great town +somewhere, when she had had no maid to dress her or take +care of her; when she had been shut up, day and night, in +a high garret-room, without a carpet, with a bare uncurtained +bed, and scarcely any other furniture; when he went +out early every morning, and often forgot to return and give +her her dinner during the day, and at night, when he came +back, was like a madman, furious, terrible, or—still more +painful—like an idiot, imbecile, senseless. She knew she +had fallen ill in this place, and that one night, when she was +very sick he had come raving into the room, and said he +would kill her, for she was a burden to him. Her screams +had brought aid; and from the moment she was then +rescued from him she had never seen him, except as a dead +man in his coffin.</p> + +<p>That was her father. Also she had a mother, though +Mr. Helstone never spoke to her of that mother, though she +could not remember having seen her; but that she was +alive she knew. This mother was then the drunkard's +wife. What had <em>their</em> marriage been? Caroline, turning +from the lattice, whence she had been watching the starlings +(though without seeing them), in a low voice, and with +a sad, bitter tone, thus broke the silence of the room,—</p> + +<p>"You term marriage miserable, I suppose, from what +you saw of my father and mother's. If my mother suffered +what I suffered when I was with papa, she must have +had a dreadful life."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone, thus addressed, wheeled about in his chair, +and looked over his spectacles at his niece. He was taken +aback.</p> + +<p>Her father and mother! What had put it into her head +to mention her father and mother, of whom he had never, +during the twelve years she had lived with him, spoken to +her? That the thoughts were self-matured, that she had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>91<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +any recollections or speculations about her parents, he +could not fancy.</p> + +<p>"Your father and mother? Who has been talking to +you about them?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody; but I remember something of what papa +was, and I pity mamma. Where is she?"</p> + +<p>This "Where is she?" had been on Caroline's lips hundreds +of times before, but till now she had never uttered it.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," returned Mr. Helstone; "I was little +acquainted with her. I have not heard from her for years: +but wherever she is, she thinks nothing of you; she never +inquires about you. I have reason to believe she does not +wish to see you. Come, it is school-time. You go to your +cousin at ten, don't you? The clock has struck."</p> + +<p>Perhaps Caroline would have said more; but Fanny, +coming in, informed her master that the churchwardens +wanted to speak to him in the vestry. He hastened to +join them, and his niece presently set out for the cottage.</p> + +<p>The road from the rectory to Hollow's Mill inclined downwards; +she ran, therefore, almost all the way. Exercise, +the fresh air, the thought of seeing Robert, at least of +being on his premises, in his vicinage, revived her somewhat +depressed spirits quickly. Arriving in sight of the white +house, and within hearing of the thundering mill and its +rushing watercourse, the first thing she saw was Moore at +his garden gate. There he stood, in his belted Holland +blouse, a light cap covering his head, which undress costume +suited him. He was looking down the lane, not in the +direction of his cousin's approach. She stopped, withdrawing +a little behind a willow, and studied his appearance.</p> + +<p>"He has not his peer," she thought. "He is as handsome +as he is intelligent. What a keen eye he has! What +clearly-cut, spirited features—thin and serious, but graceful! +I do like his face, I do like his aspect, I do like him +so much—better than any of those shuffling curates, for +instance—better than anybody; bonny Robert!"</p> + +<p>She sought "bonny Robert's" presence speedily. For +his part, when she challenged his sight, I believe he would +have passed from before her eyes like a phantom, if he +could; but being a tall fact, and no fiction, he was obliged +to stand the greeting. He made it brief. It was cousin-like, +brother-like, friend-like, anything but lover-like. The +nameless charm of last night had left his manner: he was +no longer the same man: or, at any rate, the same heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>92<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +did not beat in his breast. Rude disappointment, sharp +cross! At first the eager girl would not believe in the +change, though she saw and felt it. It was difficult to +withdraw her hand from his, till he had bestowed at least +something like a kind pressure; it was difficult to turn +her eyes from his eyes, till his looks had expressed something +more and fonder than that cool welcome.</p> + +<p>A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge +explanation, a lover feminine can say nothing; if she +did, the result would be shame and anguish, inward remorse +for self-treachery. Nature would brand such demonstration +as a rebellion against her instincts, and would +vindictively repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of +self-contempt smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter +as you find it: ask no questions, utter no remonstrances; +it is your best wisdom. You expected bread, and you +have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don't shriek +because the nerves are martyrized; do not doubt that +your mental stomach—if you have such a thing—is strong +as an ostrich's; the stone will digest. You held out your +hand for an egg, and fate put into it a scorpion. Show no +consternation: close your fingers firmly upon the gift; +let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, +after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long +with torture, the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will +have learned the great lesson how to endure without a sob. +For the whole remnant of your life, if you survive the test—some, +it is said, die under it—you will be stronger, wiser, +less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the +time, and so cannot borrow courage of that hope. Nature, +however, as has been intimated, is an excellent friend in such +cases, sealing the lips, interdicting utterance, commanding +a placid dissimulation—a dissimulation often wearing an +easy and gay mien at first, settling down to sorrow and paleness +in time, then passing away, and leaving a convenient +stoicism, not the less fortifying because it is half-bitter.</p> + +<p>Half-bitter! Is that wrong? No; it should be bitter: +bitterness is strength—it is a tonic. Sweet, mild force +following acute suffering you find nowhere; to talk of it +is delusion. There may be apathetic exhaustion after the +rack. If energy remains, it will be rather a dangerous +energy—deadly when confronted with injustice.</p> + +<p>Who has read the ballad of "Puir Mary Lee"—that old +Scotch ballad, written I know not in what generation nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>93<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +by what hand? Mary had been ill-used—probably in +being made to believe that truth which was falsehood. +She is not complaining, but she is sitting alone in the +snowstorm, and you hear her thoughts. They are not the +thoughts of a model heroine under her circumstances, but +they are those of a deeply-feeling, strongly-resentful peasant-girl. +Anguish has driven her from the ingle-nook of home +to the white-shrouded and icy hills. Crouched under the +"cauld drift," she recalls every image of horror—"the +yellow-wymed ask," "the hairy adder," "the auld moon-bowing +tyke," "the ghaist at e'en,", "the sour bullister," +"the milk on the taed's back." She hates these, but +"waur she hates Robin-a-Ree."</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Oh, ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warld was in love wi' me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And curse black Robin-a-Ree!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Then whudder awa, thou bitter biting blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sough through the scrunty tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And n'er let the sun me see!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Oh, never melt awa, thou wreath o' snaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's sae kind in graving me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hide me frae the scorn and guffaw<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O' villains like Robin-a-Ree!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>But what has been said in the last page or two is not +germane to Caroline Helstone's feelings, or to the state of +things between her and Robert Moore. Robert had done +her no wrong; he had told her no lie; it was she that was +to blame, if any one was. What bitterness her mind +distilled should and would be poured on her own head. +She had loved without being asked to love—a natural, +sometimes an inevitable chance, but big with misery.</p> + +<p>Robert, indeed, had sometimes seemed to be fond of her; +but why? Because she had made herself so pleasing to +him, he could not, in spite of all his efforts, help testifying +a state of feeling his judgment did not approve nor his will +sanction. He was about to withdraw decidedly from +intimate communication with her, because he did not choose +to have his affections inextricably entangled, nor to be +drawn, despite his reason, into a marriage he believed +imprudent. Now, what was she to do? To give way to +her feelings, or to vanquish them? To pursue him, or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>94<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +turn upon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first +expedient—will lose his esteem and win his aversion; if +she has sense, she will be her own governor, and resolve to +subdue and bring under guidance the disturbed realm of +her emotions. She will determine to look on life steadily, +as it is; to begin to learn its severe truths seriously, and +to study its knotty problems closely, conscientiously.</p> + +<p>It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert +quietly, without complaint or question, without the alteration +of a muscle or the shedding of a tear, betook herself +to her studies under Hortense as usual, and at dinner-time +went home without lingering.</p> + +<p>When she had dined, and found herself in the rectory +drawing-room alone, having left her uncle over his temperate +glass of port wine, the difficulty that occurred to +and embarrassed her was, "How am I to get through this +day?"</p> + +<p>Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday +was, that the evening would be again passed with happiness +and Robert. She had learned her mistake this morning; +and yet she could not settle down, convinced that no chance +would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or to bring +Moore again into her society.</p> + +<p>He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an +hour with her uncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice +had been heard in the passage just at twilight, when she +little expected such a pleasure; and this had happened +twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve; and +though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he +had looked at her relentingly as he sat opposite her work-table +during his stay. The few words he had spoken to her +were comforting; his manner on bidding her good-night +was genial. Now, he might come this evening, said False +Hope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed +the whisper, and yet she listened.</p> + +<p>She tried to read—her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew—every +stitch she put in was an <em>ennui</em>, the occupation was +insufferably tedious; she opened her desk and attempted to +write a French composition—she wrote nothing but mistakes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door-bell sharply rang; her heart leaped; +she sprang to the drawing-room door, opened it softly, +peeped through the aperture. Fanny was admitting a +visitor—a gentleman—a tall man—just the height of +Robert. For one second she thought it was Robert—for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>95<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +one second she exulted; but the voice asking for Mr. Helstone +undeceived her. That voice was an Irish voice, +consequently not Moore's, but the curate's—Malone's. +He was ushered into the dining-room, where, doubtless, +he speedily helped his rector to empty the decanters.</p> + +<p>It was a fact to be noted, that at whatever house in +Briarfield, Whinbury, or Nunnely one curate dropped in +to a meal—dinner or tea, as, the case might be—another +presently followed, often two more. Not that they gave +each other the rendezvous, but they were usually all on the +run at the same time; and when Donne, for instance, +sought Malone at his lodgings and found him not, he inquired +whither he had posted, and having learned of the +landlady his destination, hastened with all speed after him. +The same causes operated in the same way with Sweeting. +Thus it chanced on that afternoon that Caroline's ears +were three times tortured with the ringing of the bell and +the advent of undesired guests; for Donne followed Malone, +and Sweeting followed Donne; and more wine was ordered +up from the cellar into the dining-room (for though old +Helstone chid the inferior priesthood when he found them +"carousing," as he called it, in their own tents, yet at his +hierarchical table he ever liked to treat them to a glass +of his best), and through the closed doors Caroline heard +their boyish laughter, and the vacant cackle of their voices. +Her fear was lest they should stay to tea, for she had no +pleasure in making tea for that particular trio. What +distinctions people draw! These three were men—young +men—educated men, like Moore; yet, for her, how great +the difference! Their society was a bore—his a delight.</p> + +<p>Not only was she destined to be favoured with their +clerical company, but Fortune was at this moment bringing +her four other guests—lady guests, all packed in a +pony-phaeton now rolling somewhat heavily along the road +from Whinbury: an elderly lady and three of her buxom +daughters were coming to see her "in a friendly way," +as the custom of that neighbourhood was. Yes, a fourth +time the bell clanged. Fanny brought the present announcement +to the drawing-room,—</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Sykes and the three Misses Sykes."</p> + +<p>When Caroline was going to receive company, her habit +was to wring her hands very nervously, to flush a little, +and come forward hurriedly yet hesitatingly, wishing herself +meantime at Jericho. She was, at such crises, sadly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>96<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +deficient in finished manner, though she had once been at +school a year. Accordingly, on this occasion, her small +white hands sadly maltreated each other, while she stood +up, waiting the entrance of Mrs. Sykes.</p> + +<p>In stalked that lady, a tall, bilious gentlewoman, who +made an ample and not altogether insincere profession of +piety, and was greatly given to hospitality towards the +clergy. In sailed her three daughters, a showy trio, being +all three well-grown, and more or less handsome.</p> + +<p>In English country ladies there is this point to be remarked. +Whether young or old, pretty or plain, dull or +sprightly, they all (or almost all) have a certain expression +stamped on their features, which seems to say, "I know—I +do not boast of it, but I <em>know</em> that I am the standard of +what is proper; let every one therefore whom I approach, +or who approaches me, keep a sharp lookout, for wherein +they differ from me—be the same in dress, manner, opinion, +principle, or practice—therein they are wrong."</p> + +<p>Mrs. and Misses Sykes, far from being exceptions to this +observation, were pointed illustrations of its truth. Miss +Mary—a well-looked, well-meant, and, on the whole, well-dispositioned +girl—wore her complacency with some state, +though without harshness. Miss Harriet—a beauty—carried +it more overbearingly; she looked high and cold. Miss +Hannah, who was conceited, dashing, pushing, flourished +hers consciously and openly. The mother evinced it with +the gravity proper to her age and religious fame.</p> + +<p>The reception was got through somehow. Caroline +"was glad to see them" (an unmitigated fib), hoped they +were well, hoped Mrs. Sykes's cough was better (Mrs. Sykes +had had a cough for the last twenty years), hoped the +Misses Sykes had left their sisters at home well; to which +inquiry the Misses Sykes, sitting on three chairs opposite +the music-stool, whereon Caroline had undesignedly come +to anchor, after wavering for some seconds between it and +a large arm-chair, into which she at length recollected she +ought to induct Mrs. Sykes—and indeed that lady saved +her the trouble by depositing herself therein—the Misses +Sykes replied to Caroline by one simultaneous bow, very +majestic and mighty awful. A pause followed. This bow +was of a character to ensure silence for the next five minutes, +and it did. Mrs. Sykes then inquired after Mr. Helstone, +and whether he had had any return of rheumatism, and +whether preaching twice on a Sunday fatigued him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>97<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +if he was capable of taking a full service now; and on +being assured he was, she and all her daughters, combining +in chorus, expressed their opinion that he was "a wonderful +man of his years."</p> + +<p>Pause second.</p> + +<p>Miss Mary, getting up the steam in her turn, asked +whether Caroline had attended the Bible Society meeting +which had been held at Nunnely last Thursday night. +The negative answer which truth compelled Caroline to +utter—for last Thursday evening she had been sitting at +home, reading a novel which Robert had lent her—elicited +a simultaneous expression of surprise from the lips of the +four ladies.</p> + +<p>"We were all there," said Miss Mary—"mamma and +all of us. We even persuaded papa to go. Hannah would +insist upon it. But he fell asleep while Mr. Langweilig, +the German Moravian minister, was speaking. I felt quite +ashamed, he nodded so."</p> + +<p>"And there was Dr. Broadbent," cried Hannah—"such +a beautiful speaker! You couldn't expect it of him, for +he is almost a vulgar-looking man."</p> + +<p>"But such a dear man," interrupted Mary.</p> + +<p>"And such a good man, such a useful man," added her +mother.</p> + +<p>"Only like a butcher in appearance," interposed the +fair, proud Harriet. "I couldn't bear to look at him. I +listened with my eyes shut."</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone felt her ignorance and incompetency. +Not having seen Dr. Broadbent, she could not give her +opinion. Pause third came on. During its continuance, +Caroline was feeling at her heart's core what a dreaming +fool she was, what an unpractical life she led, how little +fitness there was in her for ordinary intercourse with the +ordinary world. She was feeling how exclusively she had +attached herself to the white cottage in the Hollow, how +in the existence of one inmate of that cottage she had pent +all her universe. She was sensible that this would not do, +and that some day she would be forced to make an alteration. +It could not be said that she exactly wished to resemble +the ladies before her, but she wished to become +superior to her present self, so as to feel less scared by their +dignity.</p> + +<p>The sole means she found of reviving the flagging discourse +was by asking them if they would all stay to tea;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>98<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and a cruel struggle it cost her to perform this piece of +civility. Mrs. Sykes had begun, "We are much obliged +to you, but——" when in came Fanny once more.</p> + +<p>"The gentlemen will stay the evening, ma'am," was +the message she brought from Mr. Helstone.</p> + +<p>"What gentlemen have you?" now inquired Mrs. +Sykes. Their names were specified; she and her daughters +interchanged glances. The curates were not to them +what they were to Caroline. Mr. Sweeting was quite a +favourite with them; even Mr. Malone rather so, because +he was a clergyman. "Really, since you have company +already, I think we will stay," remarked Mrs. Sykes. +"We shall be quite a pleasant little party. I always like +to meet the clergy."</p> + +<p>And now Caroline had to usher them upstairs, to help +them to unshawl, smooth their hair, and make themselves +smart; to reconduct them to the drawing-room, to +distribute amongst them books of engravings, or odd things +purchased from the Jew-basket. She was obliged to be a +purchaser, though she was but a slack contributor; and if +she had possessed plenty of money, she would rather, when +it was brought to the rectory—an awful incubus!—have +purchased the whole stock than contributed a single pin-cushion.</p> + +<p>It ought perhaps to be explained in passing, for the +benefit of those who are not <em>au fait</em> to the mysteries of the +"Jew-basket" and "missionary-basket," that these <em>meubles</em> +are willow repositories, of the capacity of a good-sized +family clothes-basket, dedicated to the purpose of conveying +from house to house a monster collection of pin-cushions, +needle-books, card-racks, workbags, articles of +infant wear, etc., etc., etc., made by the willing or reluctant +hands of the Christian ladies of a parish, and sold perforce +to the heathenish gentlemen thereof, at prices unblushingly +exorbitant. The proceeds of such compulsory sales are +applied to the conversion of the Jews, the seeking up of the +ten missing tribes, or to the regeneration of the interesting +coloured population of the globe. Each lady contributor +takes it in her turn to keep the basket a month, to sew for +it, and to foist off its contents on a shrinking male public. +An exciting time it is when that turn comes round. Some +active-minded woman, with a good trading spirit, like it, +and enjoy exceedingly the fun of making hard-handed +worsted-spinners cash up, to the tune of four or five hundred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>99<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +per cent. above cost price, for articles quite useless to them; +other feebler souls object to it, and would rather see the +prince of darkness himself at their door any morning than +that phantom basket, brought with "Mrs. Rouse's compliments; +and please, ma'am, she says it's your turn now."</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone's duties of hostess performed, more +anxiously than cheerily, she betook herself to the kitchen, +to hold a brief privy-council with Fanny and Eliza about +the tea.</p> + +<p>"What a lot on 'em!" cried Eliza, who was cook. +"And I put off the baking to-day because I thought there +would be bread plenty to fit while morning. We shall +never have enow."</p> + +<p>"Are there any tea-cakes?" asked the young mistress.</p> + +<p>"Only three and a loaf. I wish these fine folk would +stay at home till they're asked; and I want to finish +trimming my hat" (bonnet she meant).</p> + +<p>"Then," suggested Caroline, to whom the importance +of the emergency gave a certain energy, "Fanny must +run down to Briarfield and buy some muffins and crumpets +and some biscuits. And don't be cross, Eliza; we +can't help it now."</p> + +<p>"And which tea-things are we to have?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the best, I suppose. I'll get out the silver service." +And she ran upstairs to the plate-closet, and presently +brought down teapot, cream-ewer, and sugar-basin.</p> + +<p>"And mun we have th' urn?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and now get it ready as quickly as you can, for +the sooner we have tea over the sooner they will go—at +least, I hope so. Heigh-ho! I wish they were gone," she +sighed, as she returned to the drawing-room. "Still," she +thought, as she paused at the door ere opening it, "if +Robert would but come even now how bright all would be! +How comparatively easy the task of amusing these people +if he were present! There would be an interest in hearing +him talk (though he never says much in company) and in +talking in his presence. There can be no interest in hearing +any of them, or in speaking to them. How they will +gabble when the curates come in, and how weary I shall +grow with listening to them! But I suppose I am a selfish +fool. These are very respectable gentlefolks. I ought, no +doubt, to be proud of their countenance. I don't say they +are not as good as I am—far from it—but they are different +from me."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>100<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She went in.</p> + +<p>Yorkshire people in those days took their tea round the +table, sitting well into it, with their knees duly introduced +under the mahogany. It was essential to have a multitude +of plates of bread and butter, varied in sorts and plentiful +in quantity. It was thought proper, too, that on the centre +plate should stand a glass dish of marmalade. Among the +viands was expected to be found a small assortment of +cheesecakes and tarts. If there was also a plate of thin +slices of pink ham garnished with green parsley, so much +the better.</p> + +<p>Eliza, the rector's cook, fortunately knew her business +as provider. She had been put out of humour a little at +first, when the invaders came so unexpectedly in such +strength; but it appeared that she regained her cheerfulness +with action, for in due time the tea was spread forth +in handsome style, and neither ham, tarts, nor marmalade +were wanting among its accompaniments.</p> + +<p>The curates, summoned to this bounteous repast, entered +joyous; but at once, on seeing the ladies, of whose +presence they had not been forewarned, they came to a +stand in the doorway. Malone headed the party; he +stopped short and fell back, almost capsizing Donne, who +was behind him. Donne, staggering three paces in retreat, +sent little Sweeting into the arms of old Helstone, who +brought up the rear. There was some expostulation, some +tittering. Malone was desired to mind what he was about, +and urged to push forward, which at last he did, though +colouring to the top of his peaked forehead a bluish purple. +Helstone, advancing, set the shy curates aside, welcomed +all his fair guests, shook hands and passed a jest with each, +and seated himself snugly between the lovely Harriet and +the dashing Hannah. Miss Mary he requested to move to +the seat opposite to him, that he might see her if he couldn't +be near her. Perfectly easy and gallant, in his way, were +his manners always to young ladies, and most popular was +he amongst them; yet at heart he neither respected nor +liked the sex, and such of them as circumstances had +brought into intimate relation with him had ever feared +rather than loved him.</p> + +<p>The curates were left to shift for themselves. Sweeting, +who was the least embarrassed of the three, took refuge +beside Mrs. Sykes, who, he knew, was almost as fond of +him as if he had been her son. Donne, after making his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>101<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +general bow with a grace all his own, and saying in a high, +pragmatical voice, "How d'ye do, Miss Helstone?" +dropped into a seat at Caroline's elbow, to her unmitigated +annoyance, for she had a peculiar antipathy to Donne, on +account of his stultified and immovable self-conceit and +his incurable narrowness of mind. Malone, grinning most +unmeaningly, inducted himself into the corresponding seat +on the other side. She was thus blessed in a pair of supporters, +neither of whom, she knew, would be of any mortal +use, whether for keeping up the conversation, handing cups, +circulating the muffins, or even lifting the plate from the +slop-basin. Little Sweeting, small and boyish as he was, +would have been worth twenty of them.</p> + +<p>Malone, though a ceaseless talker when there were only +men present, was usually tongue-tied in the presence of +ladies. Three phrases, however, he had ready cut and +dried, which he never failed to produce:—</p> + +<p>1stly. "Have you had a walk to-day, Miss Helstone?"</p> + +<p>2ndly. "Have you seen your cousin Moore lately?"</p> + +<p>3rdly. "Does your class at the Sunday school keep up its +number?"</p> + +<p>These three questions being put and responded to, between +Caroline and Malone reigned silence.</p> + +<p>With Donne it was otherwise; he was troublesome, +exasperating. He had a stock of small-talk on hand, at +once the most trite and perverse that can well be imagined—abuse +of the people of Briarfield; of the natives of Yorkshire +generally; complaints of the want of high society; +of the backward state of civilization in these districts; +murmurings against the disrespectful conduct of the lower +orders in the north toward their betters; silly ridicule of +the manner of living in these parts—the want of style, the +absence of elegance, as if he, Donne, had been accustomed +to very great doings indeed, an insinuation which his somewhat +underbred manner and aspect failed to bear out. +These strictures, he seemed to think, must raise him in the +estimation of Miss Helstone or of any other lady who heard +him; whereas with her, at least, they brought him to a +level below contempt, though sometimes, indeed, they +incensed her; for, a Yorkshire girl herself, she hated to +hear Yorkshire abused by such a pitiful prater; and when +wrought up to a certain pitch, she would turn and say +something of which neither the matter nor the manner +recommended her to Mr. Donne's good-will. She would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>102<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +tell him it was no proof of refinement to be ever scolding +others for vulgarity, and no sign of a good pastor to be +eternally censuring his flock. She would ask him what he +had entered the church for, since he complained there were +only cottages to visit, and poor people to preach to—whether +he had been ordained to the ministry merely to +wear soft clothing and sit in king's houses. These questions +were considered by all the curates as, to the last degree, +audacious and impious.</p> + +<p>Tea was a long time in progress; all the guests gabbled +as their hostess had expected they would. Mr. Helstone, +being in excellent spirits—when, indeed, was he ever otherwise +in society, attractive female society? it being only +with the one lady of his own family that he maintained a +grim taciturnity—kept up a brilliant flow of easy prattle +with his right-hand and left-hand neighbours, and even +with his <em>vis-à-vis</em>, Miss Mary; though, as Mary was the most +sensible, the least coquettish, of the three, to her the elderly +widower was the least attentive. At heart he could not +abide sense in women. He liked to see them as silly, as +light-headed, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible, because +they were then in reality what he held them to be, +and wished them to be—inferior, toys to play with, to amuse +a vacant hour, and to be thrown away.</p> + +<p>Hannah was his favourite. Harriet, though beautiful, +egotistical, and self-satisfied, was not quite weak enough +for him. She had some genuine self-respect amidst much +false pride, and if she did not talk like an oracle, neither +would she babble like one crazy; she would not permit +herself to be treated quite as a doll, a child, a plaything; +she expected to be bent to like a queen.</p> + +<p>Hannah, on the contrary, demanded no respect, only +flattery. If her admirers only <em>told</em> her that she was an +angel, she would let them <em>treat</em> her like an idiot. So very +credulous and frivolous was she, so very silly did she become +when besieged with attention, flattered and admired to the +proper degree, that there were moments when Helstone +actually felt tempted to commit matrimony a second time, +and to try the experiment of taking her for his second +helpmeet; but fortunately the salutary recollection of the +<em>ennuis</em> of his first marriage, the impression still left on him +of the weight of the millstone he had once worn round his +neck, the fixity of his feelings respecting the insufferable +evils of conjugal existence, operated as a check to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>103<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +tenderness, suppressed the sigh heaving his old iron lungs, +and restrained him from whispering to Hannah proposals +it would have been high fun and great satisfaction to her +to hear.</p> + +<p>It is probable she would have married him if he had +asked her; her parents would have quite approved the +match. To them his fifty-five years, his bend-leather heart, +could have presented no obstacles; and as he was a rector, +held an excellent living, occupied a good house, and was +supposed even to have private property (though in that +the world was mistaken; every penny of the £5,000 inherited +by him from his father had been devoted to the +building and endowing of a new church at his native village +in Lancashire—for he could show a lordly munificence +when he pleased, and if the end was to his liking, never +hesitated about making a grand sacrifice to attain it)—her +parents, I say, would have delivered Hannah over to +his lovingkindness and his tender mercies without one +scruple; and the second Mrs. Helstone, inverting the +natural order of insect existence, would have fluttered +through the honeymoon a bright, admired butterfly, and +crawled the rest of her days a sordid, trampled worm.</p> + +<p>Little Mr. Sweeting, seated between Mrs. Sykes and Miss +Mary, both of whom were very kind to him, and having a +dish of tarts before him, and marmalade and crumpet upon +his plate, looked and felt more content than any monarch. +He was fond of all the Misses Sykes; they were all fond of +him. He thought them magnificent girls, quite proper to +mate with one of his inches. If he had a cause of regret +at this blissful moment, it was that Miss Dora happened to +be absent—Dora being the one whom he secretly hoped +one day to call Mrs. David Sweeting, with whom he dreamt +of taking stately walks, leading her like an empress through +the village of Nunnely; and an empress she would have +been, if size could make an empress. She was vast, ponderous. +Seen from behind, she had the air of a very stout +lady of forty; but withal she possessed a good face, and +no unkindly character.</p> + +<p>The meal at last drew to a close. It would have been +over long ago if Mr. Donne had not persisted in sitting with +his cup half full of cold tea before him, long after the rest +had finished and after he himself had discussed such allowance +of viands as he felt competent to swallow—long, +indeed, after signs of impatience had been manifested all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>104<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +round the board, till chairs were pushed back, till the talk +flagged, till silence fell. Vainly did Caroline inquire repeatedly +if he would have another cup, if he would take +a little hot tea, as that must be cold, etc.; he would neither +drink it nor leave it. He seemed to think that this isolated +position of his gave him somehow a certain importance, +that it was dignified and stately to be the last, that it was +grand to keep all the others waiting. So long did he linger, +that the very urn died; it ceased to hiss. At length, +however, the old rector himself, who had hitherto been too +pleasantly engaged with Hannah to care for the delay, got +impatient.</p> + +<p>"For whom are we waiting?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"For me, I believe," returned Donne complacently, +appearing to think it much to his credit that a party should +thus be kept dependent on his movements.</p> + +<p>"Tut!" cried Helstone. Then standing up, "Let us +return thanks," said he; which he did forthwith, and all +quitted the table. Donne, nothing abashed, still sat ten +minutes quite alone, whereupon Mr. Helstone rang the bell +for the things to be removed. The curate at length saw +himself forced to empty his cup, and to relinquish the <em>rôle</em> +which, he thought, had given him such a felicitous distinction, +drawing upon him such flattering general notice.</p> + +<p>And now, in the natural course of events (Caroline, +knowing how it would be, had opened the piano, and +produced music-books in readiness), music was asked for. +This was Mr. Sweeting's chance for showing off. He was +eager to commence. He undertook, therefore, the arduous +task of persuading the young ladies to favour the company +with an air—a song. <em>Con amore</em> he went through the whole +business of begging, praying, resisting excuses, explaining +away difficulties, and at last succeeded in persuading Miss +Harriet to allow herself to be led to the instrument. Then +out came the pieces of his flute (he always carried them in +his pocket, as unfailingly as he carried his handkerchief). +They were screwed and arranged, Malone and Donne meanwhile +herding together and sneering at him, which the +little man, glancing over his shoulder, saw, but did not +heed at all. He was persuaded their sarcasm all arose from +envy. They could not accompany the ladies as he could; +he was about to enjoy a triumph over them.</p> + +<p>The triumph began. Malone, much chagrined at hearing +him pipe up in most superior style, determined to earn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>105<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +distinction too, if possible, and all at once assuming the +character of a swain (which character he had endeavoured +to enact once or twice before, but in which he had not +hitherto met with the success he doubtless opined his +merits deserved), approached a sofa on which Miss Helstone +was seated, and depositing his great Irish frame near her, +tried his hand (or rather tongue) at a fine speech or two, +accompanied by grins the most extraordinary and incomprehensible. +In the course of his efforts to render himself +agreeable, he contrived to possess himself of the two long +sofa cushions and a square one; with which, after rolling +them about for some time with strange gestures, he managed +to erect a sort of barrier between himself and the object +of his attentions. Caroline, quite willing that they should +be sundered, soon devised an excuse for stepping over to +the opposite side of the room, and taking up a position +beside Mrs. Sykes, of which good lady she entreated some +instruction in a new stitch in ornamental knitting, a favour +readily granted; and thus Peter Augustus was thrown +out.</p> + +<p>Very sullenly did his countenance lower when he saw +himself abandoned—left entirely to his own resources, +on a large sofa, with the charge of three small cushions on +his hands. The fact was, he felt disposed seriously to +cultivate acquaintance with Miss Helstone, because he +thought, in common with others, that her uncle possessed +money, and concluded that, since he had no children, he +would probably leave it to his niece. Gérard Moore was +better instructed on this point: he had seen the neat +church that owed its origin to the rector's zeal and cash, +and more than once, in his inmost soul, had cursed an +expensive caprice which crossed his wishes.</p> + +<p>The evening seemed long to one person in that room. +Caroline at intervals dropped her knitting on her lap, and +gave herself up to a sort of brain-lethargy—closing her +eyes and depressing her head—caused by what seemed to +her the unmeaning hum around her,—the inharmonious, +tasteless rattle of the piano keys, the squeaking and gasping +notes of the flute, the laughter and mirth of her uncle, and +Hannah, and Mary, she could not tell whence originating, +for she heard nothing comic or gleeful in their discourse; +and more than all, by the interminable gossip of Mrs. Sykes +murmured close at her ear, gossip which rang the changes +on four subjects—her own health and that of the various<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>106<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +members of her family; the missionary and Jew baskets +and their contents; the late meeting at Nunnely, and one +which was expected to come off next week at Whinbury.</p> + +<p>Tired at length to exhaustion, she embraced the opportunity +of Mr. Sweeting coming up to speak to Mrs. Sykes +to slip quietly out of the apartment, and seek a moment's +respite in solitude. She repaired to the dining-room, where +the clear but now low remnant of a fire still burned in +the grate. The place was empty and quiet, glasses and +decanters were cleared from the table, the chairs were put +back in their places, all was orderly. Caroline sank into +her uncle's large easy-chair, half shut her eyes, and rested +herself—rested at least her limbs, her senses, her hearing, +her vision—weary with listening to nothing, and gazing on +vacancy. As to her mind, that flew directly to the Hollow. +It stood on the threshold of the parlour there, then it +passed to the counting-house, and wondered which spot +was blessed by the presence of Robert. It so happened +that neither locality had that honour; for Robert was half +a mile away from both, and much nearer to Caroline than +her deadened spirit suspected. He was at this moment +crossing the churchyard, approaching the rectory garden-gate—not, +however, coming to see his cousin, but intent +solely on communicating a brief piece of intelligence to +the rector.</p> + +<p>Yes, Caroline; you hear the wire of the bell vibrate; +it rings again for the fifth time this afternoon. You start, +and you are certain now that this must be he of whom +you dream. Why you are so certain you cannot explain +to yourself, but you know it. You lean forward, listening +eagerly as Fanny opens the door. Right! That is <em>the</em> +voice—low, with the slight foreign accent, but so sweet, as +you fancy. You half rise. "Fanny will tell him Mr. +Helstone is with company, and then he will go away." +Oh! she cannot let him go. In spite of herself, in spite of +her reason, she walks half across the room; she stands +ready to dart out in case the step should retreat; but he +enters the passage. "Since your master is engaged," he +says, "just show me into the dining-room. Bring me pen +and ink. I will write a short note and leave it for him."</p> + +<p>Now, having caught these words, and hearing him advance, +Caroline, if there was a door within the dining-room, +would glide through it and disappear. She feels +caught, hemmed in; she dreads her unexpected presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>107<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +may annoy him. A second since she would have flown to +him; that second past, she would flee from him. She +cannot. There is no way of escape. The dining-room has +but one door, through which now enters her cousin. The +look of troubled surprise she expected to see in his face +has appeared there, has shocked her, and is gone. She +has stammered a sort of apology:—</p> + +<p>"I only left the drawing-room a minute for a little +quiet."</p> + +<p>There was something so diffident and downcast in the +air and tone with which she said this, any one might perceive +that some saddening change had lately passed over +her prospects, and that the faculty of cheerful self-possession +had left her. Mr. Moore, probably, remembered how +she had formerly been accustomed to meet him with gentle +ardour and hopeful confidence. He must have seen how +the check of this morning had operated. Here was an +opportunity for carrying out his new system with effect, +if he chose to improve it. Perhaps he found it easier to +practise that system in broad daylight, in his mill-yard, +amidst busy occupations, than in a quiet parlour, disengaged, +at the hour of eventide. Fanny lit the candles, which before +had stood unlit on the table, brought writing materials, +and left the room. Caroline was about to follow her. +Moore, to act consistently, should have let her go; whereas +he stood in the doorway, and, holding out his hand, gently +kept her back. He did not ask her to stay, but he would +not let her go.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell my uncle you are here?" asked she, still +in the same subdued voice.</p> + +<p>"No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You +will be my messenger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Robert."</p> + +<p>"Then you may just inform him that I have got a clue +to the identity of one, at least, of the men who broke my +frames; that he belongs to the same gang who attacked +Sykes and Pearson's dressing-shop, and that I hope to +have him in custody to-morrow. You can remember +that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes!" These two monosyllables were uttered in a +sadder tone than ever; and as she said them she shook her +head slightly and sighed. "Will you prosecute him?"</p> + +<p>"Doubtless."</p> + +<p>"No, Robert."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>108<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And why no, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you +more than ever."</p> + +<p>"That is no reason why I should not do my duty, and +defend my property. This fellow is a great scoundrel, +and ought to be incapacitated from perpetrating further +mischief."</p> + +<p>"But his accomplices will take revenge on you. You +do not know how the people of this country bear malice. +It is the boast of some of them that they can keep a stone +in their pocket seven years, turn it at the end of that time, +keep it seven years longer, and hurl it and hit their mark +'at last.'"</p> + +<p>Moore laughed.</p> + +<p>"A most pithy vaunt," said he—"one that redounds +vastly to the credit of your dear Yorkshire friends. But +don't fear for me, Lina. I am on my guard against these +lamb-like compatriots of yours. Don't make yourself +uneasy about me."</p> + +<p>"How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything +happened——" She stopped.</p> + +<p>"Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own +language, there is a Providence above all—is there not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!"</p> + +<p>"And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. +You pray for me sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"Not <em>sometimes</em>, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense +are <em>always</em> remembered."</p> + +<p>"So I have often imagined. It has occurred to me when, +weary and vexed, I have myself gone to bed like a heathen, +that another had asked forgiveness for my day, and safety +for my night. I don't suppose such vicarial piety will +avail much, but the petitions come out of a sincere breast, +from innocent lips. They should be acceptable as Abel's +offering; and doubtless would be, if the object deserved +them."</p> + +<p>"Annihilate that doubt. It is groundless."</p> + +<p>"When a man has been brought up only to make money, +and lives to make it, and for nothing else, and scarcely +breathes any other air than that of mills and markets, +it seems odd to utter his name in a prayer, or to mix his +idea with anything divine; and very strange it seems that +a good, pure heart should take him in and harbour him, +as if he had any claim to that sort of nest. If I could guide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>109<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that benignant heart, I believe I should counsel it to exclude +one who does not profess to have any higher aim in +life than that of patching up his broken fortune, and wiping +clean from his <em>bourgeois</em> scutcheon the foul stain of bankruptcy."</p> + +<p>The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly +(as Caroline thought), was felt keenly and comprehended +clearly.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I only think—or I <em>will only</em> think—of you as +my cousin," was the quick answer. "I am beginning to +understand things better than I did, Robert, when you +first came to England—better than I did a week, a day +ago. I know it is your duty to try to get on, and that it +won't do for you to be romantic; but in future you must +not misunderstand me if I seem friendly. You misunderstood +me this morning, did you not?"</p> + +<p>"What made you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Your look—your manner."</p> + +<p>"But look at me now——"</p> + +<p>"Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak +to you."</p> + +<p>"Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman +behind me in the Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands +before you."</p> + +<p>"My cousin Robert—not Mr. Moore."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline——"</p> + +<p>Here the company was heard rising in the other room. +The door was opened; the pony-carriage was ordered; +shawls and bonnets were demanded; Mr. Helstone called +for his niece.</p> + +<p>"I must go, Robert."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you must go, or they will come in and find us +here; and I, rather than meet all that host in the passage, +will take my departure through the window. Luckily +it opens like a door. One minute only—put down the +candle an instant—good-night. I kiss you because we +are cousins, and, being cousins, one—two—three kisses are +allowable. Caroline, good-night."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>110<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>NOAH AND MOSES.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day Moore had risen before the sun, and had +taken a ride to Whinbury and back ere his sister had made +the café au lait or cut the tartines for his breakfast. What +business he transacted there he kept to himself. Hortense +asked no questions: it was not her wont to comment on +his movements, nor his to render an account of them. +The secrets of business—complicated and often dismal +mysteries—were buried in his breast, and never came out +of their sepulchre save now and then to scare Joe Scott, +or give a start to some foreign correspondent. Indeed, +a general habit of reserve on whatever was important +seemed bred in his mercantile blood.</p> + +<p>Breakfast over, he went to his counting-house. Henry, +Joe Scott's boy, brought in the letters and the daily papers; +Moore seated himself at his desk, broke the seals of the +documents, and glanced them over. They were all short, +but not, it seemed, sweet—probably rather sour, on the +contrary, for as Moore laid down the last, his nostrils +emitted a derisive and defiant snuff, and though he burst +into no soliloquy, there was a glance in his eye which +seemed to invoke the devil, and lay charges on him to +sweep the whole concern to Gehenna. However, having +chosen a pen and stripped away the feathered top in a brief +spasm of finger-fury (only finger-fury—his face was placid), +he dashed off a batch of answers, sealed them, and then +went out and walked through the mill. On coming back +he sat down to read his newspaper.</p> + +<p>The contents seemed not absorbingly interesting; he +more than once laid it across his knee, folded his arms, +and gazed into the fire; he occasionally turned his head +towards the window; he looked at intervals at his watch; +in short, his mind appeared preoccupied. Perhaps he was +thinking of the beauty of the weather—for it was a fine +and mild morning for the season—and wishing to be out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>111<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +in the fields enjoying it. The door of his counting-house +stood wide open. The breeze and sunshine entered freely; +but the first visitant brought no spring perfume on its +wings, only an occasional sulphur-puff from the soot-thick +column of smoke rushing sable from the gaunt mill-chimney.</p> + +<p>A dark-blue apparition (that of Joe Scott, fresh from a +dyeing vat) appeared momentarily at the open door, uttered +the words "He's comed, sir," and vanished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore raised not his eyes from the paper. A large +man, broad-shouldered and massive-limbed, clad in fustian +garments and gray worsted stockings, entered, who +was received with a nod, and desired to take a seat, which +he did, making the remark, as he removed his hat (a very +bad one), stowed it away under his chair, and wiped his +forehead with a spotted cotton handkerchief extracted +from the hat-crown, that it was "raight dahn warm for +Febewerry." Mr. Moore assented—at least he uttered +some slight sound, which, though inarticulate, might pass +for an assent. The visitor now carefully deposited in +the corner beside him an official-looking staff which he +bore in his hand; this done, he whistled, probably by way +of appearing at his ease.</p> + +<p>"You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. +Moore.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay! all's right."</p> + +<p>He renewed his whistling, Mr. Moore his reading. The +paper apparently had become more interesting. Presently, +however, he turned to his cupboard, which was within +reach of his long arm, opened it without rising, took out +a black bottle—the same he had produced for Malone's +benefit—a tumbler, and a jug, placed them on the table, +and said to his guest,—</p> + +<p>"Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner."</p> + +<p>"I dunnut knaw that there's mich need, for all a body +is dry (thirsty) in a morning," said the fustian gentleman, +rising and doing as requested.</p> + +<p>"Will you tak naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?" he inquired, +as with skilled hand he mixed a portion, and having +tested it by a deep draught, sank back satisfied and bland +in his seat. Moore, chary of words, replied by a negative +movement and murmur.</p> + +<p>"Yah'd as good," continued his visitor; "it 'uld set +ye up wald a sup o' this stuff. Uncommon good hollands. +Ye get it fro' furrin parts, I'se think?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>112<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Ay!"</p> + +<p>"Tak my advice and try a glass on't. Them lads 'at's +coming 'll keep ye talking, nob'dy knows how long. Ye'll +need propping."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired +Moore.</p> + +<p>"I seed him a hauf an hour—nay, happen a quarter of +an hour sin', just afore I set off. He said he aimed to come +here, and I sudn't wonder but ye'll have old Helstone too. +I seed 'em saddling his little nag as I passed at back o' t' +rectory."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little +nag's hoofs was, five minutes after, heard in the yard. +It stopped, and a well-known nasal voice cried aloud, +"Boy" (probably addressing Harry Scott, who usually +hung about the premises from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.), "take my +horse and lead him into the stable."</p> + +<p>Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking +browner, keener, and livelier than usual.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful morning, Moore. How do, my boy? Ha! +whom have we here?" (turning to the personage with the +staff). "Sugden! What! you're going to work directly? +On my word, you lose no time. But I come to ask explanations. +Your message was delivered to me. Are you +sure you are on the right scent? How do you mean to +set about the business? Have you got a warrant?"</p> + +<p>"Sugden has."</p> + +<p>"Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany +you."</p> + +<p>"You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to +seek me. I'm just now sitting in state waiting his arrival."</p> + +<p>"And who is it? One of my parishioners?"</p> + +<p>Joe Scott had entered unobserved. He now stood, a +most sinister phantom, half his person being dyed of the +deepest tint of indigo, leaning on the desk. His master's +answer to the rector's question was a smile. Joe took +the word. Putting on a quiet but pawky look, he said,—</p> + +<p>"It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you +often speak of."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this +morning."</p> + +<p>"Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you +call him sometimes, I think."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>113<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +administering to himself a very long pinch—"ah! couldn't +have supposed it. Why, the pious man never was a workman +of yours, Moore. He's a tailor by trade."</p> + +<p>"And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering +and setting my discarded men against me."</p> + +<p>"And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' +Moor? He went there, wooden leg and all?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, sir," said Joe; "he went there on horseback, that +his leg mightn't be noticed. He was the captain, and wore +a mask. The rest only had their faces blackened."</p> + +<p>"And how was he found out?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, sir," said Joe. "T' maister's not so fond +of talking. I've no objections. He courted Sarah, Mr. +Moore's sarvant lass, and so it seems she would have nothing +to say to him; she either didn't like his wooden leg or +she'd some notion about his being a hypocrite. Happen +(for women is queer hands; we may say that amang +werseln when there's none of 'em nigh) she'd have encouraged +him, in spite of his leg and his deceit, just to pass +time like. I've known some on 'em do as mich, and some +o' t' bonniest and mimmest-looking, too—ay, I've seen +clean, trim young things, that looked as denty and pure +as daisies, and wi' time a body fun' 'em out to be nowt but +stinging, venomed nettles."</p> + +<p>"Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone.</p> + +<p>"Howsiver, Sarah had another string to her bow. +Fred Murgatroyd, one of our lads, is for her; and as +women judge men by their faces—and Fred has a middling +face, while Moses is none so handsome, as we all +knaw—the lass took on wi' Fred. A two-three months +sin', Murgatroyd and Moses chanced to meet one Sunday +night; they'd both come lurking about these premises wi' +the notion of counselling Sarah to tak a bit of a walk wi' +them. They fell out, had a tussle, and Fred was worsted, +for he's young and small, and Barraclough, for all he has +only one leg, is almost as strong as Sugden there—indeed, +anybody that hears him roaring at a revival or a love-feast +may be sure he's no weakling."</p> + +<p>"Joe, you're insupportable," here broke in Mr. Moore. +"You spin out your explanation as Moses spins out his +sermons. The long and short of it is, Murgatroyd was +jealous of Barraclough; and last night, as he and a friend +took shelter in a barn from a shower, they heard and saw +Moses conferring with some associates within. From their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>114<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +discourse it was plain he had been the leader, not only at +Stilbro' Moor, but in the attack on Sykes's property. +Moreover they planned a deputation to wait on me this +morning, which the tailor is to head, and which, in the +most religious and peaceful spirit, is to entreat me to put +the accursed thing out of my tent. I rode over to Whinbury +this morning, got a constable and a warrant, and I +am now waiting to give my friend the reception he deserves. +Here, meantime, comes Sykes. Mr. Helstone, you +must spirit him up. He feels timid at the thoughts of +prosecuting."</p> + +<p>A gig was heard to roll into the yard. Mr. Sykes entered—a +tall stout man of about fifty, comely of feature, but +feeble of physiognomy. He looked anxious.</p> + +<p>"Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got +him? Is it over?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are +waiting for them."</p> + +<p>"They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. +It will excite bad feeling—make a stir—cause perhaps fatal +consequences."</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em> need not appear," said Moore. "I shall meet +them in the yard when they come; <em>you</em> can stay here."</p> + +<p>"But my name must be seen in the law proceedings. +A wife and family, Mr. Moore—a wife and family make a +man cautious."</p> + +<p>Moore looked disgusted. "Give way, if you please," +said he; "leave me to myself. I have no objection to +act alone; only be assured you will not find safety in +submission. Your partner Pearson gave way, and conceded, +and forbore. Well, that did not prevent them from +attempting to shoot him in his own house."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, take a little wine and water," recommended +Mr. Helstone. The wine and water was hollands +and water, as Mr. Sykes discovered when he had compounded +and swallowed a brimming tumbler thereof. It +transfigured him in two minutes, brought the colour back +to his face, and made him at least <em>word</em>-valiant. He now +announced that he hoped he was above being trampled on +by the common people; he was determined to endure +the insolence of the working-classes no longer; he had +considered of it, and made up his mind to go all lengths; +if money and spirit could put down these rioters, they +should be put down; Mr. Moore might do as he liked,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>115<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +but <em>he</em>—Christie Sykes—would spend his last penny in +law before he would be beaten; he'd settle them, or he'd +see.</p> + +<p>"Take another glass," urged Moore.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sykes didn't mind if he did. This was a cold morning +(Sugden had found it a warm one); it was necessary +to be careful at this season of the year—it was proper to +take something to keep the damp out; he had a little cough +already (here he coughed in attestation of the fact); something +of this sort (lifting the black bottle) was excellent, +taken medicinally (he poured the physic into his tumbler); +he didn't make a practice of drinking spirits in a morning, +but occasionally it really was prudent to take precautions.</p> + +<p>"Quite prudent, and take them by all means," urged the +host.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sykes now addressed Mr. Helstone, who stood on +the hearth, his shovel-hat on his head, watching him significantly +with his little, keen eyes.</p> + +<p>"You, sir, as a clergyman," said he, "may feel it disagreeable +to be present amidst scenes of hurry and flurry, +and, I may say, peril. I dare say your nerves won't stand +it. You're a man of peace, sir; but we manufacturers, +living in the world, and always in turmoil, get quite belligerent. +Really, there's an ardour excited by the thoughts +of danger that makes my heart pant. When Mrs. Sykes +is afraid of the house being attacked and broke open—as +she is every night—I get quite excited. I couldn't +describe to you, sir, my feelings. Really, if anybody was +to come—thieves or anything—I believe I should enjoy it, +such is my spirit."</p> + +<p>The hardest of laughs, though brief and low, and by no +means insulting, was the response of the rector. Moore +would have pressed upon the heroic mill-owner a third +tumbler, but the clergyman, who never transgressed, nor +would suffer others in his presence to transgress, the bounds +of decorum, checked him.</p> + +<p>"Enough is as good as a feast, is it not, Mr. Sykes?" +he said; and Mr. Sykes assented, and then sat and watched +Joe Scott remove the bottle at a sign from Helstone, with +a self-satisfied simper on his lips and a regretful glisten in +his eye. Moore looked as if he should have liked to fool +him to the top of his bent. What would a certain young +kinswoman of his have said could she have seen her dear, +good, great Robert—her Coriolanus—just now? Would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>116<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +she have acknowledged in that mischievous, sardonic +visage the same face to which she had looked up with such +love, which had bent over her with such gentleness last +night? Was that the man who had spent so quiet an +evening with his sister and his cousin—so suave to one, +so tender to the other—reading Shakespeare and listening +to Chénier?</p> + +<p>Yes, it was the same man, only seen on a different side—a +side Caroline had not yet fairly beheld, though perhaps +she had enough sagacity faintly to suspect its existence. +Well, Caroline had, doubtless, her defective side too. She +was human. She must, then, have been very imperfect; +and had she seen Moore on his very worst side, she would +probably have said this to herself and excused him. Love +can excuse anything except meanness; but meanness kills +love, cripples even natural affection; without esteem true +love cannot exist. Moore, with all his faults, might be +esteemed; for he had no moral scrofula in his mind, no +hopeless polluting taint—such, for instance, as that of +falsehood; neither was he the slave of his appetites. The +active life to which he had been born and bred had given +him something else to do than to join the futile chase of +the pleasure-hunter. He was a man undegraded, the +disciple of reason, <em>not</em> the votary of sense. The same +might be said of old Helstone. Neither of these two would +look, think, or speak a lie; for neither of them had the +wretched black bottle, which had just been put away, any +charms. Both might boast a valid claim to the proud +title of "lord of the creation," for no animal vice was lord of +them; they looked and were superior beings to poor Sykes.</p> + +<p>A sort of gathering and trampling sound was heard in +the yard, and then a pause. Moore walked to the window; +Helstone followed. Both stood on one side, the tall junior +behind the under-sized senior, looking forth carefully, so +that they might not be visible from without. Their sole +comment on what they saw was a cynical smile flashed +into each other's stern eyes.</p> + +<p>A flourishing oratorical cough was now heard, followed +by the interjection "Whisht!" designed, as it seemed, +to still the hum of several voices. Moore opened his casement +an inch or two to admit sound more freely.</p> + +<p>"Joseph Scott," began a snuffling voice—Scott was +standing sentinel at the counting-house door—"might we +inquire if your master be within, and is to be spoken to?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>117<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly.</p> + +<p>"Would you then, if <em>you</em> please" (emphasis on "you"), +"have the goodness to tell <em>him</em> that twelve gentlemen wants +to see him."</p> + +<p>"He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught +as weel tell him that at t' same time."</p> + +<p>"For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, +'for a purpose.'"</p> + +<p>"Good, Joe; I'm their man.—Sugden, come when I +whistle."</p> + +<p>Moore went out, chuckling dryly. He advanced into the +yard, one hand in his pocket, the other in his waistcoat, +his cap brim over his eyes, shading in some measure their +deep dancing ray of scorn. Twelve men waited in the yard, +some in their shirt-sleeves, some in blue aprons. Two +figured conspicuously in the van of the party. One, a +little dapper strutting man with a turned-up nose; the +other a broad-shouldered fellow, distinguished no less by +his demure face and cat like, trustless eyes than by a wooden +leg and stout crutch. There was a kind of leer about his +lips; he seemed laughing in his sleeve at some person or +thing; his whole air was anything but that of a true man.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly, +for him.</p> + +<p>"Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough +entirely closing his naturally half-shut eyes as he +delivered it.</p> + +<p>"I'm obliged to you. Peace is an excellent thing; +there's nothing I more wish for myself. But that is not +all you have to say to me, I suppose? I imagine peace is +not your purpose?"</p> + +<p>"As to our purpose," began Barraclough, "it's one that +may sound strange and perhaps foolish to ears like yours, +for the childer of this world is wiser in their generation +than the childer of light."</p> + +<p>"To the point, if you please, and let me hear what it is."</p> + +<p>"Ye'se hear, sir. If I cannot get it off, there's eleven +behint can help me. It is a grand purpose, and" (changing +his voice from a half-sneer to a whine) "it's the Looard's +own purpose, and that's better."</p> + +<p>"Do you want a subscription to a new Ranter's chapel, +Mr. Barraclough? Unless your errand be something of +that sort, I cannot see what you have to do with it."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>118<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I hadn't that duty on my mind, sir; but as Providence +has led ye to mention the subject, I'll make it i' my way to +tak ony trifle ye may have to spare; the smallest contribution +will be acceptable."</p> + +<p>With that he doffed his hat, and held it out as a begging-box, +a brazen grin at the same time crossing his countenance.</p> + +<p>"If I gave you sixpence you would drink it."</p> + +<p>Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the +whites of his eyes, evincing in the gesture a mere burlesque +of hypocrisy.</p> + +<p>"You seem a fine fellow," said Moore, quite coolly and +dryly; "you don't care for showing me that you are a +double-dyed hypocrite, that your trade is fraud. You expect +indeed to make me laugh at the cleverness with which +you play your coarsely farcical part, while at the same time +you think you are deceiving the men behind you."</p> + +<p>Moses' countenance lowered. He saw he had gone too +far. He was going to answer, when the second leader, +impatient of being hitherto kept in the background, stepped +forward. This man did not look like a traitor, though he +had an exceedingly self-confident and conceited air.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore," commenced he, speaking also in his +throat and nose, and enunciating each word very slowly, +as if with a view to giving his audience time to appreciate +fully the uncommon elegance of the phraseology, "it might, +perhaps, justly be said that reason rather than peace is +our purpose. We come, in the first place, to request you +to hear reason; and should <em>you</em> refuse, it is my duty to +warn <em>you</em>, in very decided terms, that measures will be had +resort to" (he meant recourse) "which will probably terminate +in—in bringing <em>you</em> to a sense of the unwisdom, of +the—the foolishness which seems to guide and guard your +proceedings as a tradesman in this manufacturing part of +the country. Hem! Sir, I would beg to allude that as a +furriner, coming from a distant coast, another quarter and +hemisphere of this globe, thrown, as I may say, a perfect +outcast on these shores—the cliffs of Albion—you have not +that understanding of huz and wer ways which might conduce +to the benefit of the working-classes. If, to come at +once to partic'lars, you'd consider to give up this here miln, +and go without further protractions straight home to where +you belong, it 'ud happen be as well. I can see naught +ageean such a plan.—What hev ye to say tull't, lads?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>119<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +turning round to the other members of the deputation, +who responded unanimously, "Hear, hear!"</p> + +<p>"Brayvo, Noah o' Tim's!" murmured Joe Scott, who +stood behind Mr. Moore. "Moses'll niver beat that. +Cliffs o' Albion, and t' other hemisphere! My certy! +Did ye come fro' th' Antarctic Zone, maister? Moses is +dished."</p> + +<p>Moses, however, refused to be dished. He thought he +would try again. Casting a somewhat ireful glance at +"Noah o' Tim's," he launched out in his turn; and now +he spoke in a serious tone, relinquishing the sarcasm which +he found had not answered.</p> + +<p>"Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, +<a name="Mr" id="Mr"></a><ins title="fullstop omitted">Mr.</ins> Moore, we lived i' peace and quietness—yea, I may +say, in all loving-kindness. I am not myself an aged +person as yet, but I can remember as far back as maybe +some twenty year, when hand-labour were encouraged and +respected, and no mischief-maker had ventured to introduce +these here machines which is so pernicious. Now, I'm not +a cloth-dresser myself, but by trade a tailor. Howsiver, +my heart is of a softish nature. I'm a very feeling man, +and when I see my brethren oppressed, like my great namesake +of old, I stand up for 'em; for which intent I this +day speak with you face to face, and advises you to part wi' +your infernal machinery, and tak on more hands."</p> + +<p>"What if I don't follow your advice, Mr. Barraclough?"</p> + +<p>"The Looard pardon you! The Looard soften your +heart, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Are you in connection with the Wesleyans now, Mr. +Barraclough?"</p> + +<p>"Praise God! Bless His name! I'm a joined Methody!"</p> + +<p>"Which in no respect prevents you from being at the +same time a drunkard and a swindler. I saw you one +night a week ago laid dead-drunk by the roadside, as I +returned from Stilbro' market; and while you preach +peace, you make it the business of your life to stir up dissension. +You no more sympathize with the poor who are +in distress than you sympathize with me. You incite +them to outrage for bad purposes of your own; so does +the individual called Noah of Tim's. You two are restless, +meddling, impudent scoundrels, whose chief motive-principle +is a selfish ambition, as dangerous as it is puerile. +The persons behind you are some of them honest though +misguided men; but you two I count altogether bad."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>120<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Barraclough was going to speak.</p> + +<p>"Silence! You have had your say, and now I will +have mine. As to being dictated to by you, or any Jack, +Jem, or Jonathan on earth, I shall not suffer it for a moment. +You desire me to quit the country; you request me to part +with my machinery. In case I refuse, you threaten me. +I <em>do</em> refuse—point-blank! Here I stay, and by this mill I +stand, and into it will I convey the best machinery inventors +can furnish. What will you do? The utmost you +<em>can</em> do—and this you will never <em>dare</em> to do—is to burn down +my mill, destroy its contents, and shoot me. What then? +Suppose that building was a ruin and I was a corpse—what +then, you lads behind these two scamps? Would that +stop invention or exhaust science? Not for the fraction of +a second of time! Another and better gig-mill would rise +on the ruins of this, and perhaps a more enterprising owner +come in my place. Hear me! I'll make my cloth as I +please, and according to the best lights I have. In its +manufacture I will employ what means I choose. Whoever, +after hearing this, shall dare to interfere with me +may just take the consequences. An example shall prove +I'm in earnest."</p> + +<p>He whistled shrill and loud. <a name="Sugden1" id="Sugden1"></a><ins title="was Sudgen">Sugden</ins>, his staff and +warrant, came on the scene.</p> + +<p>Moore turned sharply to Barraclough. "You were at +Stilbro'," said he; "I have proof of that. You were on +the moor, you wore a mask, you knocked down one of my +men with your own hand—you! a preacher of the +gospel!—<a name="Sugden2" id="Sugden2"></a><ins title="was Sudgen">Sugden</ins>, +arrest him!"</p> + +<p>Moses was captured. There was a cry and a rush to +rescue, but the right hand which all this while had lain +hidden in Moore's breast, reappearing, held out a pistol.</p> + +<p>"Both barrels are loaded," said he. "I'm quite determined! +Keep off!"</p> + +<p>Stepping backwards, facing the foe as he went, he guarded +his prey to the counting-house. He ordered Joe Scott +to pass in with Sugden and the prisoner, and to bolt the +door inside. For himself, he walked backwards and forwards +along the front of the mill, looking meditatively on +the ground, his hand hanging carelessly by his side, but +still holding the pistol. The eleven remaining deputies +watched him some time, talking under their breath to each +other. At length one of them approached. This man +looked very different from either of the two who had previously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>121<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +spoken; he was hard-favoured, but modest and +manly-looking.</p> + +<p>"I've not much faith i' Moses Barraclough," said he, +"and I would speak a word to you myseln, Mr. Moore. +It's out o' no ill-will that I'm here, for my part; it's just +to mak a effort to get things straightened, for they're +sorely a-crooked. Ye see we're ill off—varry ill off; wer +families is poor and pined. We're thrown out o' work +wi' these frames; we can get nought to do; we can earn +nought. What is to be done? Mun we say, wisht! and +lig us down and dee? Nay; I've no grand words at my +tongue's end, Mr. Moore, but I feel that it wad be a low +principle for a reasonable man to starve to death like a +dumb cratur. I willn't do't. I'm not for shedding blood: +I'd neither kill a man nor hurt a man; and I'm not for +pulling down mills and breaking machines—for, as ye say, +that way o' going on'll niver stop invention; but I'll talk—I'll +mak as big a din as ever I can. Invention may be +all right, but I know it isn't right for poor folks to starve. +Them that governs mun find a way to help us; they mun +make fresh orderations. Ye'll say that's hard to do. So +mich louder mun we shout out then, for so much slacker +will t' Parliament-men be to set on to a tough job."</p> + +<p>"Worry the Parliament-men as much as you please," +said Moore; "but to worry the mill-owners is absurd, +and I for one won't stand it."</p> + +<p>"Ye're a raight hard un!" returned the workman. +"Willn't ye gie us a bit o' time? Willn't ye consent to +mak your changes rather more slowly?"</p> + +<p>"Am I the whole body of clothiers in Yorkshire? Answer +me that."</p> + +<p>"Ye're yourseln."</p> + +<p>"And only myself. And if I stopped by the way an +instant, while others are rushing on, I should be trodden +down. If I did as you wish me to do, I should be bankrupt +in a month; and would my bankruptcy put bread +into your hungry children's mouths? William Farren, +neither to your dictation nor to that of any other will I +submit. Talk to me no more about machinery. I will +have my own way. I shall get new frames in to-morrow. +If you broke these, I would still get more. <em>I'll never give in.</em>"</p> + +<p>Here the mill-bell rang twelve o'clock. It was the +dinner-hour. Moore abruptly turned from the deputation +and re-entered his counting-house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>122<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>His last words had left a bad, harsh impression; he, at +least, had "failed in the disposing of a chance he was lord +of." By speaking kindly to William Farren—who was +a very honest man, without envy or hatred of those more +happily circumstanced than himself, thinking it no hardship +and no injustice to be forced to live by labour, disposed +to be honourably content if he could but get work to do—Moore +might have made a friend. It seemed wonderful +how he could turn from such a man without a conciliatory +or a sympathizing expression. The poor fellow's face +looked haggard with want; he had the aspect of a man who +had not known what it was to live in comfort and plenty +for weeks, perhaps months, past, and yet there was no +ferocity, no malignity in his countenance; it was worn, +dejected, austere, but still patient. How could Moore +leave him thus, with the words, "I'll never give in," and not +a whisper of good-will, or hope, or aid?</p> + +<p>Farren, as he went home to his cottage—once, in better +times, a decent, clean, pleasant place, but now, though still +clean, very dreary, because so poor—asked himself this +question. He concluded that the foreign mill-owner was +a selfish, an unfeeling, and, he thought, too, a foolish man. +It appeared to him that emigration, had he only the means +to emigrate, would be preferable to service under such a +master. He felt much cast down—almost hopeless.</p> + +<p>On his entrance his wife served out, in orderly sort, such +dinner as she had to give him and the bairns. It was only +porridge, and too little of that. Some of the younger +children asked for more when they had done their portion—an +application which disturbed William much. While +his wife quieted them as well as she could, he left his seat +and went to the door. He whistled a cheery stave, which +did not, however, prevent a broad drop or two (much more +like the "first of a thunder-shower" than those which +oozed from the wound of the gladiator) from gathering on +the lids of his gray eyes, and plashing thence to the threshold. +He cleared his vision with his sleeve, and the melting mood +over, a very stern one followed.</p> + +<p>He still stood brooding in silence, when a gentleman in +black came up—a clergyman, it might be seen at once, but +neither Helstone, nor Malone, nor Donne, nor Sweeting. +He might be forty years old; he was plain-looking, dark-complexioned, +and already rather gray-haired. He stooped +a little in walking. His countenance, as he came on, wore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>123<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +an abstracted and somewhat doleful air; but in approaching +Farren he looked up, and then a hearty expression +illuminated the preoccupied, serious face.</p> + +<p>"Is it you, William? How are you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Middling, Mr. Hall. How are <em>ye</em>? Will ye step in and +rest ye?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hall, whose name the reader has seen mentioned +before (and who, indeed, was vicar of Nunnely, of which +parish Farren was a native, and from whence he had removed +but three years ago to reside in Briarfield, for the +convenience of being near Hollow's Mill, where he had +obtained work), entered the cottage, and having greeted +the good-wife and the children, sat down. He proceeded +to talk very cheerfully about the length of time that had +elapsed since the family quitted his parish, the changes +which had occurred since; he answered questions touching +his sister Margaret, who was inquired after with much +interest; he asked questions in his turn, and at last, glancing +hastily and anxiously round through his spectacles +(he wore spectacles, for he was short-sighted) at the bare +room, and at the meagre and wan faces of the circle about +him—for the children had come round his knee, and the +father and mother stood before him—he said abruptly,—</p> + +<p>"And how are you all? How do you get on?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hall, be it remarked, though an accomplished scholar, +not only spoke with a strong northern accent, but, on +occasion, used freely north-country expressions.</p> + +<p>"We get on poorly," said William; "we're all out of +work. I've selled most o' t' household stuff, as ye may see; +and what we're to do next, God knows."</p> + +<p>"Has Mr. Moore turned you off?"</p> + +<p>"He has turned us off; and I've sich an opinion of him +now that I think if he'd tak me on again to-morrow I +wouldn't work for him."</p> + +<p>"It is not like you to say so, William."</p> + +<p>"I know it isn't; but I'm getting different to mysel'; +I feel I am changing. I wadn't heed if t' bairns and t' +wife had enough to live on; but they're pinched—they're +pined——"</p> + +<p>"Well, my lad, and so are you; I see you are. These +are grievous times; I see suffering wherever I turn. William, +sit down. Grace, sit down. Let us talk it over."</p> + +<p>And in order the better to talk it over, Mr. Hall lifted +the least of the children on to his knee, and placed his hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>124<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +on the head of the next least; but when the small things +began to chatter to him he bade them "Whisht!" and +fixing his eyes on the grate, he regarded the handful of +embers which burned there very gravely.</p> + +<p>"Sad times," he said, "and they last long. It is the will +of God. His will be done. But He tries us to the utmost."</p> + +<p>Again he reflected.</p> + +<p>"You've no money, William, and you've nothing you +could sell to raise a small sum?"</p> + +<p>"No. I've selled t' chest o' drawers, and t' clock, and +t' bit of a mahogany stand, and t' wife's bonny tea-tray +and set o' cheeney 'at she brought for a portion when we +were wed."</p> + +<p>"And if somebody lent you a pound or two, could you +make any good use of it? Could you get into a new way +of doing something?"</p> + +<p>Farren did not answer, but his wife said quickly, "Ay, +I'm sure he could, sir. He's a very contriving chap is +our William. If he'd two or three pounds he could begin +selling stuff."</p> + +<p>"Could you, William?"</p> + +<p>"Please God," returned William deliberately, "I could +buy groceries, and bits o' tapes, and thread, and what I +thought would sell, and I could begin hawking at first."</p> + +<p>"And you know, sir," interposed Grace, "you're sure +William would neither drink, nor idle, nor waste, in any +way. He's my husband, and I shouldn't praise him; but +I <em>will</em> say there's not a soberer, honester man i' England +nor he is."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll speak to one or two friends, and I think I can +promise to let him have £5 in a day or two—as a loan, ye +mind, not a gift. He must pay it back."</p> + +<p>"I understand, sir. I'm quite agreeable to that."</p> + +<p>"Meantime, there's a few shillings for you, Grace, just to +keep the pot boiling till custom comes.—Now, bairns, stand +up in a row and say your catechism, while your mother goes +and buys some dinner; for you've not had much to-day, +I'll be bound.—You begin, Ben. What is your name?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Hall stayed till Grace came back; then he hastily +took his leave, shaking hands with both Farren and his +wife. Just at the door he said to them a few brief but very +earnest words of religious consolation and exhortation. +With a mutual "God bless you, sir!" "God bless you, +my friends!" they separated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>125<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +<br /> +<small>BRIARMAINS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Messrs. Helstone</span> and Sykes began to be extremely +jocose and congratulatory with Mr. Moore when he returned +to them after dismissing the deputation. He was +so quiet, however, under their compliments upon his firmness, +etc., and wore a countenance so like a still, dark day, +equally beamless and breezeless, that the rector, after +glancing shrewdly into his eyes, buttoned up his felicitations +with his coat, and said to Sykes, whose senses were +not acute enough to enable him to discover unassisted +where his presence and conversation were a nuisance, +"Come, sir; your road and mine lie partly together. Had +we not better bear each other company? We'll bid Moore +good-morning, and leave him to the happy fancies he seems +disposed to indulge."</p> + +<p>"And where is Sugden?" demanded Moore, looking +up.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ha!" cried Helstone. "I've not been quite idle +while you were busy. I've been helping you a little; I +flatter myself not injudiciously. I thought it better not +to lose time; so, while you were parleying with that down-looking +gentleman—Farren I think his name is—I opened +this back window, shouted to Murgatroyd, who was in the +stable, to bring Mr. Sykes's gig round; then I smuggled +Sugden and brother Moses—wooden leg and all—through +the aperture, and saw them mount the gig (always with our +good friend Sykes's permission, of course). Sugden took +the reins—he drives like Jehu—and in another quarter of +an hour Barraclough will be safe in Stilbro' jail."</p> + +<p>"Very good; thank you," said Moore; "and good-morning, +gentlemen," he added, and so politely conducted +them to the door, and saw them clear of his premises.</p> + +<p>He was a taciturn, serious man the rest of the day. He +did not even bandy a repartee with Joe Scott, who, for his +part, said to his master only just what was absolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>126<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +necessary to the progress of business, but looked at him a +good deal out of the corners of his eyes, frequently came to +poke the counting-house fire for him, and once, as he was +locking up for the day (the mill was then working short +time, owing to the slackness of trade), observed that it was +a grand evening, and he "could wish Mr. Moore to take a +bit of a walk up th' Hollow. It would do him good."</p> + +<p>At this recommendation Mr. Moore burst into a short +laugh, and after demanding of Joe what all this solicitude +meant, and whether he took him for a woman or a child, +seized the keys from his hand, and shoved him by the +shoulders out of his presence. He called him back, however, +ere he had reached the yard-gate.</p> + +<p>"Joe, do you know those Farrens? They are not well +off, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"They cannot be well off, sir, when they've not had +work as a three month. Ye'd see yoursel' 'at William's +sorely changed—fair paired. They've selled most o' t' +stuff out o' th' house."</p> + +<p>"He was not a bad workman?"</p> + +<p>"Ye never had a better, sir, sin' ye began trade."</p> + +<p>"And decent people—the whole family?"</p> + +<p>"Niver dacenter. Th' wife's a raight cant body, and as +clean—ye mught eat your porridge off th' house floor. +They're sorely comed down. I wish William could get a +job as gardener or summat i' that way; he understands +gardening weel. He once lived wi' a Scotchman that +tached him the mysteries o' that craft, as they say."</p> + +<p>"Now, then, you can go, Joe. You need not stand +there staring at me."</p> + +<p>"Ye've no orders to give, sir?"</p> + +<p>"None, but for you to take yourself off."</p> + +<p>Which Joe did accordingly.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Spring evenings are often cold and raw, and though this +had been a fine day, warm even in the morning and meridian +sunshine, the air chilled at sunset, the ground crisped, and +ere dusk a hoar frost was insidiously stealing over growing +grass and unfolding bud. It whitened the pavement in +front of Briarmains (Mr. Yorke's residence), and made +silent havoc among the tender plants in his garden, and on +the mossy level of his lawn. As to that great tree, strong-trunked +and broad-armed, which guarded the gable nearest +the road, it seemed to defy a spring-night frost to harm its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>127<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +still bare boughs; and so did the leafless grove of walnut-trees +rising tall behind the house.</p> + +<p>In the dusk of the moonless if starry night, lights from +windows shone vividly. This was no dark or lonely scene, +nor even a silent one. Briarmains stood near the highway. +It was rather an old place, and had been built ere that +highway was cut, and when a lane winding up through +fields was the only path conducting to it. Briarfield lay +scarce a mile off; its hum was heard, its glare distinctly +seen. Briar Chapel, a large, new, raw Wesleyan place of +worship, rose but a hundred yards distant; and as there +was even now a prayer-meeting being held within its walls, +the illumination of its windows cast a bright reflection on +the road, while a hymn of a most extraordinary description, +such as a very Quaker might feel himself moved by the Spirit +to dance to, roused cheerily all the echoes of the vicinage. +The words were distinctly audible by snatches. Here is a +quotation or two from different strains; for the singers +passed jauntily from hymn to hymn and from tune to +tune, with an ease and buoyancy all their own:—</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Oh! who can explain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This struggle for life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This travail and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This trembling and strife?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plague, earthquake, and famine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tumult and war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wonderful coming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Jesus declare!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"For every fight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is dreadful and loud:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warrior's delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is slaughter and blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foes overturning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till all shall expire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this is with burning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fuel, and fire!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Here followed an interval of clamorous prayer, accompanied +by fearful groans. A shout of "I've found liberty!" +"Doad o' Bill's has fun' liberty!" rang from the chapel, +and out all the assembly broke again.</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What a mercy is this!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What a heaven of bliss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How unspeakably happy am I!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>128<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gathered into the fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Thy people enrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Thy people to live and to die!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, the goodness of God<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In employing a clod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tribute of glory to raise;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His standard to bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with triumph declare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His unspeakable riches of grace!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, the fathomless love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That has deigned to approve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prosper the work of my hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With my pastoral crook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went over the brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And behold I am spread into bands!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who, I ask in amaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath begotten me these?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And inquire from what quarter they came.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My full heart it replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are born from the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gives glory to God and the Lamb!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The stanza which followed this, after another and longer +interregnum of shouts, yells, ejaculations, frantic cries, +agonized groans, seemed to cap the climax of noise and zeal.</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Sleeping on the brink of sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tophet gaped to take us in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mercy to our rescue flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broke the snare, and brought us through.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Here, as in a lion's den,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Undevoured we still remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass secure the watery flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hanging on the arm of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Here——"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>(Terrible, most distracting to the ear, was the strained +shout in which the last stanza was given.)</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Here we raise our voices higher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout in the refiner's fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clap our hands amidst the flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glory give to Jesus' name!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>The roof of the chapel did <em>not</em> fly off, which speaks volumes +in praise of its solid slating.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>129<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>But if Briar Chapel seemed alive, so also did Briarmains, +though certainly the mansion appeared to enjoy a quieter +phase of existence than the temple. Some of its windows +too were aglow; the lower casements opened upon the +lawn; curtains concealed the interior, and partly obscured +the ray of the candles which lit it, but they did not entirely +muffle the sound of voice and laughter. We are privileged +to enter that front door, and to penetrate to the domestic +sanctum.</p> + +<p>It is not the presence of company which makes Mr. +Yorke's habitation lively, for there is none within it save +his own family, and they are assembled in that farthest +room to the right, the back parlour.</p> + +<p>This is the usual sitting-room of an evening. Those +windows would be seen by daylight to be of brilliantly-stained +glass, purple and amber the predominant hues, +glittering round a gravely-tinted medallion in the centre +of each, representing the suave head of William Shakespeare, +and the serene one of John Milton. Some Canadian +views hung on the walls—green forest and blue water +scenery—and in the midst of them blazes a night-eruption +of Vesuvius; very ardently it glows, contrasted with the +cool foam and azure of cataracts, and the dusky depths of +woods.</p> + +<p>The fire illuminating this room, reader, is such as, if +you be a southern, you do not often see burning on the +hearth of a private apartment. It is a clear, hot coal fire, +heaped high in the ample chimney. Mr. Yorke <em>will</em> have +such fires even in warm summer weather. He sits beside +it with a book in his hand, a little round stand at his elbow +supporting a candle; but he is not reading—he is watching +his children. Opposite to him sits his lady—a personage +whom I might describe minutely, but I feel no vocation to +the task. I see her, though, very plainly before me—a +large woman of the gravest aspect, care on her front and +on her shoulders, but not overwhelming, inevitable care, +rather the sort of voluntary, exemplary cloud and burden +people ever carry who deem it their duty to be gloomy. +Ah, well-a-day! Mrs. Yorke had that notion, and grave as +Saturn she was, morning, noon, and, night; and hard things +she thought if any unhappy wight—especially of the female +sex—who dared in her presence to show the light of a gay +heart on a sunny countenance. In her estimation, to be +mirthful was to be profane, to be cheerful was to be frivolous.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>130<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +She drew no distinctions. Yet she was a very good +wife, a very careful mother, looked after her children unceasingly, +was sincerely attached to her husband; only the +worst of it was, if she could have had her will, she would +not have permitted him to have any friend in the world +beside herself. All his relations were insupportable to her, +and she kept them at arm's length.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke and she agreed perfectly well, yet he was +naturally a social, hospitable man, an advocate for family +unity; and in his youth, as has been said, he liked none +but lively, cheerful women. Why he chose her, how they +contrived to suit each other, is a problem puzzling enough, +but which might soon be solved if one had time to go into +the analysis of the case. Suffice it here to say that Yorke +had a shadowy side as well as a sunny side to his character, +and that his shadowy side found sympathy and affinity in +the whole of his wife's uniformly overcast nature. For the +rest, she was a strong-minded woman; never said a weak +or a trite thing; took stern, democratic views of society, +and rather cynical ones of human nature; considered herself +perfect and safe, and the rest of the world all wrong. +Her main fault was a brooding, eternal, immitigable suspicion +of all men, things, creeds, and parties; this suspicion +was a mist before her eyes, a false guide in her path, wherever +she looked, wherever she turned.</p> + +<p>It may be supposed that the children of such a pair were +not likely to turn out quite ordinary, commonplace beings; +and they were not. You see six of them, reader. The +youngest is a baby on the mother's knee. It is all her own +yet, and that one she has not yet begun to doubt, suspect, +condemn; it derives its sustenance from her, it hangs on +her, it clings to her, it loves her above everything else in +the world. She is sure of that, because, as it lives by her, +it cannot be otherwise, therefore she loves it.</p> + +<p>The two next are girls, Rose and Jessy; they are both +now at their father's knee; they seldom go near their +mother, except when obliged to do so. Rose, the elder, +is twelve years old; she is like her father—the most like +him of the whole group—but it is a granite head copied in +ivory; all is softened in colour and line. Yorke himself +has a harsh face—his daughter's is not harsh, neither is it +quite pretty; it is simple, childlike in feature; the round +cheeks bloom: as to the gray eyes, they are otherwise +than childlike; a serious soul lights them—a young soul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>131<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +yet, but it will mature, if the body lives; and neither father +nor mother have a spirit to compare with it. Partaking +of the essence of each, it will one day be better than either—stronger, +much purer, more aspiring. Rose is a still, +sometimes a stubborn, girl now. Her mother wants to make +of her such a woman as she is herself—a woman of dark +and dreary duties; and Rose has a mind full-set, thick-sown +with the germs of ideas her mother never knew. It is agony +to her often to have these ideas trampled on and repressed. +She has never rebelled yet; but if hard driven, she will +rebel one day, and then it will be once for all. Rose loves +her father: her father does not rule her with a rod of iron; +he is good to her. He sometimes fears she will not live, so +bright are the sparks of intelligence which, at moments, +flash from her glance and gleam in her language. This idea +makes him often sadly tender to her.</p> + +<p>He has no idea that little Jessy will die young, she is +so gay and chattering, arch, original even now; passionate +when provoked, but most affectionate if caressed; by turns +gentle and rattling; exacting, yet generous; fearless—of +her mother, for instance, whose irrationally hard and strict +rule she has often defied—yet reliant on any who will help +her. Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, +and winning ways, is made to be a pet, and her father's pet +she accordingly is. It is odd that the doll should resemble +her mother feature by feature, as Rose resembles her father, +and yet the physiognomy—how different!</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, if a magic mirror were now held before you, +and if therein were shown you your two daughters as they +will be twenty years from this night, what would you +think? The magic mirror is here: you shall learn their +destinies—and first that of your little life, Jessy.</p> + +<p>Do you know this place? No, you never saw it; but +you recognize the nature of these trees, this foliage—the +cypress, the willow, the yew. Stone crosses like these are +not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim garlands of everlasting +flowers. Here is the place—green sod and a gray +marble headstone. Jessy sleeps below. She lived through +an April day; much loved was she, much loving. She +often, in her brief life, shed tears, she had frequent sorrows; +she smiled between, gladdening whatever saw her. Her +death was tranquil and happy in Rose's guardian arms, +for Rose had been her stay and defence through many +trials. The dying and the watching English girls were at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>132<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that hour alone in a foreign country, and the soil of that +country gave Jessy a grave.</p> + +<p>Now, behold Rose two years later. The crosses and +garlands looked strange, but the hills and woods of this +landscape look still stranger. This, indeed, is far from +England; remote must be the shores which wear that +wild, luxuriant aspect. This is some virgin solitude. Unknown +birds flutter round the skirts of that forest; no +European river this, on whose banks Rose sits thinking. +The little quiet Yorkshire girl is a lonely emigrant in some +region of the southern hemisphere. Will she ever come +back?</p> + +<p>The three eldest of the family are all boys—Matthew, +Mark, and Martin. They are seated together in that corner, +engaged in some game. Observe their three heads: much +alike at a first glance; at a second, different; at a third, +contrasted. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, red-cheeked are the +whole trio; small English features they all possess; all +own a blended resemblance to sire and mother; and yet +a distinctive physiognomy, mark of a separate character, +belongs to each.</p> + +<p>I shall not say much about Matthew, the first-born of +the house, though it is impossible to avoid gazing at him +long, and conjecturing what qualities that visage hides or +indicates. He is no plain-looking boy: that jet-black hair, +white brow, high-coloured cheek, those quick, dark eyes, +are good points in their way. How is it that, look as long +as you will, there is but one object in the room, and that +the most sinister, to which Matthew's face seems to bear +an affinity, and of which, ever and anon, it reminds you +strangely—the eruption of Vesuvius? Flame and shadow +seem the component parts of that lad's soul—no daylight +in it, and no sunshine, and no pure, cool moonbeam ever +shone there. He has an English frame, but, apparently, +not an English mind—you would say, an Italian stiletto +in a sheath of British workmanship. He is crossed in the +game—look at his scowl. Mr. Yorke sees it, and what does +he say? In a low voice he pleads, "Mark and Martin, +don't anger your brother." And this is ever the tone adopted +by both parents. Theoretically, they decry partiality—no +rights of primogeniture are to be allowed in that house; +but Matthew is never to be vexed, never to be opposed; +they avert provocation from him as assiduously as they +would avert fire from a barrel of gunpowder. "Concede,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>133<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +conciliate," is their motto wherever he is concerned. The +republicans are fast making a tyrant of their own flesh and +blood. This the younger scions know and feel, and at +heart they all rebel against the injustice. They cannot +read their parents' motives; they only see the difference +of treatment. The dragon's teeth are already sown amongst +Mr. Yorke's young olive-branches; discord will one day be +the harvest.</p> + +<p>Mark is a bonny-looking boy, the most regular-featured +of the family. He is exceedingly calm; his smile is shrewd; +he can say the driest, most cutting things in the quietest +of tones. Despite his tranquillity, a somewhat heavy brow +speaks temper, and reminds you that the smoothest waters +are not always the safest. Besides, he is too still, unmoved, +phlegmatic, to be happy. Life will never have much joy in +it for Mark. By the time he is five-and-twenty he will wonder +why people ever laugh, and think all fools who seem merry. +Poetry will not exist for Mark, either in literature or in life; +its best effusions will sound to him mere rant and jargon. +Enthusiasm will be his aversion and contempt. Mark will +have no youth; while he looks juvenile and blooming, he +will be already middle-aged in mind. His body is now +fourteen years of age, but his soul is already thirty.</p> + +<p>Martin, the youngest of the three, owns another nature. +Life may, or may not, be brief for him, but it will certainly +be brilliant. He will pass through all its illusions, half +believe in them, wholly enjoy them, then outlive them. +That boy is not handsome—not so handsome as either of +his brothers. He is plain; there is a husk upon him, a +dry shell, and he will wear it till he is near twenty, then he +will put it off. About that period he will make himself +handsome. He will wear uncouth manners till that age, +perhaps homely garments; but the chrysalis will retain +the power of transfiguring itself into the butterfly, and +such transfiguration will, in due season, take place. For +a space he will be vain, probably a downright puppy, eager +for pleasure and desirous of admiration, athirst, too, for +knowledge. He will want all that the world can give him, +both of enjoyment and lore; he will, perhaps, take deep +draughts at each fount. That thirst satisfied, what next? +I know not. Martin might be a remarkable man. Whether +he will or not, the seer is powerless to predict: on that +subject there has been no open vision.</p> + +<p>Take Mr. Yorke's family in the aggregate: there is as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>134<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +much mental power in those six young heads, as much +originality, as much activity and vigour of brain, as—divided +amongst half a dozen commonplace broods—would +give to each rather more than an average amount of sense +and capacity. Mr. Yorke knows this, and is proud of his +race. Yorkshire has such families here and there amongst +her hills and wolds—peculiar, racy, vigorous; of good blood +and strong brain; turbulent somewhat in the pride of their +strength, and intractable in the force of their native powers; +wanting polish, wanting consideration, wanting docility, but +sound, spirited, and true-bred as the eagle on the cliff or +the steed in the steppe.</p> + +<p>A low tap is heard at the parlour door; the boys have +been making such a noise over their game, and little Jessy, +besides, has been singing so sweet a Scotch song to her +father—who delights in Scotch and Italian songs, and has +taught his musical little daughter some of the best—that +the ring at the outer door was not observed.</p> + +<p>"Come in," says Mrs. Yorke, in that conscientiously constrained +and solemnized voice of hers, which ever modulates +itself to a funereal dreariness of tone, though the +subject it is exercised upon be but to give orders for the +making of a pudding in the kitchen, to bid the boys hang +up their caps in the hall, or to call the girls to their sewing—"come +in!" And in came Robert Moore.</p> + +<p>Moore's habitual gravity, as well as his abstemiousness +(for the case of spirit decanters is never ordered up when +he pays an evening visit), has so far recommended him to +Mrs. Yorke that she has not yet made him the subject of +private animadversions with her husband; she has not +yet found out that he is hampered by a secret intrigue +which prevents him from marrying, or that he is a wolf in +sheep's clothing—discoveries which she made at an early +date after marriage concerning most of her husband's +bachelor friends, and excluded them from her board accordingly; +which part of her conduct, indeed, might be said +to have its just and sensible as well as its harsh side.</p> + +<p>"Well, is it you?" she says to Mr. Moore, as he comes +up to her and gives his hand. "What are you roving +about at this time of night for? You should be at home."</p> + +<p>"Can a single man be said to have a home, madam?" +he asks.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Mrs. Yorke, who despises conventional +smoothness quite as much as her husband does, and practises<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>135<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +it as little, and whose plain speaking on all occasions +is carried to a point calculated, sometimes, to awaken +admiration, but oftener alarm—"pooh! you need not talk +nonsense to me; a single man can have a home if he likes. +Pray, does not your sister make a home for you?"</p> + +<p>"Not she," joined in Mr. Yorke. "Hortense is an +honest lass. But when I was Robert's age I had five or +six sisters, all as decent and proper as she is; but you see, +Hesther, for all that it did not hinder me from looking out +for a wife."</p> + +<p>"And sorely he has repented marrying me," added Mrs. +Yorke, who liked occasionally to crack a dry jest against +matrimony, even though it should be at her own expense. +"He has repented it in sackcloth and ashes, Robert Moore, +as you may well believe when you see his punishment" +(here she pointed to her children). "Who would burden +themselves with such a set of great, rough lads as those, +if they could help it? It is not only bringing them into +the world, though that is bad enough, but they are all to +feed, to clothe, to rear, to settle in life. Young sir, when +you feel tempted to marry, think of our four sons and two +daughters, and look twice before you leap."</p> + +<p>"I am not tempted now, at any rate. I think these +are not times for marrying or giving in marriage."</p> + +<p>A lugubrious sentiment of this sort was sure to obtain +Mrs. Yorke's approbation. She nodded and groaned acquiescence; +but in a minute she said, "I make little account +of the wisdom of a Solomon of your age; it will be upset +by the first fancy that crosses you. Meantime, sit down, +sir. You can talk, I suppose, as well sitting as standing?"</p> + +<p>This was her way of inviting her guest to take a chair. +He had no sooner obeyed her than little Jessy jumped from +her father's knee and ran into Mr. Moore's arms, which +were very promptly held out to receive her.</p> + +<p>"You talk of marrying him," said she to her mother, +quite indignantly, as she was lifted lightly to his knee, +"and he is married now, or as good. He promised that I +should be his wife last summer, the first time he saw me +in my new white frock and blue sash. Didn't he, father?" +(These children were not accustomed to say papa and +mamma; their mother would allow no such "namby-pamby.")</p> + +<p>"Ay, my little lassie, he promised; I'll bear witness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>136<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +But make him say it over again now, Jessy. Such as he +are only false loons."</p> + +<p>"He is not false. He is too bonny to be false," said +Jessy, looking up to her tall sweetheart with the fullest +confidence in his faith.</p> + +<p>"Bonny!" cried Mr. Yorke. "That's the reason that +he should be, and proof that he is, a scoundrel."</p> + +<p>"But he looks too sorrowful to be false," here interposed +a quiet voice from behind the father's chair. "If +he was always laughing, I should think he forgot promises +soon, but Mr. Moore never laughs."</p> + +<p>"Your sentimental buck is the greatest cheat of all, +Rose," remarked Mr. Yorke.</p> + +<p>"He's not sentimental," said Rose.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore turned to her with a little surprise, smiling +at the same time.</p> + +<p>"How do you know I am not sentimental, Rose?"</p> + +<p>"Because I heard a lady say you were not."</p> + +<p>"Voilà, qui devient intéressant!" exclaimed Mr. Yorke, +hitching his chair nearer the fire. "A lady! That has +quite a romantic twang. We must guess who it is.—Rosy, +whisper the name low to your father. Don't let <em>him</em> +hear."</p> + +<p>"Rose, don't be too forward to talk," here interrupted +Mrs. Yorke, in her usual kill-joy fashion, "nor Jessy either. +It becomes all children, especially girls, to be silent in the +presence of their elders."</p> + +<p>"Why have we tongues, then?" asked Jessy pertly; +while Rose only looked at her mother with an expression +that seemed to say she should take that maxim in +and think it over at her leisure. After two minutes' +grave deliberation, she asked, "And why especially girls, +mother?"</p> + +<p>"Firstly, because I say so; and secondly, because +discretion and reserve are a girl's best wisdom."</p> + +<p>"My dear madam," observed Moore, "what you say is +excellent—it reminds me, indeed, of my dear sister's +observations; but really it is not applicable to these little +ones. Let Rose and Jessy talk to me freely, or my chief +pleasure in coming here is gone. I like their prattle; it +does me good."</p> + +<p>"Does it not?" asked Jessy. "More good than if the +rough lads came round you.—You call them rough, mother, +yourself."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>137<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Yes, mignonne, a thousand times more good. I have +rough lads enough about me all day long, poulet."</p> + +<p>"There are plenty of people," continued she, "who take +notice of the boys. All my uncles and aunts seem to think +their nephews better than their nieces, and when gentlemen +come here to dine, it is always Matthew, and Mark, and +Martin that are talked to, and never Rose and me. Mr. +Moore is <em>our</em> friend, and we'll keep him.—But mind, Rose, +he's not so much your friend as he is mine. He is my +<em>particular acquaintance</em>; remember that!" And she held +up her small hand with an admonitory gesture.</p> + +<p>Rose was quite accustomed to be admonished by that +small hand. Her will daily bent itself to that of the impetuous +little Jessy. She was guided, overruled by Jessy +in a thousand things. On all occasions of show and pleasure +Jessy took the lead, and Rose fell quietly into the background; +whereas, when the disagreeables of life—its work +and privations—were in question, Rose instinctively took +upon her, in addition to her own share, what she could of +her sister's. Jessy had already settled it in her mind that +she, when she was old enough, was to be married; Rose, +she decided, must be an old maid, to live with her, look +after her children, keep her house. This state of things +is not uncommon between two sisters, where one is plain +and the other pretty; but in this case, if there <em>was</em> a difference +in external appearance, Rose had the advantage: +her face was more regular-featured than that of the piquant +little Jessy. Jessy, however, was destined to possess, +along with sprightly intelligence and vivacious feeling, +the gift of fascination, the power to charm when, where, +and whom she would. Rose was to have a fine, generous +soul, a noble intellect profoundly cultivated, a heart as +true as steel, but the manner to attract was not to be +hers.</p> + +<p>"Now, Rose, tell me the name of this lady who denied +that I was sentimental," urged Mr. Moore.</p> + +<p>Rose had no idea of tantalization, or she would have +held him a while in doubt. She answered briefly, "I can't. +I don't know her name."</p> + +<p>"Describe her to me. What was she like? Where did +you see her?"</p> + +<p>"When Jessy and I went to spend the day at Whinbury +with Kate and Susan Pearson, who were just come home +from school, there was a party at Mrs. Pearson's, and some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>138<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +grown-up ladies were sitting in a corner of the drawing-room +talking about you."</p> + +<p>"Did you know none of them?"</p> + +<p>"Hannah, and Harriet, and Dora, and Mary Sykes."</p> + +<p>"Good. Were they abusing me, Rosy?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them were. They called you a misanthrope. +I remember the word. I looked for it in the dictionary +when I came home. It means a man-hater."</p> + +<p>"What besides?"</p> + +<p>"Hannah Sykes said you were a solemn puppy."</p> + +<p>"Better!" cried Mr. Yorke, laughing. "Oh, excellent! +Hannah! that's the one with the red hair—a fine +girl, but half-witted."</p> + +<p>"She has wit enough for me, it appears," said Moore. +"A solemn puppy, indeed! Well, Rose, go on."</p> + +<p>"Miss Pearson said she believed there was a good deal +of affectation about you, and that with your dark hair and +pale face you looked to her like some sort of a sentimental +noodle."</p> + +<p>Again Mr. Yorke laughed. Mrs. Yorke even joined in +this time. "You see in what esteem you are held behind +your back," said she; "yet I believe <em>that</em> Miss Pearson +would like to catch you. She set her cap at you when you +first came into the country, old as she is."</p> + +<p>"And who contradicted her, Rosy?" inquired Moore.</p> + +<p>"A lady whom I don't know, because she never visits +here, though I see her every Sunday at church. She sits +in the pew near the pulpit. I generally look at her, instead +of looking at my prayer-book, for she is like a +picture in our dining-room, that woman with the dove in +her hand—at least she has eyes like it, and a nose too, +a straight nose, that makes all her face look, somehow, +what I call clear."</p> + +<p>"And you don't know her!" exclaimed Jessy, in a tone +of exceeding surprise. "That's so like Rose. Mr. Moore, +I often wonder in what sort of a world my sister lives. I +am sure she does not live all her time in this. One is +continually finding out that she is quite ignorant of some +little matter which everybody else knows. To think of +her going solemnly to church every Sunday, and looking +all service-time at one particular person, and never so much +as asking that person's name. She means Caroline Helstone, +the rector's niece. I remember all about it. Miss +Helstone was quite angry with Anne Pearson. She said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>139<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +'Robert Moore is neither affected nor sentimental; you +mistake his character utterly, or rather not one of you here +knows anything about it.' Now, shall I tell you what she +is like? I can tell what people are like, and how they are +dressed, better than Rose can."</p> + +<p>"Let us hear."</p> + +<p>"She is nice; she is fair; she has a pretty white slender +throat; she has long curls, not stiff ones—they hang loose +and soft, their colour is brown but not dark; she speaks +quietly, with a clear tone; she never makes a bustle in +moving; she often wears a gray silk dress; she is neat all +over—her gowns, and her shoes, and her gloves always fit her. +She is what I call a lady, and when I am as tall as she is, +I mean to be like her. Shall I suit you if I am? Will you +really marry me?"</p> + +<p>Moore stroked Jessy's hair. For a minute he seemed as +if he would draw her nearer to him, but instead he put her +a little farther off.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you won't have me? You push me away."</p> + +<p>"Why, Jessy, you care nothing about me. You never +come to see me now at the Hollow."</p> + +<p>"Because you don't ask me."</p> + +<p>Hereupon Mr. Moore gave both the little girls an invitation +to pay him a visit next day, promising that, as +he was going to Stilbro' in the morning, he would buy +them each a present, of what nature he would not +then declare, but they must come and see. Jessy was +about to reply, when one of the boys unexpectedly broke +in,—</p> + +<p>"I know that Miss Helstone you have all been palavering +about. She's an ugly girl. I hate her. I hate all +womenites. I wonder what they were made for."</p> + +<p>"Martin!" said his father, for Martin it was. The lad +only answered by turning his cynical young face, half-arch, +half-truculent, towards the paternal chair. "Martin, +my lad, thou'rt a swaggering whelp now; thou wilt some +day be an outrageous puppy. But stick to those sentiments +of thine. See, I'll write down the words now i' my +pocket-book." (The senior took out a morocco-covered +book, and deliberately wrote therein.) "Ten years hence, +Martin, if thou and I be both alive at that day, I'll remind +thee of that speech."</p> + +<p>"I'll say the same then. I mean always to hate women. +They're such dolls; they do nothing but dress themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>140<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +finely, and go swimming about to be admired. I'll never +marry. I'll be a bachelor."</p> + +<p>"Stick to it! stick to it!—Hesther" (addressing his +wife), "I was like him when I was his age—a regular +misogamist; and, behold! by the time I was three-and-twenty—being +then a tourist in France and Italy, and the +Lord knows where—I curled my hair every night before +I went to bed, and wore a ring i' my ear, and would have +worn one i' my nose if it had been the fashion, and all that +I might make myself pleasing and charming to the ladies. +Martin will do the like."</p> + +<p>"Will I? Never! I've more sense. What a guy you +were, father! As to dressing, I make this vow: I'll never +dress more finely than as you see me at present.—Mr. Moore, +I'm clad in blue cloth from top to toe, and they laugh at +me, and call me sailor at the grammar-school. I laugh +louder at them, and say they are all magpies and parrots, +with their coats one colour, and their waistcoats another, +and their trousers a third. I'll always wear blue cloth, and +nothing but blue cloth. It is beneath a human being's +dignity to dress himself in parti-coloured garments."</p> + +<p>"Ten years hence, Martin, no tailor's shop will have +choice of colours varied enough for thy exacting taste; +no perfumer's stores essences exquisite enough for thy +fastidious senses."</p> + +<p>Martin looked disdain, but vouchsafed no further reply. +Meantime Mark, who for some minutes had been rummaging +amongst a pile of books on a side-table, took the word. +He spoke in a peculiarly slow, quiet voice, and with an +expression of still irony in his face not easy to describe.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore," said he, "you think perhaps it was a compliment +on Miss Caroline Helstone's part to say you were +not sentimental. I thought you appeared confused when +my sisters told you the words, as if you felt flattered. You +turned red, just like a certain vain little lad at our school, +who always thinks proper to blush when he gets a rise in +the class. For your benefit, Mr. Moore, I've been looking +up the word 'sentimental' in the dictionary, and I find it +to mean 'tinctured with sentiment.' On examining +further, 'sentiment' is explained to be thought, idea, notion. +A sentimental man, then, is one who has thoughts, ideas, +notions; an unsentimental man is one destitute of thought, +idea, or notion."</p> + +<p>And Mark stopped. He did not smile, he did not look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>141<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +round for admiration. He had said his say, and was +silent.</p> + +<p>"Ma foi! mon ami," observed Mr. Moore to Yorke, +"ce sont vraiment des enfants terribles, que les vôtres!"</p> + +<p>Rose, who had been listening attentively to Mark's +speech, replied to him, "There are different kinds of +thoughts, ideas, and notions," said she, "good and bad. +Sentimental must refer to the bad, or Miss Helstone must +have taken it in that sense, for she was not blaming Mr. +Moore; she was defending him."</p> + +<p>"That's my kind little advocate!" said Moore, taking +Rose's hand.</p> + +<p>"She was defending him," repeated Rose, "as I should +have done had I been in her place, for the other ladies +seemed to speak spitefully."</p> + +<p>"Ladies always do speak spitefully," observed Martin. +"It is the nature of womenites to be spiteful."</p> + +<p>Matthew now, for the first time, opened his lips. "What +a fool Martin is, to be always gabbling about what he does +not understand!"</p> + +<p>"It is my privilege, as a freeman, to gabble on whatever +subject I like," responded Martin.</p> + +<p>"You use it, or rather abuse it, to such an extent," +rejoined the elder brother, "that you prove you ought to +have been a slave."</p> + +<p>"A slave! a slave! That to a Yorke, and from a +Yorke! This fellow," he added, standing up at the table, +and pointing across it to Matthew—"this fellow forgets, +what every cottier in Briarfield knows, that all born of our +house have that arched instep under which water can flow—proof +that there has not been a slave of the blood for +three hundred years."</p> + +<p>"Mountebank!" said Matthew.</p> + +<p>"Lads, be silent!" exclaimed Mr. Yorke.—"Martin, +you are a mischief-maker. There would have been no +disturbance but for you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Is that correct? Did I begin, or did +Matthew? Had I spoken to him when he accused me of +gabbling like a fool?"</p> + +<p>"A presumptuous fool!" repeated Matthew.</p> + +<p>Here Mrs. Yorke commenced rocking herself—rather a +portentous movement with her, as it was occasionally +followed, especially when Matthew was worsted in a conflict, +by a fit of hysterics.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>142<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I don't see why I should bear insolence from Matthew +Yorke, or what right he has to use bad language to me," +observed Martin.</p> + +<p>"He has no right, my lad; but forgive your brother +until seventy-and-seven times," said Mr. Yorke soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Always alike, and theory and practice always adverse!" +murmured Martin as he turned to leave the room.</p> + +<p>"Where art thou going, my son?" asked the father.</p> + +<p>"Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult, if in this +house I can find any such place."</p> + +<p>Matthew laughed very insolently. Martin threw a +strange look at him, and trembled through all his slight +lad's frame; but he restrained himself.</p> + +<p>"I suppose there is no objection to my withdrawing?" +he inquired.</p> + +<p>"No. Go, my lad; but remember not to bear malice."</p> + +<p>Martin went, and Matthew sent another insolent laugh +after him. Rose, lifting her fair head from Moore's shoulder, +against which, for a moment, it had been resting, said, +as she directed a steady gaze to Matthew, "Martin is +grieved, and you are glad; but I would rather be Martin +than you. I dislike your nature."</p> + +<p>Here Mr. Moore, by way of averting, or at least escaping, +a scene—which a sob from Mrs. Yorke warned him was +likely to come on—rose, and putting Jessy off his knee, he +kissed her and Rose, reminding them, at the same time, +to be sure and come to the Hollow in good time to-morrow +afternoon; then, having taken leave of his hostess, he said +to Mr. Yorke, "May I speak a word with you?" and was +followed by him from the room. Their brief conference +took place in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Have you employment for a good workman?" asked +Moore.</p> + +<p>"A nonsense question in these times, when you know +that every master has many good workmen to whom he +cannot give full employment."</p> + +<p>"You must oblige me by taking on this man, if possible."</p> + +<p>"My lad, I can take on no more hands to oblige all +England."</p> + +<p>"It does not signify; I must find him a place somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"William Farren."</p> + +<p>"I know William. A right-down honest man is William."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>143<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"He has been out of work three months. He has a +large family. We are sure they cannot live without wages. +He was one of the deputation of cloth-dressers who came +to me this morning to complain and threaten. William +did not threaten. He only asked me to give them rather +more time—to make my changes more slowly. You know +I cannot do that: straitened on all sides as I am, I have +nothing for it but to push on. I thought it would be idle +to palaver long with them. I sent them away, after +arresting a rascal amongst them, whom I hope to transport—a +fellow who preaches at the chapel yonder sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Not Moses Barraclough?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah! you've arrested him? Good! Then out of a +scoundrel you're going to make a martyr. You've done a +wise thing."</p> + +<p>"I've done a right thing. Well, the short and the long +of it is, I'm determined to get Farren a place, and I reckon +on you to give him one."</p> + +<p>"This is cool, however!" exclaimed Mr. Yorke. "What +right have you to reckon on me to provide for your dismissed +workmen? What do I know about your Farrens +and your Williams? I've heard he's an honest man, but +am I to support all the honest men in Yorkshire? You +may say that would be no great charge to undertake; +but great or little, I'll none of it."</p> + +<p>"Come, Mr. Yorke, what can you find for him to +do?"</p> + +<p>"<em>I</em> find! You'll make me use language I'm not accustomed +to use. I wish you would go home. Here is the +door; set off."</p> + +<p>Moore sat down on one of the hall chairs.</p> + +<p>"You can't give him work in your mill—good; but +you have land. Find him some occupation on your land, +Mr. Yorke."</p> + +<p>"Bob, I thought you cared nothing about our <em>lourdauds +de paysans</em>. I don't understand this change."</p> + +<p>"I do. The fellow spoke to me nothing but truth and +sense. I answered him just as roughly as I did the rest, +who jabbered mere gibberish. I couldn't make distinctions +there and then. His appearance told what he had +gone through lately clearer than his words; but where is +the use of explaining? Let him have work."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>144<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Let him have it yourself. If you are so very much in +earnest, strain a point."</p> + +<p>"If there was a point left in my affairs to strain, I would +strain it till it cracked again; but I received letters this +morning which showed me pretty clearly where I stand, +and it is not far off the end of the plank. My foreign +market, at any rate, is gorged. If there is no change—if +there dawns no prospect of peace—if the Orders in +Council are not, at least, suspended, so as to open our way +in the West—I do not know where I am to turn. I see +no more light than if I were sealed in a rock, so that for +me to pretend to offer a man a livelihood would be to do +a dishonest thing."</p> + +<p>"Come, let us take a turn on the front. It is a starlight +night," said Mr. Yorke.</p> + +<p>They passed out, closing the front door after them, +and side by side paced the frost-white pavement to and +fro.</p> + +<p>"Settle about Farren at once," urged Mr. Moore. "You +have large fruit-gardens at Yorke Mills. He is a good +gardener. Give him work there."</p> + +<p>"Well, so be it. I'll send for him to-morrow, and we'll +see. And now, my lad, you're concerned about the condition +of your affairs?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a second failure—which I may delay, but which, +at this moment, I see no way finally to avert—would blight +the name of Moore completely; and you are aware I had +fine intentions of paying off every debt and re-establishing +the old firm on its former basis."</p> + +<p>"You want capital—that's all you want."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but you might as well say that breath is all a dead +man wants to live."</p> + +<p>"I know—I know capital is not to be had for the asking; +and if you were a married man, and had a family, like me, +I should think your case pretty nigh desperate; but the +young and unencumbered have chances peculiar to themselves. +I hear gossip now and then about your being on +the eve of marriage with this miss and that; but I suppose +it is none of it true?"</p> + +<p>"You may well suppose that. I think I am not in a +position to be dreaming of marriage. Marriage! I cannot +bear the word; it sounds so silly and utopian. I have +settled it decidedly that marriage and love are superfluities, +intended only for the rich, who live at ease, and have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>145<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +need to take thought for the morrow; or desperations—the +last and reckless joy of the deeply wretched, who never +hope to rise out of the slough of their utter poverty."</p> + +<p>"I should not think so if I were circumstanced as you +are. I should think I could very likely get a wife with +a few thousands, who would suit both me and my affairs."</p> + +<p>"I wonder where?"</p> + +<p>"Would you try if you had a chance?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. It depends on—in short, it depends on +many things."</p> + +<p>"Would you take an old woman?"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather break stones on the <a name="road" id="road"></a><ins title="was question mark">road.</ins>"</p> + +<p>"So would I. Would you take an ugly one?"</p> + +<p>"Bah! I hate ugliness and delight in beauty. My eyes +and heart, Yorke, take pleasure in a sweet, young, fair face, +as they are repelled by a grim, rugged, meagre one. Soft +delicate lines and hues please, harsh ones prejudice me. I +won't have an ugly wife."</p> + +<p>"Not if she were rich?"</p> + +<p>"Not if she were dressed in gems. I could not love—I +could not fancy—I could not endure her. My taste must +have satisfaction, or disgust would break out in despotism, +or worse—freeze to utter iciness."</p> + +<p>"What! Bob, if you married an honest, good-natured, +and wealthy lass, though a little hard-favoured, couldn't +you put up with the high cheek-bones, the rather wide +mouth, and reddish hair?"</p> + +<p>"I'll never try, I tell you. Grace at least I <em>will</em> have, +and youth and symmetry—yes, and what I call beauty."</p> + +<p>"And poverty, and a nursery full of bairns you can +neither clothe nor feed, and very soon an anxious, faded +mother; and then bankruptcy, discredit—a life-long +struggle."</p> + +<p>"Let me alone, Yorke."</p> + +<p>"If you are romantic, Robert, and especially if you are +already in love, it is of no use talking."</p> + +<p>"I am not romantic. I am stripped of romance as bare +as the white tenters in that field are of cloth."</p> + +<p>"Always use such figures of speech, lad; I can understand +them. And there is no love affair to disturb your +judgment?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I had said enough on that subject before. +Love for me? Stuff!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, if you are sound both in heart and head,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>146<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +there is no reason why you should not profit by a good +chance if it offers; therefore, wait and see."</p> + +<p>"You are quite oracular, Yorke."</p> + +<p>"I think I am a bit i' that line. I promise ye naught +and I advise ye naught; but I bid ye keep your heart up, +and be guided by circumstances."</p> + +<p>"My namesake the physician's almanac could not speak +more guardedly."</p> + +<p>"In the meantime, I care naught about ye, Robert +Moore: ye are nothing akin to me or mine, and whether +ye lose or find a fortune it maks no difference to me. Go +home, now. It has stricken ten. Miss Hortense will be +wondering where ye are."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>147<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +<br /> +<small>OLD MAIDS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Time</span> wore on, and spring matured. The surface of England +began to look pleasant: her fields grew green, her +hills fresh, her gardens blooming; but at heart she was +no better. Still her poor were wretched, still their employers +were harassed. Commerce, in some of its branches, +seemed threatened with paralysis, for the war continued; +England's blood was shed and her wealth lavished—all, +it seemed, to attain most inadequate ends. Some tidings +there were indeed occasionally of successes in the Peninsula, +but these came in slowly; long intervals occurred between, +in which no note was heard but the insolent self-felicitations +of Bonaparte on his continued triumphs. Those who suffered +from the results of the war felt this tedious, and, as they +thought, hopeless struggle against what their fears or their +interests taught them to regard as an invincible power, +most insufferable. They demanded peace on any terms. +Men like Yorke and Moore—and there were thousands +whom the war placed where it placed them, shuddering on +the verge of bankruptcy—insisted on peace with the energy +of desperation.</p> + +<p>They held meetings, they made speeches, they got up +petitions to extort this boon; on what terms it was made +they cared not.</p> + +<p>All men, taken singly, are more or less selfish; and taken +in bodies, they are intensely so. The British merchant is +no exception to this rule: the mercantile classes illustrate +it strikingly. These classes certainly think too exclusively +of making money; they are too oblivious of every national +consideration but that of extending England's—that is, +their own—commerce. Chivalrous feeling, disinterestedness, +pride in honour, is too dead in their hearts. A land +ruled by them alone would too often make ignominious submission—not +at all from the motives Christ teaches, but +rather from those Mammon instils. During the late war,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>148<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the tradesmen of England would have endured buffets from +the French on the right cheek and on the left; their cloak +they would have given to Napoleon, and then have politely +offered him their coat also, nor would they have withheld +their waistcoat if urged; they would have prayed permission +only to retain their one other garment, for the sake of +the purse in its pocket. Not one spark of spirit, not one +symptom of resistance, would they have shown till the hand +of the Corsican bandit had grasped that beloved purse; +<em>then</em>, perhaps, transfigured at once into British bulldogs, +they would have sprung at the robber's throat, and there +they would have fastened, and there hung, inveterate, insatiable, +till the treasure had been restored. Tradesmen, +when they speak against war, always profess to hate it +because it is a bloody and barbarous proceeding. You +would think, to hear them talk, that they are peculiarly +civilized—especially gentle and kindly of disposition to their +fellow-men. This is not the case. Many of them are extremely +narrow and cold-hearted; have no good feeling for +any class but their own; are distant, even hostile, to all +others; call them useless; seem to question their right to +exist; seem to grudge them the very air they breathe, +and to think the circumstance of their eating, drinking, and +living in decent houses quite unjustifiable. They do not +know what others do in the way of helping, pleasing, or +teaching their race; they will not trouble themselves to +inquire. Whoever is not in trade is accused of eating the +bread of idleness, of passing a useless existence. Long +may it be ere England really becomes a nation of shop-keepers!</p> + +<p>We have already said that Moore was no self-sacrificing +patriot, and we have also explained what circumstances +rendered him specially prone to confine his attention and +efforts to the furtherance of his individual interest; accordingly, +when he felt himself urged a second time to the brink +of ruin, none struggled harder than he against the influences +which would have thrust him over. What he <em>could</em> do +towards stirring agitation in the north against the war he +did, and he instigated others whose money and connections +gave them more power than he possessed. Sometimes, by +flashes, he felt there was little reason in the demands his +party made on Government. When he heard of all Europe +threatened by Bonaparte, and of all Europe arming to +resist him; when he saw Russia menaced, and beheld<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>149<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Russia rising, incensed and stern, to defend her frozen soil, +her wild provinces of serfs, her dark native despotism, from +the tread, the yoke, the tyranny of a foreign victor—he +knew that England, a free realm, could not <em>then</em> depute her +sons to make concessions and propose terms to the unjust, +grasping French leader. When news came from time to +time of the movements of that <span class="smcap">man</span> then representing England +in the Peninsula, of his advance from success to success—that +advance so deliberate but so unswerving, so +circumspect but so certain, so "unhasting" but so "unresting;" +when he read Lord Wellington's own dispatches +in the columns of the newspapers, documents written by +modesty to the dictation of truth—Moore confessed at heart +that a power was with the troops of Britain, of that vigilant, +enduring, genuine, unostentatious sort, which must +win victory to the side it led, in the end. In the end! +But that end, he thought, was yet far off; and meantime +he, Moore, as an individual, would be crushed, his hopes +ground to dust. It was himself he had to care for, his +hopes he had to pursue; and he would fulfil his destiny.</p> + +<p>He fulfilled it so vigorously that ere long he came to a +decisive rupture with his old Tory friend the rector. They +quarrelled at a public meeting, and afterwards exchanged +some pungent letters in the newspapers. Mr. Helstone +denounced Moore as a Jacobin, ceased to see him, would +not even speak to him when they met. He intimated also +to his niece, very distinctly, that her communications with +Hollow's Cottage must for the present cease; she must +give up taking French lessons. The language, he observed, +was a bad and frivolous one at the best, and most of the +works it boasted were bad and frivolous, highly injurious +in their tendency to weak female minds. He wondered (he +remarked parenthetically) what noodle first made it the +fashion to teach women French. Nothing was more improper +for them. It was like feeding a rickety child on chalk +and water gruel. Caroline must give it up, and give up her +cousins too. They were dangerous people.</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone quite expected opposition to this order; +he expected tears. Seldom did he trouble himself about +Caroline's movements, but a vague idea possessed him that +she was fond of going to Hollow's Cottage; also he suspected +that she liked Robert Moore's occasional presence at the +rectory. The Cossack had perceived that whereas if Malone +stepped in of an evening to make himself sociable and charming,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>150<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +by pinching the ears of an aged black cat, which usually +shared with Miss Helstone's feet the accommodation of her +footstool, or by borrowing a fowling-piece, and banging +away at a tool shed door in the garden while enough of daylight +remained to show that conspicuous mark, keeping the +passage and sitting-room doors meantime uncomfortably +open for the convenience of running in and out to announce +his failures and successes with noisy <em>brusquerie</em>—he had +observed that under such entertaining circumstances Caroline +had a trick of disappearing, tripping noiselessly upstairs, +and remaining invisible till called down to supper. On the +other hand, when Robert Moore was the guest, though he +elicited no vivacities from the cat, did nothing to it, indeed, +beyond occasionally coaxing it from the stool to his knee, +and there letting it purr, climb to his shoulder, and rub +its head against his cheek; though there was no ear-splitting +cracking off of firearms, no diffusion of sulphurous gunpowder +perfume, no noise, no boasting during his stay—that +still Caroline sat in the room, and seemed to find +wondrous content in the stitching of Jew-basket pin-cushions +and the knitting of missionary-basket socks.</p> + +<p>She was very quiet, and Robert paid her little attention, +scarcely ever addressing his discourse to her; but Mr. +Helstone, not being one of those elderly gentlemen who +are easily blinded—on the contrary, finding himself on all +occasions extremely wide-awake—had watched them when +they bade each other good-night. He had just seen their +eyes meet once—only once. Some natures would have +taken pleasure in the glance then surprised, because there +was no harm and some delight in it. It was by no means +a glance of mutual intelligence, for mutual love secrets +existed not between them. There was nothing then of +craft and concealment to offend: only Mr. Moore's eyes, +looking into Caroline's, felt they were clear and gentle; +and Caroline's eyes, encountering Mr. Moore's, confessed +they were manly and searching. Each acknowledged the +charm in his or her own way. Moore smiled slightly, and +Caroline coloured as slightly. Mr. Helstone could, on the +spot, have rated them both. They annoyed him. Why? +Impossible to say. If you had asked him what Moore +merited at that moment, he would have said a "horsewhip;" +if you had inquired into Caroline's deserts, he would have +adjudged her a box on the ear; if you had further demanded +the reason of such chastisements, he would have stormed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>151<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +against flirtation and love-making, and vowed he would +have no such folly going on under his roof.</p> + +<p>These private considerations, combined with political +reasons, fixed his resolution of separating the cousins. He +announced his will to Caroline one evening as she was +sitting at work near the drawing-room window. Her face +was turned towards him, and the light fell full upon it. It +had struck him a few minutes before that she was looking +paler and quieter than she used to look. It had not escaped +him either that Robert Moore's name had never, for some +three weeks past, dropped from her lips; nor during the +same space of time had that personage made his appearance +at the rectory. Some suspicion of clandestine meetings +haunted his mind. Having but an indifferent opinion of +women, he always suspected them. He thought they needed +constant watching. It was in a tone dryly significant he +desired her to cease her daily visits to the Hollow. He +expected a start, a look of depreciation. The start he saw, +but it was a very slight one; no look whatever was directed +to him.</p> + +<p>"Do you hear me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, uncle."</p> + +<p>"Of course you mean to attend to what I say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly."</p> + +<p>"And there must be no letter-scribbling to your cousin +Hortense—no intercourse whatever. I do not approve of +the principles of the family. They are Jacobinical."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Caroline quietly. She acquiesced then. +There was no vexed flushing of the face, no gathering tears; +the shadowy thoughtfulness which had covered her features ere +Mr. Helstone spoke remained undisturbed; she was obedient.</p> + +<p>Yes, perfectly; because the mandate coincided with her +own previous judgment; because it was now become pain +to her to go to Hollow's Cottage; nothing met her there +but disappointment. Hope and love had quitted that little +tenement, for Robert seemed to have deserted its precincts. +Whenever she asked after him—which she very seldom did, +since the mere utterance of his name made her face grow hot—the +answer was, he was from home, or he was quite taken +up with business. Hortense feared he was killing himself +by application. He scarcely ever took a meal in the house; +he lived in the counting-house.</p> + +<p>At church only Caroline had the chance of seeing him, +and there she rarely looked at him. It was both too much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>152<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +pain and too much pleasure to look—it excited too much +emotion; and that it was all wasted emotion she had +learned well to comprehend.</p> + +<p>Once, on a dark, wet Sunday, when there were few people +at church, and when especially certain ladies were absent, +of whose observant faculties and tomahawk tongues Caroline +stood in awe, she had allowed her eye to seek Robert's pew, +and to rest awhile on its occupant. He was there alone. +Hortense had been kept at home by prudent considerations +relative to the rain and a new spring <em>chapeau</em>. During the +sermon he sat with folded arms and eyes cast down, looking +very sad and abstracted. When depressed, the very hue +of his face seemed more dusk than when he smiled, and to-day +cheek and forehead wore their most tintless and sober +olive. By instinct Caroline knew, as she examined that +clouded countenance, that his thoughts were running in +no familiar or kindly channel; that they were far away, +not merely from her, but from all which she could comprehend, +or in which she could sympathize. Nothing that +they had ever talked of together was now in his mind: he +was wrapt from her by interests and responsibilities in which +it was deemed such as she could have no part.</p> + +<p>Caroline meditated in her own way on the subject; +speculated on his feelings, on his life, on his fears, on his +fate; mused over the mystery of "business," tried to comprehend +more about it than had ever been told her—to +understand its perplexities, liabilities, duties, exactions; +endeavoured to realize the state of mind of a "man of +business," to enter into it, feel what he would feel, aspire +to what he would aspire. Her earnest wish was to see +things as they were, and not to be romantic. By dint of +effort she contrived to get a glimpse of the light of truth +here and there, and hoped that scant ray might suffice to +guide her.</p> + +<p>"Different, indeed," she concluded, "is Robert's mental +condition to mine. I think only of him; he has no room, +no leisure, to think of me. The feeling called love is and +has been for two years the predominant emotion of my +heart—always there, always awake, always astir. Quite +other feelings absorb his reflections and govern his faculties. +He is rising now, going to leave the church, for service is +over. Will he turn his head towards this pew? No, not +once. He has not one look for me. That is hard. A +kind glance would have made me happy till to-morrow. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>153<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +have not got it; he would not give it; he is gone. Strange +that grief should now almost choke me, because another +human being's eye has failed to greet mine."</p> + +<p>That Sunday evening, Mr. Malone coming, as usual, to +pass it with his rector, Caroline withdrew after tea to her +chamber. Fanny, knowing her habits, had lit her a cheerful +little fire, as the weather was so gusty and chill. Closeted +there, silent and solitary, what could she do but think? +She noiselessly paced to and fro the carpeted floor, her head +drooped, her hands folded. It was irksome to sit; the +current of reflection ran rapidly through her mind; to-night +she was mutely excited.</p> + +<p>Mute was the room, mute the house. The double door +of the study muffled the voices of the gentlemen. The +servants were quiet in the kitchen, engaged with books +their young mistress had lent them—books which she had +told them were "fit for Sunday reading." And she herself +had another of the same sort open on the table, but she +could not read it. Its theology was incomprehensible to +her, and her own mind was too busy, teeming, wandering, +to listen to the language of another mind.</p> + +<p>Then, too, her imagination was full of pictures—images +of Moore, scenes where he and she had been together; +winter fireside sketches; a glowing landscape of a hot +summer afternoon passed with him in the bosom of Nunnely +Wood; divine vignettes of mild spring or mellow autumn +moments, when she had sat at his side in Hollow's Copse, +listening to the call of the May cuckoo, or sharing the +September treasure of nuts and ripe blackberries—a wild +dessert which it was her morning's pleasure to collect in a +little basket, and cover with green leaves and fresh blossoms, +and her afternoon's delight to administer to Moore, berry by +berry, and nut by nut, like a bird feeding its fledgling.</p> + +<p>Robert's features and form were with her; the sound +of his voice was quite distinct in her ear; his few caresses +seemed renewed. But these joys, being hollow, were, ere +long, crushed in. The pictures faded, the voice failed, the +visionary clasp melted chill from her hand, and where the +warm seal of lips had made impress on her forehead, it felt +now as if a sleety rain-drop had fallen. She returned from +an enchanted region to the real world: for Nunnely Wood +in June she saw her narrow chamber; for the songs of birds +in alleys she heard the rain on her casement; for the sigh +of the south wind came the sob of the mournful east; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>154<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +for Moore's manly companionship she had the thin illusion +of her own dim shadow on the wall. Turning from the pale +phantom which reflected herself in its outline, and her reverie +in the drooped attitude of its dim head and colourless tresses, +she sat down—inaction would suit the frame of mind into +which she was now declining—she said to herself, "I have +to live, perhaps, till seventy years. As far as I know, I +have good health; half a century of existence may lie before +me. How am I to occupy it? What am I to do to fill the +interval of time which spreads between me and the grave?"</p> + +<p>She reflected.</p> + +<p>"I shall not be married, it appears," she continued. "I +suppose, as Robert does not care for me, I shall never have +a husband to love, nor little children to take care of. Till +lately I had reckoned securely on the duties and affections +of wife and mother to occupy my existence. I considered, +somehow, as a matter of course, that I was growing up to +the ordinary destiny, and never troubled myself to seek any +other; but now I perceive plainly I may have been mistaken. +Probably I shall be an old maid. I shall live to +see Robert married to some one else, some rich lady. I +shall never marry. What was I created for, I wonder? +Where is my place in the world?"</p> + +<p>She mused again.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I see," she pursued presently; "that is the +question which most old maids are puzzled to solve. Other +people solve it for them by saying, 'Your place is to do +good to others, to be helpful whenever help is wanted.' +That is right in some measure, and a very convenient doctrine +for the people who hold it; but I perceive that certain +sets of human beings are very apt to maintain that other +sets should give up their lives to them and their service, +and then they requite them by praise; they call them +devoted and virtuous. Is this enough? Is it to live? Is +there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in +that existence which is given away to others, for want of +something of your own to bestow it on? I suspect there is. +Does virtue lie in abnegation of self? I do not believe it. +Undue humility makes tyranny; weak concession creates +selfishness. The Romish religion especially teaches renunciation +of self, submission to others, and nowhere are +found so many grasping tyrants as in the ranks of the +Romish priesthood. Each human being has his share of +rights. I suspect it would conduce to the happiness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>155<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +welfare of all if each knew his allotment, and held to it as +tenaciously as the martyr to his creed. Queer thoughts +these that surge in my mind. Are they right thoughts? +I am not certain.</p> + +<p>"Well, life is short at the best. Seventy years, they say, +pass like a vapour, like a dream when one awaketh; and +every path trod by human feet terminates in one bourne—the +grave, the little chink in the surface of this great globe, +the furrow where the mighty husbandman with the scythe +deposits the seed he has shaken from the ripe stem; and +there it falls, decays, and thence it springs again, when the +world has rolled round a few times more. So much for the +body. The soul meantime wings its long flight upward, +folds its wings on the brink of the sea of fire and glass, and +gazing down through the burning clearness, finds there +mirrored the vision of the Christian's triple Godhead—the +sovereign Father, the mediating Son, the Creator Spirit. +Such words, at least, have been chosen to express what is +inexpressible, to describe what baffles description. The +soul's real hereafter who shall guess?"</p> + +<p>Her fire was decayed to its last cinder; Malone had +departed; and now the study bell rang for prayers.</p> + +<p>The next day Caroline had to spend altogether alone, +her uncle being gone to dine with his friend Dr. Boultby, +vicar of Whinbury. The whole time she was talking inwardly +in the same strain—looking forwards, asking what +she was to do with life. Fanny, as she passed in and out +of the room occasionally, intent on housemaid errands, +perceived that her young mistress sat very still. She was +always in the same place, always bent industriously over a +piece of work. She did not lift her head to speak to Fanny, +as her custom was; and when the latter remarked that +the day was fine, and she ought to take a walk, she only +said, "It is cold."</p> + +<p>"You are very diligent at that sewing, Miss Caroline," +continued the girl, approaching her little table.</p> + +<p>"I am tired of it, Fanny."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you go on with it? Put it down. Read, +or do something to amuse you."</p> + +<p>"It is solitary in this house, Fanny. Don't you think +so?"</p> + +<p>"I don't find it so, miss. Me and Eliza are company +for one another; but you are quite too still. You should +visit more. Now, be persuaded: go upstairs and dress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>156<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +yourself smart, and go and take tea, in a friendly way, +with Miss Mann or Miss Ainley. I am certain either of +those ladies would be delighted to see you."</p> + +<p>"But their houses are dismal: they are both old maids. +I am certain old maids are a very unhappy race."</p> + +<p>"Not they, miss. They can't be unhappy; they take +such care of themselves. They are all selfish."</p> + +<p>"Miss Ainley is not selfish, Fanny. She is always doing +good. How devotedly kind she was to her step-mother as +long as the old lady lived; and now when she is quite alone +in the world, without brother or sister, or any one to care +for her, how charitable she is to the poor, as far as her +means permit! Still nobody thinks much of her, or has +pleasure in going to see her; and how gentlemen always +sneer at her!"</p> + +<p>"They shouldn't, miss. I believe she is a good woman. +But gentlemen think only of ladies' looks."</p> + +<p>"I'll go and see her," exclaimed Caroline, starting up; +"and if she asks me to stay to tea, I'll stay. How wrong +it is to neglect people because they are not pretty, and +young, and merry! And I will certainly call to see Miss +Mann too. She may not be amiable, but what has made +her unamiable? What has life been to her?"</p> + +<p>Fanny helped Miss Helstone to put away her work, and +afterwards assisted her to dress.</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em>'ll not be an old maid, Miss Caroline," she said, as +she tied the sash of her brown silk frock, having previously +smoothed her soft, full, and shining curls; "there are no +signs of an old maid about you."</p> + +<p>Caroline looked at the little mirror before her, and she +thought there were some signs. She could see that she +was altered within the last month; that the hues of her +complexion were paler, her eyes changed—a wan shade +seemed to circle them; her countenance was dejected—she +was not, in short, so pretty or so fresh as she used to +be. She distantly hinted this to Fanny, from whom she +got no direct answer, only a remark that people did vary +in their looks, but that at her age a little falling away +signified nothing; she would soon come round again, and +be plumper and rosier than ever. Having given this +assurance, Fanny showed singular zeal in wrapping her up +in warm shawls and handkerchiefs, till Caroline, nearly +smothered with the weight, was fain to resist further +additions.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>157<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She paid her visits—first to Miss Mann, for this was the +most difficult point. Miss Mann was certainly not quite +a lovable person. Till now, Caroline had always unhesitatingly +declared she disliked her, and more than once +she had joined her cousin Robert in laughing at some of +her peculiarities. Moore was not habitually given to +sarcasm, especially on anything humbler or weaker than +himself; but he had once or twice happened to be in the +room when Miss Mann had made a call on his sister, and +after listening to her conversation and viewing her features +for a time, he had gone out into the garden where his little +cousin was tending some of his favourite flowers, and while +standing near and watching her he had amused himself +with comparing fair youth, delicate and attractive, with +shrivelled eld, livid and loveless, and in jestingly repeating +to a smiling girl the vinegar discourse of a cankered old +maid. Once on such an occasion Caroline had said to him, +looking up from the luxuriant creeper she was binding to +its frame, "Ah! Robert, you do not like old maids. I, +too, should come under the lash of your sarcasm if I were +an old maid."</p> + +<p>"You an old maid!" he had replied. "A piquant +notion suggested by lips of that tint and form. I can +fancy you, though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, +but still with that straight nose, white forehead, and those +soft eyes. I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, which +has another 'timbre' than that hard, deep organ of Miss +Mann's. Courage, Cary! Even at fifty you will not be +repulsive."</p> + +<p>"Miss Mann did not make herself, or tune her voice, +Robert."</p> + +<p>"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes her +briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women +she reserves the May morning hours, when with light and +dew she wooes the primrose from the turf and the lily from +the wood-moss."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Ushered into Miss Mann's little parlour, Caroline found +her, as she always found her, surrounded by perfect neatness, +cleanliness, and comfort (after all, is it not a virtue +in old maids that solitude rarely makes them negligent or +disorderly?)—no dust on her polished furniture, none on +her carpet, fresh flowers in the vase on her table, a bright +fire in the grate. She herself sat primly and somewhat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>158<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +grimly-tidy in a cushioned rocking-chair, her hands busied +with some knitting. This was her favourite work, as it +required the least exertion. She scarcely rose as Caroline +entered. To avoid excitement was one of Miss Mann's +aims in life. She had been composing herself ever since +she came down in the morning, and had just attained a +certain lethargic state of tranquillity when the visitor's +knock at the door startled her, and undid her day's work. +She was scarcely pleased, therefore, to see Miss Helstone. +She received her with reserve, bade her be seated with +austerity, and when she got her placed opposite, she fixed +her with her eye.</p> + +<p>This was no ordinary doom—to be fixed with Miss Mann's +eye. Robert Moore had undergone it once, and had never +forgotten the circumstance.</p> + +<p>He considered it quite equal to anything Medusa could +do. He professed to doubt whether, since that infliction, +his flesh had been quite what it was before—whether there +was not something stony in its texture. The gaze had had +such an effect on him as to drive him promptly from the +apartment and house; it had even sent him straightway +up to the rectory, where he had appeared in Caroline's +presence with a very queer face, and amazed her by demanding +a cousinly salute on the spot, to rectify a damage +that had been done him.</p> + +<p>Certainly Miss Mann had a formidable eye for one of the +softer sex. It was prominent, and showed a great deal of +the white, and looked as steadily, as unwinkingly, at you +as if it were a steel ball soldered in her head; and when, +while looking, she began to talk in an indescribably dry, +monotonous tone—a tone without vibration or inflection—you +felt as if a graven image of some bad spirit were addressing +you. But it was all a figment of fancy, a matter +of surface. Miss Mann's goblin grimness scarcely went +deeper than the angel sweetness of hundreds of beauties. +She was a perfectly honest, conscientious woman, who had +performed duties in her day from whose severe anguish +many a human Peri, gazelle-eyed, silken-tressed, and +silver-tongued, would have shrunk appalled. She had +passed alone through protracted scenes of suffering, exercised +rigid self-denial, made large sacrifices of time, money, +health for those who had repaid her only by ingratitude, +and now her main—almost her sole—fault was that she +was censorious.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>159<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Censorious she certainly was. Caroline had not sat five +minutes ere her hostess, still keeping her under the spell of +that dread and Gorgon gaze, began flaying alive certain of +the families in the neighbourhood. She went to work at +this business in a singularly cool, deliberate manner, like +some surgeon practising with his scalpel on a lifeless subject. +She made few distinctions; she allowed scarcely any one +to be good; she dissected impartially almost all her acquaintance. +If her auditress ventured now and then to +put in a palliative word she set it aside with a certain disdain. +Still, though thus pitiless in moral anatomy, she +was no scandal-monger. She never disseminated really +malignant or dangerous reports. It was not her heart so +much as her temper that was wrong.</p> + +<p>Caroline made this discovery for the first time to-day, +and moved thereby to regret divers unjust judgments she +had more than once passed on the crabbed old maid, she +began to talk to her softly, not in sympathizing words, but +with a sympathizing voice. The loneliness of her condition +struck her visitor in a new light, as did also the +character of her ugliness—a bloodless pallor of complexion, +and deeply worn lines of feature. The girl pitied the solitary +and afflicted woman; her looks told what she felt. +A sweet countenance is never so sweet as when the moved +heart animates it with compassionate tenderness. Miss +Mann, seeing such a countenance raised to her, was touched +in her turn. She acknowledged her sense of the interest +thus unexpectedly shown in her, who usually met with only +coldness and ridicule, by replying to her candidly. Communicative +on her own affairs she usually was not, because +no one cared to listen to her; but to-day she became +so, and her confidante shed tears as she heard her speak, +for she told of cruel, slow-wasting, obstinate sufferings. +Well might she be corpse-like; well might she look grim, +and never smile; well might she wish to avoid excitement, +to gain and retain composure! Caroline, when she knew +all, acknowledged that Miss Mann was rather to be admired +for fortitude than blamed for moroseness. Reader! when +you behold an aspect for whose constant gloom and frown +you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you +by its apparent causelessness, be sure that there is a canker +somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding +because concealed.</p> + +<p>Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>160<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +wished to be understood further; for, however old, plain, +humble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts +preserve the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, +shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing +for appreciation and affection. To this extenuated spectre, +perhaps, a crumb is not thrown once a year, but when +ahungered and athirst to famine—when all humanity has +forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house—Divine +mercy remembers the mourner, and a shower of manna falls +for lips that earthly nutriment is to pass no more. Biblical +promises, heard first in health, but then unheeded, come +whispering to the couch of sickness; it is felt that a pitying +God watches what all mankind have forsaken. The tender +compassion of Jesus is recalled and relied on; the faded +eye, gazing beyond time, sees a home, a friend, a refuge in +eternity.</p> + +<p>Miss Mann, drawn on by the still attention of her listener, +proceeded to allude to circumstances in her past life. She +spoke like one who tells the truth—simply, and with a +certain reserve; she did not boast, nor did she exaggerate. +Caroline found that the old maid had been a most devoted +daughter and sister, an unwearied watcher by lingering +deathbeds; that to prolonged and unrelaxing attendance +on the sick the malady that now poisoned her own life +owed its origin; that to one wretched relative she had +been a support and succour in the depths of self-earned +degradation, and that it was still her hand which kept him +from utter destitution. Miss Helstone stayed the whole +evening, omitting to pay her other intended visit; and +when she left Miss Mann it was with the determination to +try in future to excuse her faults; never again to make +light of her peculiarities or to laugh at her plainness; +and, above all things, not to neglect her, but to come +once a week, and to offer her, from one human heart at +least, the homage of affection and respect. She felt she +could now sincerely give her a small tribute of each +feeling.</p> + +<p>Caroline, on her return, told Fanny she was very glad +she had gone out, as she felt much better for the visit. +The next day she failed not to seek Miss Ainley. This +lady was in narrower circumstances than Miss Mann, and +her dwelling was more humble. It was, however, if possible, +yet more exquisitely clean, though the decayed +gentlewoman could not afford to keep a servant, but waited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>161<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +on herself, and had only the occasional assistance of a little +girl who lived in a cottage near.</p> + +<p>Not only was Miss Ainley poorer, but she was even +plainer than the other old maid. In her first youth she +must have been ugly; now, at the age of fifty, she was +<em>very</em> ugly. At first sight, all but peculiarly well-disciplined +minds were apt to turn from her with annoyance, +to conceive against her a prejudice, simply on the ground +of her unattractive look. Then she was prim in dress +and manner; she looked, spoke, and moved the complete +old maid.</p> + +<p>Her welcome to Caroline was formal, even in its kindness—for +it was kind; but Miss Helstone excused this. +She knew something of the benevolence of the heart which +beat under that starched kerchief; all the neighbourhood—at +least all the female neighbourhood—knew something +of it. No one spoke against Miss Ainley except lively +young gentlemen and inconsiderate old ones, who declared +her hideous.</p> + +<p>Caroline was soon at home in that tiny parlour. A +kind hand took from her her shawl and bonnet, and installed +her in the most comfortable seat near the fire. +The young and the antiquated woman were presently deep +in kindly conversation, and soon Caroline became aware +of the power a most serene, unselfish, and benignant mind +could exercise over those to whom it was developed. She +talked never of herself, always of others. Their faults she +passed over. Her theme was their wants, which she sought +to supply; their sufferings, which she longed to alleviate. +She was religious, a professor of religion—what some would +call "a saint;" and she referred to religion often in sanctioned +phrase—in phrase which those who possess a perception +of the ridiculous, without owning the power of +exactly testing and truly judging character, would certainly +have esteemed a proper subject for satire, a matter for +mimicry and laughter. They would have been hugely +mistaken for their pains. Sincerity is never ludicrous; it +is always respectable. Whether truth—be it religious or +moral truth—speak eloquently and in well-chosen language +or not, its voice should be heard with reverence. +Let those who cannot nicely, and with certainty, discern +the difference between the tones of hypocrisy and those +of sincerity, never presume to laugh at all, lest they should +have the miserable misfortune to laugh in the wrong place,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>162<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and commit impiety when they think they are achieving +wit.</p> + +<p>Not from Miss Ainley's own lips did Caroline hear of her +good works, but she knew much of them nevertheless. +Her beneficence was the familiar topic of the poor in Briarfield. +They were not works of almsgiving. The old maid was +too poor to give much, though she straitened herself to +privation that she might contribute her mite when needful. +They were the works of a Sister of Charity—far more +difficult to perform than those of a Lady Bountiful. She +would watch by any sick-bed; she seemed to fear no +disease. She would nurse the poorest whom none else +would nurse. She was serene, humble, kind, and equable +through everything.</p> + +<p>For this goodness she got but little reward in this life. +Many of the poor became so accustomed to her services +that they hardly thanked her for them. The rich heard +them mentioned with wonder, but were silent, from a +sense of shame at the difference between her sacrifices and +their own. Many ladies, however, respected her deeply. +They could not help it. One gentleman—one only—gave +her his friendship and perfect confidence. This was Mr. +Hall, the vicar of Nunnely. He said, and said truly, that +her life came nearer the life of Christ than that of any +other human being he had ever met with. You must not +think, reader, that in sketching Miss Ainley's character I +depict a figment of imagination. No. We seek the +originals of such portraits in real life only.</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone studied well the mind and heart now +revealed to her. She found no high intellect to admire—the +old maid was merely sensible—but she discovered so +much goodness, so much usefulness, so much mildness, +patience, truth, that she bent her own mind before Miss +Ainley's in reverence. What was her love of nature, what +was her sense of beauty, what were her more varied and +fervent emotions, what was her deeper power of thought, +what her wider capacity to comprehend, compared to the +practical excellence of this good woman? Momently, they +seemed only beautiful forms of selfish delight; mentally, +she trod them under foot.</p> + +<p>It is true she still felt with pain that the life which made +Miss Ainley happy could not make her happy. Pure and +active as it was, in her heart she deemed it deeply dreary, +because it was so loveless—to her ideas, so forlorn. Yet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>163<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +doubtless, she reflected, it needed only habit to make it +practicable and agreeable to any one. It was despicable, +she felt, to pine sentimentally, to cherish secret griefs, +vain memories, to be inert, to waste youth in aching languor, +to grow old doing nothing.</p> + +<p>"I will bestir myself," was her resolution, "and try +to be wise if I cannot be good."</p> + +<p>She proceeded to make inquiry of Miss Ainley if she could +help her in anything. Miss Ainley, glad of an assistant, +told her that she could, and indicated some poor families +in Briarfield that it was desirable she should visit, giving +her likewise, at her further request, some work to do for +certain poor women who had many children, and who were +unskilled in using the needle for themselves.</p> + +<p>Caroline went home, laid her plans, and took a resolve +not to swerve from them. She allotted a certain portion +of her time for her various studies, and a certain portion +for doing anything Miss Ainley might direct her to do. +The remainder was to be spent in exercise; not a moment +was to be left for the indulgence of such fevered thoughts +as had poisoned last Sunday evening.</p> + +<p>To do her justice, she executed her plans conscientiously, +perseveringly. It was very hard work at first—it was +even hard work to the end—but it helped her to stem and +keep down anguish; it forced her to be employed; it forbade +her to brood; and gleams of satisfaction chequered +her gray life here and there when she found she had done +good, imparted pleasure, or allayed suffering.</p> + +<p>Yet I must speak truth. These efforts brought her +neither health of body nor continued peace of mind. With +them all she wasted, grew more joyless and more wan; +with them all her memory kept harping on the name of +Robert Moore; an elegy over the past still rung constantly +in her ear; a funereal inward cry haunted and harassed +her; the heaviness of a broken spirit, and of pining and +palsying faculties, settled slow on her buoyant youth. +Winter seemed conquering her spring; the mind's soil +and its treasures were freezing gradually to barren stagnation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>164<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>FIELDHEAD.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Yet</span> Caroline refused tamely to succumb. She had native +strength in her girl's heart, and she used it. Men and +women never struggle so hard as when they struggle alone, +without witness, counsellor, or confidant, unencouraged, +unadvised, and unpitied.</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone was in this position. Her sufferings were +her only spur, and being very real and sharp, they roused +her spirit keenly. Bent on victory over a mortal pain, she +did her best to quell it. Never had she been seen so busy, +so studious, and, above all, so active. She took walks +in all weathers, long walks in solitary directions. Day by +day she came back in the evening, pale and wearied-looking, +yet seemingly not fatigued; for still, as soon as +she had thrown off her bonnet and shawl, she would, instead +of resting, begin to pace her apartment. Sometimes +she would not sit down till she was literally faint. She +said she did this to tire herself well, that she might sleep +soundly at night. But if that was her aim it was unattained; +for at night, when others slumbered, she was +tossing on her pillow, or sitting at the foot of her couch in +the darkness, forgetful, apparently, of the necessity of +seeking repose. Often, unhappy girl! she was crying—crying +in a sort of intolerable despair, which, when it rushed +over her, smote down her strength, and reduced her to +childlike helplessness.</p> + +<p>When thus prostrate, temptations besieged her. Weak +suggestions whispered in her weary heart to write to Robert, +and say that she was unhappy because she was forbidden +to see him and Hortense, and that she feared he would +withdraw his friendship (not love) from her, and forget +her entirely, and begging him to remember her, and sometimes +to write to her. One or two such letters she actually +indited, but she never sent them: shame and good sense +forbade.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>165<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>At last the life she led reached the point when it seemed +she could bear it no longer, that she must seek and find a +change somehow, or her heart and head would fail under +the pressure which strained them. She longed to leave +Briarfield, to go to some very distant place. She longed +for something else—the deep, secret, anxious yearning to +discover and know her mother strengthened daily; but +with the desire was coupled a doubt, a dread—if she knew +her, could she love her? There was cause for hesitation, +for apprehension on this point. Never in her life had she +heard that mother praised; whoever mentioned her +mentioned her coolly. Her uncle seemed to regard his +sister-in-law with a sort of tacit antipathy; an old servant, +who had lived with Mrs. James Helstone for a short time +after her marriage, whenever she referred to her former +mistress, spoke with chilling reserve—sometimes she called +her "queer," sometimes she said she did not understand +her. These expressions were ice to the daughter's heart; +they suggested the conclusion that it was perhaps better +never to know her parent than to know her and not like her.</p> + +<p>But one project could she frame whose execution seemed +likely to bring her a hope of relief: it was to take a situation, +to be a governess; she could do nothing else. A little +incident brought her to the point, when she found courage +to break her design to her uncle.</p> + +<p>Her long and late walks lay always, as has been said, +on lonely roads; but in whatever direction she had rambled—whether +along the drear skirts of Stilbro' Moor or over +the sunny stretch of Nunnely Common—her homeward +path was still so contrived as to lead her near the Hollow. +She rarely descended the den, but she visited its brink at +twilight almost as regularly as the stars rose over the hillcrests. +Her resting-place was at a certain stile under a +certain old thorn. Thence she could look down on the +cottage, the mill, the dewy garden-ground, the still, deep +dam; thence was visible the well-known counting-house +window, from whose panes at a fixed hour shot, suddenly +bright, the ray of the well-known lamp. Her errand was +to watch for this ray, her reward to catch it, sometimes +sparkling bright in clear air, sometimes shimmering dim +through mist, and anon flashing broken between slant lines +of rain—for she came in all weathers.</p> + +<p>There were nights when it failed to appear. She knew +then that Robert was from home, and went away doubly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>166<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +sad; whereas its kindling rendered her elate, as though +she saw in it the promise of some indefinite hope. If, while +she gazed, a shadow bent between the light and lattice, her +heart leaped. That eclipse was Robert; she had seen him. +She would return home comforted, carrying in her mind a +clearer vision of his aspect, a distincter recollection of his +voice, his smile, his bearing; and blent with these impressions +was often a sweet persuasion that, if she could get +near him, his heart might welcome her presence yet, that +at this moment he might be willing to extend his hand and +draw her to him, and shelter her at his side as he used to +do. That night, though she might weep as usual, she would +fancy her tears less scalding; the pillow they watered +seemed a little softer; the temples pressed to that pillow +ached less.</p> + +<p>The shortest path from the Hollow to the rectory wound +near a certain mansion, the same under whose lone walls +Malone passed on that night-journey mentioned in an early +chapter of this work—the old and tenantless dwelling +yclept Fieldhead. Tenantless by the proprietor it had been +for ten years, but it was no ruin. Mr. Yorke had seen it +kept in good repair, and an old gardener and his wife had +lived in it, cultivated the grounds, and maintained the house +in habitable condition.</p> + +<p>If Fieldhead had few other merits as a building, it might +at least be termed picturesque. Its regular architecture, +and the gray and mossy colouring communicated by time, +gave it a just claim to this epithet. The old +<a name="latticed" id="latticed"></a><ins title="was atticed">latticed</ins> +windows, the stone porch, the walls, the roof, the chimney-stacks, +were rich in crayon touches and sepia lights and +shades. The trees behind were fine, bold, and spreading; +the cedar on the lawn in front was grand; and the granite +urns on the garden wall, the fretted arch of the gateway, +were, for an artist, as the very desire of the eye.</p> + +<p>One mild May evening Caroline, passing near about moonrise, +and feeling, though weary, unwilling yet to go home, +where there was only the bed of thorns and the night of +grief to anticipate, sat down on the mossy ground near the +gate, and gazed through towards cedar and mansion. It +was a still night—calm, dewy, cloudless; the gables, +turned to the west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon +they faced; the oaks behind were black; the cedar was +blacker. Under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky +opened gravely blue. It was full of the moon, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>167<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +looked solemnly and mildly down on Caroline from beneath +that sombre canopy.</p> + +<p>She felt this night and prospect mournfully lovely. She +wished she could be happy; she wished she could know +inward peace; she wondered Providence had no pity on +her, and would not help or console her. Recollections of +happy trysts of lovers, commemorated in old ballads, returned +on her mind; she thought such tryst in such scene +would be blissful. Where now was Robert? she asked. +Not at the Hollow; she had watched for his lamp long, and +had not seen it. She questioned within herself whether +she and Moore were ever destined to meet and speak again. +Suddenly the door within the stone porch of the hall opened, +and two men came out—one elderly and white-headed, the +other young, dark-haired, and tall. They passed across +the lawn, out through a portal in the garden wall. Caroline +saw them cross the road, pass the stile, descend the fields; +she saw them disappear. Robert Moore had passed before +her with his friend Mr. Yorke. Neither had seen her.</p> + +<p>The apparition had been transient—scarce seen ere +gone; but its electric passage left her veins kindled, her +soul insurgent. It found her despairing, it left her desperate—two +different states.</p> + +<p>"Oh, had he but been alone! had he but seen me!" +was her cry. "He would have said something. He would +have given me his hand. He <em>does</em>, he <em>must</em>, love me a +little. He would have shown some token of affection. In +his eye, on his lips, I should have read comfort; but the +chance is lost. The wind, the cloud's shadow, does not pass +more silently, more emptily than he. I have been mocked, +and Heaven is cruel!"</p> + +<p>Thus, in the utter sickness of longing and disappointment, +she went home.</p> + +<p>The next morning at breakfast, where she appeared +white-cheeked and miserable-looking as one who had seen +a ghost, she inquired of Mr. Helstone, "Have you any +objection, uncle, to my inquiring for a situation in a family?"</p> + +<p>Her uncle, ignorant as the table supporting his coffee-cup +of all his niece had undergone and was undergoing, +scarcely believed his ears.</p> + +<p>"What whim now?" he asked. "Are you bewitched? +What can you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I am not well, and need a change," she said.</p> + +<p>He examined her. He discovered she had <em>experienced</em> a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>168<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +change, at any rate. Without his being aware of it, the +rose had dwindled and faded to a mere snowdrop; bloom +had vanished, flesh wasted; she sat before him drooping, +colourless, and thin. But for the soft expression of her +brown eyes, the delicate lines of her features, and the +flowing abundance of her hair, she would no longer have +possessed a claim to the epithet pretty.</p> + +<p>"What on earth is the matter with you?" he asked. +"What is wrong? How are you ailing?"</p> + +<p>No answer; only the brown eyes filled, the faintly-tinted +lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"Look out for a situation, indeed! For what situation +are you fit? What have you been doing with yourself? +You are not well."</p> + +<p>"I should be well if I went from home."</p> + +<p>"These women are incomprehensible. They have the +strangest knack of startling you with unpleasant surprises. +To-day you see them bouncing, buxom, red as cherries, +and round as apples; to-morrow they exhibit themselves +effete as dead weeds, blanched and broken down. And the +reason of it all? That's the puzzle. She has her meals, +her liberty, a good house to live in, and good clothes to wear, +as usual. A while since that sufficed to keep her handsome +and cheery, and there she sits now a poor, little, pale, +puling chit enough. Provoking! Then comes the question, +What is to be done? I suppose I must send for advice. +Will you have a doctor, child?"</p> + +<p>"No, uncle, I don't want one. A doctor could do me no +good. I merely want change of air and scene."</p> + +<p>"Well, if that be the caprice, it shall be gratified. You +shall go to a watering-place. I don't mind the expense. +Fanny shall accompany you."</p> + +<p>"But, uncle, some day I must do something for myself; +I have no fortune. I had better begin now."</p> + +<p>"While I live, you shall not turn out as a governess, +Caroline. I will not have it said that my niece is a governess."</p> + +<p>"But the later in life one makes a change of that sort, +uncle, the more difficult and painful it is. I should wish +to get accustomed to the yoke before any habits of ease and +independence are formed."</p> + +<p>"I beg you will not harass me, Caroline. I mean to +provide for you. I have always meant to provide for you. +I will purchase an annuity. Bless me! I am but fifty-five;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>169<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +my health and constitution are excellent. There is +plenty of time to save and take measures. Don't make +yourself anxious respecting the future. Is that what frets +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, uncle; but I long for a change."</p> + +<p>He laughed. "There speaks the woman!" cried he, +"the very woman! A change! a change! Always fantastical +and whimsical! Well, it's in her sex."</p> + +<p>"But it is not fantasy and whim, uncle."</p> + +<p>"What is it then?"</p> + +<p>"Necessity, I think. I feel weaker than formerly. I +believe I should have more to do."</p> + +<p>"Admirable! She feels weak, and <em>therefore</em> she should be +set to hard labour—'clair comme le jour,' as Moore—confound +Moore! You shall go to Cliff Bridge; and there are +two guineas to buy a new frock. Come, Cary, never fear. +We'll find balm in Gilead."</p> + +<p>"Uncle, I wish you were less generous and more——"</p> + +<p>"More what?"</p> + +<p>Sympathizing was the word on Caroline's lips, but it was +not uttered. She checked herself in time. Her uncle +would indeed have laughed if that namby-pamby word had +escaped her. Finding her silent, he said, "The fact is, +you don't know precisely what you want."</p> + +<p>"Only to be a governess."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! mere nonsense! I'll not hear of governessing. +Don't mention it again. It is rather too feminine a fancy. +I have finished breakfast. Ring the bell. Put all crotchets +out of your head, and run away and amuse yourself."</p> + +<p>"What with? My doll?" asked Caroline to herself as +she quitted the room.</p> + +<p>A week or two passed; her bodily and mental health +neither grew worse nor better. She was now precisely in +that state when, if her constitution had contained the seeds +of consumption, decline, or slow fever, those diseases would +have been rapidly developed, and would soon have carried +her quietly from the world. People never die of love or +grief alone, though some die of inherent maladies which the +tortures of those passions prematurely force into destructive +action. The sound by nature undergo these tortures, and +are racked, shaken, shattered; their beauty and bloom +perish, but life remains untouched. They are brought to a +certain point of dilapidation; they are reduced to pallor, +debility, and emaciation. People think, as they see them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>170<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +gliding languidly about, that they will soon withdraw to +sick-beds, perish there, and cease from among the healthy +and happy. This does not happen. They live on; and +though they cannot regain youth and gaiety, they may +regain strength and serenity. The blossom which the March +wind nips, but fails to sweep away, may survive to hang a +withered apple on the tree late into autumn: having braved +the last frosts of spring, it may also brave the first of winter.</p> + +<p>Every one noticed the change in Miss Helstone's appearance, +and most people said she was going to die. She never +thought so herself. She felt in no dying case; she had +neither pain nor sickness. Her appetite was diminished; +she knew the reason. It was because she wept so much +at night. Her strength was lessened; she could account +for it. Sleep was coy and hard to be won; dreams were +distressing and baleful. In the far future she still seemed +to anticipate a time when this passage of misery should be +got over, and when she should once more be calm, though +perhaps never again happy.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile her uncle urged her to visit, to comply with +the frequent invitations of their acquaintance. This she +evaded doing. She could not be cheerful in company; +she felt she was observed there with more curiosity than +sympathy. Old ladies were always offering her their advice, +recommending this or that nostrum; young ladies looked +at her in a way she understood, and from which she shrank. +Their eyes said they knew she had been "disappointed," +as custom phrases it; by whom, they were not certain.</p> + +<p>Commonplace young ladies can be quite as hard as +commonplace young gentlemen—quite as worldly and +selfish. Those who suffer should always avoid them. +Grief and calamity they despise; they seem to regard +them as the judgments of God on the lowly. With them, +to "love" is merely to contrive a scheme for achieving a +good match; to be "disappointed" is to have their scheme +seen through and frustrated. They think the feelings and +projects of others on the subject of love similar to their +own, and judge them accordingly.</p> + +<p>All this Caroline knew, partly by instinct, partly by +observation. She regulated her conduct by her knowledge, +keeping her pale face and wasted figure as much out +of sight as she could. Living thus in complete seclusion, +she ceased to receive intelligence of the little transactions +of the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>171<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>One morning her uncle came into the parlour, where she +sat endeavouring to find some pleasure in painting a little +group of wild flowers, gathered under a hedge at the top of +the Hollow fields, and said to her in his abrupt manner, +"Come, child, you are always stooping over palette, or +book, or sampler; leave that tinting work. By-the-bye, +do you put your pencil to your lips when you paint?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, uncle, when I forget."</p> + +<p>"Then it is that which is poisoning you. The paints are +deleterious, child. There is white lead and red lead, and +verdigris, and gamboge, and twenty other poisons in those +colour cakes. Lock them up! lock them up! Get your +bonnet on. I want you to make a call with me."</p> + +<p>"With <em>you</em>, uncle?"</p> + +<p>This question was asked in a tone of surprise. She was +not accustomed to make calls with her uncle. She never +rode or walked out with him on any occasion.</p> + +<p>"Quick! quick! I am always busy, you know. I +have no time to lose."</p> + +<p>She hurriedly gathered up her materials, asking, meantime, +where they were going.</p> + +<p>"To Fieldhead."</p> + +<p>"Fieldhead! What! to see old James Booth, the +gardener? Is he ill?"</p> + +<p>"We are going to see Miss Shirley Keeldar."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar! Is she coming to Yorkshire? Is she +at Fieldhead?"</p> + +<p>"She is. She has been there a week. I met her at a +party last night—that party to which you would not go. +I was pleased with her. I choose that you shall make +her acquaintance. It will do you good."</p> + +<p>"She is now come of age, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"She is come of age, and will reside for a time on her +property. I lectured her on the subject; I showed her her +duty. She is not intractable. She is rather a fine girl; +she will teach you what it is to have a sprightly spirit. +Nothing lackadaisical about <em>her</em>."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she will want to see me, or to have me +introduced to her. What good can I do her? How can +I amuse her?"</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! Put your bonnet on."</p> + +<p>"Is she proud, uncle?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know. You hardly imagine she would show her +pride to me, I suppose? A chit like that would scarcely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>172<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +presume to give herself airs with the rector of her parish, +however rich she might be."</p> + +<p>"No. But how did she behave to other people?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't observe. She holds her head high, and probably +can be saucy enough where she dare. She wouldn't +be a woman otherwise. There! Away now for your +bonnet at once!"</p> + +<p>Not naturally very confident, a failure of physical strength +and a depression of spirits had not tended to increase +Caroline's presence of mind and ease of manner, or to give +her additional courage to face strangers, and she quailed, +in spite of self-remonstrance, as she and her uncle walked +up the broad, paved approach leading from the gateway +of Fieldhead to its porch. She followed Mr. Helstone +reluctantly through that porch into the sombre old vestibule +beyond.</p> + +<p>Very sombre it was—long, vast, and dark; one latticed +window lit it but dimly. The wide old chimney contained +now no fire, for the present warm weather needed it not; +it was filled instead with willow-boughs. The gallery on +high, opposite the entrance, was seen but in outline, so +shadowy became this hall towards its ceiling. Carved stags' +heads, with real antlers, looked down grotesquely from the +walls. This was neither a grand nor a comfortable house; +within as without it was antique, rambling, and incommodious. +A property of a thousand a year belonged to it, +which property had descended, for lack of male heirs, on a +female. There were mercantile families in the district +boasting twice the income, but the Keeldars, by virtue of +their antiquity, and their distinction of lords of the manor, +took the precedence of all.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Miss Helstone were ushered into a parlour. Of +course, as was to be expected in such a Gothic old barrack, +this parlour was lined with oak: fine, dark, glossy panels +compassed the walls gloomily and grandly. Very handsome, +reader, these shining brown panels are, very mellow +in colouring and tasteful in effect, but—if you know what a +"spring clean" is—very execrable and inhuman. Whoever, +having the bowels of humanity, has seen servants +scrubbing at these polished wooden walls with beeswaxed +cloths on a warm May day must allow that they are +"intolerable and not to be endured;" and I cannot but +secretly applaud the benevolent barbarian who had painted +another and larger apartment of Fieldhead—the drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>173<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to wit, formerly also an oak-room—of a delicate +pinky white, thereby earning for himself the character of +a Hun, but mightily enhancing the cheerfulness of that portion +of his abode, and saving future housemaids a world +of toil.</p> + +<p>The brown-panelled parlour was furnished all in old +style, and with real old furniture. On each side of the +high mantelpiece stood two antique chairs of oak, solid as +silvan thrones, and in one of these sat a lady. But if this +were Miss Keeldar, she must have come of age at least +some twenty years ago. She was of matronly form, and +though she wore no cap, and possessed hair of quite an +undimmed auburn, shading small and naturally young-looking +features, she had no youthful aspect, nor apparently +the wish to assume it. You could have wished her attire +of a newer fashion. In a well-cut, well-made gown hers +would have been no uncomely presence. It puzzled you +to guess why a garment of handsome materials should be +arranged in such scanty folds, and devised after such an +obsolete mode. You felt disposed to set down the wearer +as somewhat eccentric at once.</p> + +<p>This lady received the visitors with a mixture of ceremony +and diffidence quite English. No middle-aged matron who +was not an Englishwoman <em>could</em> evince precisely the same +manner—a manner so uncertain of herself, of her own +merits, of her power to please, and yet so anxious to be +proper, and, if possible, rather agreeable than otherwise. +In the present instance, however, more embarrassment was +shown than is usual even with diffident Englishwomen. +Miss Helstone felt this, sympathized with the stranger, and +knowing by experience what was good for the timid, took +a seat quietly near her, and began to talk to her with a +gentle ease, communicated for the moment by the presence +of one less self-possessed than herself.</p> + +<p>She and this lady would, if alone, have at once got on +extremely well together. The lady had the clearest voice +imaginable—infinitely softer and more tuneful than could +have been reasonably expected from forty years—and a +form decidedly inclined to <em>embonpoint</em>. This voice Caroline +liked; it atoned for the formal, if correct, accent and +language. The lady would soon have discovered she +liked it and her, and in ten minutes they would have been +friends. But Mr. Helstone stood on the rug looking at +them both, looking especially at the strange lady with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>174<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +sarcastic, keen eye, that clearly expressed impatience of her +chilly ceremony, and annoyance at her want of <em>aplomb</em>. +His hard gaze and rasping voice discomfited the lady more +and more. She tried, however, to get up little speeches +about the weather, the aspect of the country, etc.; but the +impracticable Mr. Helstone presently found himself somewhat +deaf. Whatever she said he affected not to hear +distinctly, and she was obliged to go over each elaborately-constructed +nothing twice. The effort soon became too +much for her. She was just rising in a perplexed flutter, +nervously murmuring that she knew not what detained +Miss Keeldar, that she would go and look for her, when +Miss Keeldar saved her the trouble by appearing. It was +to be presumed at least that she who now came in through +a glass door from the garden owned that name.</p> + +<p>There is real grace in ease of manner, and so old Helstone +felt when an erect, slight girl walked up to him, +retaining with her left hand her little silk apron full of +flowers, and, giving him her right hand, said pleasantly, +"I knew you would come to see me, though you <em>do</em> think +Mr. Yorke has made me a Jacobin. Good-morning."</p> + +<p>"But we'll not have you a Jacobin," returned he. "No, +Miss Shirley; they shall not steal the flower of my parish +from me. Now that you are amongst us, you shall be my +pupil in politics and religion; I'll teach you sound doctrine +on both points."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor has anticipated you," she replied, turning +to the elder lady. "Mrs. Pryor, you know, was my governess, +and is still my friend; and of all the high and rigid +Tories she is queen; of all the stanch churchwomen she +is chief. I have been well drilled both in theology and +history, I assure you, Mr. Helstone."</p> + +<p>The rector immediately bowed very low to Mrs. Pryor, +and expressed himself obliged to her.</p> + +<p>The ex-governess disclaimed skill either in political or +religious controversy, explained that she thought such +matters little adapted for female minds, but avowed herself +in general terms the advocate of order and loyalty, +and, of course, truly attached to the Establishment. She +added she was ever averse to change under any circumstances, +and something scarcely audible about the extreme +danger of being too ready to take up new ideas closed her +sentence.</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar thinks as you think, I hope, madam."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>175<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Difference of age and difference of temperament occasion +difference of sentiment," was the reply. "It can +scarcely be expected that the eager and young should hold +the opinions of the cool and middle-aged."</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! we are independent; we think for ourselves!" +cried Mr. Helstone. "We are a little Jacobin, +for anything I know—a little freethinker, in good earnest. +Let <a name="us" id="us"></a><ins title="was as">us</ins> have a confession of faith on the spot."</p> + +<p>And he took the heiress's two hands—causing her to +let fall her whole cargo of flowers—and seated her by him +on the sofa.</p> + +<p>"Say your creed," he ordered.</p> + +<p>"The Apostles' Creed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She said it like a child.</p> + +<p>"Now for St. Athanasius's. That's the test!"</p> + +<p>"Let me gather up my flowers. Here is Tartar coming; +he will tread upon them."</p> + +<p>Tartar was a rather large, strong, and fierce-looking dog, +very ugly, being of a breed between mastiff and bulldog, +who at this moment entered through the glass door, and +posting directly to the rug, snuffed the fresh flowers scattered +there. He seemed to scorn them as food; but probably +thinking their velvety petals might be convenient as litter, +he was turning round preparatory to depositing his tawny +bulk upon them, when Miss Helstone and Miss Keeldar +simultaneously stooped to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the heiress, as she again held out +her little apron for Caroline to heap the blossoms into it. +"Is this your daughter, Mr. Helstone?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"My niece Caroline."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar shook hands with her, and then looked at +her. Caroline also looked at her hostess.</p> + +<p>Shirley Keeldar (she had no Christian name but Shirley: +her parents, who had wished to have a son, finding that, +after eight years of marriage, Providence had granted +them only a daughter, bestowed on her the same masculine +family cognomen they would have bestowed on a +boy, if with a boy they had been blessed)—Shirley Keeldar +was no ugly heiress. She was agreeable to the eye. +Her height and shape were not unlike Miss Helstone's; +perhaps in stature she might have the advantage by an +inch or two. She was gracefully made, and her face, too, +possessed a charm as well described by the word grace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>176<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +as any other. It was pale naturally, but intelligent, and +of varied expression. She was not a blonde, like Caroline. +Clear and dark were the characteristics of her aspect as +to colour. Her face and brow were clear, her eyes of the +darkest gray (no green lights in them—transparent, pure, +neutral gray), and her hair of the darkest brown. Her +features were distinguished—by which I do not mean that +they were high, bony, and Roman, being indeed rather +small and slightly marked than otherwise, but only that +they were, to use a few French words, "fins, gracieux, +spirituels"—mobile they were and speaking; but their +changes were not to be understood nor their language +interpreted all at once. She examined Caroline seriously, +inclining her head a little to one side, with a thoughtful +air.</p> + +<p>"You see she is only a feeble chick," observed Mr. +Helstone.</p> + +<p>"She looks young—younger than I.—How old are +you?" she inquired in a manner that would have been +patronizing if it had not been extremely solemn and simple.</p> + +<p>"Eighteen years and six months."</p> + +<p>"And I am twenty-one."</p> + +<p>She said no more. She had now placed her flowers on +the table, and was busied in arranging them.</p> + +<p>"And St. Athanasius's Creed?" urged the rector. +"You believe it all, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nosegay, +Mr. Helstone, when I have given your niece one."</p> + +<p>She had selected a little bouquet of one brilliant and +two or three delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark +verdure. She tied it with silk from her work-box, and +placed it on Caroline's lap; and then she put her hands +behind her, and stood bending slightly towards her guest, +still regarding her, in the attitude and with something of +the aspect of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This temporary +expression of face was aided by the style in which +she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in +a glossy sweep above the forehead, whence it fell in curls +that looked natural, so free were their wavy undulations.</p> + +<p>"Are you tired with your walk?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"No—not in the least. It is but a short distance—but +a mile."</p> + +<p>"You look pale.—Is she always so pale?" she asked, +turning to the rector.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>177<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"She used to be as rosy as the reddest of your flowers."</p> + +<p>"Why is she altered? What has made her pale? Has +she been ill?"</p> + +<p>"She tells me she wants a change."</p> + +<p>"She ought to have one. You ought to give her one. +You should send her to the sea-coast."</p> + +<p>"I will, ere summer is over. Meantime, I intend her +to make acquaintance with you, if you have no objection."</p> + +<p>"I am sure Miss Keeldar will have no objection," here +observed Mrs. Pryor. "I think I may take it upon me +to say that Miss Helstone's frequent presence at Fieldhead +will be esteemed a favour."</p> + +<p>"You speak my sentiments precisely, ma'am," said +Shirley, "and I thank you for anticipating me.—Let me +tell you," she continued, turning again to Caroline, "that +you also ought to thank my governess. It is not every +one she would welcome as she has welcomed you. You are +distinguished more than you think. This morning, as soon +as you are gone, I shall ask Mrs. Pryor's opinion of you. +I am apt to rely on her judgment of character, for hitherto +I have found it wondrous accurate. Already I foresee a +favourable answer to my inquiries.—Do I not guess rightly, +Mrs. Pryor?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, you said but now you would ask my opinion +when Miss Helstone was gone. I am scarcely likely to +give it in her presence."</p> + +<p>"No; and perhaps it will be long enough before I +obtain it.—I am sometimes sadly tantalized, Mr. Helstone, +by Mrs. Pryor's extreme caution. Her judgments ought +to be correct when they come, for they are often as tardy +of delivery as a Lord Chancellor's. On some people's +characters I cannot get her to pronounce a sentence, +entreat as I may."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor here smiled.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said her pupil, "I know what that smile means. +You are thinking of my gentleman-tenant.—Do you know +Mr. Moore of the Hollow?" she asked Mr. Helstone.</p> + +<p>"Ay! ay! Your tenant—so he is. You have seen +a good deal of him, no doubt, since you came?"</p> + +<p>"I have been obliged to see him. There was business +to transact. Business! Really the word makes me conscious +I am indeed no longer a girl, but quite a woman and +something more. I am an esquire! Shirley Keeldar, +Esquire, ought to be my style and title. They gave me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>178<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +a man's name; I hold a man's position. It is enough to +inspire me with a touch of manhood; and when I see such +people as that stately Anglo-Belgian—that Gérard Moore—before +me, gravely talking to me of business, really I +feel quite gentlemanlike. You must choose me for your +churchwarden, Mr. Helstone, the next time you elect new +ones. They ought to make me a magistrate and a captain +of yeomanry. Tony Lumpkin's mother was a colonel, and +his aunt a justice of the peace. Why shouldn't I be?"</p> + +<p>"With all my heart. If you choose to get up a requisition +on the subject, I promise to head the list of signatures +with my name. But you were speaking of Moore?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes. I find it a little difficult to understand Mr. +Moore, to know what to think of him, whether to like him +or not. He seems a tenant of whom any proprietor might +be proud—and proud of him I am, in that sense; but as a +neighbour, what is he? Again and again I have entreated +Mrs. Pryor to say what she thinks of him, but she still +evades returning a direct answer. I hope you will be less +oracular, Mr. Helstone, and pronounce at once. Do you +like him?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, just now. His name is entirely blotted +from my good books."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter? What has he done?"</p> + +<p>"My uncle and he disagree on politics," interposed the +low voice of Caroline. She had better not have spoken just +then. Having scarcely joined in the conversation before, +it was not apropos to do it now. She felt this with nervous +acuteness as soon as she had spoken, and coloured to the +eyes.</p> + +<p>"What are Moore's politics?" inquired Shirley.</p> + +<p>"Those of a tradesman," returned the rector—"narrow, +selfish, and unpatriotic. The man is eternally writing and +speaking against the continuance of the war. I have no +patience with him."</p> + +<p>"The war hurts his trade. I remember he remarked +that only yesterday. But what other objection have you +to him?"</p> + +<p>"That is enough."</p> + +<p>"He looks the gentleman, in my sense of the term," +pursued Shirley, "and it pleases me to think he is such."</p> + +<p>Caroline rent the Tyrian petals of the one brilliant flower +in her bouquet, and answered in distinct tones, "Decidedly +he is." Shirley, hearing this courageous affirmation, flashed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>179<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +an arch, searching glance at the speaker from her deep, +expressive eyes.</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em> are his friend, at any rate," she said. "You +defend him in his absence."</p> + +<p>"I am both his friend and his relative," was the prompt +reply. "Robert Moore is my cousin."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, you can tell me all about him. Just give +me a sketch of his character."</p> + +<p>Insuperable embarrassment seized Caroline when this +demand was made. She could not, and did not, attempt +to comply with it. Her silence was immediately covered +by Mrs. Pryor, who proceeded to address sundry questions +to Mr. Helstone regarding a family or two in the neighbourhood, +with whose connections in the south she said she was +acquainted. Shirley soon withdrew her gaze from Miss +Helstone's face. She did not renew her interrogations, but +returning to her flowers, proceeded to choose a nosegay +for the rector. She presented it to him as he took leave, +and received the homage of a salute on the hand in +return.</p> + +<p>"Be sure you wear it for my sake," said she.</p> + +<p>"Next my heart, of course," responded Helstone.—"Mrs. +Pryor, take care of this future magistrate, this churchwarden +in perspective, this captain of yeomanry, this young squire +of Briarfield, in a word. Don't let him exert himself too +much; don't let him break his neck in hunting; especially, +let him mind how he rides down that dangerous hill near +the Hollow."</p> + +<p>"I like a descent," said Shirley; "I like to clear it +rapidly; and especially I like that romantic Hollow with +all my heart."</p> + +<p>"Romantic, with a mill in it?"</p> + +<p>"Romantic with a mill in it. The old mill and the +white cottage are each admirable in its way."</p> + +<p>"And the counting-house, Mr. Keeldar?"</p> + +<p>"The counting-house is better than my bloom-coloured +drawing-room. I adore the counting-house."</p> + +<p>"And the trade? The cloth, the greasy wool, the +polluting dyeing-vats?"</p> + +<p>"The trade is to be thoroughly respected."</p> + +<p>"And the tradesman is a hero? Good!"</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear you say so. I thought the tradesman +looked heroic."</p> + +<p>Mischief, spirit, and glee sparkled all over her face as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>180<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +she thus bandied words with the old Cossack, who almost +equally enjoyed the tilt.</p> + +<p>"Captain Keeldar, you have no mercantile blood in your +veins. Why are you so fond of trade?"</p> + +<p>"Because I am a mill-owner, of course. Half my income +comes from the works in that Hollow."</p> + +<p>"Don't enter into partnership—that's all."</p> + +<p>"You've put it into my head! you've put it into my +head!" she exclaimed, with a joyous laugh. "It will never +get out. Thank you." And waving her hand, white as a +lily and fine as a fairy's, she vanished within the porch, +while the rector and his niece passed out through the arched +gateway.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>181<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>SHIRLEY AND CAROLINE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Shirley</span> showed she had been sincere in saying she should +be glad of Caroline's society, by frequently seeking it; and, +indeed, if she had not sought it, she would not have had it, +for Miss Helstone was slow to make fresh acquaintance. +She was always held back by the idea that people could +not want her, that she could not amuse them; and a brilliant, +happy, youthful creature like the heiress of Fieldhead +seemed to her too completely independent of society so +uninteresting as hers ever to find it really welcome.</p> + +<p>Shirley might be brilliant, and probably happy likewise, +but no one is independent of genial society; and though +in about a month she had made the acquaintance of most +of the families round, and was on quite free and easy terms +with all the Misses Sykes, and all the Misses Pearson, and +the two superlative Misses Wynne of Walden Hall, yet, it +appeared, she found none amongst them very genial: she +fraternized with none of them, to use her own words. +If she had had the bliss to be really Shirley Keeldar, Esq., +lord of the manor of Briarfield, there was not a single fair +one in this and the two neighbouring parishes whom she +should have felt disposed to request to become Mrs. Keeldar, +lady of the manor. This declaration she made to Mrs. +Pryor, who received it very quietly, as she did most of her +pupil's off-hand speeches, responding, "My dear, do not +allow that habit of alluding to yourself as a gentleman to +be confirmed. It is a strange one. Those who do not +know you, hearing you speak thus, would think you affected +masculine manners."</p> + +<p>Shirley never laughed at her former governess; even +the little formalities and harmless peculiarities of that lady +were respectable in her eyes. Had it been otherwise, she +would have proved herself a weak character at once; for +it is only the weak who make a butt of quiet worth. Therefore +she took her remonstrance in silence. She stood quietly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>182<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +near the window, looking at the grand cedar on her lawn +watching a bird on one of its lower boughs. Presently she +began to chirrup to the bird; soon her chirrup grew clearer; +ere long she was whistling; the whistle struck into a tune, +and very sweetly and deftly it was executed.</p> + +<p>"My dear!" expostulated Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>"Was I whistling?" said Shirley. "I forgot. I beg +your pardon, ma'am. I had resolved to take care not to +whistle before you."</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Keeldar, where did you learn to whistle? +You must have got the habit since you came down into +Yorkshire. I never knew you guilty of it before."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I learned to whistle a long while ago."</p> + +<p>"Who taught you?"</p> + +<p>"No one. I took it up by listening, and I had laid it +down again. But lately, yesterday evening, as I was coming +up our lane, I heard a gentleman whistling that very +tune in the field on the other side of the hedge, and that +reminded me."</p> + +<p>"What gentleman was it?"</p> + +<p>"We have only one gentleman in this region, ma'am, +and that is Mr. Moore—at least he is the only gentleman +who is not gray-haired. My two venerable favourites, Mr. +Helstone and Mr. Yorke, it is true, are fine old beaus, infinitely +better than any of the stupid young ones."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor was silent.</p> + +<p>"You do not like Mr. Helstone, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, Mr. Helstone's office secures him from criticism."</p> + +<p>"You generally contrive to leave the room when he is +announced."</p> + +<p>"Do you walk out this morning, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall go to the rectory, and seek and find Caroline +Helstone, and make her take some exercise. She shall +have a breezy walk over Nunnely Common."</p> + +<p>"If you go in that direction, my dear, have the goodness +to remind Miss Helstone to wrap up well, as there is a fresh +wind, and she appears to me to require care."</p> + +<p>"You shall be minutely obeyed, Mrs. Pryor. Meantime, +will you not accompany us yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No, my love; I should be a restraint upon you. I am +stout, and cannot walk so quickly as you would wish to do."</p> + +<p>Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with her, and +when they were fairly out on the quiet road, traversing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>183<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the extensive and solitary sweep of Nunnely Common, she +as easily drew her into conversation. The first feelings of +diffidence overcome, Caroline soon felt glad to talk with +Miss Keeldar. The very first interchange of slight observations +sufficed to give each an idea of what the other was. +Shirley said she liked the green sweep of the common turf, +and, better still, the heath on its ridges, for the heath reminded +her of moors. She had seen moors when she was +travelling on the borders near Scotland. She remembered +particularly a district traversed one long afternoon, on a +sultry but sunless day in summer. They journeyed from +noon till sunset, over what seemed a boundless waste of +deep heath, and nothing had they seen but wild sheep, +nothing heard but the cries of wild birds.</p> + +<p>"I know how the heath would look on such a day," said +Caroline; "purple-black—a deeper shade of the sky-tint, +and that would be livid."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite livid, with brassy edges to the clouds, and +here and there a white gleam, more ghastly than the lurid +tinge, which, as you looked at it, you momentarily expected +would kindle into blinding lightning."</p> + +<p>"Did it thunder?"</p> + +<p>"It muttered distant peals, but the storm did not break +till evening, after we had reached our inn—that inn being +an isolated house at the foot of a range of mountains."</p> + +<p>"Did you watch the clouds come down over the mountains?"</p> + +<p>"I did. I stood at the window an hour watching them. +The hills seemed rolled in a sullen mist, and when the rain +fell in whitening sheets, suddenly they were blotted from +the prospect; they were washed from the world."</p> + +<p>"I have seen such storms in hilly districts in Yorkshire; +and at their riotous climax, while the sky was all cataract, +the earth all flood, I have remembered the Deluge."</p> + +<p>"It is singularly reviving after such hurricanes to feel +calm return, and from the opening clouds to receive a +consolatory gleam, softly testifying that the sun is not +quenched."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at +Nunnely dale and wood."</p> + +<p>They both halted on the green brow of the common. +They looked down on the deep valley robed in May raiment; +on varied meads, some pearled with daisies, and some +golden with king-cups. To-day all this young verdure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>184<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and amber +gleams played over it. On Nunnwood—the sole remnant +of antique British forest in a region whose lowlands were +once all silvan chase, as its highlands were breast-deep +heather—slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills +were dappled, the horizon was shaded and tinted like +mother-of-pearl; silvery blues, soft purples, evanescent +greens and rose-shades, all melting into fleeces of white cloud, +pure as azury snow, allured the eye as with a remote glimpse +of heaven's foundations. The air blowing on the brow was +fresh, and sweet, and bracing.</p> + +<p>"Our England is a bonny island," said Shirley, "and +Yorkshire is one of her bonniest nooks."</p> + +<p>"You are a Yorkshire girl too?"</p> + +<p>"I am—Yorkshire in blood and birth. Five generations +of my race sleep under the aisles of Briarfield Church. I +drew my first breath in the old black hall behind us."</p> + +<p>Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly +taken and shaken. "We are compatriots," said she.</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod.</p> + +<p>"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest—"that +is Nunnwood?"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"Were you ever there?"</p> + +<p>"Many a time."</p> + +<p>"In the heart of it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What is it like?"</p> + +<p>"It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak. The +trees are huge and old. When you stand at their roots, +the summits seem in another region. The trunks remain +still and firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to every +breeze. In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite +hushed, and in high wind a flood rushes, a sea thunders +above you."</p> + +<p>"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and there are mementos of him still existing. To +penetrate into Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back +into the dim days of old. Can you see a break in the forest, +about the centre?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, distinctly."</p> + +<p>"That break is a dell—a deep, hollow cup, lined with +turf as green and short as the sod of this common. The +very oldest of the trees, gnarled mighty oaks, crowd about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>185<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the brink of this dell. In the bottom lie the ruins of a +nunnery."</p> + +<p>"We will go—you and I alone, Caroline—to that wood, +early some fine summer morning, and spend a long day +there. We can take pencils and sketch-books, and any +interesting reading book we like; and of course we shall +take something to eat. I have two little baskets, in which +Mrs. Gill, my <a name="housekeeper" id="housekeeper"></a><ins title="was houskeeper">housekeeper</ins>, might pack our provisions, and +we could each carry our own. It would not tire you too +much to walk so far?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no; especially if we rested the whole day in the +wood. And I know all the pleasantest spots. I know +where we could get nuts in nutting time; I know where +wild strawberries abound; I know certain lonely, quite +untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses, some +yellow as if gilded, some a sober gray, some gem-green. +I know groups of trees that ravish the eye with their perfect, +picture-like effects—rude oak, delicate birch, glossy +beech, clustered in contrast; and ash trees stately as Saul, +standing isolated; and superannuated wood-giants clad +in bright shrouds of ivy. Miss Keeldar, I could guide +you."</p> + +<p>"You would be dull with me alone?"</p> + +<p>"I should not. I think we should suit; and what +third person is there whose presence would not spoil our +pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I know of none about our own ages—no lady +at least; and as to gentlemen——"</p> + +<p>"An excursion becomes quite a different thing when +there are gentlemen of the party," interrupted Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I agree with you—quite a different thing to what we +were proposing."</p> + +<p>"We were going simply to see the old trees, the old +ruins; to pass a day in old times, surrounded by olden +silence, and above all by quietude."</p> + +<p>"You are right; and the presence of gentlemen dispels +the last charm, I think. If they are of the wrong sort, +like your Malones, and your young Sykes, and Wynnes, +irritation takes the place of serenity. If they are of the +right sort, there is still a change; I can hardly tell what +change—one easy to feel, difficult to describe."</p> + +<p>"We forget Nature, <em>imprimis</em>."</p> + +<p>"And then Nature forgets us, covers her vast calm brow +with a dim veil, conceals her face, and withdraws the peaceful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>186<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +joy with which, if we had been content to worship her +only, she would have filled our hearts."</p> + +<p>"What does she give us instead?"</p> + +<p>"More elation and more anxiety; an excitement that +steals the hours away fast, and a trouble that ruffles their +course."</p> + +<p>"Our power of being happy lies a good deal in ourselves, +I believe," remarked Caroline sagely. "I have gone to +Nunnwood with a large party—all the curates and some +other gentry of these parts, together with sundry ladies—and +I found the affair insufferably tedious and absurd; +and I have gone quite alone, or accompanied but by Fanny, +who sat in the woodman's hut and sewed, or talked to the +goodwife, while I roamed about and made sketches, or read; +and I have enjoyed much happiness of a quiet kind all day +long. But that was when I was young—two years ago."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever go with your cousin, Robert Moore?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; once."</p> + +<p>"What sort of a companion is he on these occasions?"</p> + +<p>"A cousin, you know, is different to a stranger."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of that; but cousins, if they are stupid, +are still more insupportable than strangers, because you +cannot so easily keep them at a distance. But your cousin +is not stupid?"</p> + +<p>"No; but——"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"If the company of fools irritates, as you say, the society +of clever men leaves its own peculiar pain also. Where the +goodness or talent of your friend is beyond and above all +doubt, your own worthiness to be his associate often +becomes a matter of question."</p> + +<p>"Oh! there I cannot follow you. That crotchet is not +one I should choose to entertain for an instant. I consider +myself not unworthy to be the associate of the best of them—of +gentlemen, I mean—though that is saying a great +deal. Where they are good, they are very good, I believe. +Your uncle, by-the-bye, is not a bad specimen of the elderly +gentleman. I am always glad to see his brown, keen, +sensible old face, either in my own house or any other. +Are you fond of him? Is he kind to you? Now, speak +the truth."</p> + +<p>"He has brought me up from childhood, I doubt not, +precisely as he would have brought up his own daughter, +if he had had one; and that is kindness. But I am not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>187<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +fond of him. I would rather be out of his presence than +in it."</p> + +<p>"Strange, when he has the art of making himself so +agreeable."</p> + +<p>"Yes, in company; but he is stern and silent at home. +As he puts away his cane and shovel-hat in the rectory +hall, so he locks his liveliness in his book-case and study-desk: +the knitted brow and brief word for the fireside; +the smile, the jest, the witty sally for society."</p> + +<p>"Is he tyrannical?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. He is neither tyrannical nor hypocritical. +He is simply a man who is rather liberal than +good-natured, rather brilliant than genial, rather scrupulously +equitable than truly just—if you can understand +such superfine distinctions."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! Good-nature implies indulgence, which he +has not; geniality, warmth of heart, which he does not +own; and genuine justice is the offspring of sympathy +and considerateness, of which, I can well conceive, my +bronzed old friend is quite innocent."</p> + +<p>"I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men resemble +my uncle in their domestic relations; whether it is necessary +to be new and unfamiliar to them in order to seem +agreeable or estimable in their eyes; and whether it is +impossible to their natures to retain a constant interest +and affection for those they see every day."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I can't clear up your doubts. I ponder +over similar ones myself sometimes. But, to tell you a +secret, if I were convinced that they are necessarily and +universally different from us—fickle, soon petrifying, unsympathizing—I +would never marry. I should not like +to find out that what I loved did not love me, that it was +weary of me, and that whatever effort I might make to +please would hereafter be worse than useless, since it was +inevitably in its nature to change and become indifferent. +That discovery once made, what should I long for? To +go away, to remove from a presence where my society gave +no pleasure."</p> + +<p>"But you could not if you were married."</p> + +<p>"No, I could not. There it is. I could never be my +own mistress more. A terrible thought! It suffocates me! +Nothing irks me like the idea of being a burden and a bore—an +inevitable burden, a ceaseless bore! Now, when I +feel my company superfluous, I can comfortably fold my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>188<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +independence round me like a mantle, and drop my +pride like a veil, and withdraw to solitude. If married, +that could not be."</p> + +<p>"I wonder we don't all make up our minds to remain +single," said Caroline. "We should if we listened to the +wisdom of experience. My uncle always speaks of marriage +as a burden; and I believe whenever he hears of a man +being married he invariably regards him as a fool, or, at +any rate, as doing a foolish thing."</p> + +<p>"But, Caroline, men are not all like your uncle. Surely +not. I hope not."</p> + +<p>She paused and mused.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we each find an exception in the one we +love, till we <em>are</em> married," suggested Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. And this exception we believe to be +of sterling materials. We fancy it like ourselves; we +imagine a sense of harmony. We think his voice gives +the softest, truest promise of a heart that will never harden +against us; we read in his eyes that faithful feeling—affection. +I don't think we should trust to what they call +passion at all, Caroline. I believe it is a mere fire of dry +sticks, blazing up and vanishing. But we watch him, and +see him kind to animals, to little children, to poor people. +He is kind to us likewise, good, considerate. He does not +flatter women, but he is patient with them, and he seems +to be easy in their presence, and to find their company +genial. He likes them not only for vain and selfish reasons, +but as <em>we</em> like him—because we like him. Then we observe +that he is just, that he always speaks the truth, that he is +conscientious. We feel joy and peace when he comes into +a room; we feel sadness and trouble when he leaves it. +We know that this man has been a kind son, that he is a +kind brother. Will any one dare to tell me that he will +not be a kind husband?"</p> + +<p>"My uncle would affirm it unhesitatingly. 'He will be +sick of you in a month,' he would say."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor would seriously intimate the same."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Yorke and Miss Mann would darkly suggest ditto."</p> + +<p>"If they are true oracles, it is good never to fall in love."</p> + +<p>"Very good, if you can avoid it."</p> + +<p>"I choose to doubt their truth."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that proves you are already caught."</p> + +<p>"Not I. But if I were, do you know what soothsayers +I would consult?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>189<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Let me hear."</p> + +<p>"Neither man nor woman, elderly nor young: the little +Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my door; the mouse +that steals out of the cranny in the wainscot; the bird +that in frost and snow pecks at my window for a crumb; +the dog that licks my hand and sits beside my knee."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see any one who was kind to such things?"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see any one whom such things seemed +instinctively to follow, like, rely on?"</p> + +<p>"We have a black cat and an old dog at the rectory. +I know somebody to whose knee that black cat loves to +climb, against whose shoulder and cheek it likes to purr. +The old dog always comes out of his kennel and wags his +tail, and whines affectionately when somebody passes."</p> + +<p>"And what does that somebody do?"</p> + +<p>"He quietly strokes the cat, and lets her sit while he +conveniently can; and when he must disturb her by rising, +he puts her softly down, and never flings her from him +roughly. He always whistles to the dog and gives him a +caress."</p> + +<p>"Does he? It is not Robert?"</p> + +<p>"But it is Robert."</p> + +<p>"Handsome fellow!" said Shirley, with enthusiasm. +Her eyes sparkled.</p> + +<p>"Is he not handsome? Has he not fine eyes and well-cut +features, and a clear, princely forehead?"</p> + +<p>"He has all that, Caroline. Bless him! he is both +graceful and good."</p> + +<p>"I was sure you would see that he was. When I first +looked at your face I knew you would."</p> + +<p>"I was well inclined to him before I saw him. I liked +him when I did see him. I admire him now. There is +charm in beauty for itself, Caroline; when it is blent with +goodness, there is a powerful charm."</p> + +<p>"When mind is added, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"Who can resist it?"</p> + +<p>"Remember my uncle, Mesdames Pryor, Yorke, and +Mann."</p> + +<p>"Remember the croaking of the frogs of Egypt. He is +a noble being. I tell you when they <em>are</em> good they are the +lords of the creation—they are the sons of God. Moulded in +their Maker's image, the minutest spark of His spirit lifts +them almost above mortality. Indisputably, a great, good, +handsome man is the first of created things."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>190<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Above us?"</p> + +<p>"I would scorn to contend for empire with him—I would +scorn it. Shall my left hand dispute for precedence with +my right? Shall my heart quarrel with my pulse? Shall +my veins be jealous of the blood which fills them?"</p> + +<p>"Men and women, husbands and wives, quarrel horribly, +Shirley."</p> + +<p>"Poor things! Poor, fallen, degenerate things! God +made them for another lot, for other feelings."</p> + +<p>"But are we men's equals, or are we not?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing ever charms me more than when I meet my +superior—one who makes me sincerely feel that he is my +superior."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever meet him?"</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to see him any day. The higher above +me, so much the better. It degrades to stoop; it is glorious +to look up. What frets me is, that when I try to esteem, +I am baffled; when religiously inclined, there are but false +gods to adore. I disdain to be a pagan."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, will you come in? We are here at the +rectory gates."</p> + +<p>"Not to-day, but to-morrow I shall fetch you to spend +the evening with me. Caroline Helstone, if you really are +what at present to me you seem, you and I will suit. I +have never in my whole life been able to talk to a young +lady as I have talked to you this morning. Kiss me—and +good-bye."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor seemed as well disposed to cultivate Caroline's +acquaintance as Shirley. She, who went nowhere else, +called on an early day at the rectory. She came in the +afternoon, when the rector happened to be out. It was +rather a close day; the heat of the weather had flushed +her, and she seemed fluttered too by the circumstance of +entering a strange house, for it appeared her habits were +most retiring and secluded. When Miss Helstone went to +her in the dining-room she found her seated on the sofa, +trembling, fanning herself with her handkerchief, and seeming +to contend with a nervous discomposure that threatened +to become hysterical.</p> + +<p>Caroline marvelled somewhat at this unusual want of +self-command in a lady of her years, and also at the lack +of real strength in one who appeared almost robust—for +Mrs. Pryor hastened to allege the fatigue of her walk, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>191<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +heat of the sun, etc., as reasons for her temporary indisposition; +and still as, with more hurry than coherence, she +again and again enumerated these causes of exhaustion, +Caroline gently sought to relieve her by opening her shawl +and removing her bonnet. Attentions of this sort Mrs. +Pryor would not have accepted from every one. In general +she recoiled from touch or close approach with a mixture +of embarrassment and coldness far from flattering to those +who offered her aid. To Miss Helstone's little light hand, +however, she yielded tractably, and seemed soothed by its +contact. In a few minutes she ceased to tremble, and grew +quiet and tranquil.</p> + +<p>Her usual manner being resumed, she proceeded to talk +of ordinary topics. In a miscellaneous company Mrs. Pryor +rarely opened her lips, or, if obliged to speak, she spoke +under restraint, and consequently not well; in dialogue +she was a good converser. Her language, always a little +formal, was well chosen; her sentiments were just; her +information was varied and correct. Caroline felt it pleasant +to listen to her, more pleasant than she could have anticipated.</p> + +<p>On the wall opposite the sofa where they sat hung three +pictures—the centre one, above the mantelpiece, that of a +lady; the two others, male portraits.</p> + +<p>"That is a beautiful face," said Mrs. Pryor, interrupting +a brief pause which had followed half an hour's animated +conversation. "The features may be termed perfect; no +statuary's chisel could improve them. It is a portrait from +the life, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"It is a portrait of Mrs. Helstone."</p> + +<p>"Of Mrs. Matthewson Helstone? Of your uncle's wife?"</p> + +<p>"It is, and is said to be a good likeness. Before her +marriage she was accounted the beauty of the district."</p> + +<p>"I should say she merited the distinction. What accuracy +in all the lineaments! It is, however, a passive face. +The original could not have been what is generally termed +'a woman of spirit.'"</p> + +<p>"I believe she was a remarkably still, silent person."</p> + +<p>"One would scarcely have expected, my dear, that your +uncle's choice should have fallen on a partner of that description. +Is he not fond of being amused by lively +chat?"</p> + +<p>"In company he is. But he always says he could never +do with a talking wife. He must have quiet at home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>192<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +You go out to gossip, he affirms; you come home to read +and reflect."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Matthewson lived but a few years after her marriage, +I think I have heard?"</p> + +<p>"About five years."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," pursued Mrs. Pryor, rising to go, "I +trust it is understood that you will frequently come to +Fieldhead. I hope you will. You must feel lonely here, +having no female relative in the house; you must necessarily +pass much of your time in solitude."</p> + +<p>"I am inured to it. I have grown up by myself. May +I arrange your shawl for you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor submitted to be assisted.</p> + +<p>"Should you chance to require help in your studies," +she said, "you may command me."</p> + +<p>Caroline expressed her sense of such kindness.</p> + +<p>"I hope to have frequent conversations with you. I +should wish to be of use to you."</p> + +<p>Again Miss Helstone returned thanks. She thought what +a kind heart was hidden under her visitor's seeming chilliness. +Observing that Mrs. Pryor again glanced with an air +of interest towards the portraits, as she walked down the +room, Caroline casually explained: "The likeness that +hangs near the window, you will see, is my uncle, taken +twenty years ago; the other, to the left of the mantelpiece, +is his brother James, my father."</p> + +<p>"They resemble each other in some measure," said Mrs. +Pryor; "yet a difference of character may be traced in +the different mould of the brow and mouth."</p> + +<p>"What difference?" inquired Caroline, accompanying +her to the door. "James Helstone—that is, my father—is +generally considered the best-looking of the two. Strangers, +I remark, always exclaim, 'What a handsome man!' Do +you think his picture handsome, Mrs. Pryor?"</p> + +<p>"It is much softer or finer featured than that of your +uncle."</p> + +<p>"But where or what is the difference of character to +which you alluded? Tell me. I wish to see if you guess +right."</p> + +<p>"My dear, your uncle is a man of principle. His forehead +and his lips are firm, and his eye is steady."</p> + +<p>"Well, and the other? Do not be afraid of offending +me. I always like the truth."</p> + +<p>"Do you like the truth? It is well for you. Adhere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>193<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to that preference—never swerve thence. The other, my +dear, if he had been living now, would probably have furnished +little support to his daughter. It is, however, a +graceful head—taken in youth, I should think. My dear" +(turning abruptly), "you acknowledge an inestimable value +in principle?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure no character can have true worth without it."</p> + +<p>"You feel what you say? You have considered the +subject?"</p> + +<p>"Often. Circumstances early forced it upon my attention."</p> + +<p>"The lesson was not lost, then, though it came so prematurely. +I suppose the soil is not light nor stony, otherwise +seed falling in that season never would have borne +fruit. My dear, do not stand in the air of the door; you +will take cold. Good-afternoon."</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone's new acquaintance soon became of value +to her: their society was acknowledged a privilege. She +found she would have been in error indeed to have let slip +this chance of relief, to have neglected to avail herself of +this happy change. A turn was thereby given to her +thoughts; a new channel was opened for them, which, +diverting a few of them at least from the one direction in +which all had hitherto tended, abated the impetuosity of +their rush, and lessened the force of their pressure on one +worn-down point.</p> + +<p>Soon she was content to spend whole days at Fieldhead, +doing by turns whatever Shirley or Mrs. Pryor wished her +to do; and now one would claim her, now the other. Nothing +could be less demonstrative than the friendship of the +elder lady, but also nothing could be more vigilant, assiduous, +untiring. I have intimated that she was a peculiar +personage, and in nothing was her peculiarity more shown +than in the nature of the interest she evinced for Caroline. +She watched all her movements; she seemed as if she would +have guarded all her steps. It gave her pleasure to be +applied to by Miss Helstone for advice and assistance. She +yielded her aid, when asked, with such quiet yet obvious +enjoyment that Caroline ere long took delight in depending +on her.</p> + +<p>Shirley Keeldar's complete docility with Mrs. Pryor had +at first surprised Miss Helstone, and not less the fact of the +reserved ex-governess being so much at home and at ease +in the residence of her young pupil, where she filled with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>194<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +such quiet independency a very dependent post; but she +soon found that it needed but to know both ladies to comprehend +fully the enigma. Every one, it seemed to her, +must like, must love, must prize Mrs. Pryor when they +knew her. No matter that she perseveringly wore old-fashioned +gowns; that her speech was formal and her +manner cool; that she had twenty little ways such as nobody +else had: she was still such a stay, such a counsellor, +so truthful, so kind in her way, that, in Caroline's idea, +none once accustomed to her presence could easily afford +to dispense with it.</p> + +<p>As to dependency or humiliation, Caroline did not feel it +in her intercourse with Shirley, and why should Mrs. Pryor? +The heiress was rich—very rich—compared with her new +friend: one possessed a clear thousand a year, the other +not a penny; and yet there was a safe sense of equality +experienced in her society, never known in that of the +ordinary Briarfield and Whinbury gentry.</p> + +<p>The reason was, Shirley's head ran on other things than +money and position. She was glad to be independent as +to property; by fits she was even elated at the notion of +being lady of the manor, and having tenants and an estate. +She was especially tickled with an agreeable complacency +when reminded of "all that property" down in the Hollow, +"comprising an excellent cloth-mill, dyehouse, warehouse, +together with the messuage, gardens, and outbuildings, +termed Hollow's Cottage;" but her exultation being quite +undisguised was singularly inoffensive; and, for her serious +thoughts, they tended elsewhere. To admire the great, +reverence the good, and be joyous with the genial, was very +much the bent of Shirley's soul: she mused, therefore, on +the means of following this bent far oftener than she pondered +on her social superiority.</p> + +<p>In Caroline Miss Keeldar had first taken an interest because +she was quiet, retiring, looked delicate, and seemed +as if she needed some one to take care of her. Her predilection +increased greatly when she discovered that her +own way of thinking and talking was understood and responded +to by this new acquaintance. She had hardly +expected it. Miss Helstone, she fancied, had too pretty a +face, manners and voice too soft, to be anything out of the +common way in mind and attainments; and she very much +wondered to see the gentle features light up archly to the +reveille of a dry sally or two risked by herself; and more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>195<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +did she wonder to discover the self-won knowledge treasured, +and the untaught speculations working in that girlish, curl-veiled +head. Caroline's instinct of taste, too, was like her +own. Such books as Miss Keeldar had read with the most +pleasure were Miss Helstone's delight also. They held many +aversions too in common, and could have the comfort of +laughing together over works of false sentimentality and +pompous pretension.</p> + +<p>Few, Shirley conceived, men or women have the right +taste in poetry, the right sense for discriminating between +what is real and what is false. She had again and again +heard very clever people pronounce this or that passage, +in this or that versifier, altogether admirable, which, when +she read, her soul refused to acknowledge as anything but +cant, flourish, and tinsel, or at the best elaborate wordiness, +curious, clever, learned, perhaps, haply even tinged with +the fascinating hues of fancy, but, God knows, as different +from real poetry as the gorgeous and massy vase of mosaic +is from the little cup of pure metal; or, to give the reader +a choice of similes, as the milliner's artificial wreath is from +the fresh-gathered lily of the field.</p> + +<p>Caroline, she found, felt the value of the true ore, and +knew the deception of the flashy dross. The minds of the +two girls being toned in harmony often chimed very sweetly +together.</p> + +<p>One evening they chanced to be alone in the oak-parlour. +They had passed a long wet day together without <em>ennui</em>. +It was now on the edge of dark; candles were not yet +brought in; both, as twilight deepened, grew meditative +and silent. A western wind roared high round the hall, +driving wild clouds and stormy rain up from the far-remote +ocean; all was tempest outside the antique lattices, all deep +peace within. Shirley sat at the window, watching the +rack in heaven, the mist on earth, listening to certain notes +of the gale that plained like restless spirits—notes which, +had she not been so young, gay, and healthy, would have +swept her trembling nerves like some omen, some anticipatory +dirge. In this her prime of existence and bloom of +beauty they but subdued vivacity to pensiveness. Snatches +of sweet ballads haunted her ear; now and then she sang a +stanza. Her accents obeyed the fitful impulse of the wind; +they swelled as its gusts rushed on, and died as they wandered +away. Caroline, withdrawn to the farthest and darkest +end of the room, her figure just discernible by the ruby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>196<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +shine of the flameless fire, was pacing to and fro, muttering +to herself fragments of well-remembered poetry. She spoke +very low, but Shirley heard her; and while singing softly, +she listened. This was the strain:—</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Obscurest night involved the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Atlantic billows roared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When such a destined wretch as I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Washed headlong from on board,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His floating home for ever left."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Here the fragment stopped, because Shirley's song, erewhile +somewhat full and thrilling, had become delicately +faint.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said she.</p> + +<p>"Then you go on too. I was only repeating 'The Castaway.'"</p> + +<p>"I know. If you can remember it all, say it all."</p> + +<p>And as it was nearly dark, and, after all, Miss Keeldar +was no formidable auditor, Caroline went through it. She +went through it as she should have gone through it. The +wild sea, the drowning mariner, the reluctant ship swept +on in the storm, you heard were realized by her; and more +vividly was realized the heart of the poet, who did not +weep for "The Castaway," but who, in an hour of tearless +anguish, traced a semblance to his own God-abandoned misery +in the fate of that man-forsaken sailor, and cried from the +depths where he struggled,—</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"No voice divine the storm allayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No light propitious shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, snatched from all effectual aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We perished—each alone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I beneath a rougher sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"I hope William Cowper is safe and calm in heaven +now," said Caroline.</p> + +<p>"Do you pity what he suffered on earth?" asked Miss +Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"Pity him, Shirley? What can I do else? He was +nearly broken-hearted when he wrote that poem, and it +almost breaks one's heart to read it. But he found relief +in writing it—I know he did; and that gift of poetry—the +most divine bestowed on man—was, I believe, granted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>197<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +allay emotions when their strength threatens harm. It +seems to me, Shirley, that nobody should write poetry to +exhibit intellect or attainment. Who cares for that sort +of poetry? Who cares for learning—who cares for fine +words in poetry? And who does not care for feeling—real +feeling—however simply, even rudely expressed?"</p> + +<p>"It seems you care for it, at all events; and certainly, +in hearing that poem, one discovers that Cowper was under +an impulse strong as that of the wind which drove the ship—an +impulse which, while it would not suffer him to stop +to add ornament to a single stanza, filled him with force +to achieve the whole with consummate perfection. You +managed to recite it with a steady voice, Caroline. I +wonder thereat."</p> + +<p>"Cowper's hand did not tremble in writing the lines. +Why should my voice falter in repeating them? Depend +on it, Shirley, no tear blistered the manuscript of 'The +Castaway.' I hear in it no sob of sorrow, only the cry of +despair; but, that cry uttered, I believe the deadly spasm +passed from his heart, that he wept abundantly, and was +comforted."</p> + +<p>Shirley resumed her ballad minstrelsy. Stopping short, +she remarked ere long, "One could have loved Cowper, if +it were only for the sake of having the privilege of comforting +him."</p> + +<p>"You never would have loved Cowper," rejoined Caroline +promptly. "He was not made to be loved by woman."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"What I say. I know there is a kind of natures in +the world—and very noble, elevated natures too—whom +love never comes near. You might have sought Cowper +with the intention of loving him, and you would have +looked at him, pitied him, and left him, forced away by +a sense of the impossible, the incongruous, as the crew were +borne from their drowning comrade by 'the furious blast.'"</p> + +<p>"You may be right. Who told you this?"</p> + +<p>"And what I say of Cowper, I should say of Rousseau. +Was Rousseau ever loved? He loved passionately; but +was his passion ever returned? I am certain, never. And +if there were any female Cowpers and Rousseaus, I should +assert the same of them."</p> + +<p>"Who told you this, I ask? Did Moore?"</p> + +<p>"Why should anybody have told me? Have I not an +instinct? Can I not divine by analogy? Moore never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>198<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +talked to me either about Cowper, or Rousseau, or love. +The voice we hear in solitude told me all I know on these +subjects."</p> + +<p>"Do you like characters of the Rousseau order, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, as a whole. I sympathize intensely with +certain qualities they possess. Certain divine sparks in +their nature dazzle my eyes, and make my soul glow. Then, +again, I scorn them. They are made of clay and gold. +The refuse and the ore make a mass of weakness: taken +altogether, I feel them unnatural, unhealthy, repulsive."</p> + +<p>"I dare say I should be more tolerant of a Rousseau +than you would, Cary. Submissive and contemplative yourself, +you like the stern and the practical. By the way, you +must miss that Cousin Robert of yours very much, now +that you and he never meet."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"And he must miss you?"</p> + +<p>"That he does not."</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine," pursued Shirley, who had lately +got a habit of introducing Moore's name into the conversation, +even when it seemed to have no business there—"I +cannot imagine but that he was fond of you, since he took +so much notice of you, talked to you, and taught you so +much."</p> + +<p>"He never was fond of me; he never professed to be +fond of me. He took pains to prove that he only just +tolerated me."</p> + +<p>Caroline, determined not to err on the flattering side in +estimating her cousin's regard for her, always now habitually +thought of it and mentioned it in the most scanty +measure. She had her own reasons for being less sanguine +than ever in hopeful views of the future, less indulgent to +pleasurable retrospections of the past.</p> + +<p>"Of course, then," observed Miss Keeldar, "you only +just tolerated him in return?"</p> + +<p>"Shirley, men and women are so different; they are in +such a different position. Women have so few things to +think about, men so many. You may have a friendship +for a man, while he is almost indifferent to you. Much of +what cheers your life may be dependent on him, while not +a feeling or interest of moment in his eyes may have reference +to you. Robert used to be in the habit of going to +London, sometimes for a week or a fortnight together. +Well, while he was away, I found his absence a void. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>199<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +was something wanting; Briarfield was duller. Of course, +I had my usual occupations; still I missed him. As I sat +by myself in the evenings, I used to feel a strange certainty +of conviction I cannot describe, that if a magician or a +genius had, at that moment, offered me Prince Ali's tube +(you remember it in the 'Arabian Nights'?), and if, with +its aid, I had been enabled to take a view of Robert—to +see where he was, how occupied—I should have learned, +in a startling manner, the width of the chasm which gaped +between such as he and such as I. I knew that, however +my thoughts might adhere to him, his were effectually +sundered from me."</p> + +<p>"Caroline," demanded Miss Keeldar abruptly, "don't +you wish you had a profession—a trade?"</p> + +<p>"I wish it fifty times a day. As it is, I often wonder +what I came into the world for. I long to have something +absorbing and compulsory to fill my head and hands and to +occupy my thoughts."</p> + +<p>"Can labour alone make a human being happy?"</p> + +<p>"No; but it can give varieties of pain, and prevent us +from breaking our hearts with a single tyrant master-torture. +Besides, successful labour has its recompense; a +vacant, weary, lonely, hopeless life has none."</p> + +<p>"But hard labour and learned professions, they say, +make women masculine, coarse, unwomanly."</p> + +<p>"And what does it signify whether unmarried and never-to-be-married +women are unattractive and inelegant or +not? Provided only they are decent, decorous, and neat, +it is enough. The utmost which ought to be required of +old maids, in the way of appearance, is that they should +not absolutely offend men's eyes as they pass them in the +street; for the rest, they should be allowed, without too +much scorn, to be as absorbed, grave, plain-looking, and +plain-dressed as they please."</p> + +<p>"You might be an old maid yourself, Caroline, you speak +so earnestly."</p> + +<p>"I shall be one. It is my destiny. I will never marry +a Malone or a Sykes; and no one else will ever marry me."</p> + +<p>Here fell a long pause. Shirley broke it. Again the +name by which she seemed bewitched was almost the first +on her lips.</p> + +<p>"Lina—did not Moore call you Lina sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is sometimes used as the abbreviation of Caroline +in his native country."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>200<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Well, Lina, do you remember my one day noticing an +inequality in your hair—a curl wanting on that right side—and +your telling me that it was Robert's fault, as he had +once cut therefrom a long lock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"If he is, and always was, as indifferent to you as you +say, why did he steal your hair?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—yes, I do. It was my doing, not his. +Everything of that sort always was my doing. He was +going from home—to London, as usual; and the night +before he went, I had found in his sister's workbox a lock +of black hair—a short, round curl. Hortense told me it +was her brother's, and a keepsake. He was sitting near +the table. I looked at his head. He has plenty of hair; +on the temples were many such round curls. I thought he +could spare me one. I knew I should like to have it, and +I asked for it. He said, on condition that he might have +his choice of a tress from my head. So he got one of my +long locks of hair, and I got one of his short ones. I keep +his, but I dare say he has lost mine. It was my doing, and +one of those silly deeds it distresses the heart and sets the +face on fire to think of; one of those small but sharp recollections +that return, lacerating your self-respect like tiny +penknives, and forcing from your lips, as you sit alone, +sudden, insane-sounding interjections."</p> + +<p>"Caroline!"</p> + +<p>"I <em>do</em> think myself a fool, Shirley, in some respects; +I <em>do</em> despise myself. But I said I would not make you +my confessor, for you cannot reciprocate foible for foible; +you are not weak. How steadily you watch me now! +Turn aside your clear, strong, she-eagle eye; it is an insult +to fix it on me thus."</p> + +<p>"What a study of character you are—weak, certainly, +but not in the sense you think!—Come in!"</p> + +<p>This was said in answer to a tap at the door. Miss Keeldar +happened to be near it at the moment, Caroline at the +other end of the room. She saw a note put into Shirley's +hands, and heard the words, "From Mr. Moore, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Bring candles," said Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>Caroline sat expectant.</p> + +<p>"A communication on business," said the heiress; but +when candles were brought, she neither opened nor read +it. The rector's Fanny was presently announced, and the +rector's niece went home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>201<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS ON BUSINESS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">In</span> Shirley's nature prevailed at times an easy indolence. +There were periods when she took delight in perfect vacancy +of hand and eye—moments when her thoughts, her simple +existence, the fact of the world being around and heaven +above her, seemed to yield her such fullness of happiness +that she did not need to lift a finger to increase the joy. +Often, after an active morning, she would spend a sunny +afternoon in lying stirless on the turf, at the foot of some +tree of friendly umbrage. No society did she need but that +of Caroline, and it sufficed if she were within call; no +spectacle did she ask but that of the deep blue sky, and +such cloudlets as sailed afar and aloft across its span; no +sound but that of the bee's hum, the leaf's whisper. Her +sole book in such hours was the dim chronicle of memory +or the sibyl page of anticipation. From her young eyes +fell on each volume a glorious light to read by; round her +lips at moments played a smile which revealed glimpses +of the tale or prophecy. It was not sad, not dark. Fate +had been benign to the blissful dreamer, and promised to +favour her yet again. In her past were sweet passages, +in her future rosy hopes.</p> + +<p>Yet one day when Caroline drew near to rouse her, thinking +she had lain long enough, behold, as she looked down, +Shirley's cheek was wet as if with dew; those fine eyes +of hers shone humid and brimming.</p> + +<p>"Shirley, why do <em>you</em> cry?" asked Caroline, involuntarily +laying stress on <em>you</em>.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar smiled, and turned her picturesque head +towards the questioner. "Because it pleases me mightily +to cry," she said. "My heart is both sad and glad. But +why, you good, patient child—why do you not bear me +company? I only weep tears, delightful and soon wiped +away; you might weep gall, if you choose."</p> + +<p>"Why should I weep gall?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>202<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Mateless, solitary bird!" was the only answer.</p> + +<p>"And are not you too mateless, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"At heart—no."</p> + +<p>"Oh! who nestles there, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>But Shirley only laughed gaily at this question, and +alertly started up.</p> + +<p>"I have dreamed," she said, "a mere day-dream—certainly +bright, probably baseless!"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Miss Helstone was by this time free enough from illusions: +she took a sufficiently grave view of the future, +and fancied she knew pretty well how her own destiny +and that of some others were tending. Yet old associations +retained their influence over her, and it was these and +the power of habit which still frequently drew her of an +evening to the field-style and the old thorn overlooking the +Hollow.</p> + +<p>One night, the night after the incident of the note, she +had been at her usual post, watching for her beacon—watching +vainly: that evening no lamp was lit. She waited till +the rising of certain constellations warned her of lateness +and signed her away. In passing Fieldhead, on her return, +its moonlight beauty attracted her glance, and stayed her +step an instant. Tree and hall rose peaceful under the +night sky and clear full orb; pearly paleness gilded the +building; mellow brown gloom bosomed it round; shadows +of deep green brooded above its oak-wreathed roof. The +broad pavement in front shone pale also; it gleamed as if +some spell had transformed the dark granite to glistering +Parian. On the silvery space slept two sable shadows, +thrown sharply defined from two human figures. These +figures when first seen were motionless and mute; presently +they moved in harmonious step, and spoke low in harmonious +key. Earnest was the gaze that scrutinized them +as they emerged from behind the trunk of the cedar. "Is +it Mrs. Pryor and Shirley?"</p> + +<p>Certainly it is Shirley. Who else has a shape so lithe, +and proud, and graceful? And her face, too, is visible—her +countenance careless and pensive, and musing and +mirthful, and mocking and tender. Not fearing the dew, +she has not covered her head; her curls are free—they +veil her neck and caress her shoulder with their tendril +rings. An ornament of gold gleams through the half-closed +folds of the scarf she has wrapped across her bust, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>203<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +large bright gem glitters on the white hand which confines +it. Yes, that is Shirley.</p> + +<p>Her companion then is, of course, Mrs. Pryor?</p> + +<p>Yes, if Mrs. Pryor owns six feet of stature, and if she +has changed her decent widow's weeds for masculine disguise. +The figure walking at Miss Keeldar's side is a man—a +tall, young, stately man; it is her tenant, Robert Moore.</p> + +<p>The pair speak softly; their words are not distinguishable. +To remain a moment to gaze is not to be an eavesdropper; +and as the moon shines so clearly and their +countenances are so distinctly apparent, who can resist the +attraction of such interest? Caroline, it seems, cannot, for +she lingers.</p> + +<p>There was a time when, on summer nights, Moore had +been wont to walk with his cousin, as he was now walking +with the heiress. Often had she gone up the Hollow with +him after sunset, to scent the freshness of the earth, where +a growth of fragrant herbage carpeted a certain narrow +terrace, edging a deep ravine, from whose rifted gloom was +heard a sound like the spirit of the lonely watercourse, +moaning amongst its wet stones, and between its weedy +banks, and under its dark bower of alders.</p> + +<p>"But I used to be closer to him," thought Caroline. +"He felt no obligation to treat me with homage; I needed +only kindness. He used to hold my hand; he does not +touch hers. And yet Shirley is not proud where she loves. +There is no haughtiness in her aspect now, only a little in +her port—what is natural to and inseparable from her, +what she retains in her most careless as in her most guarded +moments. Robert must think, as I think, that he is at +this instant looking down on a fine face; and he must +think it with a man's brain, not with mine. She has such +generous yet soft fire in her eyes. She smiles—what makes +her smile so sweet? I saw that Robert felt its beauty, +and he must have felt it with his man's heart, not with my +dim woman's perceptions. They look to me like two great +happy spirits. Yonder silvered pavement reminds me of +that white shore we believe to be beyond the death-flood. +They have reached it; they walk there united. And what +am I, standing here in shadow, shrinking into concealment, +my mind darker than my hiding-place? I am one of this +world, no spirit—a poor doomed mortal, who asks, in +ignorance and hopelessness, wherefore she was born, to +what end she lives; whose mind for ever runs on the question,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>204<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +how she shall at last encounter, and by whom be +sustained through death.</p> + +<p>"This is the worst passage I have come to yet; still I +was quite prepared for it. I gave Robert up, and gave +him up to Shirley, the first day I heard she was come, the +first moment I saw her—rich, youthful, and lovely. She +has him now. He is her lover. She is his darling. She +will be far more his darling yet when they are married. +The more Robert knows of Shirley the more his soul will +cleave to her. They will both be happy, and I do not +grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery. +Some of my suffering is very acute. Truly I ought not to +have been born; they should have smothered me at the +first cry."</p> + +<p>Here, Shirley stepping aside to gather a dewy flower, +she and her companion turned into a path that lay nearer +the gate. Some of their conversation became audible. +Caroline would not stay to listen. She passed away noiselessly, +and the moonlight kissed the wall which her shadow +had dimmed. The reader is privileged to remain, and try +what he can make of the discourse.</p> + +<p>"I cannot conceive why nature did not give you a bulldog's +head, for you have all a bulldog's tenacity," said +Shirley.</p> + +<p>"Not a flattering idea. Am I so ignoble?"</p> + +<p>"And something also you have of the same animal's +silent ways of going about its work. You give no warning; +you come noiselessly behind, seize fast, and hold on."</p> + +<p>"This is guess-work. You have witnessed no such feat +on my part. In your presence I have been no bulldog."</p> + +<p>"Your very silence indicates your race. How little you +talk in general, yet how deeply you scheme! You are far-seeing; +you are calculating."</p> + +<p>"I know the ways of these people. I have gathered +information of their intentions. My note last night informed +you that Barraclough's trial had ended in his +conviction and sentence to transportation. His associates +will plot vengeance. I shall lay my plans so as to +counteract or at least be prepared for theirs—that is all. +Having now given you as clear an explanation as I can, +am I to understand that for what I propose doing I have +your approbation?"</p> + +<p>"I shall stand by you so long as you remain on the +defensive. Yes."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>205<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Good! Without any aid—even opposed or disapproved +by you—I believe I should have acted precisely +as I now intend to act, but in another spirit. I now feel +satisfied. On the whole, I relish the position."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you do. That is evident. You relish the +work which lies before you still better than you would +relish the execution of a government order for army-cloth."</p> + +<p>"I certainly feel it congenial."</p> + +<p>"So would old Helstone. It is true there is a shade +of difference in your motives—many shades, perhaps. +Shall I speak to Mr. Helstone? I will, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Act as you please. Your judgment, Miss Keeldar, +will guide you accurately. I could rely on it myself in a +more difficult crisis. But I should inform you Mr. Helstone +is somewhat prejudiced against me at present."</p> + +<p>"I am aware—I have heard all about your differences. +Depend upon it, they will melt away. He cannot resist +the temptation of an alliance under present circumstances."</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to have him; he is of true metal."</p> + +<p>"I think so also."</p> + +<p>"An old blade, and rusty somewhat, but the edge and +temper still excellent."</p> + +<p>"Well, you shall have him, Mr. Moore—that is, if I +can win him."</p> + +<p>"Whom can you not win?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not the rector; but I will make the effort."</p> + +<p>"Effort! He will yield for a word—a smile."</p> + +<p>"By no means. It will cost me several cups of tea, +some toast and cake, and an ample measure of remonstrances, +expostulations, and persuasions. It grows rather +chill."</p> + +<p>"I perceive you shiver. Am I acting wrongly to detain +you here? Yet it is so calm—I even feel it warm—and +society such as yours is a pleasure to me so rare. If you +were wrapped in a thicker shawl——"</p> + +<p>"I might stay longer, and forget how late it is, which +would chagrin Mrs. Pryor. We keep early and regular +hours at Fieldhead, Mr. Moore; and so, I am sure, does +your sister at the cottage."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but Hortense and I have an understanding the +most convenient in the world, that we shall each do as we +please."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>206<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"How do you please to do?"</p> + +<p>"Three nights in the week I sleep in the mill—but I +require little rest—and when it is moonlight and mild I +often haunt the Hollow till daybreak."</p> + +<p>"When I was a very little girl, Mr. Moore, my nurse +used to tell me tales of fairies being seen in that Hollow. +That was before my father built the mill, when it was +a perfectly solitary ravine. You will be falling under +enchantment."</p> + +<p>"I fear it is done," said Moore, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"But there are worse things than fairies to be guarded +against," pursued Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"Things more perilous," he subjoined.</p> + +<p>"Far more so. For instance, how would you like to +meet Michael Hartley, that mad Calvinist and Jacobin +weaver? They say he is addicted to poaching, and often +goes abroad at night with his gun."</p> + +<p>"I have already had the luck to meet him. We held a +long argument together one night. A strange little incident +it was; I liked it."</p> + +<p>"Liked it? I admire your taste! Michael is not sane. +Where did you meet him?"</p> + +<p>"In the deepest, shadiest spot in the glen, where the +water runs low, under brushwood. We sat down near +that plank bridge. It was moonlight, but clouded, and +very windy. We had a talk."</p> + +<p>"On politics?"</p> + +<p>"And religion. I think the moon was at the full, and +Michael was as near crazed as possible. He uttered strange +blasphemy in his Antinomian fashion."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, but I think you must have been nearly as +mad as he, to sit listening to him."</p> + +<p>"There is a wild interest in his ravings. The man +would be half a poet, if he were not wholly a maniac; +and perhaps a prophet, if he were not a profligate. He +solemnly informed me that hell was foreordained my inevitable +portion; that he read the mark of the beast on my +brow; that I had been an outcast from the beginning. +God's vengeance, he said, was preparing for me, and +affirmed that in a vision of the night he had beheld the +manner and the instrument of my doom. I wanted to +know further, but he left me with these words, 'The end +is not yet.'"</p> + +<p>"Have you ever seen him since?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>207<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"About a month afterwards, in returning from market, +I encountered him and Moses Barraclough, both in an +advanced stage of inebriation. They were praying in +frantic sort at the roadside. They accosted me as Satan, +bid me avaunt, and clamoured to be delivered from temptation. +Again, but a few days ago, Michael took the trouble +of appearing at the counting-house door, hatless, in his +shirt-sleeves—his coat and castor having been detained at +the public-house in pledge. He delivered himself of the +comfortable message that he could wish Mr. Moore to set +his house in order, as his soul was likely shortly to be required +of him."</p> + +<p>"Do you make light of these things?"</p> + +<p>"The poor man had been drinking for weeks, and was +in a state bordering on delirium tremens."</p> + +<p>"What then? He is the more likely to attempt the +fulfilment of his own prophecies."</p> + +<p>"It would not do to permit incidents of this sort to +affect one's nerves."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, go home!"</p> + +<p>"So soon?"</p> + +<p>"Pass straight down the fields, not round by the lade +and plantations."</p> + +<p>"It is early yet."</p> + +<p>"It is late. For my part, I am going in. Will you +promise me not to wander in the Hollow to-night?"</p> + +<p>"If you wish it."</p> + +<p>"I do wish it. May I ask whether you consider life +valueless?"</p> + +<p>"By no means. On the contrary, of late I regard my +life as invaluable."</p> + +<p>"Of late?"</p> + +<p>"Existence is neither aimless nor hopeless to me now, +and it was both three months ago. I was then drowning, +and rather wished the operation over. All at once a hand +was stretched to me—such a delicate hand I scarcely dared +trust it; its strength, however, has rescued me from ruin."</p> + +<p>"Are you really rescued?"</p> + +<p>"For the time. Your assistance has given me another +chance."</p> + +<p>"Live to make the best of it. Don't offer yourself as +a target to Michael Hartley; and good-night!"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Miss Helstone was under a promise to spend the evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>208<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of the next day at Fieldhead. She kept her promise. +Some gloomy hours had she spent in the interval. Most +of the time had been passed shut up in her own apartment, +only issuing from it, indeed, to join her uncle at meals, +and anticipating inquiries from Fanny by telling her that +she was busy altering a dress, and preferred sewing upstairs, +to avoid interruption.</p> + +<p>She did sew. She plied her needle continuously, ceaselessly, +but her brain worked faster than her fingers. Again, +and more intensely than ever, she desired a fixed occupation, +no matter how onerous, how irksome. Her uncle must be +once more entreated, but first she would consult Mrs. Pryor. +Her head laboured to frame projects as diligently as her +hands to plait and stitch the thin texture of the muslin +summer dress spread on the little white couch at the foot +of which she sat. Now and then, while thus doubly occupied, +a tear would fill her eyes and fall on her busy hands; +but this sign of emotion was rare and quickly effaced. +The sharp pang passed; the dimness cleared from her +vision. She would re-thread her needle, rearrange tuck and +trimming, and work on.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon she dressed herself. She reached +Fieldhead, and appeared in the oak parlour just as tea +was brought in. Shirley asked her why she came so late.</p> + +<p>"Because I have been making my dress," said she. +"These fine sunny days began to make me ashamed of +my winter merino, so I have furbished up a lighter +garment."</p> + +<p>"In which you look as I like to see you," said Shirley. +"You are a lady-like little person, Caroline.—Is she not, +Mrs. Pryor?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor never paid compliments, and seldom indulged +in remarks, favourable or otherwise, on personal appearance. +On the present occasion she only swept Caroline's curls +from her cheek as she took a seat near her, caressed the +oval outline, and observed, "You get somewhat thin, my +love, and somewhat pale. Do you sleep well? your eyes +have a languid look." And she gazed at her anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I sometimes dream melancholy dreams," answered +Caroline; "and if I lie awake for an hour or two in the +night, I am continually thinking of the rectory as a dreary +old place. You know it is very near the churchyard. +The back part of the house is extremely ancient, and it is +said that the out-kitchens there were once enclosed in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>209<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +churchyard, and that there are graves under them. I +rather long to leave the rectory."</p> + +<p>"My dear, you are surely not superstitious?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Pryor; but I think I grow what is called +nervous. I see things under a darker aspect than I used +to do. I have fears I never used to have—not of ghosts, +but of omens and disastrous events; and I have an inexpressible +weight on my mind which I would give the +world to shake off, and I cannot do it."</p> + +<p>"Strange!" cried Shirley. "I never feel so." Mrs. +Pryor said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Fine weather, pleasant days, pleasant scenes, are +powerless to give me pleasure," continued Caroline. "Calm +evenings are not calm to me. Moonlight, which I used +to think mild, now only looks mournful. Is this weakness +of mind, Mrs. Pryor, or what is it? I cannot help it. I +often struggle against it. I reason; but reason and effort +make no difference."</p> + +<p>"You should take more exercise," said Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>"Exercise! I exercise sufficiently. I exercise till I am +ready to drop."</p> + +<p>"My dear, you should go from home."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor, I should like to go from home, but not +on any purposeless excursion or visit. I wish to be a +governess, as you have been. It would oblige me greatly +if you would speak to my uncle on the subject."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" broke in Shirley. "What an idea! Be +a governess! Better be a slave at once. Where is the +necessity of it? Why should you dream of such a painful +step?"</p> + +<p>"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, "you are very young to +be a governess, and not sufficiently robust. The duties +a governess undertakes are often severe."</p> + +<p>"And I believe I want severe duties to occupy +me."</p> + +<p>"Occupy you!" cried Shirley. "When are you idle? +I never saw a more industrious girl than you. You are +always at work. Come," she continued—"come and sit +by my side, and take some tea to refresh you. You don't +care much for my friendship, then, that you wish to leave +me?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I do, Shirley; and I don't wish to leave you. +I shall never find another friend so dear."</p> + +<p>At which words Miss Keeldar put her hand into Caroline's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>210<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +with an impulsively affectionate movement, which was +well seconded by the expression of her face.</p> + +<p>"If you think so, you had better make much of me," +she said, "and not run away from me. I hate to part +with those to whom I am become attached. Mrs. Pryor +there sometimes talks of leaving me, and says I might +make a more advantageous connection than herself. I +should as soon think of exchanging an old-fashioned mother +for something modish and stylish. As for you—why, I +began to flatter myself we were thoroughly friends; that +you liked Shirley almost as well as Shirley likes you, and +she does not stint her regard."</p> + +<p>"I <em>do</em> like Shirley. I like her more and more +every day. But that does not make me strong or +happy."</p> + +<p>"And would it make you strong or happy to go and +live as a dependent amongst utter strangers? It would +not. And the experiment must not be tried; I tell you +it would fail. It is not in your nature to bear the desolate +life governesses generally lead; you would fall ill. +I won't hear of it."</p> + +<p>And Miss Keeldar paused, having uttered this prohibition +very decidedly. Soon she recommenced, still +looking somewhat <em>courroucée</em>, "Why, it is my daily pleasure +now to look out for the little cottage bonnet and the silk +scarf glancing through the trees in the lane, and to know +that my quiet, shrewd, thoughtful companion and monitress +is coming back to me; that I shall have her sitting +in the room to look at, to talk to or to let alone, as she and +I please. This may be a selfish sort of language—I know +it is—but it is the language which naturally rises to my +lips, therefore I utter it."</p> + +<p>"I would write to you, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"And what are letters? Only a sort of <em>pis aller</em>. Drink +some tea, Caroline. Eat something—you eat nothing. +Laugh and be cheerful, and stay at home."</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone shook her head and sighed. She felt +what difficulty she would have to persuade any one to +assist or sanction her in making that change in her life +which she believed desirable. Might she only follow her +own judgment, she thought she should be able to find +perhaps a harsh but an effectual cure for her sufferings. +But this judgment, founded on circumstances she could +fully explain to none, least of all to Shirley, seemed, in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>211<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +eyes but her own, incomprehensible and fantastic, and +was opposed accordingly.</p> + +<p>There really was no present pecuniary need for her to +leave a comfortable home and "take a situation;" and +there was every probability that her uncle might, in some +way, permanently provide for her. So her friends thought, +and, as far as their lights enabled them to see, they reasoned +correctly; but of Caroline's strange sufferings, which she +desired so eagerly to overcome or escape, they had no idea, +of her racked nights and dismal days no suspicion. It was +at once impossible and hopeless to explain; to wait and +endure was her only plan. Many that want food and +clothing have cheerier lives and brighter prospects than she +had; many, harassed by poverty, are in a strait less +afflictive.</p> + +<p>"Now, is your mind quieted?" inquired Shirley. "Will +you consent to stay at home?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not leave it against the approbation of my +friends," was the reply; "but I think in time they will +be obliged to think as I do."</p> + +<p>During this conversation Mrs. Pryor looked far from easy. +Her extreme habitual reserve would rarely permit her to +talk freely or to interrogate others closely. She could +think a multitude of questions she never ventured to put, +give advice in her mind which her tongue never delivered. +Had she been alone with Caroline, she might possibly have +said something to the point: Miss Keeldar's presence, +accustomed as she was to it, sealed her lips. Now, as on +a thousand other occasions, inexplicable nervous scruples +kept her back from interfering. She merely showed her +concern for Miss Helstone in an indirect way, by asking her +if the fire made her too warm, placing a screen between +her chair and the hearth, closing a window whence she +imagined a draught proceeded, and often and restlessly +glancing at her. Shirley resumed: "Having destroyed +your plan," she said, "which I hope I have done, I shall +construct a new one of my own. Every summer I make +an excursion. This season I propose spending two months +either at the Scotch lochs or the English lakes—that is, I +shall go there provided you consent to accompany me. If +you refuse, I shall not stir a foot."</p> + +<p>"You are very good, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"I would be very good if you would let me. I have +every disposition to be good. It is my misfortune and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>212<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +habit, I know, to think of myself paramount to anybody +else; but who is not like me in that respect? However, +when Captain Keeldar is made comfortable, accommodated +with all he wants, including a sensible, genial comrade, +it gives him a thorough pleasure to devote his spare +efforts to making that comrade happy. And should we not +be happy, Caroline, in the Highlands? We will go to the +Highlands. We will, if you can bear a sea-voyage, go to +the Isles—the Hebrides, the Shetland, the Orkney Islands. +Would you not like that? I see you would.—Mrs. Pryor, +I call you to witness. Her face is all sunshine at the bare +mention of it."</p> + +<p>"I should like it much," returned Caroline, to whom, +indeed, the notion of such a tour was not only pleasant, +but gloriously reviving. Shirley rubbed her hands.</p> + +<p>"Come; I can bestow a benefit," she exclaimed. "I +can do a good deed with my cash. My thousand a year +is not merely a matter of dirty bank-notes and jaundiced +guineas (let me speak respectfully of both, though, for I +adore them), but, it may be, health to the drooping, strength +to the weak, consolation to the sad. I was determined +to make something of it better than a fine old house to live +in, than satin gowns to wear, better than deference from +acquaintance and homage from the poor. Here is to +begin. This summer, Caroline, Mrs. Pryor and I go out +into the North Atlantic, beyond the Shetland, perhaps to +the Faroe Isles. We will see seals in Suderoe, and, doubtless, +mermaids in Stromoe.—Caroline is laughing, Mrs. Pryor. +<em>I</em> made her laugh; <em>I</em> have done her good."</p> + +<p>"I shall like to go, Shirley," again said Miss Helstone. +"I long to hear the sound of waves—ocean-waves—and +to see them as I have imagined them in dreams, like tossing +banks of green light, strewed with vanishing and reappearing +wreaths of foam, whiter than lilies. I shall delight +to pass the shores of those lone rock-islets where the sea-birds +live and breed unmolested. We shall be on the track +of the old Scandinavians—of the Norsemen. We shall almost +see the shores of Norway. This is a very vague delight +that I feel, communicated by your proposal, but it <em>is</em> a +delight."</p> + +<p>"Will you think of Fitful Head now when you lie awake +at night, of gulls shrieking round it, and waves tumbling +in upon it, rather than of the graves under the rectory +back-kitchen?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>213<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I will try; and instead of musing about remnants of +shrouds, and fragments of coffins, and human bones and +mould, I will fancy seals lying in the sunshine on solitary +shores, where neither fisherman nor hunter ever come; +of rock crevices full of pearly eggs bedded in seaweed; of +unscared birds covering white sands in happy flocks."</p> + +<p>"And what will become of that inexpressible weight +you said you had on your mind?"</p> + +<p>"I will try to forget it in speculation on the sway of +the whole great deep above a herd of whales rushing +through the livid and liquid thunder down from the frozen +zone—a hundred of them, perhaps, wallowing, flashing, +rolling in the wake of a patriarch bull, huge enough to have +been spawned before the Flood, such a creature as poor +Smart had in his mind when he said,—</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">'Strong against tides, the enormous whale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Emerges as he goes.'"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"I hope our bark will meet with no such shoal, or herd +as you term it, Caroline. (I suppose you fancy the sea-mammoths +pasturing about the bases of the 'everlasting +hills,' devouring strange provender in the vast valleys +through and above which sea-billows roll.) I should not +like to be capsized by the patriarch bull."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you expect to see mermaids, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"One of them, at any rate—I do not bargain for less—and +she is to appear in some such fashion as this. I +am to be walking by myself on deck, rather late of an +August evening, watching and being watched by a full +harvest moon. Something is to rise white on the surface +of the sea, over which that moon mounts silent and hangs +glorious. The object glitters and sinks. It rises again. +I think I hear it cry with an articulate voice; I call you +up from the cabin; I show you an image, fair as alabaster, +emerging from the dim wave. We both see the long hair, +the lifted and foam-white arm, the oval mirror brilliant +as a star. It glides nearer; a human face is plainly visible—a +face in the style of yours—whose straight, pure (excuse +the word, it is appropriate)—whose straight, pure lineaments +paleness does not disfigure. It looks at us, but not +with your eyes. I see a preternatural lure in its wily +glance. It beckons. Were we men, we should spring at +the sign—the cold billow would be dared for the sake of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>214<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the colder enchantress; being women, we stand safe, +though not dreadless. She comprehends our unmoved +gaze; she feels herself powerless; anger crosses her front; +she cannot charm, but she will appal us; she rises high, +and glides all revealed on the dark wave-ridge. Temptress-terror! +monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not +glad, Caroline, when at last, and with a wild shriek, she +dives?"</p> + +<p>"But, Shirley, she is not like us. We are neither temptresses, +nor terrors, nor monsters."</p> + +<p>"Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are +men who ascribe to 'woman,' in general, such attributes."</p> + +<p>"My dears," here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, "does it not +strike you that your conversation for the last ten minutes +has been rather fanciful?"</p> + +<p>"But there is no harm in our fancies; is there, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"We are aware that mermaids do not exist; why speak +of them as if they did? How can you find interest in +speaking of a nonentity?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Shirley.</p> + +<p>"My dear, I think there is an arrival. I heard a step +in the lane while you were talking; and is not that the +garden-gate which creaks?"</p> + +<p>Shirley stepped to the window.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there is some one," said she, turning quietly +away; and as she resumed her seat a sensitive flush animated +her face, while a trembling ray at once kindled and +softened her eye. She raised her hand to her chin, cast her +gaze down, and seemed to think as she waited.</p> + +<p>The servant announced Mr. Moore, and Shirley turned +round when Mr. Moore appeared at the door. His figure +seemed very tall as he entered, and stood in contrast with +the three ladies, none of whom could boast a stature much +beyond the average. He was looking well, better than +he had been known to look for the past twelve months. +A sort of renewed youth glowed in his eye and colour, and +an invigorated hope and settled purpose sustained his +bearing. Firmness his countenance still indicated, but not +austerity. It looked as cheerful as it was earnest.</p> + +<p>"I am just returned from Stilbro'," he said to Miss +Keeldar, as he greeted her; "and I thought I would call +to impart to you the result of my mission."</p> + +<p>"You did right not to keep me in suspense," she said, +"and your visit is well timed. Sit down. We have not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>215<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +finished tea. Are you English enough to relish tea, or do +you faithfully adhere to coffee?"</p> + +<p>Moore accepted tea.</p> + +<p>"I am learning to be a naturalized Englishman," said +he; "my foreign habits are leaving me one by one."</p> + +<p>And now he paid his respects to Mrs. Pryor, and paid +them well, with a grave modesty that became his age compared +with hers. Then he looked at Caroline—not, however, +for the first time: his glance had fallen upon her +before. He bent towards her as she sat, gave her his hand, +and asked her how she was. The light from the window +did not fall upon Miss Helstone; her back was turned +towards it. A quiet though rather low reply, a still demeanour, +and the friendly protection of early twilight kept +out of view each traitorous symptom. None could affirm +that she had trembled or blushed, that her heart had quaked +or her nerves thrilled; none could prove emotion; a greeting +showing less effusion was never interchanged. Moore +took the empty chair near her, opposite Miss Keeldar. He +had placed himself well. His neighbour, screened by the +very closeness of his vicinage from his scrutiny, and sheltered +further by the dusk which deepened each moment, +soon regained not merely <em>seeming</em> but <em>real</em> mastery of the +feelings which had started into insurrection at the first +announcement of his name.</p> + +<p>He addressed his conversation to Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"I went to the barracks," he said, "and had an interview +with Colonel Ryde. He approved my plans, and +promised the aid I wanted. Indeed, he offered a more +numerous force than I require—half a dozen will suffice. +I don't intend to be swamped by redcoats. They are needed +for appearance rather than anything else. My main reliance +is on my own civilians."</p> + +<p>"And on their captain," interposed Shirley.</p> + +<p>"What, Captain Keeldar?" inquired Moore, slightly +smiling, and not lifting his eyes. The tone of raillery in +which he said this was very respectful and suppressed.</p> + +<p>"No," returned Shirley, answering the smile; "Captain +Gérard Moore, who trusts much to the prowess of his own +right arm, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Furnished with his counting-house ruler," added Moore. +Resuming his usual gravity, he went on: "I received by +this evening's post a note from the Home Secretary in +answer to mine. It appears they are uneasy at the state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>216<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of matters here in the north; they especially condemn the +supineness and pusillanimity of the mill-owners. They say, +as I have always said, that inaction, under present circumstances, +is criminal, and that cowardice is cruelty, since +both can only encourage disorder, and lead finally to sanguinary +outbreaks. There is the note—I brought it for +your perusal; and there is a batch of newspapers, containing +further accounts of proceedings in Nottingham, Manchester, +and elsewhere."</p> + +<p>He produced letters and journals, and laid them before +Miss Keeldar. While she perused them he took his tea +quietly; but though his tongue was still, his observant +faculties seemed by no means off duty. Mrs. Pryor, sitting +in the background, did not come within the range of his +glance, but the two younger ladies had the full benefit +thereof.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar, placed directly opposite, was seen without +effort. She was the object his eyes, when lifted, naturally +met first; and as what remained of daylight—the gilding +of the west—was upon her, her shape rose in relief from the +dark panelling behind. Shirley's clear cheek was tinted +yet with the colour which had risen into it a few minutes +since. The dark lashes of her eyes looking down as she +read, the dusk yet delicate line of her eyebrows, the almost +sable gloss of her curls, made her heightened complexion +look fine as the bloom of a red wild flower by contrast. +There was natural grace in her attitude, and there was +artistic effect in the ample and shining folds of her silk +dress—an attire simply fashioned, but almost splendid from +the shifting brightness of its dye, warp and woof being of +tints deep and changing as the hue on a pheasant's neck. +A glancing bracelet on her arm produced the contrast of +gold and ivory. There was something brilliant in the whole +picture. It is to be supposed that Moore thought so, as +his eye dwelt long on it, but he seldom permitted his feelings +or his opinions to exhibit themselves in his face. His temperament +boasted a certain amount of phlegm, and he preferred +an undemonstrative, not ungentle, but serious aspect +to any other.</p> + +<p>He could not, by looking straight before him, see Caroline, +as she was close at his side. It was necessary, therefore, +to manœuvre a little to get her well within the range +of his observation. He leaned back in his chair, and looked +down on her. In Miss Helstone neither he nor any one else<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>217<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +could discover brilliancy. Sitting in the shade, without +flowers or ornaments, her attire the modest muslin dress, +colourless but for its narrow stripe of pale azure, her complexion +unflushed, unexcited, the very brownness of her +hair and eyes invisible by this faint light, she was, compared +with the heiress, as a graceful pencil sketch compared with +a vivid painting. Since Robert had seen her last a great +change had been wrought in her. Whether he perceived +it might not be ascertained. He said nothing to that effect.</p> + +<p>"How is Hortense?" asked Caroline softly.</p> + +<p>"Very well; but she complains of being unemployed. +She misses you."</p> + +<p>"Tell her that I miss her, and that I write and read +a portion of French every day."</p> + +<p>"She will ask if you sent your love; she is always particular +on that point. You know she likes attention."</p> + +<p>"My best love—my very best. And say to her that +whenever she has time to write me a little note I shall +be glad to hear from her."</p> + +<p>"What if I forget? I am not the surest messenger of +compliments."</p> + +<p>"No, don't forget, Robert. It is no compliment; it is +in good earnest."</p> + +<p>"And must, therefore, be delivered punctually."</p> + +<p>"If you please."</p> + +<p>"Hortense will be ready to shed tears. She is tenderhearted +on the subject of her pupil; yet she reproaches +you sometimes for obeying your uncle's injunctions too +literally. Affection, like love, will be unjust now and then."</p> + +<p>And Caroline made no answer to this observation; for +indeed her heart was troubled, and to her eyes she would +have raised her handkerchief if she had dared. If she had +dared, too, she would have declared how the very flowers +in the garden of Hollow's Cottage were dear to her; how +the little parlour of that house was her earthly paradise; +how she longed to return to it, as much almost as the first +woman, in her exile, must have longed to revisit Eden. +Not daring, however, to say these things, she held her +peace; she sat quiet at Robert's side, waiting for him to +say something more. It was long since this proximity had +been hers—long since his voice had addressed her; could +she, with any show of probability, even of possibility, have +imagined that the meeting gave him pleasure, to her it +would have given deep bliss. Yet, even in doubt that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>218<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +pleased, in dread that it might annoy him, she received the +boon of the meeting as an imprisoned bird would the admission +of sunshine to its cage. It was of no use arguing, contending +against the sense of present happiness; to be near +Robert was to be revived.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar laid down the papers.</p> + +<p>"And are you glad or sad for all these menacing tidings?" +she inquired of her tenant.</p> + +<p>"Not precisely either; but I certainly am instructed. +I see that our only plan is to be firm. I see that efficient +preparation and a resolute attitude are the best means of +averting bloodshed."</p> + +<p>He then inquired if she had observed some particular +paragraph, to which she replied in the negative, and he rose +to show it to her. He continued the conversation standing +before her. From the tenor of what he said, it appeared +evident that they both apprehended disturbances in the +neighbourhood of Briarfield, though in what form they expected +them to break out was not specified. Neither Caroline +nor Mrs. Pryor asked questions. The subject did not +appear to be regarded as one ripe for free discussion; therefore +the lady and her tenant were suffered to keep details +to themselves, unimportuned by the curiosity of their +listeners.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar, in speaking to Mr. Moore, took a tone at +once animated and dignified, confidential and self-respecting. +When, however, the candles were brought in, and the +fire was stirred up, and the fullness of light thus produced +rendered the expression of her countenance legible, you +could see that she was all interest, life, and earnestness. +There was nothing coquettish in her demeanour; whatever +she felt for Moore she felt it seriously. And serious, too, +were his feelings, and settled were his views, apparently, +for he made no petty effort to attract, dazzle, or impress. +He contrived, notwithstanding, to command a little; because +the deeper voice, however mildly modulated, the somewhat +harder mind, now and then, though involuntarily +and unintentionally, bore down by some peremptory phrase +or tone the mellow accents and susceptible, if high, nature +of Shirley. Miss Keeldar looked happy in conversing with +him, and her joy seemed twofold—a joy of the past and +present, of memory and of hope.</p> + +<p>What I have just said are Caroline's ideas of the pair. +She felt what has just been described. In thus feeling she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>219<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +tried not to suffer, but suffered sharply nevertheless. She +suffered, indeed, miserably. A few minutes before her +famished heart had tasted a drop and crumb of nourishment, +that, if freely given, would have brought back abundance +of life where life was failing; but the generous feast was +snatched from her, spread before another, and she remained +but a bystander at the banquet.</p> + +<p>The clock struck nine; it was Caroline's time for going +home. She gathered up her work, put the embroidery, +the scissors, the thimble into her bag. She bade Mrs. +Pryor a quiet good-night, receiving from that lady a warmer +pressure of the hand than usual. She stepped up to Miss +Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Shirley!"</p> + +<p>Shirley started up. "What! so soon? Are you going +already?"</p> + +<p>"It is past nine."</p> + +<p>"I never heard the clock. You will come again to-morrow, +and you will be happy to-night, will you not? +Remember our plans."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Caroline; "I have not forgotten."</p> + +<p>Her mind misgave her that neither those plans nor any +other could permanently restore her mental tranquillity. +She turned to Robert, who stood close behind her. As he +looked up, the light of the candles on the mantelpiece fell +full on her face. All its paleness, all its change, all its forlorn +meaning were clearly revealed. Robert had good eyes, +and might have seen it if he would; whether he did see it, +nothing indicated.</p> + +<p>"Good-night!" she said, shaking like a leaf, offering +her thin hand hastily, anxious to part from him quickly.</p> + +<p>"You are going home?" he asked, not touching her hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is Fanny come for you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I may as well accompany you a step of the way; not +up to the rectory, though, lest my old friend Helstone +should shoot me from the window."</p> + +<p>He laughed, and took his hat. Caroline spoke of unnecessary +trouble; he told her to put on her bonnet and +shawl. She was quickly ready, and they were soon both +in the open air. Moore drew her hand under his arm, +just in his old manner—that manner which she ever felt +to be so kind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>220<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You may run on, Fanny," he said to the housemaid; +"we shall overtake you." And when the girl had got a +little in advance, he enclosed Caroline's hand in his, and +said he was glad to find she was a familiar guest at Fieldhead. +He hoped her intimacy with Miss Keeldar would +continue; such society would be both pleasant and improving.</p> + +<p>Caroline replied that she liked Shirley.</p> + +<p>"And there is no doubt the liking is mutual," said Moore. +"If she professes friendship, be certain she is sincere. She +cannot feign; she scorns hypocrisy. And, Caroline, are +we never to see you at Hollow's Cottage again?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not, unless my uncle should change his +mind."</p> + +<p>"Are you much alone now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a good deal. I have little pleasure in any society +but Miss Keeldar's."</p> + +<p>"Have you been quite well lately?"</p> + +<p>"Quite."</p> + +<p>"You must take care of yourself. Be sure not to neglect +exercise. Do you know I fancied you somewhat altered—a +little fallen away, and pale. Is your uncle kind to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he is just as he always is."</p> + +<p>"Not too tender, that is to say—not too protective and +attentive. And what ails you, then? Tell me, Lina."</p> + +<p>"Nothing, Robert." But her voice faltered.</p> + +<p>"That is to say, nothing that you will tell me. I am +not to be taken into confidence. Separation is then quite +to estrange us, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. Sometimes I almost fear it is."</p> + +<p>"But it ought not to have that effect. 'Should auld +acquaintance be forgot, and days o' lang syne?'"</p> + +<p>"Robert, I don't forget."</p> + +<p>"It is two months, I should think, Caroline, since you +were at the cottage."</p> + +<p>"Since I was <em>within</em> it—yes."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever passed that way in your walk?"</p> + +<p>"I have come to the top of the fields sometimes of an +evening and looked down. Once I saw Hortense in the +garden watering her flowers, and I know at what time you +light your lamp in the counting-house. I have waited for +it to shine out now and then, and I have seen you bend +between it and the window. I knew it was you; I could +almost trace the outline of your form."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>221<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I wonder I never encountered you. I occasionally walk +to the top of the Hollow's fields after sunset."</p> + +<p>"I know you do. I had almost spoken to you one night, +you passed so near me."</p> + +<p>"Did I? I passed near you, and did not see you! Was +I alone?"</p> + +<p>"I saw you twice, and neither time were you alone."</p> + +<p>"Who was my companion? Probably nothing but Joe +Scott, or my own shadow by moonlight."</p> + +<p>"No; neither Joe Scott nor your shadow, Robert. The +first time you were with Mr. Yorke; and the second time +what you call your shadow was a shape with a white forehead +and dark curls, and a sparkling necklace round its +neck. But I only just got a glimpse of you and that fairy +shadow; I did not wait to hear you converse."</p> + +<p>"It appears you walk invisible. I noticed a ring on +your hand this evening; can it be the ring of Gyges? +Henceforth, when sitting in the counting-house by myself, +perhaps at dead of night, I shall permit myself to imagine +that Caroline may be leaning over my shoulder reading with +me from the same book, or sitting at my side engaged in +her own particular task, and now and then raising her unseen +eyes to my face to read there my thoughts."</p> + +<p>"You need fear no such infliction. I do not come near +you; I only stand afar off, watching what may become of +you."</p> + +<p>"When I walk out along the hedgerows in the evening +after the mill is shut, or at night when I take the watchman's +place, I shall fancy the flutter of every little bird +over its nest, the rustle of every leaf, a movement made +by you; tree-shadows will take your shape; in the white +sprays of hawthorn I shall imagine glimpses of you. Lina, +you will haunt me."</p> + +<p>"I will never be where you would not wish me to be, +nor see nor hear what you would wish unseen and unheard."</p> + +<p>"I shall see you in my very mill in broad daylight. Indeed, +I have seen you there once. But a week ago I was +standing at the top of one of my long rooms; girls were +working at the other end, and amongst half a dozen of +them, moving to and fro, I seemed to see a figure resembling +yours. It was some effect of doubtful light or shade, or +of dazzling sunbeam. I walked up to this group. What +I sought had glided away; I found myself between two +buxom lasses in pinafores."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>222<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I shall not follow you into your mill, Robert, unless you +call me there."</p> + +<p>"Nor is that the only occasion on which imagination has +played me a trick. One night, when I came home late +from market, I walked into the cottage parlour thinking +to find Hortense; but instead of her I thought I found +you. There was no candle in the room; my sister had taken +the light upstairs with her. The window-blind was not +drawn, and broad moonbeams poured through the panes. +There you were, Lina, at the casement, shrinking a little +to one side in an attitude not unusual with you. You were +dressed in white, as I have seen you dressed at an evening +party. For half a second your fresh, living face seemed +turned towards me, looking at me; for half a second my +idea was to go and take your hand, to chide you for your +long absence, and welcome your present visit. Two steps +forward broke the spell. The drapery of the dress changed +outline; the tints of the complexion dissolved, and were +formless. Positively, as I reached the spot, there was +nothing left but the sweep of a white muslin curtain, and a +balsam plant in a flower-pot, covered with a flush of bloom. +'Sic transit,' et cetera."</p> + +<p>"It was not my wraith, then? I almost thought it was."</p> + +<p>"No; only gauze, crockery, and pink blossom—a sample +of earthly illusions."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you have time for such illusions, occupied as +your mind must be."</p> + +<p>"So do I. But I find in myself, Lina, two natures—one +for the world and business, and one for home and leisure. +Gérard Moore is a hard dog, brought up to mill and market; +the person you call your cousin Robert is sometimes a +dreamer, who lives elsewhere than in Cloth-hall and counting-house."</p> + +<p>"Your two natures agree with you. I think you are +looking in good spirits and health. You have quite lost +that harassed air which it often pained one to see in your +face a few months ago."</p> + +<p>"Do you observe that? Certainly I am disentangled +of some difficulties. I have got clear of some shoals, and +have more sea-room."</p> + +<p>"And, with a fair wind, you may now hope to make a +prosperous voyage?"</p> + +<p>"I may <em>hope</em> it—yes—but hope is deceptive. There is +no controlling wind or wave. Gusts and swells perpetually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>223<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +trouble the mariner's course; he dare not dismiss from +his mind the expectation of tempest."</p> + +<p>"But you are ready for a breeze; you are a good seaman, +an able commander. You are a skilful pilot, Robert; +you will weather the storm."</p> + +<p>"My kinswoman always thinks the best of me, but I +will take her words for a propitious omen. I will consider +that in meeting her to-night I have met with one of those +birds whose appearance is to the sailor the harbinger of +good luck."</p> + +<p>"A poor harbinger of good luck is she who can do nothing, +who has no power. I feel my incapacity. It is of no +use saying I have the will to serve you when I cannot prove +it. Yet I have that will. I wish you success. I wish you +high fortune and true happiness."</p> + +<p>"When did you ever wish me anything else? What +is Fanny waiting for? I told her to walk on. Oh! we +have reached the churchyard. Then we are to part here, +I suppose. We might have sat a few minutes in the church +porch, if the girl had not been with us. It is so fine a night, +so summer-mild and still, I have no particular wish to return +yet to the Hollow."</p> + +<p>"But we cannot sit in the porch now, Robert."</p> + +<p>Caroline said this because Moore was turning her round +towards it.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. But tell Fanny to go in. Say we are +coming. A few minutes will make no difference."</p> + +<p>The church clock struck ten.</p> + +<p>"My uncle will be coming out to take his usual sentinel +round, and he always surveys the church and churchyard."</p> + +<p>"And if he does? If it were not for Fanny, who knows +we are here, I should find pleasure in dodging and eluding +him. We could be under the east window when he is at +the porch; as he came round to the north side we could +wheel off to the south; we might at a pinch hide behind +some of the monuments. That tall erection of the Wynnes +would screen us completely."</p> + +<p>"Robert, what good spirits you have! Go! go!" added +Caroline hastily. "I hear the front door——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go; on the contrary, I want to stay."</p> + +<p>"You know my uncle will be terribly angry. He forbade +me to see you because you are a Jacobin."</p> + +<p>"A queer Jacobin!"</p> + +<p>"Go, Robert, he is coming; I hear him cough."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>224<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Diable! It is strange—what a pertinacious wish I +feel to stay!"</p> + +<p>"You remember what he did to Fanny's—" began Caroline, +and stopped abruptly short. "Sweetheart" was the +word that ought to have followed, but she could not utter +it. It seemed calculated to suggest ideas she had no intention +to suggest—ideas delusive and disturbing. Moore +was less scrupulous. "Fanny's sweetheart?" he said at +once. "He gave him a shower-bath under the pump, +did he not? He'd do as much for me, I dare say, with +pleasure. I should like to provoke the old Turk—not, +however, against you. But he would make a distinction +between a cousin and a lover, would he not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he would not think of you in that way, of course +not; his quarrel with you is entirely political. Yet I should +not like the breach to be widened, and he is so testy. Here +he is at the garden gate. For your own sake and mine, +Robert, go!"</p> + +<p>The beseeching words were aided by a beseeching gesture +and a more beseeching look. Moore covered her clasped +hands an instant with his, answered her upward by a downward +<a name="gaze" id="gaze"></a><ins title="was gave">gaze,</ins> said "Good-night!" and went.</p> + +<p>Caroline was in a moment at the kitchen door behind +Fanny. The shadow of the shovel-hat at that very instant +fell on a moonlit tomb. The rector emerged, erect as a +cane, from his garden, and proceeded in slow march, his +hands behind him, down the cemetery. Moore was almost +caught. He had to "dodge" after all, to coast round the +church, and finally to bend his tall form behind the Wynnes' +ambitious monument. There he was forced to hide full +ten minutes, kneeling with one knee on the turf, his hat off, +his curls bare to the dew, his dark eye shining, and his lips +parted with inward laughter at his position; for the rector +meantime stood coolly star-gazing, and taking snuff within +three feet of him.</p> + +<p>It happened, however, that Mr. Helstone had no suspicion +whatever on his mind; for being usually but vaguely informed +of his niece's movements, not thinking it worth while +to follow them closely, he was not aware that she had been +out at all that day, and imagined her then occupied with +book or work in her chamber—where, indeed, she was by +this time, though not absorbed in the tranquil employment +he ascribed to her, but standing at her window with fast-throbbing +heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>225<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +watching for her uncle to re-enter and her cousin to escape. +And at last she was gratified. She heard Mr. Helstone come +in; she saw Robert stride the tombs and vault the wall; +she then went down to prayers. When she returned to her +chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Slumber's +visitation was long averted. Long she sat at her lattice, +long gazed down on the old garden and older church, on +the tombs laid out all gray and calm, and clear in moonlight. +She followed the steps of the night, on its pathway +of stars, far into the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal'." +She was with Moore, in spirit, the whole time; she was at +his side; she heard his voice; she gave her hand into his +hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the church +clock struck, when any other sound stirred, when a little +mouse familiar to her chamber—an intruder for which she +would never permit Fanny to lay a trap—came rattling +amongst the links of her locket-chain, her one ring, and +another trinket or two on the toilet-table, to nibble a bit +of biscuit laid ready for it, she looked up, recalled momentarily +to the real. Then she said half aloud, as if +deprecating the accusation of some unseen and unheard +monitor, "I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only +thinking because I cannot sleep. Of course, I know he will +marry Shirley."</p> + +<p>With returning silence, with the lull of the chime, and +the retreat of her small untamed and unknown <em>protégé</em>, +she still resumed the dream, nestling to the vision's side—listening +to, conversing with it. It paled at last. As +dawn approached, the setting stars and breaking day +dimmed the creation of fancy; the wakened song of birds +hushed her whispers. The tale full of fire, quick with +interest, borne away by the morning wind, became a vague +murmur. The shape that, seen in a moonbeam, lived, +had a pulse, had movement, wore health's glow and youth's +freshness, turned cold and ghostly gray, confronted with the +red of sunrise. It wasted. She was left solitary at last. +She crept to her couch, chill and dejected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>226<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS.</small></h2> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Of</span> course, I know he will marry Shirley," were her first +words when she rose in the morning. "And he ought to +marry her. She can help him," she added firmly. "But +I shall be forgotten when they <em>are</em> married," was the cruel +succeeding thought. "Oh! I shall be wholly forgotten! +And what—<em>what</em> shall I do when Robert is taken quite from +me? Where shall I turn? <em>My</em> Robert! I wish I could +justly call him mine. But I am poverty and incapacity; +Shirley is wealth and power. And she is beauty too, and +love. I cannot deny it. This is no sordid suit. She loves +him—not with inferior feelings. She loves, or <em>will</em> love, as +he must feel proud to be loved. Not a valid objection +can be made. Let them be married, then. But afterwards +I shall be nothing to him. As for being his sister, and all +that stuff, I despise it. I will either be all or nothing to +a man like Robert; no feeble shuffling or false cant is +endurable. Once let that pair be united, and I will certainly +leave them. As for lingering about, playing the hypocrite, +and pretending to calm sentiments of friendship, when my +soul will be wrung with other feelings, I shall not descend to +such degradation. As little could I fill the place of their +mutual friend as that of their deadly foe; as little could +I stand between them as trample over them. Robert is a +first-rate man—in my eyes. I <em>have</em> loved, <em>do</em> love, and +<em>must</em> love him. I would be his wife if I could; as I cannot, +I must go where I shall never see him. There is but one +alternative—to cleave to him as if I were a part of him, or +to be sundered from him wide as the two poles of a sphere.—Sunder +me then, Providence. Part us speedily."</p> + +<p>Some such aspirations as these were again working in +her mind late in the afternoon, when the apparition of +one of the personages haunting her thoughts passed the +parlour window. Miss Keeldar sauntered slowly by, her +gait, her countenance, wearing that mixture of wistfulness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>227<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and carelessness which, when quiescent, was the wonted +cast of her look and character of her bearing. When animated, +the carelessness quite vanished, the wistfulness +became blent with a genial gaiety, seasoning the laugh, +the smile, the glance, with a unique flavour of sentiment, so +that mirth from her never resembled "the crackling of +thorns under a pot."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by not coming to see me this afternoon, +as you promised?" was her address to Caroline as +she entered the room.</p> + +<p>"I was not in the humour," replied Miss Helstone, +very truly.</p> + +<p>Shirley had already fixed on her a penetrating eye.</p> + +<p>"No," she said; "I see you are not in the humour for +loving me. You are in one of your sunless, inclement +moods, when one feels a fellow-creature's presence is not +welcome to you. You have such moods. Are you aware +of it?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to stay long, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I am come to have my tea, and must have it +before I go. I shall take the liberty, then, of removing +my bonnet, without being asked."</p> + +<p>And this she did, and then stood on the rug with her +hands behind her.</p> + +<p>"A pretty expression you have in your countenance," +she went on, still gazing keenly, though not inimically—rather +indeed pityingly—at Caroline. "Wonderfully +self-supported you look, you solitude-seeking, wounded +deer. Are you afraid Shirley will worry you if she discovers +that you are hurt, and that you bleed?"</p> + +<p>"I never do fear Shirley."</p> + +<p>"But sometimes you dislike her; often you avoid her. +Shirley can feel when she is slighted and shunned. If you +had not walked home in the company you did last night, +you would have been a different girl to-day. What time +did you reach the rectory?"</p> + +<p>"By ten."</p> + +<p>"Humph! You took three-quarters of an hour to +walk a mile. Was it you, or Moore, who lingered so?"</p> + +<p>"Shirley, you talk nonsense."</p> + +<p>"<em>He</em> talked nonsense—that I doubt not; or he looked +it, which is a thousand times worse. I see the reflection +of his eyes on your forehead at this moment. I feel disposed +to call him out, if I could only get a trustworthy second.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>228<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +I feel desperately irritated. I felt so last night, and have +felt it all day."</p> + +<p>"You don't ask me why," she proceeded, after a pause, +"you little silent, over-modest thing; and you don't deserve +that I should pour out my secrets into your lap without an +invitation. Upon my word, I could have found it in my heart +to have dogged Moore yesterday evening with dire intent. +I have pistols, and can use them."</p> + +<p>"Stuff, Shirley! Which would you have shot—me or +Robert?"</p> + +<p>"Neither, perhaps. Perhaps myself—more likely a +bat or a tree-bough. He is a puppy, your cousin—a quiet, +serious, sensible, judicious, ambitious puppy. I see him +standing before me, talking his half-stern, half-gentle talk, +bearing me down (as I am very conscious he does) with +his fixity of purpose, etc.; and then—I have no patience +with him!"</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar started off on a rapid walk through the +room, repeating energetically that she had no patience +with men in general, and with her tenant in particular.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken," urged Caroline, in some anxiety. +"Robert is no puppy or male flirt; I can vouch for +that."</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em> vouch for it! Do you think I'll take your word +on the subject? There is no one's testimony I would +not credit sooner than yours. To advance Moore's fortune +you would cut off your right hand."</p> + +<p>"But not tell lies. And if I speak the truth, I must +assure you that he was just civil to me last night—that +was all."</p> + +<p>"I never asked what he was. I can guess. I saw him +from the window take your hand in his long fingers, just +as he went out at my gate."</p> + +<p>"That is nothing. I am not a stranger, you know. I +am an old acquaintance, and his cousin."</p> + +<p>"I feel indignant, and that is the long and short of +the matter," responded Miss Keeldar. "All my comfort," +she added presently, "is broken up by his manœuvres. +He keeps intruding between you and me. Without him +we should be good friends; but that six feet of puppyhood +makes a perpetually-recurring eclipse of our friendship. +Again and again he crosses and obscures the disc I want +always to see clear; ever and anon he renders me to you +a mere bore and nuisance."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>229<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"No, Shirley, no."</p> + +<p>"He does. You did not want my society this afternoon, +and I feel it hard. You are naturally somewhat +reserved, but I am a social personage, who cannot live +alone. If we were but left unmolested, I have that +regard for you that I could bear you in my presence for +ever, and not for the fraction of a second do I ever +wish to be rid of you. You cannot say as much respecting +me."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, I can say anything you wish. Shirley, I like +you."</p> + +<p>"You will wish me at Jericho to-morrow, Lina."</p> + +<p>"I shall not. I am every day growing more accustomed +to—fonder of you. You know I am too English to get +up a vehement friendship all at once; but you are so +much better than common—you are so different to every-day +young ladies—I esteem you, I value you; you are +never a burden to me—never. Do you believe what I +say?"</p> + +<p>"Partly," replied Miss Keeldar, smiling rather incredulously; +"but you are a peculiar personage. Quiet as you +look, there is both a force and a depth somewhere within +not easily reached or appreciated. Then you certainly +are not happy."</p> + +<p>"And unhappy people are rarely good. Is that what +you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I mean rather that unhappy people are +often preoccupied, and not in the mood for discoursing +with companions of my nature. Moreover, there is a sort +of unhappiness which not only depresses, but corrodes; +and that, I fear, is your portion. Will pity do you any +good, Lina? If it will, take some from Shirley; she offers +largely, and warrants the article genuine."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, I never had a sister—you never had a sister; +but it flashes on me at this moment how sisters feel towards +each other—affection twined with their life, which no shocks +of feeling can uproot, which little quarrels only trample +an instant, that it may spring more freshly when the pressure +is removed; affection that no passion can ultimately +outrival, with which even love itself cannot do more than +compete in force and truth. Love hurts us so, Shirley. It +is so tormenting, so racking, and it burns away our strength +with its flame. In affection is no pain and no fire, only sustenance +and balm. I am supported and soothed when you—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>230<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +is, <em>you only</em>—are near, Shirley. Do you believe me +now?"</p> + +<p>"I am always easy of belief when the creed pleases +me. We really are friends, then, Lina, in spite of the black +eclipse?"</p> + +<p>"We really are," returned the other, drawing Shirley +towards her, and making her sit down, "chance what +may."</p> + +<p>"Come, then; we will talk of something else than the +Troubler." But at this moment the rector came in, and +the "something else" of which Miss Keeldar was about +to talk was not again alluded to till the moment of her +departure. She then delayed a few minutes in the passage +to say, "Caroline, I wish to tell you that I have a great +weight on my mind; my conscience is quite uneasy as if +I had committed, or was going to commit, a crime. It is +not my <em>private</em> conscience, you must understand, but my +landed-proprietor and lord-of-the-manor conscience. I have +got into the clutch of an eagle with iron talons. I have +fallen under a stern influence, which I scarcely approve, +but cannot resist. Something will be done ere long, I fear, +which it by no means pleases me to think of. To ease my +mind, and to prevent harm as far as I can, I mean to enter +on a series of good works. Don't be surprised, therefore, +if you see me all at once turn outrageously charitable. I +have no idea how to begin, but you must give me some advice. +We will talk more on the subject to-morrow; and just +ask that excellent person, Miss Ainley, to step up to Fieldhead. +I have some notion of putting myself under her +tuition. Won't she have a precious pupil? Drop a hint +to her, Lina, that, though a well-meaning, I am rather +a neglected character, and then she will feel less scandalized +at my ignorance about clothing societies and such +things."</p> + +<p>On the morrow Caroline found Shirley sitting gravely +at her desk, with an account-book, a bundle of banknotes, +and a well-filled purse before her. She was looking mighty +serious, but a little puzzled. She said she had been "casting +an eye" over the weekly expenditure in housekeeping at +the hall, trying to find out where she could retrench; that +she had also just given audience to Mrs. Gill, the cook, +and had sent that person away with a notion that her +(Shirley's) brain was certainly crazed. "I have lectured +her on the duty of being careful," said she, "in a way quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>231<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +new to her. So eloquent was I on the text of economy that +I surprised myself; for, you see, it is altogether a fresh idea. +I never thought, much less spoke, on the subject till lately. +But it is all theory; for when I came to the practical part +I could retrench nothing. I had not firmness to take off a +single pound of butter, or to prosecute to any clear result +an inquest into the destiny of either dripping, lard, bread, +cold meat, or other kitchen perquisite whatever. I know +we never get up illuminations at Fieldhead, but I could not +ask the meaning of sundry quite unaccountable pounds of +candles. We do not wash for the parish, yet I viewed in +silence items of soap and bleaching-powder calculated to +satisfy the solicitude of the most anxious inquirer after our +position in reference to those articles. Carnivorous I am not, +nor is Mrs. Pryor, nor is Mrs. Gill herself, yet I only hemmed +and opened my eyes a little wide when I saw butchers' +bills whose figures seemed to prove that fact—falsehood, I +mean. Caroline, you may laugh at me, but you can't change +me. I am a poltroon on certain points; I feel it. There is +a base alloy of moral cowardice in my composition. I +blushed and hung my head before Mrs. Gill, when she ought +to have been faltering confessions to me. I found it impossible +to get up the spirit even to hint, much less to prove, +to her that she was a cheat. I have no calm dignity, no true +courage about me."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, what fit of self-injustice is this? My uncle, +who is not given to speak well of women, says there are +not ten thousand men in England as genuinely fearless +as you."</p> + +<p>"I am fearless, physically; I am never nervous about +danger. I was not startled from self-possession when +Mr. Wynne's great red bull rose with a bellow before my +face, as I was crossing the cowslip lea alone, stooped his +begrimed, sullen head, and made a run at me; but I was +afraid of seeing Mrs. Gill brought to shame and confusion +of face. You have twice—ten times—my strength of mind +on certain subjects, Caroline. You, whom no persuasion +can induce to pass a bull, however quiet he looks, would +have firmly shown my housekeeper she had done wrong; +then you would have gently and wisely admonished her; +and at last, I dare say, provided she had seemed penitent, +you would have very sweetly forgiven her. Of this conduct +I am incapable. However, in spite of exaggerated imposition, +I still find we live within our means. I have money<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>232<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +in hand, and I really must do some good with it. The +Briarfield poor are badly off; they must be helped. What +ought I to do, think you, Lina? Had I not better distribute +the cash at once?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, Shirley; you will not manage properly. +I have often noticed that your only notion of charity is +to give shillings and half-crowns in a careless, free-handed +sort of way, which is liable to continual abuse. You must +have a prime minister, or you will get yourself into a series +of scrapes. You suggested Miss Ainley yourself; to Miss +Ainley I will apply. And, meantime, promise to keep quiet, +and not begin throwing away your money. What a great +deal you have, Shirley! You must feel very rich with all +that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I feel of consequence. It is not an immense +sum, but I feel responsible for its disposal; and really +this responsibility weighs on my mind more heavily than +I could have expected. They say that there are some +families almost starving to death in Briarfield. Some of +my own cottagers are in wretched circumstances. I must +and will help them."</p> + +<p>"Some people say we shouldn't give alms to the poor, +Shirley."</p> + +<p>"They are great fools for their pains. For those who +are not hungry, it is easy to palaver about the degradation +of charity, and so on: but they forget the brevity +of life, as well as its bitterness. We have none of us long +to live. Let us help each other through seasons of want +and woe as well as we can, without heeding in the least +the scruples of vain philosophy."</p> + +<p>"But you do help others, Shirley. You give a great +deal as it is."</p> + +<p>"Not enough. I must give more, or, I tell you, my +brother's blood will some day be crying to Heaven against +me. For, after all, if political incendiaries come here to +kindle conflagration in the neighbourhood, and my property +is attacked, I shall defend it like a tigress—I know +I shall. Let me listen to Mercy as long as she is near me. +Her voice once drowned by the shout of ruffian defiance, +and I shall be full of impulses to resist and quell. If once +the poor gather and rise in the form of the mob, I shall turn +against them as an aristocrat; if they bully me, I must +defy: if they attack, I must resist, and I will."</p> + +<p>"You talk like Robert."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>233<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I feel like Robert, only more fierily. Let them meddle +with Robert, or Robert's mill, or Robert's interests, and +I shall hate them. At present I am no patrician, nor do +I regard the poor around me as plebeians; but if once they +violently wrong me or mine, and then presume to dictate +to us, I shall quite forget pity for their wretchedness and +respect for their poverty, in scorn of their ignorance and +wrath at their insolence."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, how your eyes flash!"</p> + +<p>"Because my soul burns. Would you, any more than +me, let Robert be borne down by numbers?"</p> + +<p>"If I had your power to aid Robert, I would use it as +you mean to use it. If I could be such a friend to him as +you can be, I would stand by him, as you mean to stand +by him, till death."</p> + +<p>"And now, Lina, though your eyes don't flash, they +glow. You drop your lids; but I saw a kindled spark. +However, it is not yet come to fighting. What I want +to do is to <em>prevent</em> mischief. I cannot forget, either day +or night, that these embittered feelings of the poor against +the rich have been generated in suffering: they would +neither hate nor envy us if they did not deem us so much +happier than themselves. To allay this suffering, and thereby +lessen this hate, let me, out of my abundance, give +abundantly; and that the donation may go farther, let it +be made wisely. To that intent, we must introduce some +clear, calm, practical sense into our councils. So go and +fetch Miss Ainley."</p> + +<p>Without another word Caroline put on her bonnet and +departed. It may, perhaps, appear strange that neither she +nor Shirley thought of consulting Mrs. Pryor on their scheme; +but they were wise in abstaining. To have consulted her—and +this they knew by instinct—would only have been to +involve her in painful embarrassment. She was far better +informed, better read, a deeper thinker than Miss Ainley, +but of administrative energy, of executive activity, she had +none. She would subscribe her own modest mite to a charitable +object willingly—secret almsgiving suited her; but in +public plans, on a large scale, she could take no part; as +to originating them, that was out of the question. This +Shirley knew, and therefore she did not trouble Mrs. Pryor +by unavailing conferences, which could only remind her of +her own deficiencies, and do no good.</p> + +<p>It was a bright day for Miss Ainley when she was summoned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>234<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to Fieldhead to deliberate on projects so congenial +to her; when she was seated with all honour and deference +at a table with paper, pen, ink, and—what was best of all—cash +before her, and requested to draw up a regular plan +for administering relief to the destitute poor of Briarfield. +She, who knew them all, had studied their wants, had again +and again felt in what way they might best be succoured, +could the means of succour only be found, was fully competent +to the undertaking, and a meek exultation gladdened her +kind heart as she felt herself able to answer clearly and +promptly the eager questions put by the two young girls, +as she showed them in her answers how much and what +serviceable knowledge she had acquired of the condition +of her fellow-creatures around her.</p> + +<p>Shirley placed at her disposal £300, and at sight of the +money Miss Ainley's eyes filled with joyful tears; for she +already saw the hungry fed, the naked clothed, the sick +comforted thereby. She quickly drew up a simple, sensible +plan for its expenditure; and she assured them brighter +times would now come round, for she doubted not the lady +of Fieldhead's example would be followed by others. She +should try to get additional subscriptions, and to form a +fund; but first she must consult the clergy. Yes, on that +point she was peremptory. Mr. Helstone, Dr. Boultby, +Mr. Hall, <em>must</em> be consulted (for not only must Briarfield be +relieved, but Whinbury and Nunnely). It would, she averred, +be presumption in her to take a single step unauthorized +by them.</p> + +<p>The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes; +no matter what might be the insignificance of the individual, +his station made him holy. The very curates—who, +in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy to tie +her patten-strings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or check +woollen shawl—she, in her pure, sincere enthusiasm, looked +upon as sucking saints. No matter how clearly their little +vices and enormous absurdities were pointed out to her, she +could not see them; she was blind to ecclesiastical defects; +the white surplice covered a multitude of sins.</p> + +<p>Shirley, knowing this harmless infatuation on the part +of her recently-chosen prime minister, stipulated expressly +that the curates were to have no voice in the disposal of +the money, that their meddling fingers were not to be +inserted into the pie. The rectors, of course, must be paramount, +and they might be trusted. They had some experience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>235<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +some sagacity, and Mr. Hall, at least, had sympathy +and loving-kindness for his fellow-men; but as for the youth +under them, they must be set aside, kept down, and taught +that subordination and silence best became their years and +capacity.</p> + +<p>It was with some horror Miss Ainley heard this language. +Caroline, however, interposing with a mild word or +two in praise of Mr Sweeting, calmed her again. Sweeting +was, indeed, her own favourite. She endeavoured to respect +Messrs. Malone and Donne, but the slices of sponge-cake and +glasses of cowslip or primrose wine she had at different times +administered to Sweeting, when he came to see her in her +little cottage, were ever offered with sentiments of truly +motherly regard. The same innocuous collation she had +once presented to Malone; but that personage evinced +such open scorn of the offering, she had never ventured to +renew it. To Donne she always served the treat, and was +happy to see his approbation of it proved beyond a doubt +by the fact of his usually eating two pieces of cake, and putting +a third in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Indefatigable in her exertions where good was to be done, +Miss Ainley would immediately have set out on a walk of +ten miles round to the three rectors, in order to show her +plan, and humbly solicit their approval; but Miss Keeldar +interdicted this, and proposed, as an amendment, to collect +the clergy in a small select reunion that evening at Fieldhead. +Miss Ainley was to meet them, and the plan was to be +discussed in full privy council.</p> + +<p>Shirley managed to get the senior priesthood together +accordingly, and before the old maid's arrival, she had, +further, talked all the gentlemen into the most charming +mood imaginable. She herself had taken in hand Dr. +Boultby and Mr. Helstone. The first was a stubborn old +Welshman, hot, opinionated, and obstinate, but withal +a man who did a great deal of good, though not without +making some noise about it. The latter we know. She +had rather a friendly feeling for both, especially for old +Helstone; and it cost her no trouble to be quite delightful to +them. She took them round the garden; she gathered them +flowers; she was like a kind daughter to them. Mr. Hall +she left to Caroline—or rather, it was to Caroline's care Mr. +Hall consigned himself.</p> + +<p>He generally sought Caroline in every party where +she and he happened to be. He was not in general a lady's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>236<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +man, though all ladies liked him; something of a book-worm +he was, near-sighted, spectacled, now and then +abstracted. To old ladies he was kind as a son. To men +of every occupation and grade he was acceptable. The +truth, simplicity, frankness of his manners, the nobleness +of his integrity, the reality and elevation of his piety, won +him friends in every grade. His poor clerk and sexton delighted +in him; the noble patron of his living esteemed +him highly. It was only with young, handsome, fashionable, +and stylish ladies he felt a little shy. Being himself a plain +man—plain in aspect, plain in manners, plain in speech—he +seemed to fear their dash, elegance, and airs. But +Miss Helstone had neither dash nor airs, and her native +elegance was of a very quiet order—quiet as the beauty of +a ground-loving hedge-flower. He was a fluent, cheerful, +agreeable talker. Caroline could talk too in a <em>tête-à-tête</em>. She +liked Mr. Hall to come and take the seat next her in a party, +and thus secure her from Peter Augustus Malone, Joseph +Donne, or John Sykes; and Mr. Hall never failed to avail +himself of this privilege when he possibly could. Such +preference shown by a single gentleman to a single lady +would certainly, in ordinary cases, have set in motion the +tongues of the gossips; but Cyril Hall was forty-five years +old, slightly bald, and slightly gray, and nobody ever said +or thought he was likely to be married to Miss Helstone. +Nor did he think so himself. He was wedded already to his +books and his parish. His kind sister Margaret, spectacled +and learned like himself, made him happy in his single state; +he considered it too late to change. Besides, he had known +Caroline as a pretty little girl. She had sat on his knee many a +time; he had bought her toys and given her books; he felt +that her friendship for him was mixed with a sort of filial +respect; he could not have brought himself to attempt +to give another colour to her sentiments, and his serene +mind could glass a fair image without feeling its depths +troubled by the reflection.</p> + +<p>When Miss Ainley arrived, she was made kindly welcome +by every one. Mrs. Pryor and Margaret Hall made +room for her on the sofa between them; and when the three +were seated, they formed a trio which the gay and thoughtless +would have scorned, indeed, as quite worthless and unattractive—a +middle-aged widow and two plain, spectacled +old maids—yet which had its own quiet value, as many a +suffering and friendless human being knew.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>237<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Shirley opened the business and showed the plan.</p> + +<p>"I know the hand which drew up that," said Mr. Hall, +glancing at Miss Ainley, and smiling benignantly. His +approbation was won at once. Boultby heard and deliberated +with bent brow and protruded under lip. His consent +he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. +Helstone glanced sharply round with an alert, suspicious +expression, as if he apprehended that female craft was at +work, and that something in petticoats was somehow trying +underhand to acquire too much influence, and make itself +of too much importance. Shirley caught and comprehended +the expression. "This scheme is nothing," said she carelessly. +"It is only an outline—a mere suggestion. You, +gentlemen, are requested to draw up rules of your own."</p> + +<p>And she directly fetched her writing-case, smiling queerly +to herself as she bent over the table where it stood. She +produced a sheet of paper, a new pen, drew an arm-chair to +the table, and presenting her hand to old Helstone, begged +permission to install him in it. For a minute he was a little +stiff, and stood wrinkling his copper-coloured forehead +strangely. At last he muttered, "Well, you are neither my +wife nor my daughter, so I'll be led for once; but mind—I +know I <em>am</em> led. Your little female manœuvres don't blind +me."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Shirley, dipping the pen in the ink, and +putting it into his hand, "you must regard me as Captain +Keeldar to-day. This is quite a gentleman's affair—yours +and mine entirely, doctor" (so she had dubbed +the rector). "The ladies there are only to be our aides-de-camp, +and at their peril they speak, till we have settled +the whole business."</p> + +<p>He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He soon +interrupted himself to ask questions, and consult his brethren, +disdainfully lifting his glance over the curly heads of the +two girls and the demure caps of the elder ladies, to meet +the winking glasses and gray pates of the priests. In the discussion +which ensued, all three gentlemen, to their infinite +credit, showed a thorough acquaintance with the poor of +their parishes—an even minute knowledge of their separate +wants. Each rector knew where clothing was needed, where +food would be most acceptable, where money could be +bestowed with a probability of it being judiciously laid out. +Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall, +if applied to, could help them out; but both ladies took care<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>238<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +not to speak unless spoken to. Neither of them wanted to be +foremost, but each sincerely desired to be useful; and useful +the clergy consented to make them—with which boon they +were content.</p> + +<p>Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their +shoulders now and then to glance at the rules drawn up and +the list of cases making out, listening to all they said, and +still at intervals smiling her queer smile—a smile not ill-natured, +but significant—too significant to be generally +thought amiable. Men rarely like such of their fellows as +read their inward nature too clearly and truly. It is good for +women, especially, to be endowed with a soft blindness; +to have mild, dim eyes, that never penetrate below the +surface of things—that take all for what it seems. Thousands, +knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped on system; +but the most downcast glance has its loophole, through which +it can, on occasion, take its sentinel-survey of life. I remember +once seeing a pair of blue eyes, that were usually thought +sleepy, secretly on the alert, and I knew by their expression—an +expression which chilled my blood, it was in that +quarter so wondrously unexpected—that for years they +had been accustomed to silent soul-reading. The world +called the owner of these blue eyes <em>bonne petite femme</em> (she +was not an Englishwoman). I learned her nature afterwards—got +it off by heart—studied it in its farthest, most +hidden recesses. She was the finest, deepest, subtlest +schemer in Europe.</p> + +<p>When all was at length settled to Miss Keeldar's mind, +and the clergy had entered so fully into the spirit of her +plans as to head the subscription-list with their signatures +for £50 each, she ordered supper to be served, having +previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise her utmost skill in +the preparation of this repast. Mr. Hall was no <em>bon vivant</em>—he +was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; +but Boultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The +<em>recherché</em> supper consequently put them into excellent +humour. They did justice to it, though in a gentlemanly +way—not in the mode Mr. Donne would have done had he +been present. A glass of fine wine was likewise tasted, with +discerning though most decorous relish. Captain Keeldar +was complimented on his taste; the compliment charmed +him. It had been his aim to gratify and satisfy his priestly +guests. He had succeeded, and was radiant with glee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>239<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>MR. DONNE'S EXODUS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> next day Shirley expressed to Caroline how delighted +she felt that the little party had gone off so well.</p> + +<p>"I rather like to entertain a circle of gentlemen," said +she. "It is amusing to observe how they enjoy a judiciously +concocted repast. For ourselves, you see, these +choice wines and these scientific dishes are of no importance +to us; but gentlemen seem to retain something of the +<em>naïveté</em> of children about food, and one likes to please them—that +is, when they show the becoming, decent self-government +of our admirable rectors. I watch Moore sometimes, +to try and discover how he can be pleased; but he has not +that child's simplicity about him. Did you ever find out +his accessible point, Caroline? you have seen more of him +than I."</p> + +<p>"It is not, at any rate, that of my uncle and Dr. Boultby," +returned Caroline, smiling. She always felt a sort of shy +pleasure in following Miss Keeldar's lead respecting the discussion +of her cousin's character. Left to herself, she would +never have touched on the subject; but when invited, the +temptation of talking about him of whom she was ever +thinking was irresistible. "But," she added, "I really don't +know what it is, for I never watched Robert in my life but +my scrutiny was presently baffled by finding he was watching +me."</p> + +<p>"There it is!" exclaimed Shirley. "You can't fix your +eyes on him but his presently flash on you. He is never off +his guard. He won't give you an advantage. Even when he +does not look at you, his thoughts seem to be busy amongst +your own thoughts, tracing your words and actions to their +source, contemplating your motives at his ease. Oh! I +know that sort of character, or something in the same style. +It is one that piques me singularly. How does it affect +you?"</p> + +<p>This question was a specimen of one of Shirley's sharp,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>240<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +sudden turns. Caroline used to be fluttered by them at +first, but she had now got into the way of parrying these +home-thrusts like a little Quakeress.</p> + +<p>"Pique you? In what way does it pique you?" she +said.</p> + +<p>"Here he comes!" suddenly exclaimed Shirley, breaking +off, starting up and running to the window. "Here comes +a diversion. I never told you of a superb conquest I have +made lately—made at those parties to which I can never +persuade you to accompany me; and the thing has been +done without effort or intention on my part—that I aver. +There is the bell—and, by all that's delicious! there are two +of them. Do they never hunt, then, except in couples? +You may have one, Lina, and you may take your choice. +I hope I am generous enough. Listen to Tartar!"</p> + +<p>The black-muzzled, tawny dog, a glimpse of which was +seen in the chapter which first introduced its mistress to +the reader, here gave tongue in the hall, amidst whose hollow +space the deep bark resounded formidably. A growl more +terrible than the bark, menacing as muttered thunder, succeeded.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" again cried Shirley, laughing. "You would +think that the prelude to a bloody onslaught. They will be +frightened. They don't know old Tartar as I do. They are +not aware his uproars are all sound and fury, signifying +nothing!"</p> + +<p>Some bustle was heard. "Down, sir, down!" exclaimed +a high-toned, imperious voice, and then came a crack of a +cane or whip. Immediately there was a yell—a scutter—a +run—a positive tumult.</p> + +<p>"O Malone, Malone!"</p> + +<p>"Down! down! down!" cried the high voice.</p> + +<p>"He really is worrying them!" exclaimed Shirley. +"They have struck him. A blow is what he is not used to, +and will not take."</p> + +<p>Out she ran. A gentleman was fleeing up the oak staircase, +making for refuge in the gallery or chambers in hot +haste; another was backing fast to the stairfoot, wildly +flourishing a knotty stick, at the same time reiterating, +"Down! down! down!" while the tawny dog bayed, +bellowed, howled at him, and a group of servants came +bundling from the kitchen. The dog made a spring; the +second gentleman turned tail and rushed after his comrade. +The first was already safe in a bedroom; he held the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>241<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +against his fellow—nothing so merciless as terror. But the +other fugitive struggled hard; the door was about to yield +to his strength.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," was uttered in Miss Keeldar's silvery but +vibrating tones, "spare my locks, if you please. Calm yourselves! +Come down! Look at Tartar; he won't harm a +cat."</p> + +<p>She was caressing the said Tartar. He lay crouched at +her feet, his fore paws stretched out, his tail still in threatening +agitation, his nostrils snorting, his bulldog eyes conscious +of a dull fire. He was an honest, phlegmatic, stupid, +but stubborn canine character. He loved his mistress and +John—the man who fed him—but was mostly indifferent to +the rest of the world. Quiet enough he was, unless struck +or threatened with a stick, and that put a demon into him +at once.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Malone, how do you do?" continued Shirley, +lifting up her mirth-lit face to the gallery. "That is not +the way to the oak parlour; that is Mrs. Pryor's apartment. +Request your friend Mr. Donne to evacuate. I shall have +the greatest pleasure in receiving him in a lower room."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" cried Malone, in hollow laughter, quitting +the door, and leaning over the massive balustrade. "Really +that animal alarmed Donne. He is a little timid," he +proceeded, stiffening himself, and walking trimly to the +stairhead. "I thought it better to follow, in order to reassure +him."</p> + +<p>"It appears you did. Well, come down, if you please.—John" +(turning to her manservant), "go upstairs and +liberate Mr. Donne.—Take care, Mr. Malone; the stairs +are slippery."</p> + +<p>In truth they were, being of polished oak. The caution +came a little late for Malone. He had slipped already in +his stately descent, and was only saved from falling by a +clutch at the banisters, which made the whole structure +creak again.</p> + +<p>Tartar seemed to think the visitor's descent effected +with unwarranted <em>éclat</em>, and accordingly he growled once +more. Malone, however, was no coward. The spring of the +dog had taken him by surprise, but he passed him now in +suppressed fury rather than fear. If a look could have +strangled Tartar, he would have breathed no more. Forgetting +politeness in his sullen rage, Malone pushed into the +parlour before Miss Keeldar. He glanced at Miss Helstone;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>242<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +he could scarcely bring himself to bend to her. He glared on +both the ladies. He looked as if, had either of them been his +wife, he would have made a glorious husband at the moment. +In each hand he seemed as if he would have liked to clutch +one and gripe her to death.</p> + +<p>However, Shirley took pity. She ceased to laugh; and +Caroline was too true a lady to smile even at any one under +mortification. Tartar was dismissed; Peter Augustus +was soothed—for Shirley had looks and tones that might +soothe a very bull. He had sense to feel that, since he could +not challenge the owner of the dog, he had better be civil. +And civil he tried to be; and his attempts being well +received, he grew presently <em>very</em> civil and quite himself +again. He had come, indeed, for the express purpose of +making himself charming and fascinating. Rough portents +had met him on his first admission to Fieldhead; but that +passage got over, charming and fascinating he resolved +to be. Like March, having come in like a lion, he purposed +to go out like a lamb.</p> + +<p>For the sake of air, as it appeared, or perhaps for that +of ready exit in case of some new emergency arising, he took +his seat,—not on the sofa, where Miss Keeldar offered him +enthronization, nor yet near the fireside, to which Caroline, +by a friendly sign, gently <a name="invited" id="invited"></a><ins title="was invired">invited</ins> him, but on a chair close +to the door. Being no longer sullen or furious, he grew, +after his fashion, constrained and embarrassed. He talked +to the ladies by fits and starts, choosing for topics whatever +was most intensely commonplace. He sighed deeply, +significantly, at the close of every sentence; he sighed in +each pause; he sighed ere he opened his mouth. At last, +finding it desirable to add ease to his other charms, he drew +forth to aid him an ample silk pocket-handkerchief. This +was to be the graceful toy with which his unoccupied hands +were to trifle. He went to work with a certain energy. He +folded the red-and-yellow square cornerwise; he whipped +it open with a waft; again he folded it in narrower compass; +he made of it a handsome band. To what purpose would +he proceed to apply the ligature? Would he wrap it about +his throat—his head? Should it be a comforter or a turban? +Neither. Peter Augustus had an inventive, an original +genius. He was about to show the ladies graces of action +possessing at least the charm of novelty. He sat on the chair +with his athletic Irish legs crossed, and these legs, in that +attitude, he circled with the bandana and bound firmly together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>243<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +It was evident he felt this device to be worth an +encore; he repeated it more than once. The second performance +sent Shirley to the window, to laugh her silent +but irrepressible laugh unseen; it turned Caroline's head +aside, that her long curls might screen the smile mantling +on her features. Miss Helstone, indeed, was amused +by more than one point in Peter's demeanour. She was +edified at the complete though abrupt diversion of his +homage from herself to the heiress. The £5,000 he supposed +her likely one day to inherit were not to be weighed in the +balance against Miss Keeldar's estate and hall. He took no +pains to conceal his calculations and tactics. He pretended +to no gradual change of views; he wheeled about +at once. The pursuit of the lesser fortune was openly relinquished +for that of the greater. On what grounds he +expected to succeed in his chase himself best knew; certainly +not by skilful management.</p> + +<p>From the length of time that elapsed, it appeared that +John had some difficulty in persuading Mr. Donne to +descend. At length, however, that gentleman appeared; +nor, as he presented himself at the oak-parlour door, did +he seem in the slightest degree ashamed or confused—not +a whit. Donne, indeed, was of that coldly phlegmatic, +immovably complacent, densely self-satisfied nature which +is insensible to shame. He had never blushed in his life; +no humiliation could abash him; his nerves were not capable +of sensation enough to stir his life and make colour +mount to his cheek; he had no fire in his blood and no +modesty in his soul; he was a frontless, arrogant, decorous +slip of the commonplace—conceited, inane, insipid; and +this gentleman had a notion of wooing Miss Keeldar! He +knew no more, however, how to set about the business than +if he had been an image carved in wood. He had no idea +of a taste to be pleased, a heart to be reached in courtship. +His notion was, when he should have formally visited her a +few times, to write a letter proposing marriage. Then he +calculated she would accept him for love of his office; then +they would be married; then he should be master of Fieldhead; +and he should live very comfortably, have servants +at his command, eat and drink of the best, and be a great +man. You would not have suspected his intentions when he +addressed his intended bride in an impertinent, injured +tone—"A very dangerous dog that, Miss Keeldar. I wonder +you should keep such an animal."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>244<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Do you, Mr. Donne? Perhaps you will wonder more +when I tell you I am very fond of him."</p> + +<p>"I should say you are not serious in the assertion. Can't +fancy a lady fond of that brute—'tis so ugly—a mere carter's +dog. Pray hang him."</p> + +<p>"Hang what I am fond of!"</p> + +<p>"And purchase in his stead some sweetly pooty pug or +poodle—something appropriate to the fair sex. Ladies +generally like lap-dogs."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I am an exception."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you can't be, you know. All ladies are alike in +those matters. That is universally allowed."</p> + +<p>"Tartar frightened you terribly, Mr. Donne. I hope +you won't take any harm."</p> + +<p>"That I shall, no doubt. He gave me a turn I shall +not soon forget. When I <em>sor</em> him" (such was Mr. Donne's +pronunciation) "about to spring, I thought I should have +fainted."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you did faint in the bedroom; you were a +long time there."</p> + +<p>"No; I bore up that I might hold the door fast. I +was determined not to let any one enter. I thought I +would keep a barrier between me and the enemy."</p> + +<p>"But what if your friend Mr. Malone had been worried?"</p> + +<p>"Malone must take care of himself. Your man persuaded +me to come out at last by saying the dog was chained +up in his kennel. If I had not been assured of this, I would +have remained all day in the chamber. But what is that? +I declare the man has told a falsehood! The dog is there!"</p> + +<p>And indeed Tartar walked past the glass door opening +to the garden, stiff, tawny, and black-muzzled as ever. +He still seemed in bad humour. He was growling again, +and whistling a half-strangled whistle, being an inheritance +from the bulldog side of his ancestry.</p> + +<p>"There are other visitors coming," observed Shirley, +with that provoking coolness which the owners of formidable-looking +dogs are apt to show while their animals +are all bristle and bay. Tartar sprang down the pavement +towards the gate, bellowing <em>avec explosion</em>. His mistress +quietly opened the glass door, and stepped out chirruping +to him. His bellow was already silenced, and he was lifting +up his huge, blunt, stupid head to the new callers to be +patted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>245<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"What! Tartar, Tartar!" said a cheery, rather boyish +voice, "don't you know us? Good-morning, old boy!"</p> + +<p>And little Mr. Sweeting, whose conscious good nature +made him comparatively fearless of man, woman, child, +or brute, came through the gate, caressing the guardian. +His vicar, Mr. Hall, followed. He had no fear of Tartar +either, and Tartar had no ill-will to him. He snuffed both +the gentlemen round, and then, as if concluding that they +were harmless, and might be allowed to pass, he withdrew +to the sunny front of the hall, leaving the archway free. +Mr. Sweeting followed, and would have played with him; +but Tartar took no notice of his caresses. It was only his +mistress's hand whose touch gave him pleasure; to all +others he showed himself obstinately insensible.</p> + +<p>Shirley advanced to meet Messrs. Hall and Sweeting, +shaking hands with them cordially. They were come to +tell her of certain successes they had achieved that morning +in applications for subscriptions to the fund. Mr. Hall's +eyes beamed benignantly through his spectacles, his plain +face looked positively handsome with goodness; and when +Caroline, seeing who was come, ran out to meet him, and +put both her hands into his, he gazed down on her with a +gentle, serene, affectionate expression that gave him the +aspect of a smiling <a name="Melanchthon" id="Melanchthon"></a><ins title="was Melancthon">Melanchthon</ins>.</p> + +<p>Instead of re-entering the house, they strayed through +the garden, the ladies walking one on each side of Mr. +Hall. It was a breezy sunny day; the air freshened the +girls' cheeks and gracefully dishevelled their ringlets. +Both of them looked pretty—one gay. Mr. Hall spoke +oftenest to his brilliant companion, looked most frequently +at the quiet one. Miss Keeldar gathered handfuls of the +profusely blooming flowers whose perfume filled the enclosure. +She gave some to Caroline, telling her to choose a +nosegay for Mr. Hall; and with her lap filled with delicate +and splendid blossoms, Caroline sat down on the steps +of a summer-house. The vicar stood near her, leaning on +his cane.</p> + +<p>Shirley, who could not be inhospitable, now called out +the neglected pair in the oak parlour. She convoyed Donne +past his dread enemy Tartar, who, with his nose on his fore +paws, lay snoring under the meridian sun. Donne was not +grateful—he never <em>was</em> grateful for kindness and attention—but +he was glad of the safeguard. Miss Keeldar, desirous +of being impartial, offered the curates flowers. They accepted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>246<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +them with native awkwardness. Malone seemed +specially at a loss, when a bouquet filled one hand, while +his shillelah occupied the other. Donne's "Thank you!" +was rich to hear. It was the most fatuous and arrogant of +sounds, implying that he considered this offering a homage +to his merits, and an attempt on the part of the heiress to +ingratiate herself into his priceless affections. Sweeting +alone received the posy like a smart, sensible little man, +as he was, putting it gallantly and nattily into his buttonhole.</p> + +<p>As a reward for his good manners, Miss Keeldar, beckoning +him apart, gave him some commission, which made his +eyes sparkle with glee. Away he flew, round by the courtyard +to the kitchen. No need to give him directions; he +was always at home everywhere. Ere long he reappeared, +carrying a round table, which he placed under the cedar; +then he collected six garden-chairs from various nooks and +bowers in the grounds, and placed them in a circle. The +parlour-maid—Miss Keeldar kept no footman—came out, +bearing a napkin-covered tray. Sweeting's nimble fingers +aided in disposing glasses, plates, knives, and forks; he +assisted her too in setting forth a neat luncheon, consisting +of cold chicken, ham, and tarts.</p> + +<p>This sort of impromptu regale it was Shirley's delight +to offer any chance guests; and nothing pleased her better +than to have an alert, obliging little friend, like Sweeting, +to run about her hand, cheerily receive and briskly execute +her hospitable hints. David and she were on the best terms +in the world; and his devotion to the heiress was quite +disinterested, since it prejudiced in nothing his faithful +allegiance to the magnificent Dora Sykes.</p> + +<p>The repast turned out a very merry one. Donne and +Malone, indeed, contributed but little to its vivacity, the +chief part they played in it being what concerned the +knife, fork, and wine-glass; but where four such natures +as Mr. Hall, David Sweeting, Shirley, and Caroline were +assembled in health and amity, on a green lawn, under a +sunny sky, amidst a wilderness of flowers, there could not +be ungenial dullness.</p> + +<p>In the course of conversation Mr. Hall reminded the ladies +that Whitsuntide was approaching, when the grand united +Sunday-school tea-drinking and procession of the three +parishes of Briarfield, Whinbury, and Nunnely were to take +place. Caroline, he knew, would be at her post as teacher,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>247<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +he said, and he hoped Miss Keeldar would not be wanting. +He hoped she would make her first public appearance amongst +them at that time. Shirley was not the person to miss an +occasion of this sort. She liked festive excitement, a gathering +of happiness, a concentration and combination of pleasant +details, a throng of glad faces, a muster of elated hearts. +She told Mr. Hall they might count on her with security. +She did not know what she would have to do, but they +might dispose of her as they pleased.</p> + +<p>"And," said Caroline, "you will promise to come to +my table, and to sit near me, Mr. Hall?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not fail, <em>Deo volente</em>," said he.—"I have occupied +the place on her right hand at these monster tea-drinkings +for the last six years," he proceeded, turning to +Miss Keeldar. "They made her a Sunday-school teacher +when she was a little girl of twelve. She is not particularly +self-confident by nature, as you may have observed; and +the first time she had to 'take a tray,' as the phrase is, +and make tea in public, there was some piteous trembling +and flushing. I observed the speechless panic, the cups +shaking in the little hand, and the overflowing teapot filled +too full from the urn. I came to her aid, took a seat near +her, managed the urn and the slop-basin, and in fact made +the tea for her like any old woman."</p> + +<p>"I was very grateful to you," interposed Caroline.</p> + +<p>"You were. You told me so with an earnest sincerity +that repaid me well, inasmuch as it was not like the majority +of little ladies of twelve, whom you may help and caress +for ever without their evincing any quicker sense of the +kindness done and meant than if they were made of wax +and wood instead of flesh and nerves.—She kept close to +me, Miss Keeldar, the rest of the evening, walking with me +over the grounds where the children were playing; she +followed me into the vestry when all were summoned into +church; she would, I believe, have mounted with me to +the pulpit, had I not taken the previous precaution of conducting +her to the rectory pew."</p> + +<p>"And he has been my friend ever since," said Caroline.</p> + +<p>"And always sat at her table, near her tray, and handed +the cups—that is the extent of my services. The next +thing I do for her will be to marry her some day to some +curate or mill-owner.—But mind, Caroline, I shall inquire +about the bridegroom's character; and if he is not a gentleman +likely to render happy the little girl who walked with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>248<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +me hand in hand over Nunnely Common, I will not officiate. +So take care."</p> + +<p>"The caution is useless. I am not going to be married. +I shall live single, like your sister Margaret, Mr. Hall."</p> + +<p>"Very well. You might do worse. Margaret is not unhappy. +She has her books for a pleasure, and her brother +for a care, and is content. If ever you want a home, if +the day should come when Briarfield rectory is yours no +longer, come to Nunnely vicarage. Should the old maid +and bachelor be still living, they will make you tenderly +welcome."</p> + +<p>"There are your flowers. Now," said Caroline, who had +kept the nosegay she had selected for him till this moment, +"<em>you</em> don't care for a bouquet, but you must give it to +Margaret; only—to be sentimental for once—keep that +little forget-me-not, which is a wild flower I gathered from +the grass; and—to be still more sentimental—let me take +two or three of the blue blossoms and put them in my +souvenir."</p> + +<p>And she took out a small book with enamelled cover and +silver clasp, wherein, having opened it, she inserted the +flowers, writing round them in pencil, "To be kept for the +sake of the Rev. Cyril Hall, my friend. May —, 18—."</p> + +<p>The Rev. Cyril Hall, on his part, also placed a sprig in +safety between the leaves of a pocket Testament. He only +wrote on the margin, "Caroline."</p> + +<p>"Now," said he, smiling, "I trust we are romantic +enough. Miss Keeldar," he continued (the curates, by-the-bye, +during this conversation, were too much occupied with +their own jokes to notice what passed at the other end of +the table), "I hope you are laughing at this trait of '<em>exaltation</em>' +in the old gray-headed vicar; but the fact is, I am so +used to comply with the requests of this young friend of +yours, I don't know how to refuse her when she tells me +to do anything. You would say it is not much in my way +to traffic with flowers and forget-me-nots; but, you see, +when requested to be sentimental, I am obedient."</p> + +<p>"He is naturally rather sentimental," remarked Caroline. +"Margaret told me so, and I know what pleases him."</p> + +<p>"That you should be good and happy? Yes; that is +one of my greatest pleasures. May God long preserve to +you the blessings of peace and innocence! By which phrase +I mean <em>comparative</em> innocence; for in His sight, I am well +aware, <em>none</em> are pure. What to our human perceptions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>249<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +looks spotless as we fancy angels, is to Him but frailty, +needing the blood of His Son to cleanse, and the strength +of His Spirit to sustain. Let us each and all cherish humility—I, +as you, my young friends; and we may well do it +when we look into our own hearts, and see there temptations, +inconsistencies, propensities, even we blush to recognize. +And it is not youth, nor good looks, nor grace, nor +any gentle outside charm which makes either beauty or +goodness in God's eyes.—Young ladies, when your mirror +or men's tongues flatter you, remember that, in the sight +of her Maker, Mary Ann Ainley—a woman whom neither +glass nor lips have ever panegyrized—is fairer and better +than either of you. She is indeed," he added, after a pause—"she +is indeed. You young things, wrapt up in yourselves +and in earthly hopes, scarcely live as Christ lived. +Perhaps you cannot do it yet, while existence is so sweet +and earth so smiling to you; it would be too much to +expect. She, with meek heart and due reverence, treads +close in her Redeemer's steps."</p> + +<p>Here the harsh voice of Donne broke in on the mild tones +of Mr. Hall. "Ahem!" he began, clearing his throat +evidently for a speech of some importance—"ahem! Miss +Keeldar, your attention an instant, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Shirley nonchalantly, "what is it? I +listen. All of me is ear that is not eye."</p> + +<p>"I hope part of you is hand also," returned Donne, in +his vulgarly presumptuous and familiar style, "and part +purse. It is to the hand and purse I propose to appeal. I +came here this morning with a view to beg of you——"</p> + +<p>"You should have gone to Mrs. Gill; she is my almoner."</p> + +<p>"To beg of you a subscription to a school. I and Dr. +Boultby intend to erect one in the hamlet of Ecclefigg, +which is under our vicarage of Whinbury. The Baptists +have got possession of it. They have a chapel there, and +we want to dispute the ground."</p> + +<p>"But I have nothing to do with Ecclefigg. I possess no +property there."</p> + +<p>"What does that signify? You're a churchwoman, ain't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Admirable creature!" muttered Shirley, under her +breath. "Exquisite address! Fine style! What raptures +he excites in me!" Then aloud, "I am a churchwoman, +certainly."</p> + +<p>"Then you can't refuse to contribute in this case. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>250<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +population of Ecclefigg are a parcel of brutes; we want to +civilize them."</p> + +<p>"Who is to be the missionary?"</p> + +<p>"Myself, probably."</p> + +<p>"You won't fail through lack of sympathy with your +flock."</p> + +<p>"I hope not—I expect success; but we must have money. +There is the paper. Pray give a handsome sum."</p> + +<p>When asked for money, Shirley rarely held back. She +put down her name for £5. After the £300 she had lately +given, and the many smaller sums she was giving constantly, +it was as much as she could at present afford. Donne looked +at it, declared the subscription "shabby," and clamorously +demanded more. Miss Keeldar flushed up with some indignation +and more astonishment.</p> + +<p>"At present I shall give no more," said she.</p> + +<p>"Not give more! Why, I expected you to head the list +with a cool hundred. With your property, you should +never put down a signature for less."</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"In the south," went on Donne, "a lady with a thousand +a year would be ashamed to give five pounds for a public +object."</p> + +<p>Shirley, so rarely haughty, looked so now. Her slight +frame became nerved; her distinguished face quickened +with scorn.</p> + +<p>"Strange remarks?" said she—"most inconsiderate! +Reproach in return for bounty is misplaced."</p> + +<p>"Bounty! Do you call five pounds bounty?"</p> + +<p>"I do; and bounty which, had I not given it to Dr. +Boultby's intended school, of the erection of which I approve, +and in no sort to his curate, who seems ill-advised +in his manner of applying for, or rather extorting, subscriptions—bounty, +I repeat, which, but for this consideration, +I should instantly reclaim."</p> + +<p>Donne was thick-skinned. He did not feel all or half +that the tone, air, glance of the speaker expressed. He +knew not on what ground he stood.</p> + +<p>"Wretched place this Yorkshire," he went on. "I could +never have formed an idea<em>r</em> of the country had I not seen +it. And the people—rich and poor—what a set! How +<em>corse</em> and uncultivated! They would be scouted in the +south."</p> + +<p>Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>251<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +a little, her taper fingers interlaced and compressing each +other hard.</p> + +<p>"The rich," pursued the infatuated and unconscious +Donne, "are a parcel of misers, never living as persons +with their incomes ought to live. You scarsley"—(you +must excuse Mr. Donne's pronunciation, reader; it was +very choice; he considered it genteel, and prided himself +on his southern accent; northern ears received with singular +sensations his utterance of certain words)—"you scarsley +ever see a fam'ly where a propa carriage or a reg'la butla +is kep; and as to the poor—just look at them when they +come crowding about the church doors on the occasion of +a marriage or a funeral, clattering in clogs; the men in +their shirt-sleeves and wool-combers' aprons, the women in +mob-caps and bed-gowns. They positively deserve that +one should turn a mad cow in amongst them to rout their +rabble-ranks. He-he! what fun it would be!"</p> + +<p>"There! you have reached the climax," said Shirley +quietly. "You have reached the climax," she repeated, +turning her glowing glance towards him. "You cannot +go beyond it, and," she added with emphasis, "you <em>shall</em> +not, in my house."</p> + +<p>Up she rose—nobody could control her now, for she was +exasperated—straight she walked to her garden gates, wide +she flung them open.</p> + +<p>"Walk through," she said austerely, "and pretty quickly, +and set foot on this pavement no more."</p> + +<p>Donne was astounded. He had thought all the time he +was showing himself off to high advantage, as a lofty-souled +person of the first "ton;" he imagined he was producing +a crushing impression. Had he not expressed disdain of +everything in Yorkshire? What more conclusive proof +could be given that he was better than anything there? +And yet here was he about to be turned like a dog out of +a Yorkshire garden! Where, under such circumstances, +was the "concatenation accordingly"?</p> + +<p>"Rid me of you instantly—instantly!" reiterated Shirley, +as he lingered.</p> + +<p>"Madam—a clergyman! turn out a clergyman!"</p> + +<p>"Off! Were you an archbishop you have proved yourself +no gentleman, and must go. Quick!"</p> + +<p>She was quite resolved. There was no trifling with her. +Besides, Tartar was again rising; he perceived symptoms +of a commotion; he manifested a disposition to join in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>252<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +There was evidently nothing for it but to go, and Donne +made his exodus, the heiress sweeping him a deep curtsy +as she closed the gates on him.</p> + +<p>"How dare the pompous priest abuse his flock! How +dare the lisping cockney revile Yorkshire!" was her sole +observation on the circumstance, as she returned to the +table.</p> + +<p>Ere long the little party broke up; Miss Keeldar's ruffled +and darkened brow, curled lip, and incensed eye gave no +invitation to further social enjoyment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>253<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>WHITSUNTIDE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> fund prospered. By dint of Miss Keeldar's example, +the three rectors' vigorous exertions, and the efficient though +quiet aid of their spinster and spectacled lieutenants, Mary +Ann Ainley and Margaret Hall, a handsome sum was raised; +and this being judiciously managed, served for the present +greatly to alleviate the distress of the unemployed poor. +The neighbourhood seemed to grow calmer. For a fortnight +past no cloth had been destroyed; no outrage on mill +or mansion had been committed in the three parishes. +Shirley was sanguine that the evil she wished to avert was +almost escaped, that the threatened storm was passing over. +With the approach of summer she felt certain that trade +would improve—it always did; and then this weary war +could not last for ever; peace must return one day. With +peace, what an impulse would be given to commerce!</p> + +<p>Such was the usual tenor of her observations to her +tenant, Gérard Moore, whenever she met him where they +could converse; and Moore would listen very quietly—too +quietly to satisfy her. She would then by her impatient +glance demand something more from him—some explanation, +or at least some additional remark. Smiling in his +way, with that expression which gave a remarkable cast +of sweetness to his mouth, while his brow remained grave, +he would answer to the effect that himself too trusted in +the finite nature of the war; that it was indeed on that +ground the anchor of his hopes was fixed; thereon his +speculations depended. "For you are aware," he would +continue, "that I now work Hollow's Mill entirely on +speculation. I sell nothing; there is no market for my +goods. I manufacture for a future day. I make myself +ready to take advantage of the first opening that shall +occur. Three months ago this was impossible to me; I +had exhausted both credit and capital. You well know +who came to my rescue, from what hand I received the loan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>254<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +which saved me. It is on the strength of that loan I am +enabled to continue the bold game which, a while since, I +feared I should never play more. Total ruin I know will +follow loss, and I am aware that gain is doubtful; but I +am quite cheerful. So long as I can be active, so long as I +can strive, so long, in short, as my hands are not tied, +it is impossible for me to be depressed. One year—nay, +but six months—of the reign of the olive, and I am safe; +for, as you say, peace will give an impulse to commerce. +In this you are right; but as to the restored tranquillity +of the neighbourhood, as to the permanent good effect of +your charitable fund, I doubt. Eleemosynary relief never +yet tranquillized the working-classes—it never made them +grateful; it is not in human nature that it should. I +suppose, were all things ordered aright, they ought not to +be in a position to need that humiliating relief; and this +they feel. We should feel it were we so placed. Besides, +to whom should they be grateful? To you, to the clergy +perhaps, but not to us mill-owners. They hate us worse +than ever. Then the disaffected here are in correspondence +with the disaffected elsewhere. Nottingham is one of +their headquarters, Manchester another, Birmingham a +third. The subalterns receive orders from their chiefs; +they are in a good state of discipline; no blow is struck +without mature deliberation. In sultry weather you have +seen the sky threaten thunder day by day, and yet night +after night the clouds have cleared, and the sun has set +quietly; but the danger was not gone—it was only delayed. +The long-threatening storm is sure to break at last. There +is analogy between the moral and physical atmosphere."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Moore" (so these conferences always ended), +"take care of yourself. If you think that I have ever +done you any good, reward me by promising to take care +of yourself."</p> + +<p>"I do; I will take close and watchful care. I wish to +live, not to die. The future opens like Eden before me; +and still, when I look deep into the shades of my paradise, +I see a vision that I like better than seraph or cherub glide +across remote vistas."</p> + +<p>"Do you? Pray, what vision?"</p> + +<p>"I see——"</p> + +<p>The maid came bustling in with the tea-things.</p> + +<p>The early part of that May, as we have seen, was fine; +the middle was wet; but in the last week, at change of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>255<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +moon, it cleared again. A fresh wind swept off the silver-white, +deep-piled rain-clouds, bearing them, mass on mass, +to the eastern horizon, on whose verge they dwindled, and +behind whose rim they disappeared, leaving the vault behind +all pure blue space, ready for the reign of the summer +sun. That sun rose broad on Whitsuntide. The gathering +of the schools was signalized by splendid weather.</p> + +<p>Whit-Tuesday was the great day, in preparation for +which the two large schoolrooms of Briarfield, built by +the present rector, chiefly at his own expense, were cleaned +out, whitewashed, repainted, and decorated with flowers +and evergreens—some from the rectory garden, two cartloads +from Fieldhead, and a wheel-barrowful from the more +stingy domain of De Walden, the residence of Mr. Wynne. +In these schoolrooms twenty tables, each calculated to +accommodate twenty guests, were laid out, surrounded with +benches, and covered with white cloths. Above them were +suspended at least some twenty cages, containing as many +canaries, according to a fancy of the district, specially +cherished by Mr. Helstone's clerk, who delighted in the +piercing song of these birds, and knew that amidst confusion +of tongues they always carolled loudest. These +tables, be it understood, were not spread for the twelve +hundred scholars to be assembled from the three parishes, +but only for the patrons and teachers of the schools. The +children's feast was to be spread in the open air. At one +o'clock the troops were to come in; at two they were to +be marshalled; till four they were to parade the parish; +then came the feast, and afterwards the meeting, with music +and speechifying in the church.</p> + +<p>Why Briarfield was chosen for the point of rendezvous—the +scene of the <em>fête</em>—should be explained. It was not +because it was the largest or most populous parish—Whinbury +far outdid it in that respect; nor because it was the +oldest, antique as were the hoary church and rectory—Nunnely's +low-roofed temple and mossy parsonage, buried +both in coeval oaks, outstanding sentinels of <a name="Nunnwood" id="Nunnwood"></a><ins title="was Nunwood">Nunnwood</ins>, +were older still. It was simply because Mr. Helstone willed +it so, and Mr. Helstone's will was stronger than that of +Boultby or Hall; the former <em>could</em> not, the latter <em>would</em> +not, dispute a point of precedence with their resolute and +imperious brother. They let him lead and rule.</p> + +<p>This notable anniversary had always hitherto been a +trying day to Caroline Helstone, because it dragged her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>256<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +perforce into public, compelling her to face all that was +wealthy, respectable, influential in the neighbourhood; in +whose presence, but for the kind countenance of Mr. Hall, +she would have appeared unsupported. Obliged to be conspicuous; +obliged to walk at the head of her regiment as +the rector's niece, and first teacher of the first class; obliged +to make tea at the first table for a mixed multitude of ladies +and gentlemen, and to do all this without the countenance +of mother, aunt, or other chaperon—she, meantime, being a +nervous person, who mortally feared publicity—it will be +comprehended that, under these circumstances, she trembled +at the approach of Whitsuntide.</p> + +<p>But this year Shirley was to be with her, and that changed +the aspect of the trial singularly—it changed it utterly. +It was a trial no longer—it was almost an enjoyment. Miss +Keeldar was better in her single self than a host of ordinary +friends. Quite self-possessed, and always spirited and easy; +conscious of her social importance, yet never presuming +upon it—it would be enough to give one courage only to +look at her. The only fear was lest the heiress should not +be punctual to tryst. She often had a careless way of +lingering behind time, and Caroline knew her uncle would +not wait a second for any one. At the moment of the +church clock tolling two, the bells would clash out and the +march begin. She must look after Shirley, then, in this +matter, or her expected companion would fail her.</p> + +<p>Whit-Tuesday saw her rise almost with the sun. She, +Fanny, and Eliza were busy the whole morning arranging +the rectory parlours in first-rate company order, and setting +out a collation of cooling refreshments—wine, fruit, +cakes—on the dining-room sideboard. Then she had to +dress in her freshest and fairest attire of white muslin: +the perfect fineness of the day and the solemnity of the +occasion warranted, and even exacted, such costume. Her +new sash—a birthday present from Margaret Hall, which +she had reason to believe Cyril himself had bought, and in +return for which she had indeed given him a set of cambric +bands in a handsome case—was tied by the dexterous fingers +of Fanny, who took no little pleasure in arraying her fair +young mistress for the occasion. Her simple bonnet had +been trimmed to correspond with her sash; her pretty but +inexpensive scarf of white crape suited her dress. When +ready she formed a picture, not bright enough to dazzle, +but fair enough to interest; not brilliantly striking, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>257<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +very delicately pleasing—a picture in which sweetness of +tint, purity of air, and grace of mien atoned for the absence +of rich colouring and magnificent contour. What her brown +eye and clear forehead showed of her mind was in keeping +with her dress and face—modest, gentle, and, though pensive, +harmonious. It appeared that neither lamb nor dove +need fear her, but would welcome rather, in her look of +simplicity and softness, a sympathy with their own natures, +or with the natures we ascribe to them.</p> + +<p>After all, she was an imperfect, faulty human being, fair +enough of form, hue, and array, but, as Cyril Hall said, +neither so good nor so great as the withered Miss Ainley, +now putting on her best black gown and Quaker drab shawl +and bonnet in her own narrow cottage chamber.</p> + +<p>Away Caroline went, across some very sequestered fields +and through some quite hidden lanes, to Fieldhead. She +glided quickly under the green hedges and across the greener +leas. There was no dust, no moisture, to soil the hem of +her stainless garment, or to damp her slender sandal. After +the late rains all was clean, and under the present glowing +sun all was dry. She walked fearlessly, then, on daisy and +turf, and through thick plantations; she reached Fieldhead, +and penetrated to Miss Keeldar's dressing-room.</p> + +<p>It was well she had come, or Shirley would have been +too late. Instead of making ready with all speed, she lay +stretched on a couch, absorbed in reading. Mrs. Pryor +stood near, vainly urging her to rise and dress. Caroline +wasted no words. She immediately took the book from +her, and with her own hands commenced the business of +disrobing and rerobing her. Shirley, indolent with the +heat, and gay with her youth and pleasurable nature, +wanted to talk, laugh, and linger; but Caroline, intent on +being in time, persevered in dressing her as fast as fingers +could fasten strings or insert pins. At length, as she united +a final row of hooks and eyes, she found leisure to chide +her, saying she was very naughty to be so unpunctual, that +she looked even now the picture of incorrigible carelessness; +and so Shirley did, but a very lovely picture of that +tiresome quality.</p> + +<p>She presented quite a contrast to Caroline. There was +style in every fold of her dress and every line of her figure. +The rich silk suited her better than a simpler costume; +the deep embroidered scarf became her. She wore it negligently +but gracefully. The wreath on her bonnet crowned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>258<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her well. The attention to fashion, the tasteful appliance +of ornament in each portion of her dress, were quite in place +with her. All this suited her, like the frank light in her +eyes, the rallying smile about her lips, like her shaft-straight +carriage and lightsome step. Caroline took her hand when +she was dressed, hurried her downstairs, out of doors; and +thus they sped through the fields, laughing as they went, +and looking very much like a snow-white dove and gem-tinted +bird of paradise joined in social flight.</p> + +<p>Thanks to Miss Helstone's promptitude, they arrived in +good time. While yet trees hid the church, they heard the +bell tolling a measured but urgent summons for all to +assemble. The trooping in of numbers, the trampling of +many steps and murmuring of many voices, were likewise +audible. From a rising ground, they presently saw, on the +Whinbury road, the Whinbury school approaching. It +numbered five hundred souls. The rector and curate, +Boultby and Donne, headed it—the former looming large +in full canonicals, walking as became a beneficed priest, +under the canopy of a shovel-hat, with the dignity of an +ample corporation, the embellishment of the squarest and +vastest of black coats, and the support of the stoutest of +gold-headed canes. As the doctor walked, he now and then +slightly flourished his cane, and inclined his shovel-hat with +a dogmatical wag towards his aide-de-camp. That aide-de-camp—Donne, +to wit—narrow as the line of his shape +was, compared to the broad bulk of his principal, contrived, +notwithstanding, to look every inch a curate. All about +him was pragmatical and self-complacent, from his turned-up +nose and elevated chin to his clerical black gaiters, his +somewhat short, strapless trousers, and his square-toed +shoes.</p> + +<p>Walk on, Mr. Donne! You have undergone scrutiny. +You think you look well. Whether the white and purple +figures watching you from yonder hill think so is another +question.</p> + +<p>These figures come running down when the regiment has +marched by. The churchyard is full of children and teachers, +all in their very best holiday attire; and, distressed as is +the district, bad as are the times, it is wonderful to see +how respectably, how handsomely even, they have contrived +to clothe themselves. That British love of decency +will work miracles. The poverty which reduces an Irish +girl to rags is impotent to rob the English girl of the neat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>259<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +wardrobe she knows necessary to her self-respect. Besides, +the lady of the manor—that Shirley, now gazing with +pleasure on this well-dressed and happy-looking crowd—has +really done them good. Her seasonable bounty consoled +many a poor family against the coming holiday, and +supplied many a child with a new frock or bonnet for the +occasion. She knows it, and is elate with the consciousness—glad +that her money, example, and influence have +really, substantially, benefited those around her. She +cannot be charitable like Miss Ainley: it is not in her +nature. It relieves her to feel that there is another way of +being charitable, practicable for other characters, and under +other circumstances.</p> + +<p>Caroline, too, is pleased, for she also has done good in +her small way—robbed herself of more than one dress, +ribbon, or collar she could ill spare, to aid in fitting out the +scholars of her class; and as she could not give money, she +has followed Miss Ainley's example in giving her time and +her industry to sew for the children.</p> + +<p>Not only is the churchyard full, but the rectory garden +is also thronged. Pairs and parties of ladies and gentlemen +are seen walking amongst the waving lilacs and laburnums. +The house also is occupied: at the wide-open parlour +windows gay groups are standing. These are the patrons +and teachers, who are to swell the procession. In the +parson's croft, behind the rectory, are the musicians of +the three parish bands, with their instruments. Fanny and +Eliza, in the smartest of caps and gowns, and the whitest +of aprons, move amongst them, serving out quarts of ale, +whereof a stock was brewed very sound and strong some +weeks since by the rector's orders, and under his special +superintendence. Whatever he had a hand in must be +managed handsomely. "Shabby doings" of any description +were not endured under his sanction. From the +erection of a public building, a church, school, or court-house, +to the cooking of a dinner, he still advocated the +lordly, liberal, and effective. Miss Keeldar was like him in +this respect, and they mutually approved each other's +arrangements.</p> + +<p>Caroline and Shirley were soon in the midst of the company. +The former met them very easily for her. Instead +of sitting down in a retired corner, or stealing away to her +own room till the procession should be marshalled, according +to her wont, she moved through the three parlours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>260<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +conversed and smiled, absolutely spoke once or twice ere +she was spoken to, and, in short, seemed a new creature. +It was Shirley's presence which thus transformed her; +the view of Miss Keeldar's air and manner did her a world +of good. Shirley had no fear of her kind, no tendency to +shrink from, to avoid it. All human beings—men, women, +or children—whom low breeding or coarse presumption did +not render positively offensive, were welcome enough to +her—some much more so than others, of course; but, +generally speaking, till a man had indisputably proved +himself bad and a nuisance, Shirley was willing to think +him good and an acquisition, and to treat him accordingly. +This disposition made her a general favourite, for it robbed +her very raillery of its sting, and gave her serious or smiling +conversation a happy charm; nor did it diminish the value +of her intimate friendship, which was a distinct thing +from this social benevolence—depending, indeed, on quite +a different part of her character. Miss Helstone was the +choice of her affection and intellect; the Misses Pearson, +Sykes, Wynne, etc., etc., only the <a name="profiteers" id="profiteers"></a><ins title="was profiters">profiteers</ins> by her good-nature +and vivacity.</p> + +<p>Donne happened to come into the drawing-room while +Shirley, sitting on the sofa, formed the centre of a tolerably +wide circle. She had already forgotten her exasperation +against him, and she bowed and smiled good-humouredly. +The disposition of the man was then seen. He knew +neither how to decline the advance with dignity, as one +whose just pride has been wounded, nor how to meet it +with frankness, as one who is glad to forget and forgive. +His punishment had impressed him with no sense of shame, +and he did not experience that feeling on encountering +his chastiser. He was not vigorous enough in evil to be +actively malignant—he merely passed by sheepishly with +a rated, scowling look. Nothing could ever again reconcile +him to his enemy; while no passion of resentment, for +even sharper and more ignominious inflictions, could his +lymphatic nature know.</p> + +<p>"He was not worth a scene!" said Shirley to Caroline. +"What a fool I was! To revenge on poor Donne his silly +spite at Yorkshire is something like crushing a gnat for +attacking the hide of a rhinoceros. Had I been a gentleman, +I believe I should have helped him off the premises +by dint of physical force. I am glad now I only employed +the moral weapon. But he must come near me no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>261<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +I don't like him. He irritates me. There is not even +amusement to be had out of him. Malone is better +sport."</p> + +<p>It seemed as if Malone wished to justify the preference, +for the words were scarcely out of the speaker's mouth +when Peter Augustus came up, all in <em>grande tenue</em>, gloved +and scented, with his hair oiled and brushed to perfection, +and bearing in one hand a huge bunch of cabbage-roses, +five or six in full blow. These he presented to the heiress +with a grace to which the most cunning pencil could do +but defective justice. And who, after this, could dare to +say that Peter was not a lady's man? He had gathered +and he had given flowers; he had offered a sentimental, a +poetic tribute at the shrine of Love or Mammon. Hercules +holding the distaff was but a faint type of Peter bearing +the roses. He must have thought this himself, for he +seemed amazed at what he had done. He backed without +a word; he was going away with a husky chuckle of self-satisfaction; +then he bethought himself to stop and turn, +to ascertain by ocular testimony that he really had presented +a bouquet. Yes, there were the six red cabbages +on the purple satin lap, a very white hand, with some gold +rings on the fingers, slightly holding them together, and +streaming ringlets, half hiding a laughing face, drooped +over them. Only <em>half</em> hiding! Peter saw the laugh; it +was unmistakable. He was made a joke of; his gallantry, +his chivalry, were the subject of a jest for a petticoat—for +two petticoats: Miss Helstone too was smiling. Moreover, +he felt he was seen through, and Peter grew black as +a thunder-cloud. When Shirley looked up, a fell eye was +fastened on her. Malone, at least, had energy enough in +hate. She saw it in his glance.</p> + +<p>"Peter <em>is</em> worth a scene, and shall have it, if he likes, +one day," she whispered to her friend.</p> + +<p>And now—solemn and sombre as to their colour, though +bland enough as to their faces—appeared at the dining-room +door the three rectors. They had hitherto been busy +in the church, and were now coming to take some little +refreshment for the body, ere the march commenced. The +large morocco-covered easy-chair had been left vacant for +Dr. Boultby. He was put into it, and Caroline, obeying the +instigations of Shirley, who told her now was the time to +play the hostess, hastened to hand to her uncle's vast, +revered, and, on the whole, worthy friend, a glass of wine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>262<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and a plate of macaroons. Boultby's churchwardens, +patrons of the Sunday school both, as he insisted on their +being, were already beside him; Mrs. Sykes and the other +ladies of his congregation were on his right hand and on his +left, expressing their hopes that he was not fatigued, their +fears that the day would be too warm for him. Mrs. +Boultby, who held an opinion that when her lord dropped +asleep after a good dinner his face became as the face of +an angel, was bending over him, tenderly wiping some perspiration, +real or imaginary, from his brow. Boultby, in +short, was in his glory, and in a round, sound <em>voix de +poitrine</em> he rumbled out thanks for attentions and assurances +of his tolerable health. Of Caroline he took no +manner of notice as she came near, save to accept what she +offered. He did not see her—he never did see her; he +hardly knew that such a person existed. He saw the +macaroons, however, and being fond of sweets, possessed +himself of a small handful thereof. The wine Mrs. Boultby +insisted on mingling with hot water, and qualifying with +sugar and nutmeg.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hall stood near an open window, breathing the +fresh air and scent of flowers, and talking like a brother +to Miss Ainley. To him Caroline turned her attention +with pleasure. "What should she bring him? He must +not help himself—he must be served by her." And she +provided herself with a little salver, that she might offer +him variety. Margaret Hall joined them; so did Miss +Keeldar. The four ladies stood round their favourite +pastor. They also had an idea that they looked on the +face of an earthly angel. Cyril Hall was their pope, infallible +to them as Dr. Thomas Boultby to his admirers. +A throng, too, enclosed the rector of Briarfield—twenty or +more pressed round him; and no parson was ever more +potent in a circle than old Helstone. The curates, herding +together after their manner, made a constellation of three +lesser planets. Divers young ladies watched them afar off, +but ventured not nigh.</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone produced his watch. "Ten minutes to +two," he announced aloud. "Time for all to fall into +line. Come." He seized his shovel-hat and marched +away. All rose and followed <em>en masse</em>.</p> + +<p>The twelve hundred children were drawn up in three +bodies of four hundred souls each; in the rear of each +regiment was stationed a band; between every twenty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>263<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +there was an interval, wherein Helstone posted the teachers +in pairs. To the van of the armies he summoned,—</p> + +<p>"Grace Boultby and Mary Sykes lead out Whinbury.</p> + +<p>"Margaret Hall and Mary Ann Ainley conduct Nunnely.</p> + +<p>"Caroline Helstone and Shirley Keeldar head Briarfield."</p> + +<p>Then again he gave command,—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Donne to Whinbury; Mr. Sweeting to Nunnely; +Mr. Malone to Briarfield."</p> + +<p>And these gentlemen stepped up before the lady-generals.</p> + +<p>The rectors passed to the full front; the parish clerks +fell to the extreme rear. Helstone lifted his shovel-hat. +In an instant out clashed the eight bells in the tower, loud +swelled the sounding bands, flute spoke and clarion answered, +deep rolled the drums, and away they marched.</p> + +<p>The broad white road unrolled before the long procession, +the sun and sky surveyed it cloudless, the wind tossed the +tree boughs above it, and the twelve hundred children and +one hundred and forty adults of which it was composed trod +on in time and tune, with gay faces and glad hearts. It +was a joyous scene, and a scene to do good. It was a day +of happiness for rich and poor—the work, first of God, +and then of the clergy. Let England's priests have their +due. They are a faulty set in some respects, being only +of common flesh and blood like us all; but the land would +be badly off without them. Britain would miss her church, +if that church fell. God save it! God also reform it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>264<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE SCHOOL FEAST.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Not</span> on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this +priest-led and woman-officered company; yet their music +played martial tunes, and, to judge by the eyes and carriage +of some—Miss Keeldar, for instance—these sounds +awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helstone, +turning by chance, looked into her face; and he laughed, +and she laughed at him.</p> + +<p>"There is no battle in prospect," he said; "our country +does not want us to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning +or threatening our liberty. There is nothing to be +done. We are only taking a walk. Keep your hand on +the reins, captain, and slack the fire of that spirit. It is +not wanted, the more's the pity."</p> + +<p>"Take your own advice, doctor," was Shirley's response. +To Caroline she murmured, "I'll borrow of imagination +what reality will not give me. We are not soldiers—bloodshed +is not my desire—or if we are, we are soldiers of the +Cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and +we are bound on a pilgrimage to Palestine. But no; +that is too visionary. I need a sterner dream. We are +Lowlanders of Scotland, following a Covenanting captain +up into the hills to hold a meeting out of the reach of +persecuting troopers. We know that battle may follow +prayer; and as we believe that in the worst issue of battle +heaven must be our reward, we are ready and willing to +redden the peat-moss with our blood. That music stirs +my soul; it wakens all my life; it makes my heart beat—not +with its temperate daily pulse, but with a new, thrilling +vigour. I almost long for danger—for a faith, a land, or +at least a lover to defend."</p> + +<p>"Look, Shirley!" interrupted Caroline. "What is that +red speck above Stilbro' Brow? You have keener sight +than I. Just turn your eagle eye to it."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar looked. "I see," she said; then added<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>265<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +presently, "there is a line of red. They are soldiers—cavalry +soldiers," she subjoined quickly. "They ride fast. +There are six of them. They will pass us. No; they have +turned off to the right. They saw our procession, and +avoid it by making a circuit. Where are they going?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they are only exercising their horses."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. We see them no more now."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone here spoke.</p> + +<p>"We shall pass through Royd Lane, to reach Nunnely +Common by a short cut," said he.</p> + +<p>And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly +defiled. It was very narrow—so narrow that only two +could walk abreast without falling into the ditch which +ran along each side. They had gained the middle of it, +when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders. +Boultby's spectacles and Helstone's Rehoboam +were agitated; the curates nudged each other; +Mr. Hall turned to the ladies and smiled.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" was the demand.</p> + +<p>He pointed with his staff to the end of the lane before +them. Lo and behold! another, an opposition, procession +was there entering, headed also by men in black, +and followed also, as they could now hear, by music.</p> + +<p>"Is it our double?" asked Shirley, "our manifold +wraith? Here is a card turned up."</p> + +<p>"If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one—at +least of looks," whispered Caroline, laughing.</p> + +<p>"They shall not pass us!" cried the curates unanimously; +"we'll not give way!"</p> + +<p>"Give way!" retorted Helstone sternly, turning round; +"who talks of giving way? You, boys, mind what you +are about. The ladies, I know, will be firm. I can trust +them. There is not a churchwoman here but will stand +her ground against these folks, for the honour of the Establishment.—What +does Miss Keeldar say?"</p> + +<p>"She asks what is it."</p> + +<p>"The Dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptists, +Independents, and Wesleyans, joined in unholy alliance, +and turning purposely into this lane with the intention of +obstructing our march and driving us back."</p> + +<p>"Bad manners!" said Shirley, "and I hate bad manners. +Of course, they must have a lesson."</p> + +<p>"A lesson in politeness," suggested Mr. Hall, who was +ever for peace; "not an example of rudeness."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>266<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he +marched some yards in advance of his company. He had +nearly reached the other sable leaders, when he who appeared +to act as the hostile commander-in-chief—a large, +greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead—called +a halt. The procession paused. He drew forth +a hymn book, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all +struck up the most dolorous of canticles.</p> + +<p>Helstone signed to his bands. They clashed out with +all the power of brass. He desired them to play "Rule, +Britannia!" and ordered the children to join in vocally, +which they did with enthusiastic spirit. The enemy was +sung and stormed down, his psalm quelled. As far as noise +went, he was conquered.</p> + +<p>"Now, follow me!" exclaimed Helstone; "not at a +run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child +and woman of you. Keep together. Hold on by each +other's skirts, if necessary."</p> + +<p>And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate +gait, and was, besides, so well seconded by his scholars +and teachers, who did exactly as he told them, neither +running nor faltering, but marching with cool, solid impetus—the +curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they +were between two fires, Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both +of whom watched any deviation with lynx-eyed vigilance, +and were ready, the one with his cane, the other with her +parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least +independent or irregular demonstration—that the body of +Dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then borne +down and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and +leave the outlet from Royd Lane free. Boultby suffered +in the onslaught, but Helstone and Malone, between them, +held him up, and brought him through the business, whole +in limb, though sorely tried in wind.</p> + +<p>The fat Dissenter who had given out the hymn was left +sitting in the ditch. He was a spirit merchant by trade, +a leader of the Nonconformists, and, it was said, drank +more water in that one afternoon than he had swallowed +for a twelvemonth before. Mr. Hall had taken care of +Caroline, and Caroline of him. He and Miss Ainley made +their own quiet comments to each other afterwards on the +incident. Miss Keeldar and Mr. Helstone shook hands +heartily when they had fairly got the whole party through +the lane. The curates began to exult, but Mr. Helstone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>267<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +presently put the curb on their innocent spirits. He remarked +that they never had sense to know what to say, +and had better hold their tongues; and he reminded them +that the business was none of their managing.</p> + +<p>About half-past three the procession turned back, and +at four once more regained the starting-place. Long lines +of benches were arranged in the close-shorn fields round +the school. There the children were seated, and huge +baskets, covered up with white cloths, and great smoking +tin vessels were brought out. Ere the distribution of good +things commenced, a brief grace was pronounced by Mr. +Hall and sung by the children. Their young voices sounded +melodious, even touching, in the open air. Large currant +buns and hot, well-sweetened tea were then administered +in the proper spirit of liberality. No stinting was permitted +on this day, at least; the rule for each child's +allowance being that it was to have about twice as much +as it could possibly eat, thus leaving a reserve to be carried +home for such as age, sickness, or other impediment prevented +from coming to the feast. Buns and beer circulated, +meantime, amongst the musicians and church-singers; +afterwards the benches were removed, and they +were left to unbend their spirits in licensed play.</p> + +<p>A bell summoned the teachers, patrons, and patronesses +to the schoolroom. Miss Keeldar, Miss Helstone, and +many other ladies were already there, glancing over the +arrangement of their separate trays and tables. Most of +the female servants of the neighbourhood, together with +the clerks', the singers', and the musicians' wives, had been +pressed into the service of the day as waiters. Each vied +with the other in smartness and daintiness of dress, and +many handsome forms were seen amongst the younger +ones. About half a score were cutting bread and butter, +another half-score supplying hot water, brought from the +coppers of the rector's kitchen. The profusion of flowers +and evergreens decorating the white walls, the show of +silver teapots and bright porcelain on the tables, the active +figures, blithe faces, gay dresses flitting about everywhere, +formed altogether a refreshing and lively spectacle. Everybody +talked, not very loudly, but merrily, and the canary +birds sang shrill in their high-hung cages.</p> + +<p>Caroline, as the rector's niece, took her place at one of +the three first tables; Mrs. Boultby and Margaret Hall +officiated at the others. At these tables the <em>élite</em> of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>268<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +company were to be entertained, strict rules of equality +not being more in fashion at Briarfield than elsewhere. +Miss Helstone removed her bonnet and scarf, that she +might be less oppressed with the heat. Her long curls, +falling on her neck, served almost in place of a veil; and +for the rest, her muslin dress was fashioned modestly as a +nun's robe, enabling her thus to dispense with the encumbrance +of a shawl.</p> + +<p>The room was filling. Mr. Hall had taken his post beside +Caroline, who now, as she rearranged the cups and +spoons before her, whispered to him in a low voice remarks +on the events of the day. He looked a little grave about +what had taken place in Royd Lane, and she tried to smile +him out of his seriousness. Miss Keeldar sat near—for a +wonder, neither laughing nor talking; on the contrary, +very still, and gazing round her vigilantly. She seemed +afraid lest some intruder should take a seat she apparently +wished to reserve next her own. Ever and anon she spread +her satin dress over an undue portion of the bench, or laid +her gloves or her embroidered handkerchief upon it. Caroline +noticed this <em>manège</em> at last, and asked her what friend +she expected. Shirley bent towards her, almost touched +her ear with her rosy lips, and whispered with a musical +softness that often characterized her tones when what she +said tended even remotely to stir some sweet secret source +of feeling in her heart, "I expect Mr. Moore. I saw him +last night, and I made him promise to come with his sister, +and to sit at our table. He won't fail me, I feel certain; +but I apprehend his coming too late, and being separated +from us. Here is a fresh batch arriving; every place will +be taken. Provoking!"</p> + +<p>In fact, Mr. Wynne the magistrate, his wife, his son, +and his two daughters now entered in high state. They +were Briarfield gentry. Of course their place was at the +first table, and being conducted thither, they filled up the +whole remaining space. For Miss Keeldar's comfort, Mr. +Sam Wynne inducted himself into the very vacancy she +had kept for Moore, planting himself solidly on her gown, +her gloves, and her handkerchief. Mr. Sam was one of the +objects of her aversion, and the more so because he showed +serious symptoms of an aim at her hand. The old gentleman, +too, had publicly declared that the Fieldhead estate and +the De Walden estate were delightfully <em>contagious</em>—a malapropism +which rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>269<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Caroline's ears yet rung with that thrilling whisper, "I +expect Mr. Moore," her heart yet beat and her cheek yet +glowed with it, when a note from the organ pealed above +the confused hum of the place. Dr. Boultby, Mr. Helstone, +and Mr. Hall rose, so did all present, and grace was sung +to the accompaniment of the music; and then tea began. +She was kept too busy with her office for a while to have +leisure for looking round, but the last cup being filled, she +threw a restless glance over the room. There were some +ladies and several gentlemen standing about yet unaccommodated +with seats. Amidst a group she recognized her +spinster friend, Miss Mann, whom the fine weather had +tempted, or some urgent friend had persuaded, to leave +her drear solitude for one hour of social enjoyment. Miss +Mann looked tired of standing; a lady in a yellow bonnet +brought her a chair. Caroline knew well that <em>chapeau en +satin jaune</em>; she knew the black hair, and the kindly +though rather opinionated and froward-looking face under +it; she knew that <em>robe de soie noire</em>, she knew even that +<em>schall gris de lin</em>; she knew, in short, Hortense Moore, and +she wanted to jump up and run to her and kiss her—to +give her one embrace for her own sake and two for her +brother's. She half rose, indeed, with a smothered exclamation, +and perhaps—for the impulse was very strong—she +would have run across the room and actually saluted +her; but a hand replaced her in her seat, and a voice behind +her whispered, "Wait till after tea, Lina, and then +I'll bring her to you."</p> + +<p>And when she <em>could</em> look up she did, and there was +Robert himself close behind, smiling at her eagerness, +looking better than she had ever seen him look—looking, +indeed, to her partial eyes, so very handsome that she +dared not trust herself to hazard a second glance; for his +image struck on her vision with painful brightness, and +pictured itself on her memory as vividly as if there daguerreotyped +by a pencil of keen lightning.</p> + +<p>He moved on, and spoke to Miss Keeldar. Shirley, irritated +by some unwelcome attentions from Sam Wynne, +and by the fact of that gentleman being still seated on +her gloves and handkerchief—and probably, also, by Moore's +want of punctuality—was by no means in good humour. +She first shrugged her shoulders at him, and then she said +a bitter word or two about his "insupportable tardiness." +Moore neither apologized nor retorted. He stood near her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>270<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +quietly, as if waiting to see whether she would recover her +temper; which she did in little more than three minutes, +indicating the change by offering him her hand. Moore took +it with a smile, half-corrective, half-grateful. The slightest +possible shake of the head delicately marked the former +quality; it is probable a gentle pressure indicated the latter.</p> + +<p>"You may sit where you can now, Mr. Moore," said +Shirley, also smiling. "You see there is not an inch of +room for you here; but I discern plenty of space at Mrs. +Boultby's table, between Miss Armitage and Miss Birtwhistle. +Go! John Sykes will be your <em>vis-à-vis</em>, and you +will sit with your back towards us."</p> + +<p>Moore, however, preferred lingering about where he was. +He now and then took a turn down the long room, pausing +in his walk to interchange greetings with other gentlemen +in his own placeless predicament; but still he came back +to the magnet, Shirley, bringing with him, each time he +returned, observations it was necessary to whisper in her ear.</p> + +<p>Meantime poor Sam Wynne looked far from comfortable. +His fair neighbour, judging from her movements, appeared +in a mood the most unquiet and unaccommodating. She +would not sit still two seconds. She was hot; she fanned +herself; complained of want of air and space. She remarked +that, in her opinion, when people had finished their +tea they ought to leave the tables, and announced distinctly +that she expected to faint if the present state of things continued. +Mr. Sam offered to accompany her into the open +air; just the way to give her her death of cold, she alleged. +In short, his post became untenable; and having swallowed +his quantum of tea, he judged it expedient to evacuate.</p> + +<p>Moore should have been at hand, whereas he was quite +at the other extremity of the room, deep in conference +with Christopher Sykes. A large corn-factor, Timothy +Ramsden, Esq., happened to be nearer; and feeling himself +tired of standing, he advanced to fill the vacant seat. +Shirley's expedients did not fail her. A sweep of her scarf +upset her teacup: its contents were shared between the +bench and her own satin dress. Of course, it became +necessary to call a waiter to remedy the mischief. Mr. +Ramsden, a stout, puffy gentleman, as large in person as +he was in property, held aloof from the consequent commotion. +Shirley, usually almost culpably indifferent to slight +accidents affecting dress, etc., now made a commotion that +might have become the most delicate and nervous of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>271<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +sex. Mr. Ramsden opened his mouth, withdrew slowly, +and, as Miss Keeldar again intimated her intention to +"give way" and swoon on the spot, he turned on his heel, +and beat a heavy retreat.</p> + +<p>Moore at last returned. Calmly surveying the bustle, +and somewhat quizzically scanning Shirley's enigmatical-looking +countenance, he remarked that in truth this was +the hottest end of the room, that he found a climate there +calculated to agree with none but cool temperaments like +his own; and putting the waiters, the napkins, the satin +robe—the whole turmoil, in short—to one side, he installed +himself where destiny evidently decreed he should sit. +Shirley subsided; her features altered their lines; the +raised knit brow and inexplicable curve of the mouth became +straight again; wilfulness and roguery gave place to +other expressions; and all the angular movements with +which she had vexed the soul of Sam Wynne were conjured +to rest as by a charm. Still no gracious glance was cast on +Moore. On the contrary, he was accused of giving her a +world of trouble, and roundly charged with being the cause +of depriving her of the esteem of Mr. Ramsden and the +invaluable friendship of Mr. Samuel Wynne.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't have offended either gentleman for the world," +she averred. "I have always been accustomed to treat +both with the most respectful consideration, and there, +owing to you, how they have been used! I shall not be +happy till I have made it up. I never am happy till I am +friends with my neighbours. So to-morrow I must make +a pilgrimage to Royd corn-mill, soothe the miller, and praise +the grain; and next day I must call at De Walden—where +I hate to go—and carry in my reticule half an oatcake to +give to Mr. Sam's favourite pointers."</p> + +<p>"You know the surest path to the heart of each swain, +I doubt not," said Moore quietly. He looked very content +to have at last secured his present place; but he made no +fine speech expressive of gratification, and offered no apology +for the trouble he had given. His phlegm became him +wonderfully. It made him look handsomer, he was so composed; +it made his vicinage pleasant, it was so peace-restoring. +You would not have thought, to look at him, +that he was a poor, struggling man seated beside a rich +woman; the calm of equality stilled his aspect; perhaps +that calm, too, reigned in his soul. Now and then, from the +way in which he looked down on Miss Keeldar as he addressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>272<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her, you would have fancied his station towered +above hers as much as his stature did. Almost stern lights +sometimes crossed his brow and gleamed in his eyes. Their +conversation had become animated, though it was confined +to a low key; she was urging him with questions—evidently +he refused to her curiosity all the gratification it demanded. +She sought his eye once with hers. You read, in its soft +yet eager expression, that it solicited clearer replies. Moore +smiled pleasantly, but his lips continued sealed. Then she +was piqued, and turned away; but he recalled her attention +in two minutes. He seemed making promises, which +he soothed her into accepting in lieu of information.</p> + +<p>It appeared that the heat of the room did not suit Miss +Helstone. She grew paler and paler as the process of tea-making +was protracted. The moment thanks were returned +she quitted the table, and hastened to follow her cousin +Hortense, who, with Miss Mann, had already sought the +open air. Robert Moore had risen when she did—perhaps +he meant to speak to her; but there was yet a parting word +to exchange with Miss Keeldar, and while it was being uttered +Caroline had vanished.</p> + +<p>Hortense received her former pupil with a demeanour of +more dignity than warmth. She had been seriously offended +by Mr. Helstone's proceedings, and had all along considered +Caroline to blame in obeying her uncle too literally.</p> + +<p>"You are a very great stranger," she said austerely, as +her pupil held and pressed her hand. The pupil knew her +too well to remonstrate or complain of coldness. She let +the punctilious whim pass, sure that her natural <em>bonté</em> (I +use this French word because it expresses just what I mean—neither +goodness nor good-nature, but something between +the two) would presently get the upper hand. It did. +Hortense had no sooner examined her face well, and observed +the change its somewhat wasted features betrayed, +than her mien softened. Kissing her on both cheeks, she +asked anxiously after her health. Caroline answered gaily. +It would, however, have been her lot to undergo a long +cross-examination, followed by an endless lecture on this +head, had not Miss Mann called off the attention of the +questioner by requesting to be conducted home. The poor +invalid was already fatigued. Her weariness made her +cross—too cross almost to speak to Caroline; and besides, +that young person's white dress and lively look were displeasing +in the eyes of Miss Mann. The everyday garb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>273<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of brown stuff or gray gingham, and the everyday air of +melancholy, suited the solitary spinster better; she would +hardly know her young friend to-night, and quitted her +with a cool nod. Hortense having promised to accompany +her home, they departed together.</p> + +<p>Caroline now looked round for Shirley. She saw the rainbow +scarf and purple dress in the centre of a throng of +ladies, all well known to herself, but all of the order whom +she systematically avoided whenever avoidance was possible. +Shyer at some moments than at others, she felt +just now no courage at all to join this company. She could +not, however, stand alone where all others went in pairs +or parties; so she approached a group of her own scholars, +great girls, or rather young women, who were standing +watching some hundreds of the younger children playing +at blind-man's buff.</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone knew these girls liked her, yet she was +shy even with them out of school. They were not more +in awe of her than she of them. She drew near them now, +rather to find protection in their company than to patronize +them with her presence. By some instinct they knew her +weakness, and with natural politeness they respected it. +Her knowledge commanded their esteem when she taught +them; her gentleness attracted their regard; and because +she was what they considered wise and good when <em>on</em> duty, +they kindly overlooked her evident timidity when off. +They did not take advantage of it. Peasant girls as they +were, they had too much of our own English sensibility to +be guilty of the coarse error. They stood round her still, +civil, friendly, receiving her slight smiles and rather hurried +efforts to converse with a good feeling and good breeding—the +last quality being the result of the first—which soon +set her at her ease.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sam Wynne coming up with great haste, to insist +on the elder girls joining in the game as well as the younger +ones, Caroline was again left alone. She was meditating a +quiet retreat to the house, when Shirley, perceiving from +afar her isolation, hastened to her side.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to the top of the fields," she said. "I know +you don't like crowds, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"But it will be depriving you of a pleasure, Shirley, to +take you from all these fine people, who court your society +so assiduously, and to whom you can, without art or effort, +make yourself so pleasant."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>274<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Not quite without effort; I am already tired of the +exertion. It is but insipid, barren work, talking and laughing +with the good gentlefolks of Briarfield. I have been +looking out for your white dress for the last ten minutes. +I like to watch those I love in a crowd, and to compare them +with others. I have thus compared you. You resemble +none of the rest, Lina. There are some prettier faces than +yours here. You are not a model beauty like Harriet Sykes, +for instance—beside her your person appears almost insignificant—but +you look agreeable, you look reflective, you +look what I call interesting."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Shirley! you flatter me."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder that your scholars like you."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Shirley! Talk of something else."</p> + +<p>"We will talk of Moore, then, and we will watch him. +I see him even now."</p> + +<p>"Where?" And as Caroline asked the question she +looked not over the fields, but into Miss Keeldar's eyes, as +was her wont whenever Shirley mentioned any object she +descried afar. Her friend had quicker vision than herself, +and Caroline seemed to think that the secret of her eagle +acuteness might be read in her dark gray <a name="irides" id="irides"></a><ins title="was irids">irides</ins>, or rather, +perhaps, she only sought guidance by the direction of those +discriminating and brilliant spheres.</p> + +<p>"There is Moore," said Shirley, pointing right across +the wide field where a thousand children were playing, and +now nearly a thousand adult spectators walking about. +"There—can you miss the tall stature and straight port? +He looks amidst the set that surround him like Eliab amongst +humbler shepherds—like Saul in a war-council; and a war-council +it is, if I am not mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Why so, Shirley?" asked Caroline, whose eye had at +last caught the object it sought. "Robert is just now +speaking to my uncle, and they are shaking hands. They +are then reconciled."</p> + +<p>"Reconciled not without good reason, depend on it—making +common cause against some common foe. And +why, think you, are Messrs. Wynne and Sykes, and +Armitage and Ramsden, gathered in such a close circle +round them? And why is Malone beckoned to join them? +Where <em>he</em> is summoned, be sure a strong arm is needed."</p> + +<p>Shirley, as she watched, grew restless; her eyes flashed.</p> + +<p>"They won't trust me," she said. "That is always the +way when it comes to the point."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>275<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"What about?"</p> + +<p>"Cannot you feel? There is some mystery afloat; some +event is expected; some preparation is to be made, I am +certain. I saw it all in Mr. Moore's manner this evening. +He was excited, yet hard."</p> + +<p>"Hard to <em>you</em>, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, to <em>me</em>. He often is hard to me. We seldom converse +<em>tête-à-tête</em> but I am made to feel that the basis of his +character is not of eider down."</p> + +<p>"Yet he seemed to talk to you softly."</p> + +<p>"Did he not? Very gentle tones and quiet manner. +Yet the man is peremptory and secret: his secrecy vexes +me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Robert is secret."</p> + +<p>"Which he has scarcely a right to be with me, especially +as he commenced by giving me his confidence. Having +done nothing to forfeit that confidence, it ought not to be +withdrawn; but I suppose I am not considered iron-souled +enough to be trusted in a crisis."</p> + +<p>"He fears, probably, to occasion you uneasiness."</p> + +<p>"An unnecessary precaution. I am of elastic materials, +not soon crushed. He ought to know that. But the man +is proud. He has his faults, say what you will, Lina. +Observe how engaged that group appear. They do not +know we are watching them."</p> + +<p>"If we keep on the alert, Shirley, we shall perhaps find +the clue to their secret."</p> + +<p>"There will be some unusual movements ere long—perhaps +to-morrow, possibly to-night. But my eyes and ears +are wide open. Mr. Moore, you shall be under surveillance. +Be you vigilant also, Lina."</p> + +<p>"I will. Robert is going; I saw him turn. I believe +he noticed us. They are shaking hands."</p> + +<p>"Shaking hands, with emphasis," added Shirley, "as if +they were ratifying some solemn league and covenant."</p> + +<p>They saw Robert quit the group, pass through a gate, +and disappear.</p> + +<p>"And he has not bid us good-bye," murmured Caroline.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had the words escaped her lips when she tried +by a smile to deny the confession of disappointment they +seemed to imply. An unbidden suffusion for one moment +both softened and brightened her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is soon remedied!" exclaimed Shirley: "we'll +<em>make</em> him bid us good-bye."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>276<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"<em>Make</em> him! That is not the same thing," was the +answer.</p> + +<p>"It <em>shall</em> be the same thing."</p> + +<p>"But he is gone; you can't overtake him."</p> + +<p>"I know a shorter way than that he has taken. We +will intercept him."</p> + +<p>"But, Shirley, I would rather not go."</p> + +<p>Caroline said this as Miss Keeldar seized her arm and +hurried her down the fields. It was vain to contend. +Nothing was so wilful as Shirley when she took a whim +into her head. Caroline found herself out of sight of the +crowd almost before she was aware, and ushered into a +narrow shady spot, embowered above with hawthorns, and +enamelled under foot with daisies. She took no notice of +the evening sun chequering the turf, nor was she sensible +of the pure incense exhaling at this hour from tree and +plant; she only heard the wicket opening at one end, and +knew Robert was approaching. The long sprays of the +hawthorns, shooting out before them, served as a screen. +They saw him before he observed them. At a glance Caroline +perceived that his social hilarity was gone; he had left +it behind him in the joy-echoing fields round the school. +What remained now was his dark, quiet, business countenance. +As Shirley had said, a certain hardness characterized +his air, while his eye was excited, but austere. So +much the worse timed was the present freak of Shirley's. +If he had looked disposed for holiday mirth, it would not +have mattered much; but now——</p> + +<p>"I told you not to come," said Caroline, somewhat +bitterly, to her friend. She seemed truly perturbed. To +be intruded on Robert thus, against her will and his expectation, +and when he evidently would rather not be delayed, +keenly annoyed her. It did not annoy Miss Keeldar +in the least. She stepped forward and faced her tenant, +barring his way. "You omitted to bid us good-bye," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Omitted to bid you good-bye! Where did you come +from? Are you fairies? I left two like you, one in purple +and one in white, standing at the top of a bank, four fields +off, but a minute ago."</p> + +<p>"You left us there and find us here. We have been +watching you, and shall watch you still. You must be +questioned one day, but not now. At present all you have +to do is to say good-night, and then pass."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>277<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Moore glanced from one to the other without unbending +his aspect. "Days of fête have their privileges, and so +have days of hazard," observed he gravely.</p> + +<p>"Come, don't moralize. Say good-night, and pass," +urged Shirley.</p> + +<p>"Must I say good-night to you, Miss Keeldar?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I +hope. You have bid us both good-night before."</p> + +<p>He took her hand, held it in one of his, and covered it +with the other. He looked down at her gravely, kindly, +yet commandingly. The heiress could not make this man +her subject. In his gaze on her bright face there was no +servility, hardly homage; but there were interest and affection, +heightened by another feeling. Something in his tone +when he spoke, as well as in his words, marked that last +sentiment to be gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Your debtor bids you good-night! May you rest safely +and serenely till morning."</p> + +<p>"And you, Mr. Moore—what are you going to do? +What have you been saying to Mr. Helstone, with whom +I saw you shake hands? Why did all those gentlemen +gather round you? Put away reserve for once. Be frank +with me."</p> + +<p>"Who can resist you? I will be frank. To-morrow, +if there is anything to relate, you shall hear it."</p> + +<p>"Just now," pleaded Shirley; "don't procrastinate."</p> + +<p>"But I could only tell half a tale. And my time is +limited; I have not a moment to spare. Hereafter I will +make amends for delay by candour."</p> + +<p>"But are you going home?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Not to leave it any more to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. At present, farewell to both of you."</p> + +<p>He would have taken Caroline's hand and joined it in +the same clasp in which he held Shirley's, but somehow it +was not ready for him. She had withdrawn a few steps +apart. Her answer to Moore's adieu was only a slight +bend of the head and a gentle, serious smile. He sought +no more cordial token. Again he said "Farewell," and +quitted them both.</p> + +<p>"There! it is over," said Shirley when he was gone. +"We have made him bid us good-night, and yet not lost +ground in his esteem, I think, Cary."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," was the brief reply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>278<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I consider you very timid and undemonstrative," remarked +Miss Keeldar. "Why did you not give Moore your +hand when he offered you his? He is your cousin; you +like him. Are you ashamed to let him perceive your affection?"</p> + +<p>"He perceives all of it that interests him. No need to +make a display of feeling."</p> + +<p>"You are laconic; you would be stoical if you could. +Is love, in your eyes, a crime, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Love a crime! No, Shirley; love is a divine virtue. +But why drag that word into the conversation? It is +singularly irrelevant."</p> + +<p>"Good!" pronounced Shirley.</p> + +<p>The two girls paced the green lane in silence. Caroline +first resumed.</p> + +<p>"Obtrusiveness is a crime, forwardness is a crime, and +both disgust; but love! no purest angel need blush to +love. And when I see or hear either man or woman couple +shame with love, I know their minds are coarse, their +associations debased. Many who think themselves refined +ladies and gentlemen, and on whose lips the word 'vulgarity' +is for ever hovering, cannot mention 'love' without +betraying their own innate and imbecile degradation. It +is a low feeling in their estimation, connected only with low +ideas for them."</p> + +<p>"You describe three-fourths of the world, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"They are cold—they are cowardly—they are stupid on +the subject, Shirley! They never loved—they never were +loved!"</p> + +<p>"Thou art right, Lina. And in their dense ignorance +they blaspheme living fire, seraph-brought from a divine +altar."</p> + +<p>"They confound it with sparks mounting from Tophet."</p> + +<p>The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stopped the +dialogue by summoning all to the church.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>279<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>WHICH THE GENTEEL READER IS RECOMMENDED TO SKIP, +LOW PERSONS BEING HERE INTRODUCED.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> evening was still and warm; close and sultry it even +promised to become. Round the descending sun the clouds +glowed purple; summer tints, rather Indian than English, +suffused the horizon, and cast rosy reflections on hillside, +house-front, tree-bole, on winding road and undulating +pasture-ground. The two girls came down from the fields +slowly. By the time they reached the churchyard the bells +were hushed; the multitudes were gathered into the church. +The whole scene was solitary.</p> + +<p>"How pleasant and calm it is!" said Caroline.</p> + +<p>"And how hot it will be in the church!" responded +Shirley. "And what a dreary long speech Dr. Boultby +will make! And how the curates will hammer over their +prepared orations! For my part, I would rather not enter."</p> + +<p>"But my uncle will be angry if he observes our absence."</p> + +<p>"I will bear the brunt of his wrath; he will not devour +me. I shall be sorry to miss his pungent speech. I know +it will be all sense for the church, and all causticity for +schism. He'll not forget the battle of Royd Lane. I shall +be sorry also to deprive you of Mr. Hall's sincere friendly +homily, with all its racy Yorkshireisms; but here I must +stay. The gray church and grayer tombs look divine with +this crimson gleam on them. Nature is now at her evening +prayers; she is kneeling before those red hills. I see her +prostrate on the great steps of her altar, praying for a fair +night for mariners at sea, for travellers in deserts, for lambs +on moors, and unfledged birds in woods. Caroline, I see +her, and I will tell you what she is like. She is like what +Eve was when she and Adam stood alone on earth."</p> + +<p>"And that is not Milton's Eve, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"Milton's Eve! Milton's Eve! I repeat. No, by the +pure Mother of God, she is not! Cary, we are alone; we +may speak what we think. Milton was great; but was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>280<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +he good? His brain was right; how was his heart? He +saw heaven; he looked down on hell. He saw Satan, and +Sin his daughter, and Death their horrible offspring. Angels +serried before him their battalions; the long lines of adamantine +shields flashed back on his blind eyeballs the unutterable +splendour of heaven. Devils gathered their legions +in his sight; their dim, discrowned, and tarnished armies +passed rank and file before him. Milton tried to see the first +woman; but, Cary, he saw her not."</p> + +<p>"You are bold to say so, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"Not more bold than faithful. It was his cook that he +saw; or it was Mrs. Gill, as I have seen her, making custards, +in the heat of summer, in the cool dairy, with rose-trees and +nasturtiums about the latticed window, preparing a cold +collation for the rectors—preserves and 'dulcet creams;' +puzzled 'what choice to choose for delicacy best; what +order so contrived as not to mix tastes, not well-joined, +inelegant, but bring taste after taste, upheld with kindliest +change.'"</p> + +<p>"All very well too, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"I would beg to remind him that the first men of the +earth were Titans, and that Eve was their mother; from +her sprang Saturn, Hyperion, Oceanus; she bore Prometheus——"</p> + +<p>"Pagan that you are! what does that signify?"</p> + +<p>"I say, there were giants on the earth in those days—giants +that strove to scale heaven. The first woman's +breast that heaved with life on this world yielded the daring +which could contend with Omnipotence, the strength which +could bear a thousand years of bondage, the vitality which +could feed that vulture death through uncounted ages, the +unexhausted life and uncorrupted excellence, sisters to immortality, +which, after millenniums of crimes, struggles, +and woes, could conceive and bring forth a Messiah. The +first woman was heaven-born. Vast was the heart whence +gushed the well-spring of the blood of nations, and grand +the undegenerate head where rested the consort-crown of +creation."</p> + +<p>"She coveted an apple, and was cheated by a snake; +but you have got such a hash of Scripture and mythology +into your head that there is no making any sense of you. +You have not yet told me what you saw kneeling on those +hills."</p> + +<p>"I saw—I now see—a woman-Titan. Her robe of blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>281<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +air spreads to the outskirts of the heath, where yonder +flock is grazing; a veil white as an avalanche sweeps from +her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning flame on +its borders. Under her breast I see her zone, purple like +that horizon; through its blush shines the star of evening. +Her steady eyes I cannot picture. They are clear, they +are deep as lakes, they are lifted and full of worship, they +tremble with the softness of love and the lustre of prayer. +Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is paler than +the early moon, risen long before dark gathers. She reclines +her bosom on the ridge of Stilbro' Moor; her mighty hands +are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face she speaks +with God. That Eve is Jehovah's daughter, as Adam was +His son."</p> + +<p>"She is very vague and visionary. Come, Shirley, we +ought to go into church."</p> + +<p>"Caroline, I will not; I will stay out here with my +mother Eve, in these days called Nature. I love her—undying, +mighty being! Heaven may have faded from +her brow when she fell in paradise, but all that is glorious +on earth shines there still. She is taking me to her bosom, +and showing me her heart. Hush, Caroline! You will see +her and feel as I do, if we are both silent."</p> + +<p>"I will humour your whim; but you will begin talking +again ere ten minutes are over."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar, on whom the soft excitement of the warm +summer evening seemed working with unwonted power, +leaned against an upright headstone; she fixed her eyes +on the deep-burning west, and sank into a pleasurable +trance. Caroline, going a little apart, paced to and fro +beneath the rectory garden wall, dreaming too in her way. +Shirley had mentioned the word "mother." That word +suggested to Caroline's imagination not the mighty and +mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human +form—the form she ascribed to her own mother, unknown, +unloved, but not unlonged for.</p> + +<p>"Oh that the day would come when she would remember +her child! Oh that I might know her, and knowing, love +her!"</p> + +<p>Such was her aspiration.</p> + +<p>The longing of her childhood filled her soul again. The +desire which many a night had kept her awake in her crib, +and which fear of its fallacy had of late years almost extinguished, +relit suddenly, and glowed warm in her heart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>282<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that her mother might come some happy day, and send for +her to her presence, look upon her fondly with loving eyes, +and say to her tenderly, in a sweet voice, "Caroline, my +child, I have a home for you; you shall live with me. All +the love you have needed, and not tasted, from infancy, +I have saved for you carefully. Come; it shall cherish you +now."</p> + +<p>A noise on the road roused Caroline from her filial hopes, +and Shirley from her Titan visions. They listened, and +heard the tramp of horses. They looked, and saw a glitter +through the trees. They caught through the foliage glimpses +of martial scarlet; helm shone, plume waved. Silent and +orderly, six soldiers rode softly by.</p> + +<p>"The same we saw this afternoon," whispered Shirley. +"They have been halting somewhere till now. They wish +to be as little noticed as possible, and are seeking their +rendezvous at this quiet hour, while the people are at +church. Did I not say we should see unusual things ere +long?"</p> + +<p>Scarcely were sight and sound of the soldiers lost, when +another and somewhat different disturbance broke the +night-hush—a child's impatient scream. They looked. A +man issued from the church, carrying in his arms an infant—a +robust, ruddy little boy of some two years old—roaring +with all the power of his lungs. He had probably just +awaked from a church-sleep. Two little girls, of nine and +ten, followed. The influence of the fresh air, and the attraction +of some flowers gathered from a grave, soon quieted +the child. The man sat down with him, dandling him on +his knee as tenderly as any woman; the two little girls +took their places one on each side.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, William," said Shirley, after due scrutiny +of the man. He had seen her before, and apparently was +waiting to be recognized. He now took off his hat, and +grinned a smile of pleasure. He was a rough-headed, hard-featured +personage, not old, but very weather-beaten. His +attire was decent and clean; that of his children singularly +neat. It was our old friend Farren. The young ladies +approached him.</p> + +<p>"You are not going into the church?" he inquired, +gazing at them complacently, yet with a mixture of bashfulness +in his look—a sentiment not by any means the result +of awe of their station, but only of appreciation of their +elegance and youth. Before gentlemen—such as Moore or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>283<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Helstone, for instance—William was often a little dogged; +with proud or insolent ladies, too, he was quite unmanageable, +sometimes very resentful; but he was most sensible +of, most tractable to, good-humour and civility. His nature—a +stubborn one—was repelled by inflexibility in other +natures; for which reason he had never been able to like +his former master, Moore; and unconscious of that gentleman's +good opinion of himself, and of the service he had +secretly rendered him in recommending him as gardener +to Mr. Yorke, and by this means to other families in the +neighbourhood, he continued to harbour a grudge against +his austerity. Latterly he had often worked at Fieldhead. +Miss Keeldar's frank, hospitable manners were perfectly +charming to him. Caroline he had known from her childhood; +unconsciously she was his ideal of a lady. Her +gentle mien, step, gestures, her grace of person and attire, +moved some artist-fibres about his peasant heart. He had +a pleasure in looking at her, as he had in examining rare +flowers or in seeing pleasant landscapes. Both the ladies +liked William; it was their delight to lend him books, to +give him plants; and they preferred his conversation far +before that of many coarse, hard, pretentious people immeasurably +higher in station.</p> + +<p>"Who was speaking, William, when you came out?" +asked Shirley.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman ye set a deal of store on, Miss Shirley—Mr. +Donne."</p> + +<p>"You look knowing, William. How did you find out +my regard for Mr. Donne?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, Miss Shirley, there's a gleg light i' your een sometimes +which betrays you. You look raight down scornful +sometimes when Mr. Donne is by."</p> + +<p>"Do you like him yourself, William?"</p> + +<p>"Me? I'm stalled o' t' curates, and so is t' wife. They've +no manners. They talk to poor folk fair as if they thought +they were beneath them. They're allus magnifying their +office. It is a pity but their office could magnify them; +but it does nought o' t' soart. I fair hate pride."</p> + +<p>"But you are proud in your own way yourself," interposed +Caroline. "You are what you call house-proud: +you like to have everything handsome about you. Sometimes +you look as if you were almost too proud to take +your wages. When you were out of work, you were too +proud to get anything on credit. But for your children,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>284<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +I believe you would rather have starved than gone to the +shops without money; and when I wanted to give you +something, what a difficulty I had in making you take it!"</p> + +<p>"It is partly true, Miss Caroline. Ony day I'd rather +give than take, especially from sich as ye. Look at t' +difference between us. Ye're a little, young, slender lass, +and I'm a great strong man; I'm rather more nor twice +your age. It is not <em>my</em> part, then, I think, to tak fro' <em>ye</em>—to +be under obligations (as they say) to <em>ye</em>. And that day +ye came to our house, and called me to t' door, and offered +me five shillings, which I doubt ye could ill spare—for +ye've no fortin', I know—that day I war fair a rebel, a +radical, an insurrectionist; and <em>ye</em> made me so. I thought +it shameful that, willing and able as I was to work, I suld +be i' such a condition that a young cratur about the age +o' my own eldest lass suld think it needful to come and offer +me her bit o' brass."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you were angry with me, William?"</p> + +<p>"I almost was, in a way. But I forgave ye varry soon. +Ye meant well. Ay, <em>I am</em> proud, and so are <em>ye</em>; but your +pride and mine is t' raight mak—what we call i' Yorkshire +clean pride—such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne knows +nought about. Theirs is mucky pride. Now, I shall teach +my lasses to be as proud as Miss Shirley there, and my lads +to be as proud as myseln; but I dare ony o' 'em to be like +t' curates. I'd lick little Michael if I seed him show any +signs o' that feeling."</p> + +<p>"What is the difference, William?"</p> + +<p>"Ye know t' difference weel enow, but ye want me to +get a gate o' talking. Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne is almost +too proud to do aught for theirseln; <em>we</em> are almost too +proud to let anybody do aught for us. T' curates can hardly +bide to speak a civil word to them they think beneath them; +<em>we</em> can hardly bide to tak an uncivil word fro' them that +thinks themseln aboon us."</p> + +<p>"Now, William, be humble enough to tell me truly how +you are getting on in the world. Are you well off?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Shirley, I am varry well off. Since I got into t' +gardening line, wi' Mr. Yorke's help, and since Mr. Hall +(another o' t' raight sort) helped my wife to set up a bit of +a shop, I've nought to complain of. My family has plenty +to eat and plenty to wear. My pride makes me find means +to have an odd pound now and then against rainy days; +for I think I'd die afore I'd come to t' parish; and me and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>285<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +mine is content. But t' neighbours is poor yet. I see a +great deal of distress."</p> + +<p>"And, consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?" +inquired Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"<em>Consequently</em>—ye say right—<em>consequently</em>. In course, +starving folk cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The +country's not in a safe condition—I'll say so mich!"</p> + +<p>"But what can be done? What more can I do, for +instance?"</p> + +<p>"Do? Ye can do not mich, poor young lass! Ye've +gi'en your brass; ye've done well. If ye could transport +your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, ye'd happen do +better. Folks hate him."</p> + +<p>"William, for shame!" exclaimed Caroline warmly. "If +folks <em>do</em> hate him, it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr. Moore +himself hates nobody. He only wants to do his duty, and +maintain his rights. You are wrong to talk so."</p> + +<p>"I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart, yond' +Moore."</p> + +<p>"But," interposed Shirley, "supposing Moore was driven +from the country, and his mill razed to the ground, would +people have more work?"</p> + +<p>"They'd have less. I know that, and they know that; +and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the +certainty that whichever way he turns he cannot better +himself; and there is dishonest men plenty to guide them +to the devil, scoundrels that reckons to be the 'people's +friends,' and that knows nought about the people, and is +as insincere as Lucifer. I've lived aboon forty year in the +world, and I believe that 'the people' will never have any +true friends but theirseln and them two or three good folk +i' different stations that is friends to all the world. Human +natur', taking it i' th' lump, is nought but selfishness. It +is but excessive few, it is but just an exception here and +there, now and then, sich as ye two young uns and me, that, +being in a different sphere, can understand t' one t' other, +and be friends wi'out slavishness o' one hand or pride o' t' +other. Them that reckons to be friends to a lower class +than their own fro' political motives is never to be trusted; +they always try to make their inferiors tools. For my +own part, I will neither be patronized nor misled for no +man's pleasure. I've had overtures made to me lately +that I saw were treacherous, and I flung 'em back i' the +faces o' them that offered 'em."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>286<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You won't tell us what overtures?"</p> + +<p>"I will not. It would do no good. It would mak no +difference. Them they concerned can look after theirseln."</p> + +<p>"Ay, we'se look after werseln," said another voice. Joe +Scott had sauntered forth from the church to get a breath +of fresh air, and there he stood.</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant <em>ye</em>, Joe," observed William, smiling.</p> + +<p>"And I'll warrant my maister," was the answer.—"Young +ladies," continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, +"ye'd better go into th' house."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what for?" inquired Shirley, to whom the +overlooker's somewhat pragmatical manners were familiar, +and who was often at war with him; for Joe, holding supercilious +theories about women in general, resented greatly, +in his secret soul, the fact of his master and his master's +mill being, in a manner, under petticoat government, and +had felt as wormwood and gall certain business visits of the +heiress to the Hollow's counting-house.</p> + +<p>"Because there is nought agate that fits women to be +consarned in."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! There is prayer and preaching agate in that +church. Are we not concerned in that?"</p> + +<p>"Ye have been present neither at the prayer nor preaching, +ma'am, if I have observed aright. What I alluded to +was politics. William Farren here was touching on that +subject, if I'm not mista'en."</p> + +<p>"Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. +Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a +Sunday?"</p> + +<p>"I should think you'll read the marriages, probably, miss, +and the murders, and the accidents, and sich like?"</p> + +<p>"I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign intelligence, +and I look over the market prices. In short, I read +just what gentlemen read."</p> + +<p>Joe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering +of a pie. He replied to it by a disdainful silence.</p> + +<p>"Joe," continued Miss Keeldar, "I never yet could +ascertain properly whether you are a Whig or a Tory. +Pray, which party has the honour of your alliance?"</p> + +<p>"It is rayther difficult to explain where you are sure not +to be understood," was Joe's haughty response; "but as +to being a Tory, I'd as soon be an old woman, or a young +one, which is a more flimsier article still. It is the Tories +that carries on the war and ruins trade; and if I be of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>287<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +party—though political parties is all nonsense—I'm of that +which is most favourable to peace, and, by consequence, +to the mercantile interests of this here land."</p> + +<p>"So am I, Joe," replied Shirley, who had rather a pleasure +in teasing the overlooker, by persisting in talking on subjects +with which he opined she, as a woman, had no right to meddle—"partly, +at least. I have rather a leaning to the agricultural +interest, too; as good reason is, seeing that I don't +desire England to be under the feet of France, and that if a +share of my income comes from Hollow's Mill, a larger +share comes from the landed estate around it. It would +not do to take any measures injurious to the farmers, Joe, +I think?"</p> + +<p>"The dews at this hour is unwholesome for females," +observed Joe.</p> + +<p>"If you make that remark out of interest in me, I have +merely to assure you that I am impervious to cold. I +should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one +of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe."</p> + +<p>Joe Scott's chin was always rather prominent. He poked +it out, at this speech, some inches farther than usual.</p> + +<p>"But—to go back to my sheep," she proceeded—"clothier +and mill-owner as I am, besides farmer, I cannot get out +of my head a certain idea that we manufacturers and persons +of business are sometimes a little—a <em>very little</em>—selfish +and short-sighted in our views, and rather <em>too</em> regardless +of human suffering, rather heartless in our pursuit of gain. +Don't you agree with me, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot argue where I cannot be comprehended," was +again the answer.</p> + +<p>"Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me +sometimes, Joe. He is not so stiff as you are."</p> + +<p>"Maybe not. We've all our own ways."</p> + +<p>"Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world +is lodged in male skulls?"</p> + +<p>"I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation; +and I've a great respect for the doctrines delivered +in the second chapter of St. Paul's first Epistle to Timothy."</p> + +<p>"What doctrines, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"'Let the woman learn in silence, with all subjection. +I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority +over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first +formed, then Eve.'"</p> + +<p>"What has that to do with the business?" interjected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>288<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Shirley. "That smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll +bring it up to Mr. Yorke the first time he inveighs against +those rights."</p> + +<p>"And," continued Joe Scott, "Adam was not deceived, +but the woman being deceived was in the transgression."</p> + +<p>"More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open!" cried +Miss Keeldar. "To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never +was easy in my mind concerning that chapter. It puzzles +me."</p> + +<p>"It is very plain, miss. He that runs may read."</p> + +<p>"He may read it in his own fashion," remarked Caroline, +now joining in the dialogue for the first time. "You allow +the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"My certy, that I do! I allow and claim it for every +line of the holy Book."</p> + +<p>"Women may exercise it as well as men?"</p> + +<p>"Nay. Women is to take their husbands' opinion, both +in politics and religion. It's wholesomest for them."</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh!" exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline.</p> + +<p>"To be sure; no doubt on't," persisted the stubborn +overlooker.</p> + +<p>"Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, +for such a stupid observation," said Miss Keeldar. "You +might as well say men are to take the opinions of their +priests without examination. Of what value would a religion +so adopted be? It would be mere blind, besotted +superstition."</p> + +<p>"And what is <em>your</em> reading, Miss Helstone, o' these words +o' St. Paul's?"</p> + +<p>"Hem! I—I account for them in this way. He wrote +that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, +under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if +I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of +the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended +altogether. It would be possible, I doubt +not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary +turn—to make it say, 'Let the woman speak out +whenever she sees fit to make an objection.' 'It is permitted +to a woman to teach and to exercise authority as +much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than +hold his peace;' and so on."</p> + +<p>"That willn't wash, miss."</p> + +<p>"I dare say it will. My notions are dyed in faster colours +than yours, Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly dogmatical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>289<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +person, and always were. I like William better +than you."</p> + +<p>"Joe is well enough in his own house," said Shirley. +"I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is +not a better nor a kinder husband in Briarfield. He does +not dogmatize to his wife."</p> + +<p>"My wife is a hard-working, plain woman; time and +trouble has ta'en all the conceit out of her. But that is +not the case with you, young misses. And then you reckon +to have so much knowledge; and i' my thoughts it's only +superficial sort o' vanities you're acquainted with. I can +tell—happen a year sin'—one day Miss Caroline coming +into our counting-house when I war packing up summat +behind t' great desk, and she didn't see me, and she brought +a slate wi' a sum on it to t' maister. It war only a bit of +a sum in practice, that our Harry would have settled i' two +minutes. She couldn't do it. Mr. Moore had to show her +how. And when he did show her, she couldn't understand +him."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Joe!"</p> + +<p>"Nay, it's no nonsense. And Miss Shirley there reckons +to hearken to t' maister when he's talking ower trade, so +attentive like, as if she followed him word for word, and all +war as clear as a lady's looking-glass to her een; and all +t' while she's peeping and peeping out o' t' window to see +if t' mare stands quiet; and then looking at a bit of a +splash on her riding-skirt; and then glancing glegly round +at wer counting-house cobwebs and dust, and thinking +what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have +just i' now ower Nunnely Common. She hears no more +o' Mr. Moore's talk nor if he spake Hebrew."</p> + +<p>"Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would give you your +answer, only the people are coming out of church. We +must leave you. Man of prejudice, good-bye.—William, +good-bye.—Children, come up to Fieldhead to-morrow, and +you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill's store-room."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>290<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +<br /> +<small>A SUMMER NIGHT.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favoured the +kindling of the stars.</p> + +<p>"There will be just light enough to show me the way +home," said Miss Keeldar, as she prepared to take leave +of Caroline at the rectory garden door.</p> + +<p>"You must not go alone, Shirley; Fanny shall accompany +you."</p> + +<p>"That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my +own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church +any fine midsummer night, three hours later than this, for +the mere pleasure of seeing the stars and the chance of +meeting a fairy."</p> + +<p>"But just wait till the crowd is cleared away."</p> + +<p>"Agreed. There are the five Misses Armitage streaming +by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes's phaeton, Mr. Wynne's close +carriage, Mrs. Birtwhistle's car. I don't wish to go through +the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step +into the garden and take shelter amongst the laburnums +for an instant."</p> + +<p>The rectors, their curates, and their churchwardens now +issued from the church porch. There was a great confabulation, +shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation +to be careful of the night air, etc. By degrees +the throng dispersed, the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar +was just emerging from her flowery refuge when Mr. Helstone +entered the garden and met her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I want you!" he said. "I was afraid you were +already gone.—Caroline, come here."</p> + +<p>Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not +having been visible at church. Other subjects, however, +occupied the rector's mind.</p> + +<p>"I shall not sleep at home to-night," he continued. "I +have just met with an old friend, and promised to accompany<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>291<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +him. I shall return probably about noon to-morrow. +Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I cannot get him to +sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a +night. Now——"</p> + +<p>"Now," interrupted Shirley, "you want me as a gentleman—the +first gentleman in Briarfield, in short—to supply +your place, be master of the rectory and guardian of your +niece and maids while you are away?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, captain. I thought the post would suit you. +Will you favour Caroline so far as to be her guest for one +night? Will you stay here instead of going back to Fieldhead?"</p> + +<p>"And what will Mrs. Pryor do? she expects me home."</p> + +<p>"I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to +stay. It grows late; the dew falls heavily. You and +Caroline will enjoy each other's society, I doubt not."</p> + +<p>"I promise you, then, to stay with Caroline," replied +Shirley. "As you say, we shall enjoy each other's society. +We will not be separated to-night. Now, rejoin your old +friend, and fear nothing for us."</p> + +<p>"If there should chance to be any disturbance in the +night, captain; if you should hear the picking of a lock, +the cutting out of a pane of glass, a stealthy tread of steps +about the house (and I need not fear to tell <em>you</em>, who bear +a well-tempered, mettlesome heart under your girl's ribbon +sash, that such little incidents are very possible in the +present time), what would you do?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know; faint, perhaps—fall down, and have to +be picked up again. But, doctor, if you assign me the post +of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are +there in your stronghold?"</p> + +<p>"You could not wield a sword?"</p> + +<p>"No; I could manage the carving-knife better."</p> + +<p>"You will find a good one in the dining-room sideboard—a +lady's knife, light to handle, and as sharp-pointed as a +poniard."</p> + +<p>"It will suit Caroline. But you must give me a brace +of pistols. I know you have pistols."</p> + +<p>"I have two pairs. One pair I can place at your disposal. +You will find them suspended over the mantelpiece +of my study in cloth cases."</p> + +<p>"Loaded?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go +to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, captain, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>292<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +lend you these. Were you one of the awkward squad you +should not have them."</p> + +<p>"I will take care. You need delay no longer, Mr. Helstone. +You may go now.—He is gracious to me to lend +me his pistols," she remarked, as the rector passed out at +the garden gate. "But come, Lina," she continued, "let +us go in and have some supper. I was too much vexed at +tea with the vicinage of Mr. Sam Wynne to be able to +eat, and now I am really hungry."</p> + +<p>Entering the house, they repaired to the darkened dining-room, +through the open windows of which apartment stole +the evening air, bearing the perfume of flowers from the +garden, the very distant sound of far-retreating steps from +the road, and a soft, vague murmur whose origin Caroline +explained by the remark, uttered as she stood listening at +the casement, "Shirley, I hear the beck in the Hollow."</p> + +<p>Then she rang the bell, asked for a candle and some +bread and milk—Miss Keeldar's usual supper and her own. +Fanny, when she brought in the tray, would have closed +the windows and the shutters, but was requested to desist +for the present. The twilight was too calm, its breath too +balmy to be yet excluded. They took their meal in silence. +Caroline rose once to remove to the window-sill a glass of +flowers which stood on the sideboard, the exhalation from +the blossoms being somewhat too powerful for the sultry +room. In returning she half opened a drawer, and took +from it something that glittered clear and keen in her hand.</p> + +<p>"You assigned this to me, then, Shirley, did you? It +is bright, keen-edged, finely tapered; it is dangerous-looking. +I never yet felt the impulse which could move +me to direct this against a fellow-creature. It is difficult +to fancy that circumstances could nerve my arm to strike +home with this long knife."</p> + +<p>"I should hate to do it," replied Shirley, "but I think +I could do it, if goaded by certain exigencies which I can +imagine." And Miss Keeldar quietly sipped her glass of +new milk, looking somewhat thoughtful and a little pale; +though, indeed, when did she not look pale? She was +never florid.</p> + +<p>The milk sipped and the bread eaten, Fanny was again +summoned. She and Eliza were recommended to go to +bed, which they were quite willing to do, being weary of +the day's exertions, of much cutting of currant-buns, and +filling of urns and teapots, and running backwards and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>293<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +forwards with trays. Ere long the maids' chamber door +was heard to close. Caroline took a candle and went +quietly all over the house, seeing that every window was +fast and every door barred. She did not even evade the +haunted back kitchen nor the vault-like cellars. These +visited, she returned.</p> + +<p>"There is neither spirit nor flesh in the house at present," +she said, "which should not be there. It is now near +eleven o'clock, fully bedtime; yet I would rather sit up +a little longer, if you do not object, Shirley. Here," she +continued, "I have brought the brace of pistols from my +uncle's study. You may examine them at your leisure."</p> + +<p>She placed them on the table before her friend.</p> + +<p>"Why would you rather sit up longer?" asked Miss +Keeldar, taking up the firearms, examining them, and +again laying them down.</p> + +<p>"Because I have a strange, excited feeling in my heart."</p> + +<p>"So have I."</p> + +<p>"Is this state of sleeplessness and restlessness caused by +something electrical in the air, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"No; the sky is clear, the stars numberless. It is a +fine night."</p> + +<p>"But very still. I hear the water fret over its stony bed +in Hollow's Copse as distinctly as if it ran below the churchyard +wall."</p> + +<p>"I am glad it is so still a night. A moaning wind or +rushing rain would vex me to fever just now."</p> + +<p>"Why, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"Because it would baffle my efforts to listen."</p> + +<p>"Do you listen towards the Hollow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is the only quarter whence we can hear a sound +just now."</p> + +<p>"The only one, Shirley."</p> + +<p>They both sat near the window, and both leaned their +arms on the sill, and both inclined their heads towards the +open lattice. They saw each other's young faces by the +starlight and that dim June twilight which does not wholly +fade from the west till dawn begins to break in the east.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Helstone thinks we have no idea which way he is +gone," murmured Miss Keeldar, "nor on what errand, +nor with what expectations, nor how prepared. But I +guess much; do not you?"</p> + +<p>"I guess something."</p> + +<p>"All those gentlemen—your cousin Moore included—think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>294<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that you and I are now asleep in our beds, unconscious."</p> + +<p>"Caring nothing about them—hoping and fearing nothing +for them," added Caroline.</p> + +<p>Both kept silent for full half an hour. The night was +silent too; only the church clock measured its course by +quarters. Some words were interchanged about the chill +of the air. They wrapped their scarves closer round them, +resumed their bonnets, which they had removed, and again +watched.</p> + +<p>Towards midnight the teasing, monotonous bark of the +house-dog disturbed the quietude of their vigil. Caroline +rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages +to the kitchen, intending to appease him with a piece +of bread. She succeeded. On returning to the dining-room +she found it all dark, Miss Keeldar having extinguished +the candle. The outline of her shape was visible near the +still open window, leaning out. Miss Helstone asked no +questions; she stole to her side. The dog recommenced +barking furiously. Suddenly he stopped, and seemed to +listen. The occupants of the dining-room listened too, +and not merely now to the flow of the mill-stream. There +was a nearer, though a muffled, sound on the road below +the churchyard—a measured, beating, approaching sound—a +dull tramp of marching feet.</p> + +<p>It drew near. Those who listened by degrees comprehended +its extent. It was not the tread of two, nor of a +dozen, nor of a score of men; it was the tread of hundreds. +They could see nothing; the high shrubs of the garden +formed a leafy screen between them and the road. To +hear, however, was not enough, and this they felt as the +troop trod forwards, and seemed actually passing the +rectory. They felt it more when a human voice—though +that voice spoke but one word—broke the hush of the +night.</p> + +<p>"Halt!"</p> + +<p>A halt followed. The march was arrested. Then came +a low conference, of which no word was distinguishable +from the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"We <em>must</em> hear this," said Shirley.</p> + +<p>She turned, took her pistols from the table, silently +passed out through the middle window of the dining-room, +which was, in fact, a glass door, stole down the walk to +the garden wall, and stood listening under the lilacs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>295<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Caroline would not have quitted the house had she been +alone, but where Shirley went she would go. She glanced +at the weapon on the sideboard, but left it behind her, +and presently stood at her friend's side. They dared not +look over the wall, for fear of being seen; they were obliged +to crouch behind it. They heard these words,—</p> + +<p>"It looks a rambling old building. Who lives in it +besides the damned parson?"</p> + +<p>"Only three women—his niece and two servants."</p> + +<p>"Do you know where they sleep?"</p> + +<p>"The lasses behind; the niece in a front room."</p> + +<p>"And Helstone?"</p> + +<p>"Yonder is his chamber. He was burning a light, but +I see none now."</p> + +<p>"Where would you get in?"</p> + +<p>"If I were ordered to do his job—and he desarves it—I'd +try yond' long window; it opens to the dining-room. +I could grope my way upstairs, and I know his chamber."</p> + +<p>"How would you manage about the women folk?"</p> + +<p>"Let 'em alone except they shrieked, and then I'd soon +quieten 'em. I could wish to find the old chap asleep. +If he waked, he'd be dangerous."</p> + +<p>"Has he arms?"</p> + +<p>"Firearms, allus—and allus loadened."</p> + +<p>"Then you're a fool to stop us here. A shot would give +the alarm. Moore would be on us before we could turn +round. We should miss our main object."</p> + +<p>"You might go on, I tell you. I'd engage Helstone +alone."</p> + +<p>A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, +which rang on the stone causeway. At this sound the +rectory dog barked again furiously—fiercely.</p> + +<p>"That spoils all!" said the voice. "He'll awake. A +noise like that might rouse the dead. You did not say +there was a dog. Damn you! Forward!"</p> + +<p>Forward they went—tramp, tramp—with mustering, +manifold, slow-filing tread. They were gone.</p> + +<p>Shirley stood erect, looked over the wall, along the road.</p> + +<p>"Not a soul remains," she said.</p> + +<p>She stood and mused. "Thank God!" was the next +observation.</p> + +<p>Caroline repeated the ejaculation—not in so steady a +tone. She was trembling much. Her heart was beating +fast and thick; her face was cold, her forehead damp.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>296<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Thank God for us!" she reiterated. "But what will +happen elsewhere? They have passed us by that they +may make sure of others."</p> + +<p>"They have done well," returned Shirley, with composure. +"The others will defend themselves. They can +do it. They are prepared for them. With us it is otherwise. +My finger was on the trigger of this pistol. I was +quite ready to give that man, if he had entered, such a +greeting as he little calculated on; but behind him followed +three hundred. I had neither three hundred hands nor three +hundred weapons. I could not have effectually protected +either you, myself, or the two poor women asleep under +that roof. Therefore I again earnestly thank God for +insult and peril escaped."</p> + +<p>After a second pause she continued: "What is it my +duty and wisdom to do next? Not to stay here inactive, +I am glad to say, but, of course, to walk over to the +Hollow."</p> + +<p>"To the Hollow, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"To the Hollow. Will you go with me?"</p> + +<p>"Where those men are gone?"</p> + +<p>"They have taken the highway; we should not encounter +them. The road over the fields is as safe, silent, +and solitary as a path through the air would be. Will you +go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the answer, given mechanically, not because +the speaker wished or was prepared to go, or, indeed, was +otherwise than scared at the prospect of going, but because +she felt she could not abandon Shirley.</p> + +<p>"Then we must fasten up these windows, and leave all +as secure as we can behind us. Do you know what we are +going for, Cary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—because you wish it."</p> + +<p>"Is that all? And are you so obedient to a mere caprice +of mine? What a docile wife you would make to a stern +husband! The moon's face is not whiter than yours at +this moment, and the aspen at the gate does not tremble +more than your busy fingers; and so, tractable and terror-struck, +and dismayed and devoted, you would follow me +into the thick of real danger! Cary, let me give your +fidelity a motive. We are going for Moore's sake—to see if +we can be of use to him, to make an effort to warn him of +what is coming."</p> + +<p>"To be sure! I am a blind, weak fool, and you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>297<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +acute and sensible, Shirley. I will go with you; I will +gladly go with you!"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it. You would die blindly and meekly +for me, but you would intelligently and gladly die for +Moore. But, in truth, there is no question of death to-night; +we run no risk at all."</p> + +<p>Caroline rapidly closed shutter and lattice. "Do not +fear that I shall not have breath to run as fast as you can +possibly run, Shirley. Take my hand. Let us go straight +across the fields."</p> + +<p>"But you cannot climb walls?"</p> + +<p>"To-night I can."</p> + +<p>"You are afraid of hedges, and the beck which we shall +be forced to cross?"</p> + +<p>"I can cross it."</p> + +<p>They started; they ran. Many a wall checked but did +not baffle them. Shirley was surefooted and agile; she +could spring like a deer when she chose. Caroline, more +timid and less dexterous, fell once or twice, and bruised +herself; but she rose again directly, saying she was not +hurt. A quickset hedge bounded the last field; they lost +time in seeking a gap in it. The aperture, when found, +was narrow, but they worked their way through. The +long hair, the tender skin, the silks and the muslins suffered; +but what was chiefly regretted was the impediment this +difficulty had caused to speed. On the other side they met +the beck, flowing deep in a rough bed. At this point a +narrow plank formed the only bridge across it. Shirley +had trodden the plank successfully and fearlessly many a +time before; Caroline had never yet dared to risk the +transit.</p> + +<p>"I will carry you across," said Miss Keeldar. "You are +light, and I am not weak. Let me try."</p> + +<p>"If I fall in, you may fish me out," was the answer, as a +grateful squeeze compressed her hand. Caroline, without +pausing, trod forward on the trembling plank as if it were +a continuation of the firm turf. Shirley, who followed, did +not cross it more resolutely or safely. In their present +humour, on their present errand, a strong and foaming +channel would have been a barrier to neither. At the +moment they were above the control either of fire or water. +All Stilbro' Moor, alight and <a name="aglow" id="aglow"></a><ins title="was alow">aglow</ins> with bonfires, would not +have stopped them, nor would Calder or Aire thundering +in flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>298<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +they set foot on the solid opposite bank when a shot split +the air from the north. One second elapsed. Further off +burst a like note in the south. Within the space of three +minutes similar signals boomed in the east and west.</p> + +<p>"I thought we were dead at the first explosion," observed +Shirley, drawing a long breath. "I felt myself +hit in the temples, and I concluded your heart was pierced; +but the reiterated voice was an explanation. Those are +signals—it is their way—the attack must be near. We +should have had wings. Our feet have not borne us swiftly +enough."</p> + +<p>A portion of the copse was now to clear. When they +emerged from it the mill lay just below them. They could +look down upon the buildings, the yard; they could see +the road beyond. And the first glance in that direction +told Shirley she was right in her conjecture. They were +already too late to give warning. It had taken more time +than they calculated on to overcome the various obstacles +which embarrassed the short cut across the fields.</p> + +<p>The road, which should have been white, was dark with +a moving mass. The rioters were assembled in front of +the closed yard gates, and a single figure stood within, +apparently addressing them. The mill itself was perfectly +black and still. There was neither life, light, nor motion +around it.</p> + +<p>"Surely he is prepared. Surely that is not Moore meeting +them alone?" whispered Shirley.</p> + +<p>"It is. We must go to him. I <em>will</em> go to him."</p> + +<p>"<em>That</em> you will not."</p> + +<p>"Why did I come, then? I came only for him. I +shall join him."</p> + +<p>"Fortunately it is out of your power. There is no +entrance to the yard."</p> + +<p>"There <em>is</em> a small entrance at the back, besides the +gates in front. It opens by a secret method which I know. +I will try it."</p> + +<p>"Not with my leave."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar clasped her round the waist with both arms +and held her back. "Not one step shall you stir," she +went on authoritatively. "At this moment Moore would +be both shocked and embarrassed if he saw either you or me. +Men never want women near them in time of real danger."</p> + +<p>"I would not trouble—I would help him," was the +reply.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>299<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"How?—by inspiring him with heroism? Pooh! these +are not the days of chivalry. It is not a tilt at a tournament +we are going to behold, but a struggle about money, and +food, and life."</p> + +<p>"It is natural that I should be at his side."</p> + +<p>"As queen of his heart? His mill is his lady-love, +Cary! Backed by his factory and his frames, he has all +the encouragement he wants or can know. It is not for +love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth, he is going to +break a spear. Don't be sentimental; Robert is not so."</p> + +<p>"I <em>could</em> help him; I <em>will</em> seek him."</p> + +<p>"Off then—I let you go—seek Moore. You'll not find +him."</p> + +<p>She loosened her hold. Caroline sped like levelled shaft +from bent bow; after her rang a jesting, gibing laugh. +"Look well there is no mistake!" was the warning given.</p> + +<p>But there <em>was</em> a mistake. Miss Helstone paused, hesitated, +gazed. The figure had suddenly retreated from the +gate, and was running back hastily to the mill.</p> + +<p>"Make haste, Lina!" cried Shirley; "meet him before +he enters."</p> + +<p>Caroline slowly returned. "It is not Robert," she said. +"It has neither his height, form, nor bearing."</p> + +<p>"I saw it was not Robert when I let you go. How +could you imagine it? It is a shabby little figure of a +private soldier; they had posted him as sentinel. He +is safe in the mill now. I saw the door open and admit +him. My mind grows easier. Robert is prepared. Our +warning would have been superfluous; and now I am +thankful we came too late to give it. It has saved us the +trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the counting-house +<em>toute éperdue</em>, and to have found oneself in presence +of Messrs. Armitage and Ramsden smoking, Malone swaggering, +your uncle sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, +and Moore himself in his cold man-of-business vein! I am +glad we missed it all."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if there are many in the mill, Shirley!"</p> + +<p>"Plenty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen +to-day were going there, no doubt, and the group we noticed +surrounding your cousin in the fields will be with him."</p> + +<p>"What are they doing now, Shirley? What is that +noise?"</p> + +<p>"Hatchets and crowbars against the yard gates. They +are forcing them. Are you afraid?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>300<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"No; but my heart throbs fast. I have a difficulty +in standing. I will sit down. Do you feel unmoved?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly that; but I am glad I came. We shall see +what transpires with our own eyes. We are here on the +spot, and none know it. Instead of amazing the curate, +the clothier, and the corn-dealer with a romantic rush on +the stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute +stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our friends +will not come to gather."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, Shirley, the gates are down! That crash was +like the felling of great trees. Now they are pouring +through. They will break down the mill doors as they +have broken the gate. What can Robert do against +so many? Would to God I were a little nearer him—could +hear him speak—could speak to him! With my +will—my longing to serve him—I could not be a useless +burden in his way; I could be turned to some account."</p> + +<p>"They come on!" cried Shirley. "How steadily they +march in! There is discipline in their ranks. I will not +say there is courage—hundreds against tens are no proof +of that quality—but" (she dropped her voice) "there is +suffering and desperation enough amongst them. These +goads will urge them forwards."</p> + +<p>"Forwards against Robert; and they hate him. Shirley, +is there much danger they will win the day?"</p> + +<p>"We shall see. Moore and Helstone are of 'earth's +first blood'—no bunglers—no cravens——"</p> + +<p>A crash—smash—shiver—stopped their whispers. A +simultaneously hurled volley of stones had saluted the +broad front of the mill, with all its windows; and now every +pane of every lattice lay in shattered and pounded fragments. +A yell followed this demonstration—a rioters' yell—a +north-of-England, a Yorkshire, a West-Riding, a West-Riding-clothing-district-of-Yorkshire +rioters' yell.</p> + +<p>You never heard that sound, perhaps, reader? So much +the better for your ears—perhaps for your heart, since, +if it rends the air in hate to yourself, or to the men or +principles you approve, the interests to which you wish +well, wrath wakens to the cry of hate; the lion shakes his +mane, and rises to the howl of the hyena; caste stands up, +ireful against caste; and the indignant, wronged spirit of +the middle rank bears down in zeal and scorn on the famished +and furious mass of the operative class. It is difficult to +be tolerant, difficult to be just, in such moments.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>301<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Caroline rose; Shirley put her arm round her: they +stood together as still as the straight stems of two trees. +That yell was a long one, and when it ceased the night was +yet full of the swaying and murmuring of a crowd.</p> + +<p>"What next?" was the question of the listeners. Nothing +came yet. The mill remained mute as a mausoleum.</p> + +<p>"He <em>cannot</em> be alone!" whispered Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I would stake all I have that he is as little alone as +he is alarmed," responded Shirley.</p> + +<p>Shots were discharged by the rioters. Had the defenders +waited for this signal? It seemed so. The hitherto +inert and passive mill woke; fire flashed from its empty +window-frames; a volley of musketry pealed sharp through +the Hollow.</p> + +<p>"Moore speaks at last!" said Shirley, "and he seems +to have the gift of tongues. That was not a single voice."</p> + +<p>"He has been forbearing. No one can accuse him of +rashness," alleged Caroline. "Their discharge preceded his. +They broke his gates and his windows. They fired at his +garrison before he repelled them."</p> + +<p>What was going on now? It seemed difficult, in the +darkness, to distinguish; but something terrible, a still-renewing +tumult, was obvious—fierce attacks, desperate +repulses. The mill-yard, the mill itself, was full of battle +movement. There was scarcely any cessation now of the +discharge of firearms; and there was struggling, rushing, +trampling, and shouting between. The aim of the assailants +seemed to be to enter the mill, that of the defenders +to beat them off. They heard the rebel leader cry, "To +the back, lads!" They heard a voice retort, "Come round; +we will meet you."</p> + +<p>"To the counting-house!" was the order again.</p> + +<p>"Welcome! we shall have you there!" was the response. +And accordingly the fiercest blaze that had yet +glowed, the loudest rattle that had yet been heard, burst +from the counting-house front when the mass of rioters +rushed up to it.</p> + +<p>The voice that had spoken was Moore's own voice. +They could tell by its tones that his soul was now warm +with the conflict; they could guess that the fighting animal +was roused in every one of those men there struggling +together, and was for the time quite paramount above the +rational human being.</p> + +<p>Both the girls felt their faces glow and their pulses throb;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>302<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +both knew they would do no good by rushing down into +the <em>mêlée</em>. They desired neither to deal nor to receive +blows; but they could not have run away—Caroline no +more than Shirley; they could not have fainted; they +could not have taken their eyes from the dim, terrible +scene—from the mass of cloud, of smoke, the musket-lightning—for +the world.</p> + +<p>"How and when would it end?" was the demand +throbbing in their throbbing pulses. "Would a juncture +arise in which they could be useful?" was what they +waited to see; for though Shirley put off their too-late +arrival with a jest, and was ever ready to satirize her own +or any other person's enthusiasm, she would have given a +farm of her best land for a chance of rendering good +service.</p> + +<p>The chance was not vouchsafed her; the looked-for +juncture never came. It was not likely. Moore had +expected this attack for days, perhaps weeks; he was +prepared for it at every point. He had fortified and garrisoned +his mill, which in itself was a strong building. He +was a cool, brave man; he stood to the defence with unflinching +firmness. Those who were with him caught his +spirit, and copied his demeanour. The rioters had never +been so met before. At other mills they had attacked +they had found no resistance; an organized, resolute +defence was what they never dreamed of encountering. +When their leaders saw the steady fire kept up from the +mill, witnessed the composure and determination of its +owner, heard themselves coolly defied and invited on to +death, and beheld their men falling wounded round them, +they felt that nothing was to be done here. In haste they +mustered their forces, drew them away from the building. +A roll was called over, in which the men answered to figures +instead of names. They dispersed wide over the fields, +leaving silence and ruin behind them. The attack, from +its commencement to its termination, had not occupied +an hour.</p> + +<p>Day was by this time approaching; the west was dim, +the east beginning to gleam. It would have seemed that +the girls who had watched this conflict would now wish to +hasten to the victors, on whose side all their interest had +been enlisted; but they only very cautiously approached +the now battered mill, and when suddenly a number of +soldiers and gentlemen appeared at the great door opening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>303<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +into the yard, they quickly stepped aside into a shed, the +deposit of old iron and timber, whence they could see +without being seen.</p> + +<p>It was no cheering spectacle. These premises were now +a mere blot of desolation on the fresh front of the summer +dawn. All the copse up the Hollow was shady and dewy, +the hill at its head was green; but just here, in the centre +of the sweet glen, Discord, broken loose in the night from +control, had beaten the ground with his stamping hoofs, +and left it waste and pulverized. The mill yawned all +ruinous with unglazed frames; the yard was thickly bestrewn +with stones and brickbats; and close under the mill, +with the glittering fragments of the shattered windows, +muskets and other weapons lay here and there. More than +one deep crimson stain was visible on the gravel, a human +body lay quiet on its face near the gates, and five or six +wounded men writhed and moaned in the bloody dust.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar's countenance changed at this view. It +was the after-taste of the battle, death and pain replacing +excitement and exertion. It was the blackness the bright +fire leaves when its blaze is sunk, its warmth failed, and +its glow faded.</p> + +<p>"This is what I wished to prevent," she said, in a voice +whose cadence betrayed the altered impulse of her heart.</p> + +<p>"But you could not prevent it; you did your best—it +was in vain," said Caroline comfortingly. "Don't grieve, +Shirley."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for those poor fellows," was the answer, +while the spark in her glance dissolved to dew. "Are any +within the mill hurt, I wonder? Is that your uncle?"</p> + +<p>"It is, and there is Mr. Malone; and, O Shirley, there is +Robert!"</p> + +<p>"Well" (resuming her former tone), "don't squeeze your +fingers quite into my hand. I see. There is nothing wonderful +in that. We knew he, at least, was here, whoever +might be absent."</p> + +<p>"He is coming here towards us, Shirley!"</p> + +<p>"Towards the pump, that is to say, for the purpose of +washing his hands and his forehead, which has got a scratch, +I perceive."</p> + +<p>"He bleeds, Shirley. Don't hold me. I must go."</p> + +<p>"Not a step."</p> + +<p>"He is hurt, Shirley!"</p> + +<p>"Fiddlestick!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>304<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"But I <em>must</em> go to him. I wish to go so much. I cannot +bear to be restrained."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"To speak to him, to ask how he is, and what I can do +for him."</p> + +<p>"To tease and annoy him; to make a spectacle of yourself +and him before those soldiers, Mr. Malone, your uncle, +et cetera. Would he like it, think you? Would you like +to remember it a week hence?"</p> + +<p>"Am I always to be curbed and kept down?" demanded +Caroline, a little passionately.</p> + +<p>"For his sake, yes; and still more for your own. I tell +you, if you showed yourself now you would repent it an +hour hence, and so would Robert."</p> + +<p>"You think he would not like it, Shirley?"</p> + +<p>"Far less than he would like our stopping him to say +good-night, which you were so sore about."</p> + +<p>"But that was all play; there was no danger."</p> + +<p>"And this is serious work; he must be unmolested."</p> + +<p>"I only wish to go to him because he is my cousin—you +understand?"</p> + +<p>"I quite understand. But now, watch him. He has +bathed his forehead, and the blood has ceased trickling. +His hurt is really a mere graze; I can see it from hence. +He is going to look after the wounded men."</p> + +<p>Accordingly Mr. Moore and Mr. Helstone went round +the yard, examining each prostrate form. They then gave +directions to have the wounded taken up and carried into +the mill. This duty being performed, Joe Scott was ordered +to saddle his master's horse and Mr. Helstone's pony, and +the two gentlemen rode away full gallop, to seek surgical +aid in different directions.</p> + +<p>Caroline was not yet pacified.</p> + +<p>"Shirley, Shirley, I should have liked to speak one word +to him before he went," she murmured, while the tears +gathered glittering in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why do you cry, Lina?" asked Miss Keeldar a little +sternly. "You ought to be glad instead of sorry. Robert +has escaped any serious harm; he is victorious; he has +been cool and brave in combat; he is now considerate in +triumph. Is this a time—are these causes for weeping?"</p> + +<p>"You do not know what I have in my heart," pleaded +the other—"what pain, what distraction—nor whence it +arises. I can understand that you should exult in Robert's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>305<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +greatness and goodness; so do I, in one sense, but in another +I feel <em>so</em> miserable. I am too far removed from him. +I used to be nearer. Let me alone, Shirley. Do let me +cry a few minutes; it relieves me."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar, feeling her tremble in every limb, ceased +to expostulate with her. She went out of the shed, and +left her to weep in peace. It was the best plan. In a few +minutes Caroline rejoined her, much calmer. She said, with +her natural, docile, gentle manner, "Come, Shirley, we will +go home now. I promise not to try to see Robert again +till he asks for me. I never will try to push myself on him. +I thank you for restraining me just now."</p> + +<p>"I did it with a good intention," returned Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"Now, dear Lina," she continued, "let us turn our faces +to the cool morning breeze, and walk very quietly back to +the rectory. We will steal in as we stole out. None shall +know where we have been or what we have seen to-night; +neither taunt nor misconstruction can consequently molest +us. To-morrow we will see Robert, and be of good cheer; +but I will say no more, lest I should begin to cry too. I +seem hard towards you, but I am not so."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>306<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +<br /> +<small>TO-MORROW.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> two girls met no living soul on their way back to the +rectory. They let themselves in noiselessly; they stole +upstairs unheard—the breaking morning gave them what +light they needed. Shirley sought her couch immediately; +and though the room was strange—for she had never slept +at the rectory before—and though the recent scene was +one unparalleled for excitement and terror by any it had +hitherto been her lot to witness, yet scarce was her head +laid on the pillow ere a deep, refreshing sleep closed her +eyes and calmed her senses.</p> + +<p>Perfect health was Shirley's enviable portion. Though +warm-hearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous; +powerful emotions could rouse and sway without exhausting +her spirit. The tempest troubled and shook her while +it lasted, but it left her elasticity unbent, and her freshness +quite unblighted. As every day brought her stimulating +emotion, so every night yielded her recreating rest. Caroline +now watched her sleeping, and read the serenity of her +mind in the beauty of her happy countenance.</p> + +<p>For herself, being of a different temperament, she could +not sleep. The commonplace excitement of the tea-drinking +and school-gathering would alone have sufficed to make +her restless all night; the effect of the terrible drama which +had just been enacted before her eyes was not likely to quit +her for days. It was vain even to try to retain a recumbent +posture; she sat up by Shirley's side, counting the slow +minutes, and watching the June sun mount the heavens.</p> + +<p>Life wastes fast in such vigils as Caroline had of late +but too often kept—vigils during which the mind, having +no pleasant food to nourish it, no manna of hope, no hived-honey +of joyous memories, tries to live on the meagre diet +of wishes, and failing to derive thence either delight or +support, and feeling itself ready to perish with craving +want, turns to philosophy, to resolution, to resignation;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>307<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +calls on all these gods for aid, calls vainly—is unheard, unhelped, +and languishes.</p> + +<p>Caroline was a Christian; therefore in trouble she framed +many a prayer after the Christian creed, preferred it with +deep earnestness, begged for patience, strength, relief. This +world, however, we all know, is the scene of trial and probation; +and, for any favourable result her petitions had yet +wrought, it seemed to her that they were unheard and unaccepted. +She believed, sometimes, that God had turned +His face from her. At moments she was a Calvinist, and, +sinking into the gulf of religious despair, she saw darkening +over her the doom of reprobation.</p> + +<p>Most people have had a period or periods in their lives +when they have felt thus forsaken—when, having long +hoped against hope, and still seen the day of fruition deferred, +their hearts have truly sickened within them. This +is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which +precedes the rise of day—that turn of the year when the +icy January wind carries over the waste at once the dirge +of departing winter and the prophecy of coming spring. +The perishing birds, however, cannot thus understand the +blast before which they shiver; and as little can the suffering +soul recognize, in the climax of its affliction, the dawn +of its deliverance. Yet, let whoever grieves still cling fast +to love and faith in God. God will never deceive, never +finally desert him. "Whom He loveth, He chasteneth." +These words are true, and should not be forgotten.</p> + +<p>The household was astir at last; the servants were up; +the shutters were opened below. Caroline, as she quitted +the couch, which had been but a thorny one to her, felt +that revival of spirits which the return of day, of action, +gives to all but the wholly despairing or actually dying. +She dressed herself, as usual, carefully, trying so to arrange +her hair and attire that nothing of the forlornness she felt +at heart should be visible externally. She looked as fresh +as Shirley when both were dressed, only that Miss Keeldar's +eyes were lively, and Miss Helstone's languid.</p> + +<p>"To-day I shall have much to say to Moore," were +Shirley's first words; and you could see in her face that +life was full of interest, expectation, and occupation for +her. "He will have to undergo cross-examination," she +added. "I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me cleverly. +And this is the way men deal with women—still concealing +danger from them—thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>308<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +They imagined we little knew where they were to-night. +We <em>know</em> they little conjectured where we were. Men, I +believe, fancy women's minds something like those of children. +Now, that is a mistake."</p> + +<p>This was said as she stood at the glass, training her +naturally waved hair into curls, by twining it round her +fingers. She took up the theme again five minutes after, +as Caroline fastened her dress and clasped her girdle.</p> + +<p>"If men could see us as we really are, they would be a +little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often +under an illusion about women. They do not read them in +a true light; they misapprehend them, both for good and +evil. Their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half +angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. Then to +hear them fall into ecstasies with each other's creations—worshipping +the heroine of such a poem, novel, drama—thinking +it fine, divine! Fine and divine it may be, but +often quite artificial—false as the rose in my best bonnet +there. If I spoke all I think on this point, if I gave my real +opinion of some first-rate female characters in first-rate +works, where should I be? Dead under a cairn of avenging +stones in half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, you chatter so, I can't fasten you. Be still. +And, after all, authors' heroines are almost as good as +authoresses' heroes."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Women read men more truly than men +read women. I'll prove that in a magazine paper some +day when I've time; only it will never be inserted. It +will be 'declined with thanks,' and left for me at the publisher's."</p> + +<p>"To be sure. You could not write cleverly enough. +You don't know enough. You are not learned, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"God knows I can't contradict you, Cary; I'm as ignorant +as a stone. There's one comfort, however: you are +not much better."</p> + +<p>They descended to breakfast.</p> + +<p>"I wonder how Mrs. Pryor and Hortense Moore have +passed the night," said Caroline, as she made the coffee. +"Selfish being that I am, I never thought of either of them +till just now. They will have heard all the tumult, Fieldhead +and the cottage are so near; and Hortense is timid +in such matters—so, no doubt, is Mrs. Pryor."</p> + +<p>"Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have contrived +to get his sister out of the way. She went home with Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>309<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Mann. He will have quartered her there for the night. +As to Mrs. Pryor, I own I am uneasy about her; but in +another half-hour we will be with her."</p> + +<p>By this time the news of what had happened at the +Hollow was spread all over the neighbourhood. Fanny, +who had been to Fieldhead to fetch the milk, returned in +panting haste with tidings that there had been a battle in +the night at Mr. Moore's mill, and that some said twenty +men were killed. Eliza, during Fanny's absence, had been +apprised by the butcher's boy that the mill was burnt to +the ground. Both women rushed into the parlour to announce +these terrible facts to the ladies, terminating their +clear and accurate narrative by the assertion that they were +sure master must have been in it all. He and Thomas, the +clerk, they were confident, must have gone last night to +join Mr. Moore and the soldiers. Mr. Malone, too, had not +been heard of at his lodgings since yesterday afternoon; +and Joe Scott's wife and family were in the greatest distress, +wondering what had become of their head.</p> + +<p>Scarcely was this information imparted when a knock at +the kitchen door announced the Fieldhead errand-boy, +arrived in hot haste, bearing a billet from Mrs. Pryor. It +was hurriedly written, and urged Miss Keeldar to return +directly, as the neighbourhood and the house seemed likely +to be all in confusion, and orders would have to be given +which the mistress of the hall alone could regulate. In a +postscript it was entreated that Miss Helstone might not +be left alone at the rectory. She had better, it was suggested, +accompany Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>"There are not two opinions on that head," said Shirley, as +she tied on her own bonnet, and then ran to fetch Caroline's.</p> + +<p>"But what will Fanny and Eliza do? And if my uncle +returns?"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle will not return yet; he has other fish to +fry. He will be galloping backwards and forwards from +Briarfield to Stilbro' all day, rousing the magistrates in +the court-house and the officers at the barracks; and +Fanny and Eliza can have in Joe Scott's and the clerk's +wives to bear them company. Besides, of course, there is +no real danger to be apprehended now. Weeks will elapse +before the rioters can again rally, or plan any other attempt; +and I am much mistaken if Moore and Mr. Helstone will +not take advantage of last night's outbreak to quell them +altogether. They will frighten the authorities of Stilbro'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>310<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +into energetic measures. I only hope they will not be too +severe—not pursue the discomfited too relentlessly."</p> + +<p>"Robert will not be cruel. We saw that last night," said +Caroline.</p> + +<p>"But he will be hard," retorted Shirley; "and so will +your uncle."</p> + +<p>As they hurried along the meadow and plantation path +to Fieldhead, they saw the distant highway already alive +with an unwonted flow of equestrians and pedestrians, tending +in the direction of the usually solitary Hollow. On +reaching the hall, they found the backyard gates open, and +the court and kitchen seemed crowded with excited milk-fetchers—men, +women, and children—whom Mrs. Gill, the +housekeeper, appeared vainly persuading to take their milk-cans +and depart. (It <em>is</em>, or <em>was</em>, by-the-bye, the custom in +the north of England for the cottagers on a country squire's +estate to receive their supplies of milk and butter from the +dairy of the manor house, on whose pastures a herd of milch +kine was usually fed for the convenience of the neighbourhood. +Miss Keeldar owned such a herd—all deep-dewlapped, +Craven cows, reared on the sweet herbage and clear waters +of bonny Airedale; and very proud she was of their sleek +aspect and high condition.) Seeing now the state of matters, +and that it was desirable to effect a clearance of the +premises, Shirley stepped in amongst the gossiping groups. +She bade them good-morning with a certain frank, tranquil +ease—the natural characteristic of her manner when she +addressed numbers, especially if those numbers belonged to +the working-class; she was cooler amongst her equals, and +rather proud to those above her. She then asked them if +they had all got their milk measured out; and understanding +that they had, she further observed that she "wondered +what they were waiting for, then."</p> + +<p>"We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been +at your mill, mistress," replied a man.</p> + +<p>"Talking a bit! Just like you!" said Shirley. "It +is a queer thing all the world is so fond of <em>talking</em> over +events. You <em>talk</em> if anybody dies suddenly; you <em>talk</em> if +a fire breaks out; you <em>talk</em> if a mill-owner fails; you <em>talk</em> +if he's murdered. What good does your talking do?"</p> + +<p>There is nothing the lower orders like better than a little +downright good-humoured rating. Flattery they scorn very +much; honest abuse they enjoy. They call it speaking +plainly, and take a sincere delight in being the objects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>311<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +thereof. The homely harshness of Miss Keeldar's salutation +won her the ear of the whole throng in a second.</p> + +<p>"We're no war nor some 'at is aboon us, are we?" asked +a man, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Nor a whit better. You that should be models of +industry are just as gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich +people that have nothing to do may be partly excused for +trifling their time away; you who have to earn your bread +with the sweat of your brow are quite inexcusable."</p> + +<p>"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday +because we work hard?"</p> + +<p>"<em>Never</em>," was the prompt answer; "unless," added the +"mistress," with a smile that half belied the severity of her +speech—"unless you knew how to make a better use of it +than to get together over rum and tea if you are women, +or over beer and pipes if you are men, and <em>talk</em> scandal +at your neighbours' expense. Come, friends," she added, +changing at once from bluntness to courtesy, "oblige me +by taking your cans and going home. I expect several +persons to call to-day, and it will be inconvenient to have +the avenues to the house crowded."</p> + +<p>Yorkshire people are as yielding to persuasion as they are +stubborn against compulsion. The yard was clear in five +minutes.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, and good-bye to you, friends," said Shirley, +as she closed the gates on a quiet court.</p> + +<p>Now, let me hear the most refined of cockneys presume +to find fault with Yorkshire manners. Taken as they ought +to be, the majority of the lads and lasses of the West Riding +are gentlemen and ladies, every inch of them. It is only +against the weak affectation and futile pomposity of a would-be +aristocrat they turn mutinous.</p> + +<p>Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through +the kitchen (or <em>house</em>, as the inner kitchen is called) to the +hall. Mrs. Pryor came running down the oak staircase to +meet them. She was all unnerved; her naturally sanguine +complexion was pale; her usually placid, though timid, +blue eye was wandering, unsettled, alarmed. She did not, +however, break out into any exclamations, or hurried narrative +of what had happened. Her predominant feeling had +been in the course of the night, and was now this morning, +a sense of dissatisfaction with herself that she could not +feel firmer, cooler, more equal to the demands of the occasion.</p> + +<p>"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>312<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and yet the most conscientious anxiety to avoid exaggeration +in what she was about to say, "that a body of rioters +has attacked Mr. Moore's mill to-night. We heard the firing +and confusion very plainly here; we none of us slept. +It was a sad night. The house has been in great bustle +all the morning with people coming and going. The servants +have applied to me for orders and directions, which I +really did not feel warranted in giving. Mr. Moore has, I +believe, sent up for refreshments for the soldiers and others +engaged in the defence, for some conveniences also for the +wounded. I could not undertake the responsibility of giving +orders or taking measures. I fear delay may have been +injurious in some instances; but this is not my house. You +were absent, my dear Miss Keeldar. What could I do?"</p> + +<p>"Were no refreshments sent?" asked Shirley, while her +countenance, hitherto so clear, propitious, and quiet, even +while she was rating the milk-fetchers, suddenly turned +dark and warm.</p> + +<p>"I think not, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And nothing for the wounded—no linen, no wine, no +bedding?"</p> + +<p>"I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did; but +it seemed impossible to me, at the moment, to venture to +dispose of your property by sending supplies to soldiers. +Provisions for a company of soldiers sounds formidable. +How many there are I did not ask; but I could not think +of allowing them to pillage the house, as it were. I intended +to do what was right, yet I did not see the case quite clearly, +I own."</p> + +<p>"It lies in a nutshell, notwithstanding. These soldiers +have risked their lives in defence of my property: I suppose +they have a right to my gratitude. The wounded +are our fellow-creatures: I suppose we should aid them.—Mrs. +Gill!"</p> + +<p>She turned, and called in a voice more clear than soft. +It rang through the thick oak of the hall and kitchen doors +more effectually than a bell's summons. Mrs. Gill, who was +deep in bread-making, came with hands and apron in culinary +case, not having dared to stop to rub the dough from +the one or to shake the flour from the other. Her mistress +had never called a servant in that voice save once before, +and that was when she had seen from the window Tartar +in full tug with two carriers' dogs, each of them a match +for him in size, if not in courage, and their masters standing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>313<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +by, encouraging their animals, while hers was unbefriended. +Then indeed she had summoned John as if the +Day of Judgment were at hand. Nor had she waited for +the said John's coming, but had walked out into the lane +bonnetless, and after informing the carriers that she held +them far less of men than the three brutes whirling and +worrying in the dust before them, had put her hands round +the thick neck of the largest of the curs, and given her whole +strength to the essay of choking it from Tartar's torn and +bleeding eye, just above and below which organ the vengeful +fangs were inserted. Five or six men were presently +on the spot to help her, but she never thanked one of them. +"They might have come before if their will had been good," +she said. She had not a word for anybody during the rest +of the day, but sat near the hall fire till evening watching +and tending Tartar, who lay all gory, stiff, and swelled on +a mat at her feet. She wept furtively over him sometimes, +and murmured the softest words of pity and endearment, +in tones whose music the old, scarred, canine warrior acknowledged +by licking her hand or her sandal alternately with +his own red wounds. As to John, his lady turned a cold +shoulder on him for a week afterwards.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came "all of +a tremble," as she said herself. In a firm, brief voice Miss +Keeldar proceeded to put questions and give orders. That +at such a time Fieldhead should have evinced the inhospitality +of a miser's hovel stung her haughty spirit to the +quick; and the revolt of its pride was seen in the heaving +of her heart, stirred stormily under the lace and silk which +veiled it.</p> + +<p>"How long is it since that message came from the mill?"</p> + +<p>"Not an hour yet, ma'am," answered the housekeeper +soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Not an hour! You might almost as well have said +not a day. They will have applied elsewhere by this time. +Send a man instantly down to tell them that everything +this house contains is at Mr. Moore's, Mr. Helstone's, and +the soldiers' service. Do that first."</p> + +<p>While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away +from her friends, and stood at the hall-window, silent, unapproachable. +When Mrs. Gill came back, she turned. +The purple flush which painful excitement kindles on a +pale cheek glowed on hers; the spark which displeasure +lights in a dark eye fired her glance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>314<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Let the contents of the larder and the wine-cellar be +brought up, put into the hay-carts, and driven down to the +Hollow. If there does not happen to be much bread or much +meat in the house, go to the butcher and baker, and desire +them to send what they have. But I will see for myself."</p> + +<p>She moved off.</p> + +<p>"All will be right soon; she will get over it in an hour," +whispered Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. "Go upstairs, dear +madam," she added affectionately, "and try to be as calm +and easy as you can. The truth is, Shirley will blame +herself more than you before the day is over."</p> + +<p>By dint of a few more gentle assurances and persuasions, +Miss Helstone contrived to soothe the agitated lady. Having +accompanied her to her apartment, and promised to +rejoin her there when things were settled, Caroline left her +to see, as she said, "if she could be useful." She presently +found that she could be very useful; for the retinue of +servants at Fieldhead was by no means numerous, and just +now their mistress found plenty of occupation for all the +hands at her command, and for her own also. The delicate +good-nature and dexterous activity which Caroline brought +to the aid of the housekeeper and maids—all somewhat +scared by their lady's unwonted mood—did a world of good +at once; it helped the assistants and appeased the directress. +A chance glance and smile from Caroline moved Shirley +to an answering smile directly. The former was carrying +a heavy basket up the cellar stairs.</p> + +<p>"This is a shame!" cried Shirley, running to her. "It +will strain your arm."</p> + +<p>She took it from her, and herself bore it out into the yard. +The cloud of temper was dispelled when she came back; +the flash in her eye was melted; the shade on her forehead +vanished. She resumed her usual cheerful and cordial +manner to those about her, tempering her revived spirits +with a little of the softness of shame at her previous unjust +anger.</p> + +<p>She was still superintending the lading of the cart, when +a gentleman entered the yard and approached her ere she +was aware of his presence.</p> + +<p>"I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?" he said, +examining with rather significant scrutiny her still flushed +face.</p> + +<p>She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>315<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +without reply. A pleasant enough smile played on +her lips, but she hid it. The gentleman repeated his salutation, +stooping, that it might reach her ear with more +facility.</p> + +<p>"Well enough, if she be good enough," was the answer; +"and so is Mr. Moore too, I dare say. To speak truth, I +am not anxious about him; some slight mischance would +be only his just due. His conduct has been—we will say +<em>strange</em> just now, till we have time to characterize it by a +more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what brings +him here?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message +that everything at Fieldhead was at our service. We +judged, by the unlimited wording of the gracious intimation, +that you would be giving yourself too much trouble. I +perceive our conjecture was correct. We are not a regiment, +remember—only about half a dozen soldiers and as +many civilians. Allow me to retrench something from these +too abundant supplies."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own over-eager +generosity and most disproportionate calculations. +Moore laughed too, very quietly though; and as quietly +he ordered basket after basket to be taken from the cart, +and remanded vessel after vessel to the cellar.</p> + +<p>"The rector must hear of this," he said; "he will make +a good story of it. What an excellent army contractor +Miss Keeldar would have been!" Again he laughed, adding, +"It is precisely as I conjectured."</p> + +<p>"You ought to be thankful," said Shirley, "and not +mock me. What could I do? How could I gauge your +appetites or number your band? For aught I knew, there +might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You told +me nothing; and then an application to provision soldiers +naturally suggests large ideas."</p> + +<p>"It appears so," remarked Moore, levelling another of +his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley.—"Now," +he continued, addressing the carter, "I think you may +take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will be somewhat +lighter than the one Miss Keeldar destined you to +carry."</p> + +<p>As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying +her spirits, demanded what had become of the wounded.</p> + +<p>"There was not a single man hurt on our side," was the +answer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>316<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You were hurt yourself, on the temples," interposed +a quick, low voice—that of Caroline, who, having withdrawn +within the shade of the door, and behind the large person +of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped Moore's notice. When +she spoke, his eye searched the obscurity of her retreat.</p> + +<p>"Are you much hurt?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"As you might scratch your finger with a needle in +sewing."</p> + +<p>"Lift your hair and let us see."</p> + +<p>He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing +only a narrow slip of court-plaster. Caroline indicated, +by a slight movement of the head, that she was satisfied, +and disappeared within the clear obscure of the +interior.</p> + +<p>"How did she know I was hurt?" asked Moore.</p> + +<p>"By rumour, no doubt. But it is too good in her to +trouble herself about you. For my part, it was of your +victims I was thinking when I inquired after the wounded. +What damage have your opponents sustained?"</p> + +<p>"One of the rioters, or victims as you call them, was +killed, and six were hurt."</p> + +<p>"What have you done with them?"</p> + +<p>"What you will perfectly approve. Medical aid was +procured immediately; and as soon as we can get a couple +of covered wagons and some clean straw, they will be +removed to Stilbro'."</p> + +<p>"Straw! You must have beds and bedding. I will +send my wagon directly, properly furnished; and Mr. +Yorke, I am sure, will send his."</p> + +<p>"You guess correctly; he has volunteered already. And +Mrs. Yorke—who, like you, seems disposed to regard the +rioters as martyrs, and me, and especially Mr. Helstone, as +murderers—is at this moment, I believe, most assiduously +engaged in fitting it up with feather-beds, pillows, bolsters, +blankets, etc. The <em>victims</em> lack no attentions, I promise +you. Mr. Hall, your favourite parson, has been with them +ever since six o'clock, exhorting them, praying with them, +and even waiting on them like any nurse; and Caroline's +good friend, Miss Ainley, that <em>very</em> plain old maid, sent in +a stock of lint and linen, something in the proportion of +another lady's allowance of beef and wine."</p> + +<p>"That will do. Where is your sister?"</p> + +<p>"Well cared for. I had her securely domiciled with +Miss Mann. This very morning the two set out for Wormwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>317<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Wells [a noted watering-place], and will stay there +some weeks."</p> + +<p>"So Mr. Helstone domiciled me at the rectory! Mighty +clever you gentlemen think you are! I make you heartily +welcome to the idea, and hope its savour, as you chew the +cud of reflection upon it, gives you pleasure. Acute and +astute, why are you not also omniscient? How is it that +events transpire, under your very noses, of which you have +no suspicion? It should be so, otherwise the exquisite +gratification of outmanœuvring you would be unknown. +Ah, friend, you may search my countenance, but you cannot +read it."</p> + +<p>Moore, indeed, looked as if he could not.</p> + +<p>"You think me a dangerous specimen of my sex. Don't +you now?"</p> + +<p>"A peculiar one, at least."</p> + +<p>"But Caroline—is she peculiar?"</p> + +<p>"In her way—yes."</p> + +<p>"Her way! What is her way?"</p> + +<p>"You know her as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"And knowing her, I assert that she is neither eccentric +nor difficult of control. Is she?"</p> + +<p>"That depends——"</p> + +<p>"However, there is nothing masculine about <em>her</em>?"</p> + +<p>"Why lay such emphasis on <em>her</em>? Do you consider her +a contrast, in that respect, to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"You do, no doubt; but that does not signify. Caroline +is neither masculine, nor of what they call the spirited order +of women."</p> + +<p>"I have seen her flash out."</p> + +<p>"So have I, but not with manly fire. It was a short, +vivid, trembling glow, that shot up, shone, vanished——"</p> + +<p>"And left her scared at her own daring. You describe +others besides Caroline."</p> + +<p>"The point I wish to establish is, that Miss Helstone, +though gentle, tractable, and candid enough, is still perfectly +capable of defying even Mr. Moore's penetration."</p> + +<p>"What have you and she been doing?" asked Moore +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Have you had any breakfast?"</p> + +<p>"What is your mutual mystery?"</p> + +<p>"If you are hungry, Mrs. Gill will give you something +to eat here. Step into the oak parlour, and ring the bell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>318<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +You will be served as if at an inn; or, if you like better, +go back to the Hollow."</p> + +<p>"The alternative is not open to me; I <em>must</em> go back. +Good-morning. The first leisure I have I will see you +again."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>319<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>MRS. PRYOR.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">While</span> Shirley was talking with Moore, Caroline rejoined +Mrs. Pryor upstairs. She found that lady deeply depressed. +She would not say that Miss Keeldar's hastiness had hurt +her feelings, but it was evident an inward wound galled her. +To any but a congenial nature she would have seemed insensible +to the quiet, tender attentions by which Miss Helstone +sought to impart solace; but Caroline knew that, +unmoved or slightly moved as she looked, she felt, valued, +and was healed by them.</p> + +<p>"I am deficient in self-confidence and decision," she said +at last. "I always have been deficient in those qualities. +Yet I think Miss Keeldar should have known my character +well enough by this time to be aware that I always feel an +even painful solicitude to do right, to act for the best. The +unusual nature of the demand on my judgment puzzled me, +especially following the alarms of the night. I could not +venture to act promptly for another; but I trust no serious +harm will result from my lapse of firmness."</p> + +<p>A gentle knock was here heard at the door. It was half +opened.</p> + +<p>"Caroline, come here," said a low voice.</p> + +<p>Miss Helstone went out. There stood Shirley in the +gallery, looking contrite, ashamed, sorry as any repentant +child.</p> + +<p>"How is Mrs. Pryor?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Rather out of spirits," said Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I have behaved very shamefully, very ungenerously, +very ungratefully to her," said Shirley. "How insolent +in me to turn on her thus for what, after all, was no fault—only +an excess of conscientiousness on her part. But +I regret my error most sincerely. Tell her so, and ask if +she will forgive me."</p> + +<p>Caroline discharged the errand with heartfelt pleasure. +Mrs. Pryor rose, came to the door. She did not like scenes;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>320<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +she dreaded them as all timid people do. She said falteringly, +"Come in, my dear."</p> + +<p>Shirley did come in with some impetuosity. She threw +her arms round her governess, and while she kissed her +heartily she said, "You know you <em>must</em> forgive me, Mrs. +Pryor. I could not get on at all if there was a misunderstanding +between you and me."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to forgive," was the reply. "We will +pass it over now, if you please. The final result of the +incident is that it proves more plainly than ever how +unequal I am to certain crises."</p> + +<p>And that was the painful feeling which <em>would</em> remain +on Mrs. Pryor's mind. No effort of Shirley's or Caroline's +could efface it thence. She could forgive her offending +pupil, not her innocent self.</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar, doomed to be in constant request during +the morning, was presently summoned downstairs again. +The rector called first. A lively welcome and livelier reprimand +were at his service. He expected both, and, being +in high spirits, took them in equally good part.</p> + +<p>In the course of his brief visit he quite forgot to ask after +his niece; the riot, the rioters, the mill, the magistrates, +the heiress, absorbed all his thoughts to the exclusion of +family ties. He alluded to the part himself and curate +had taken in the defence of the Hollow.</p> + +<p>"The vials of pharisaical wrath will be emptied on our +heads for our share in this business," he said; "but I defy +every calumniator. I was there only to support the law, +to play my part as a man and a Briton; which characters +I deem quite compatible with those of the priest and Levite, +in their highest sense. Your tenant Moore," he went on, +"has won my approbation. A cooler commander I would +not wish to see, nor a more determined. Besides, the man +has shown sound judgment and good sense—first, in being +thoroughly prepared for the event which has taken place; +and subsequently, when his well-concerted plans had secured +him success, in knowing how to use without abusing his +victory. Some of the magistrates are now well frightened, +and, like all cowards, show a tendency to be cruel. Moore +restrains them with admirable prudence. He has hitherto +been very unpopular in the neighbourhood; but, mark my +words, the tide of opinion will now take a turn in his favour. +People will find out that they have not appreciated him, +and will hasten to remedy their error; and he, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>321<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +perceives the public disposed to acknowledge his merits, +will show a more gracious mien than that with which he +has hitherto favoured us."</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone was about to add to this speech some half-jesting, +half-serious warnings to Miss Keeldar on the subject +of her rumoured partiality for her talented tenant, +when a ring at the door, announcing another caller, checked +his raillery; and as that other caller appeared in the form +of a white-haired elderly gentleman, with a rather truculent +countenance and disdainful eye—in short, our old acquaintance, +and the rector's old enemy, Mr. Yorke—the priest +and Levite seized his hat, and with the briefest of adieus +to Miss Keeldar and the sternest of nods to her guest took +an abrupt leave.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke was in no mild mood, and in no measured +terms did he express his opinion on the transaction of the +night. Moore, the magistrates, the soldiers, the mob leaders, +each and all came in for a share of his invectives; but he +reserved his strongest epithets—and real racy Yorkshire +Doric adjectives they were—for the benefit of the fighting +parsons, the "sanguinary, demoniac" rector and curate. +According to him, the cup of ecclesiastical guilt was now +full indeed.</p> + +<p>"The church," he said, "was in a bonny pickle now. It +was time it came down when parsons took to swaggering +amang soldiers, blazing away wi' bullet and gunpowder, +taking the lives of far honester men than themselves."</p> + +<p>"What would Moore have done if nobody had helped +him?" asked Shirley.</p> + +<p>"Drunk as he'd brewed, eaten as he'd baked."</p> + +<p>"Which means you would have left him by himself to +face that mob. Good! He has plenty of courage, but the +greatest amount of gallantry that ever garrisoned one human +breast could scarce avail against two hundred."</p> + +<p>"He had the soldiers, those poor slaves who hire out +their own blood and spill other folk's for money."</p> + +<p>"You abuse soldiers almost as much as you abuse clergymen. +All who wear red coats are national refuse in your +eyes, and all who wear black are national swindlers. Mr. +Moore, according to you, did wrong to get military aid, +and he did still worse to accept of any other aid. Your +way of talking amounts to this: he should have abandoned +his mill and his life to the rage of a set of misguided madmen, +and Mr. Helstone and every other gentleman in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>322<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +parish should have looked on, and seen the building razed +and its owner slaughtered, and never stirred a finger to +save either."</p> + +<p>"If Moore had behaved to his men from the beginning +as a master ought to behave, they never would have entertained +their present feelings towards him."</p> + +<p>"Easy for you to talk," exclaimed Miss Keeldar, who +was beginning to wax warm in her tenant's cause—"you, +whose family have lived at Briarmains for six generations, +to whose person the people have been accustomed for fifty +years, who know all their ways, prejudices, and preferences—easy, +indeed, for <em>you</em> to act so as to avoid offending them. +But Mr. Moore came a stranger into the district; he came +here poor and friendless, with nothing but his own energies +to back him, nothing but his honour, his talent, and his +industry to make his way for him. A monstrous crime +indeed that, under such circumstances, he could not popularize +his naturally grave, quiet manners all at once; could +not be jocular, and free, and cordial with a strange peasantry, +as you are with your fellow-townsmen! An unpardonable +transgression that when he introduced improvements +he did not go about the business in quite the most +politic way, did not graduate his changes as delicately as a +rich capitalist might have done! For errors of this sort +is he to be the victim of mob outrage? Is he to be denied +even the privilege of defending himself? Are those who +have the hearts of men in their breasts (and Mr. Helstone, +say what you will of him, has such a heart) to be reviled like +malefactors because they stand by him, because they venture +to espouse the cause of one against two hundred?"</p> + +<p>"Come, come now, be cool," said Mr. Yorke, smiling at +the earnestness with which Shirley multiplied her rapid +questions.</p> + +<p>"Cool! Must I listen coolly to downright nonsense—to +dangerous nonsense? No. I like you very well, Mr. +Yorke, as you know, but I thoroughly dislike some of your +principles. All that cant—excuse me, but I repeat the +word—all that <em>cant</em> about soldiers and parsons is most +offensive in my ears. All ridiculous, irrational crying up +of one class, whether the same be aristocrat or democrat—all +howling down of another class, whether clerical or +military—all exacting injustice to individuals, whether +monarch or mendicant—is really sickening to me; all +arraying of ranks against ranks, all party hatreds, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>323<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +tyrannies disguised as liberties, I reject and wash my hands +of. <em>You</em> think you are a philanthropist; <em>you</em> think you +are an advocate of liberty; but I will tell you this—Mr. +Hall, the parson of Nunnely, is a better friend both +of man and freedom than Hiram Yorke, the reformer of +Briarfield."</p> + +<p>From a man Mr. Yorke would not have borne this language +very patiently, nor would he have endured it from +some women; but he accounted Shirley both honest and +pretty, and her plain-spoken ire amused him. Besides, he +took a secret pleasure in hearing her defend her tenant, +for we have already intimated he had Robert Moore's +interest very much at heart. Moreover, if he wished to +avenge himself for her severity, he knew the means lay in +his power: a word, he believed, would suffice to tame and +silence her, to cover her frank forehead with the rosy shadow +of shame, and veil the glow of her eye under down-drooped +lid and lash.</p> + +<p>"What more hast thou to say?" he inquired, as she +paused, rather, it appeared, to take breath than because +her subject or her zeal was exhausted.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Yorke!" was the answer, the speaker meantime +walking fast from wall to wall of the oak parlour—"say? +I have a great deal to say, if I could get it out in +lucid order, which I never <em>can</em> do. I have to say that your +views, and those of most extreme politicians, are such as +none but men in an irresponsible position <em>can</em> advocate; +that they are purely opposition views, meant only to be +talked about, and never intended to be acted on. Make +you Prime Minister of England to-morrow, and you would +have to abandon them. You abuse Moore for defending +his mill. Had you been in Moore's place you could not +with honour or sense have acted otherwise than he acted. +You abuse Mr. Helstone for everything he does. Mr. Helstone +has his faults; he sometimes does wrong, but oftener +right. Were you ordained vicar of Briarfield, you would +find it no easy task to sustain all the active schemes for the +benefit of the parish planned and persevered in by your +predecessor. I wonder people cannot judge more fairly +of each other and themselves. When I hear Messrs. Malone +and Donne chatter about the authority of the church, the +dignity and claims of the priesthood, the deference due to +them as clergymen; when I hear the outbreaks of their +small spite against Dissenters; when I witness their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>324<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +silly, narrow jealousies and assumptions; when their palaver +about forms, and traditions, and superstitions is sounding +in my ear; when I behold their insolent carriage to the poor, +their often base servility to the rich—I think the Establishment +is indeed in a poor way, and both she and her sons +appear in the utmost need of reformation. Turning away +distressed from minster tower and village spire—ay, as distressed +as a churchwarden who feels the exigence of white-wash +and has not wherewithal to purchase lime—I recall +your senseless sarcasms on the 'fat bishops,' the 'pampered +parsons,' 'old mother church,' etc. I remember your strictures +on all who differ from you, your sweeping condemnation +of classes and individuals, without the slightest allowance +made for circumstances or temptations; and then, +Mr. Yorke, doubt clutches my inmost heart as to whether +men exist clement, reasonable, and just enough to be entrusted +with the task of reform. I don't believe <em>you</em> are +of the number."</p> + +<p>"You have an ill opinion of me, Miss Shirley. You +never told me so much of your mind before."</p> + +<p>"I never had an opening. But I have sat on Jessy's +stool by your chair in the back-parlour at Briarmains, for +evenings together, listening excitedly to your talk, half +admiring what you said, and half rebelling against it. I +think you a fine old Yorkshireman, sir. I am proud to have +been born in the same county and parish as yourself. Truthful, +upright, independent you are, as a rock based below +seas; but also you are harsh, rude, narrow, and merciless."</p> + +<p>"Not to the poor, lass, nor to the meek of the earth; +only to the proud and high-minded."</p> + +<p>"And what right have you, sir, to make such distinctions? +A prouder, a higher-minded man than yourself +does not exist. You find it easy to speak comfortably to +your inferiors; you are too haughty, too ambitious, too +jealous to be civil to those above you. But you are all +alike. Helstone also is proud and prejudiced. Moore, +though juster and more considerate than either you or the +rector, is still haughty, stern, and, in a public sense, selfish. +It is well there are such men as Mr. Hall to be found occasionally—men +of large and kind hearts, who can love their +whole race, who can forgive others for being richer, more +prosperous, or more powerful than they are. Such men +may have less originality, less force of character than you, +but they are better friends to mankind."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>325<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And when is it to be?" said Mr. Yorke, now rising.</p> + +<p>"When is what to be?"</p> + +<p>"The wedding."</p> + +<p>"Whose wedding?"</p> + +<p>"Only that of Robert Gérard Moore, Esq., of Hollow's +Cottage, with Miss Keeldar, daughter and heiress of the +late Charles Cave Keeldar of Fieldhead Hall."</p> + +<p>Shirley gazed at the questioner with rising colour. But +the light in her eye was not faltering; it shone steadily—yes, +it burned deeply.</p> + +<p>"That is your revenge," she said slowly; then added, +"Would it be a bad match, unworthy of the late Charles +Cave Keeldar's representative?"</p> + +<p>"My lass, Moore is a gentleman; his blood is pure and +ancient as mine or thine."</p> + +<p>"And we two set store by ancient blood? We have +family pride, though one of us at least is a republican?"</p> + +<p>Yorke bowed as he stood before her. His lips were mute, +but his eye confessed the impeachment. Yes, he had family +pride; you saw it in his whole bearing.</p> + +<p>"Moore <em>is</em> a gentleman," echoed Shirley, lifting her head +with glad grace. She checked herself. Words seemed +crowding to her tongue. She would not give them utterance; +but her look spoke much at the moment. What, +Yorke tried to read, but could not. The language was there, +visible, but untranslatable—a poem, a fervid lyric, in an +unknown tongue. It was not a plain story, however, no +simple gush of feeling, no ordinary love-confession—that +was obvious. It was something other, deeper, more intricate +than he guessed at. He felt his revenge had not +struck home. He felt that Shirley triumphed. She held +him at fault, baffled, puzzled. <em>She</em> enjoyed the moment, +not <em>he</em>.</p> + +<p>"And if Moore <em>is</em> a gentleman, you <em>can</em> be only a lady; +therefore——"</p> + +<p>"Therefore there would be no inequality in our union."</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Thank you for your approbation. Will you give me +away when I relinquish the name of Keeldar for that of +Moore?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, instead of replying, gazed at her much puzzled. +He could not divine what her look signified—whether she +spoke in earnest or in jest. There were purpose and feeling, +banter and scoff, playing, mingled, on her mobile lineaments.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>326<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I don't understand thee," he said, turning away.</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Take courage, sir; you are not singular +in your ignorance. But I suppose if Moore understands me +that will do, will it not?"</p> + +<p>"Moore may settle his own matters henceforward for me; +I'll neither meddle nor make with them further."</p> + +<p>A new thought crossed her. Her countenance changed +magically. With a sudden darkening of the eye and austere +fixing of the features she demanded, "Have you been +asked to interfere? Are you questioning me as another's +proxy?"</p> + +<p>"The Lord save us! Whoever weds thee must look +about him! Keep all your questions for Robert; I'll +answer no more on 'em. Good-day, lassie!"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The day being fine, or at least fair—for soft clouds curtained +the sun, and a dim but not chill or waterish haze +slept blue on the hills—Caroline, while Shirley was engaged +with her callers, had persuaded Mrs. Pryor to assume her +bonnet and summer shawl, and to take a walk with her up +towards the narrow end of the Hollow.</p> + +<p>Here the opposing sides of the glen, approaching each +other and becoming clothed with brushwood and stunted +oaks, formed a wooded ravine, at the bottom of which ran +the mill-stream, in broken, unquiet course, struggling with +many stones, chafing against rugged banks, fretting with +gnarled tree-roots, foaming, gurgling, battling as it went. +Here, when you had wandered half a mile from the mill, +you found a sense of deep solitude—found it in the shade +of unmolested trees, received it in the singing of many +birds, for which that shade made a home. This was no +trodden way. The freshness of the wood flowers attested +that foot of man seldom pressed them; the abounding +wild roses looked as if they budded, bloomed, and faded +under the watch of solitude, as if in a sultan's harem. Here +you saw the sweet azure of blue-bells, and recognized in +pearl-white blossoms, spangling the grass, a humble type +of some starlit spot in space.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor liked a quiet walk. She ever shunned high-roads, +and sought byways and lonely lanes. One companion +she preferred to total solitude, for in solitude she +was nervous; a vague fear of annoying encounters broke +the enjoyment of quite lonely rambles. But she feared +nothing with Caroline. When once she got away from human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>327<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +habitations, and entered the still demesne of nature accompanied +by this one youthful friend, a propitious change +seemed to steal over her mind and beam in her countenance. +When with Caroline—and Caroline only—her heart, you +would have said, shook off a burden, her brow put aside +a veil, her spirits too escaped from a restraint. With her +she was cheerful; with her, at times, she was tender; to +her she would impart her knowledge, reveal glimpses of her +experience, give her opportunities for guessing what life +she had lived, what cultivation her mind had received, of +what calibre was her intelligence, how and where her feelings +were vulnerable.</p> + +<p>To-day, for instance, as they walked along, Mrs. Pryor +talked to her companion about the various birds singing +in the trees, discriminated their species, and said something +about their habits and peculiarities. English natural +history seemed familiar to her. All the wild flowers round +their path were recognized by her; tiny plants springing +near stones and peeping out of chinks in old walls—plants +such as Caroline had scarcely noticed before—received a +name and an intimation of their properties. It appeared +that she had minutely studied the botany of English fields +and woods. Having reached the head of the ravine, they +sat down together on a ledge of gray and mossy rock jutting +from the base of a steep green hill which towered +above them. She looked round her, and spoke of the +neighbourhood as she had once before seen it long ago. +She alluded to its changes, and compared its aspect with +that of other parts of England, revealing in quiet, unconscious +touches of description a sense of the picturesque, +an appreciation of the beautiful or commonplace, a power +of comparing the wild with the cultured, the grand with +the tame, that gave to her discourse a graphic charm as +pleasant as it was unpretending.</p> + +<p>The sort of reverent pleasure with which Caroline listened—so +sincere, so quiet, yet so evident—stirred the elder +lady's faculties to gentle animation. Rarely, probably, +had she, with her chill, repellent outside, her diffident mien, +and incommunicative habits, known what it was to excite +in one whom she herself could love feelings of earnest affection +and admiring esteem. Delightful, doubtless, was the +consciousness that a young girl towards whom it seemed, +judging by the moved expression of her eyes and features, +her heart turned with almost a fond impulse, looked up to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>328<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her as an instructor, and clung to her as a friend. With +a somewhat more marked accent of interest than she often +permitted herself to use, she said, as she bent towards her +youthful companion, and put aside from her forehead a +pale brown curl which had strayed from the confining +comb, "I do hope this sweet air blowing from the hill will +do you good, my dear Caroline. I wish I could see something +more of colour in these cheeks; but perhaps you +were never florid?"</p> + +<p>"I had red cheeks once," returned Miss Helstone, smiling. +"I remember a year—two years ago—when I used to look in +the glass, I saw a different face there to what I see now—rounder +and rosier. But when we are young," added the +girl of eighteen, "our minds are careless and our lives easy."</p> + +<p>"Do you," continued Mrs. Pryor, mastering by an effort +that tyrant timidity which made it difficult for her, even +under present circumstances, to attempt the scrutiny of +another's heart—"do you, at your age, fret yourself with +cares for the future? Believe me, you had better not. +Let the morrow take thought for the things of itself."</p> + +<p>"True, dear madam. It is not over the future I pine. +The evil of the day is sometimes oppressive—too oppressive—and +I long to escape it."</p> + +<p>"That is—the evil of the day—that is—your uncle perhaps +is not—you find it difficult to understand—he does +not appreciate——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor could not complete her broken sentences; +she could not manage to put the question whether Mr. +Helstone was too harsh with his niece. But Caroline comprehended.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is nothing," she replied. "My uncle and I +get on very well. We never quarrel—I don't call him +harsh—he never scolds me. Sometimes I wish somebody +in the world loved me, but I cannot say that I particularly +wish him to have more affection for me than he has. As +a child, I should perhaps have felt the want of attention, +only the servants were very kind to me; but when people +are long indifferent to us, we grow indifferent to their indifference. +It is my uncle's way not to care for women +and girls, unless they be ladies that he meets in company. +He could not alter, and I have no wish that he should alter, +as far as I am concerned. I believe it would merely annoy +and frighten me were he to be affectionate towards me now. +But you know, Mrs. Pryor, it is scarcely <em>living</em> to measure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>329<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +time as I do at the rectory. The hours pass, and I get +them over somehow, but I do not <em>live</em>. I endure existence, +but I rarely enjoy it. Since Miss Keeldar and you came +I have been—I was going to say happier, but that would +be untrue." She paused.</p> + +<p>"How untrue? You are fond of Miss Keeldar, are you +not, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Very fond of Shirley. I both like and admire her. But +I am painfully circumstanced. For a reason I cannot +explain I want to go away from this place, and to forget it."</p> + +<p>"You told me before you wished to be a governess; +but, my dear, if you remember, I did not encourage the +idea. I have been a governess myself great part of my +life. In Miss Keeldar's acquaintance I esteem myself most +fortunate. Her talents and her really sweet disposition +have rendered my office easy to me; but when I was young, +before I married, my trials were severe, poignant. I should +not like a—— I should not like you to endure similar ones. +It was my lot to enter a family of considerable pretensions +to good birth and mental superiority, and the members +of which also believed that 'on them was perceptible' an +unusual endowment of the 'Christian graces;' that all +their hearts were regenerate, and their spirits in a peculiar +state of discipline. I was early given to understand that +'as I was not their equal,' so I could not expect 'to have +their sympathy.' It was in no sort concealed from me that +I was held a 'burden and a restraint in society.' The +gentlemen, I found, regarded me as a 'tabooed woman,' +to whom 'they were interdicted from granting the usual +privileges of the sex,' and yet 'who annoyed them by +frequently crossing their path.' The ladies too made it +plain that they thought me 'a bore.' The servants, it +was signified, 'detested me;' <em>why</em>, I could never clearly +comprehend. My pupils, I was told, 'however much they +might love me, and how deep soever the interest I might take +in them, could not be my friends.' It was intimated that +I must 'live alone, and never transgress the invisible but +rigid line which established the difference between me and +my employers.' My life in this house was sedentary, solitary, +constrained, joyless, toilsome. The dreadful crushing +of the animal spirits, the ever-prevailing sense of friendlessness +and homelessness consequent on this state of things began +ere long to produce mortal effects on my constitution. I +sickened. The lady of the house told me coolly I was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>330<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +victim of 'wounded vanity.' She hinted that if I did not +make an effort to quell my 'ungodly discontent,' to cease +'murmuring against God's appointment,' and to cultivate +the profound humility befitting my station, my mind would +very likely 'go to pieces' on the rock that wrecked most +of my sisterhood—morbid self-esteem—and that I should +die an inmate of a lunatic asylum.</p> + +<p>"I said nothing to Mrs. Hardman—it would have been +useless; but to her eldest daughter I one day dropped a +few observations, which were answered thus. There were +hardships, she allowed, in the position of a governess. +'Doubtless they had their trials; but,' she averred, with +a manner it makes me smile now to recall—'but it must +be so. <em>She</em>' (Miss H.) 'had neither view, hope, nor <em>wish</em> +to see these things remedied; for in the inherent constitution +of English habits, feelings, and prejudices there was no +possibility that they should be. Governesses,' she observed, +'must ever be kept in a sort of isolation. It is the only +means of maintaining that distance which the reserve of +English manners and the decorum of English families exact.'</p> + +<p>"I remember I sighed as Miss Hardman quitted my +bedside. She caught the sound, and turning, said severely, +'I fear, Miss Grey, you have inherited in fullest measure +the worst sin of our fallen nature—the sin of pride. You +are proud, and therefore you are ungrateful too. Mamma +pays you a handsome salary, and if you had average sense +you would thankfully put up with much that is fatiguing +to do and irksome to bear, since it is so well made worth +your while.'</p> + +<p>"Miss Hardman, my love, was a very strong-minded +young lady, of most distinguished talents. The aristocracy +are decidedly a very superior class, you know, both physically, +and morally, and mentally; as a high Tory I acknowledge +that. I could not describe the dignity of her voice +and mien as she addressed me thus; still, I fear she was +selfish, my dear. I would never wish to speak ill of my +superiors in rank, but I think she was a little selfish."</p> + +<p>"I remember," continued Mrs. Pryor, after a pause, +"another of Miss H.'s observations, which she would utter +with quite a grand air. '<span class="smcap">We</span>,' she would say—'<span class="smcap">we</span> need +the imprudences, extravagances, mistakes, and crimes of +a certain number of fathers to sow the seed from which <span class="smcap">we</span> +reap the harvest of governesses. The daughters of trades-people, +however well educated, must necessarily be underbred,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>331<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and as such unfit to be inmates of <span class="smcap">our</span> dwellings, +or guardians of <span class="smcap">our</span> children's minds and persons. <span class="smcap">We</span> +shall ever prefer to place those about <span class="smcap">OUR</span> offspring who +have been born and bred with somewhat of the same refinement +as <span class="smcap">ourselves</span>.'"</p> + +<p>"Miss Hardman must have thought herself something +better than her fellow-creatures, ma'am, since she held +that their calamities, and even crimes, were necessary to +minister to her convenience. You say she was religious. +Her religion must have been that of the Pharisee who +thanked God that he was not as other men are, nor even +as that publican."</p> + +<p>"My dear, we will not discuss the point. I should be +the last person to wish to instil into your mind any feeling +of dissatisfaction with your lot in life, or any sentiment of +envy or insubordination towards your superiors. Implicit +submission to authorities, scrupulous deference to our betters +(under which term I, of course, include the higher classes +of society), are, in my opinion, indispensable to the well-being +of every community. All I mean to say, my dear, +is that you had better not attempt to be a governess, as the +duties of the position would be too severe for your constitution. +Not one word of disrespect would I breathe +towards either Mrs. or Miss Hardman; only, recalling my +own experience, I cannot but feel that, were you to fall +under auspices such as theirs, you would contend a while +courageously with your doom, then you would pine and +grow too weak for your work; you would come home—if +you still had a home—broken down. Those languishing +years would follow of which none but the invalid and her +immediate friends feel the heart-sickness and know the +burden. Consumption or decline would close the chapter. +Such is the history of many a life. I would not have it +yours. My dear, we will now walk about a little, if you +please."</p> + +<p>They both rose, and slowly paced a green natural terrace +bordering the chasm.</p> + +<p>"My dear," ere long again began Mrs. Pryor, a sort of +timid, embarrassed abruptness marking her manner as she +spoke, "the young, especially those to whom nature has +been favourable, often—frequently—anticipate—look forward +to—to marriage as the end, the goal of their hopes."</p> + +<p>And she stopped. Caroline came to her relief with +promptitude, showing a great deal more self-possession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>332<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and courage than herself on the formidable topic now +broached.</p> + +<p>"They do, and naturally," she replied, with a calm emphasis +that startled Mrs. Pryor. "They look forward to +marriage with some one they love as the brightest, the +only bright destiny that can await them. Are they +wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Pryor, clasping her +hands; and again she paused. Caroline turned a searching, +an eager eye on the face of her friend: that face was +much agitated. "My dear," she murmured, "life is an +illusion."</p> + +<p>"But not love! Love is real—the most real, the most +lasting, the sweetest and yet the bitterest thing we know."</p> + +<p>"My dear, it is very bitter. It is said to be strong—strong +as death! Most of the cheats of existence are strong. +As to their sweetness, nothing is so transitory; its date is +a moment, the twinkling of an eye. The sting remains for +ever. It may perish with the dawn of eternity, but it +tortures through time into its deepest night."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it tortures through time," agreed Caroline, "except +when it is mutual love."</p> + +<p>"Mutual love! My dear, romances are pernicious. You +do not read them, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes—whenever I can get them, indeed. But +romance-writers might know nothing of love, judging by +the way in which they treat of it."</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever, my dear," assented Mrs. Pryor +eagerly, "nor of marriage; and the false pictures they give +of those subjects cannot be too strongly condemned. They +are not like reality. They show you only the green, tempting +surface of the marsh, and give not one faithful or truthful +hint of the slough underneath."</p> + +<p>"But it is not always slough," objected Caroline. "There +are happy marriages. Where affection is reciprocal and +sincere, and minds are harmonious, marriage <em>must</em> be happy."</p> + +<p>"It is never wholly happy. Two people can never literally +be as one. There is, perhaps, a possibility of content +under peculiar circumstances, such as are seldom combined; +but it is as well not to run the risk—you may make fatal +mistakes. Be satisfied, my dear. Let all the single be +satisfied with their freedom."</p> + +<p>"You echo my uncle's words!" exclaimed Caroline, in +a tone of dismay. "You speak like Mrs. Yorke in her most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>333<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +gloomy moments, like Miss Mann when she is most sourly +and hypochondriacally disposed. This is terrible!"</p> + +<p>"No, it is only true. O child, you have only lived the +pleasant morning time of life; the hot, weary noon, the +sad evening, the sunless night, are yet to come for you. +Mr. Helstone, you say, talks as I talk; and I wonder how +Mrs. Matthewson Helstone would have talked had she been +living. She died! she died!"</p> + +<p>"And, alas! my own mother and father——" exclaimed +Caroline, struck by a sombre recollection.</p> + +<p>"What of them?"</p> + +<p>"Did I never tell you that they were separated?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard it."</p> + +<p>"They must, then, have been very miserable."</p> + +<p>"You see all <em>facts</em> go to prove what I say."</p> + +<p>"In this case there ought to be no such thing as marriage."</p> + +<p>"There ought, my dear, were it only to prove that this +life is a mere state of probation, wherein neither rest nor +recompense is to be vouchsafed."</p> + +<p>"But your own marriage, Mrs. Pryor?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor shrank and shuddered as if a rude finger had +pressed a naked nerve. Caroline felt she had touched +what would not bear the slightest contact.</p> + +<p>"My marriage was unhappy," said the lady, summoning +courage at last; "but yet——" She hesitated.</p> + +<p>"But yet," suggested Caroline, "not immitigably +wretched?"</p> + +<p>"Not in its results, at least. No," she added, in a softer +tone; "God mingles something of the balm of mercy even +in vials of the most corrosive woe. He can so turn events +that from the very same blind, rash act whence sprang the +curse of half our life may flow the blessing of the remainder. +Then I am of a peculiar disposition—I own that—far from +facile, without address, in some points eccentric. I ought +never to have married. Mine is not the nature easily to +find a duplicate or likely to assimilate with a contrast. I +was quite aware of my own ineligibility; and if I had not +been so miserable as a governess, I never should have +married; and then——"</p> + +<p>Caroline's eyes asked her to proceed. They entreated +her to break the thick cloud of despair which her previous +words had seemed to spread over life.</p> + +<p>"And then, my dear, Mr.—that is, the gentleman I +married—was, perhaps, rather an exceptional than an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>334<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +average character. I hope, at least, the experience of few +has been such as mine was, or that few have felt their +sufferings as I felt mine. They nearly shook my mind; +relief was so hopeless, redress so unattainable. But, my +dear, I do not wish to dishearten; I only wish to warn +you, and to prove that the single should not be too anxious +to change their state, as they may change for the worse."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear madam. I quite understand +your kind intentions, but there is no fear of my falling +into the error to which you allude. I, at least, have no +thoughts of marriage, and for that reason I want to make +myself a position by some other means."</p> + +<p>"My dear, listen to me. On what I am going to say I +have carefully deliberated, having, indeed, revolved the +subject in my thoughts ever since you first mentioned your +wish to obtain a situation. You know I at present reside +with Miss Keeldar in the capacity of companion. Should +she marry (and that she <em>will</em> marry ere long many circumstances +induce me to conclude), I shall cease to be necessary +to her in that capacity. I must tell you that I possess a +small independency, arising partly from my own savings, +and partly from a legacy left me some years since. Whenever +I leave Fieldhead I shall take a house of my own. +I could not endure to live in solitude. I have no relations +whom I care to invite to close intimacy; for, as you must +have observed, and as I have already avowed, my habits +and tastes have their peculiarities. To you, my dear, I +need not say I am attached; with you I am happier than +I have ever been with any living thing" (this was said with +marked emphasis). "Your society I should esteem a very +dear privilege—an inestimable privilege, a comfort, a +blessing. You shall come to me, then. Caroline, do you +refuse me? I hope you can love me?"</p> + +<p>And with these two abrupt questions she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I <em>do</em> love you," was the reply. "I should +like to live with you. But you are too kind."</p> + +<p>"All I have," went on Mrs. Pryor, "I would leave to +you. You should be provided for. But never again say +I am <em>too kind</em>. You pierce my heart, child!"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear madam—this generosity—I have no +claim——"</p> + +<p>"Hush! you must not talk about it. There are some +things we cannot bear to hear. Oh! it is late to begin, but +I may yet live a few years. I can never wipe out the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>335<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +past, but perhaps a brief space in the future may yet be +mine."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor seemed deeply agitated. Large tears trembled +in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Caroline +kissed her, in her gentle, caressing way, saying softly, +"I love you dearly. Don't cry."</p> + +<p>But the lady's whole frame seemed shaken. She sat +down, bent her head to her knee, and wept aloud. Nothing +could console her till the inward storm had had its way. +At last the agony subsided of itself.</p> + +<p>"Poor thing!" she murmured, returning Caroline's +kiss, "poor lonely lamb! But come," she added abruptly—"come; +we must go home."</p> + +<p>For a short distance Mrs. Pryor walked very fast. By +degrees, however, she calmed down to her wonted manner, +fell into her usual characteristic pace—a peculiar one, like +all her movements—and by the time they reached Fieldhead +she had re-entered into herself. The outside was, as usual, +still and shy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>336<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>TWO LIVES.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Only</span> half of Moore's activity and resolution had been seen +in his defence of the mill; he showed the other half (and +a terrible half it was) in the indefatigable, the relentless +assiduity with which he pursued the leaders of the riot. +The mob, the mere followers, he let alone. Perhaps an +innate sense of justice told him that men misled by false +counsel and goaded by privations are not fit objects of +vengeance, and that he who would visit an even violent act on +the bent head of suffering is a tyrant, not a judge. At all +events, though he knew many of the number, having recognized +them during the latter part of the attack when day +began to dawn, he let them daily pass him on street and +road without notice or threat.</p> + +<p>The leaders he did not know. They were strangers—emissaries +from the large towns. Most of these were not +members of the operative class. They were chiefly "down-draughts," +bankrupts, men always in debt and often in +drink, men who had nothing to lose, and much, in the way +of character, cash, and cleanliness, to gain. These persons +Moore hunted like any sleuth-hound, and well he liked the +occupation. Its excitement was of a kind pleasant to his +nature. He liked it better than making cloth.</p> + +<p>His horse must have hated these times, for it was ridden +both hard and often. He almost lived on the road, and +the fresh air was as welcome to his lungs as the policeman's +quest to his mood; he preferred it to the steam of dye-houses. +The magistrates of the district must have dreaded +him. They were slow, timid men; he liked both to frighten +and to rouse them. He liked to force them to betray a +certain fear, which made them alike falter in resolve and +recoil in action—the fear, simply, of assassination. This, +indeed, was the dread which had hitherto hampered every +manufacturer and almost every public man in the district. +Helstone alone had ever repelled it. The old Cossack knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>337<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +well he might be shot. He knew there was risk; but such +death had for his nerves no terrors. It would have been +his chosen, might he have had a choice.</p> + +<p>Moore likewise knew his danger. The result was an unquenchable +scorn of the quarter whence such danger was +to be apprehended. The consciousness that he hunted +assassins was the spur in his high-mettled temper's flank. +As for fear, he was too proud, too hard-natured (if you will), +too phlegmatic a man to fear. Many a time he rode belated +over the moors, moonlit or moonless as the case might be, +with feelings far more elate, faculties far better refreshed, +than when safety and stagnation environed him in the +counting-house. Four was the number of the leaders to be +accounted for. Two, in the course of a fortnight, were +brought to bay near Stilbro'; the remaining two it was +necessary to seek farther off. Their haunts were supposed +to lie near Birmingham.</p> + +<p>Meantime the clothier did not neglect his battered mill. +Its reparation was esteemed a light task, carpenters' and +glaziers' work alone being needed. The rioters not having +succeeded in effecting an entrance, his grim metal darlings—the +machines—had escaped damage.</p> + +<p>Whether during this busy life—whether while stern justice +and exacting business claimed his energies and harassed his +thoughts—he now and then gave one moment, dedicated +one effort, to keep alive gentler fires than those which +smoulder in the fane of Nemesis, it was not easy to discover. +He seldom went near Fieldhead; if he did, his visits +were brief. If he called at the rectory, it was only to hold +conferences with the rector in his study. He maintained +his rigid course very steadily. Meantime the history of +the year continued troubled. There was no lull in the +tempest of war; her long hurricane still swept the Continent. +There was not the faintest sign of serene weather, +no opening amid "the clouds of battle-dust and smoke," +no fall of pure dews genial to the olive, no cessation of the +red rain which nourishes the baleful and glorious laurel. +Meantime, Ruin had her sappers and miners at work under +Moore's feet, and whether he rode or walked, whether he +only crossed his counting-house hearth or galloped over +sullen Rushedge, he was aware of a hollow echo, and felt +the ground shake to his tread.</p> + +<p>While the summer thus passed with Moore, how did it +lapse with Shirley and Caroline? Let us first visit the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>338<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +heiress. How does she look? Like a love-lorn maiden, pale +and pining for a neglectful swain? Does she sit the day +long bent over some sedentary task? Has she for ever a +book in her hand, or sewing on her knee, and eyes only for +that, and words for nothing, and thoughts unspoken?</p> + +<p>By no means. Shirley is all right. If her wistful cast +of physiognomy is not gone, no more is her careless smile. +She keeps her dark old manor-house light and bright with +her cheery presence. The gallery and the low-ceiled +chambers that open into it have learned lively echoes from +her voice; the dim entrance-hall, with its one window, +has grown pleasantly accustomed to the frequent rustle of +a silk dress, as its wearer sweeps across from room to room, +now carrying flowers to the barbarous peach-bloom salon, +now entering the dining-room to open its casements and let +in the scent of mignonette and sweet-briar, anon bringing +plants from the staircase window to place in the sun at the +open porch door.</p> + +<p>She takes her sewing occasionally; but, by some fatality, +she is doomed never to sit steadily at it for above five +minutes at a time. Her thimble is scarcely fitted on, her +needle scarce threaded, when a sudden thought calls her +upstairs. Perhaps she goes to seek some just-then-remembered +old ivory-backed needle-book or older china-topped +work-box, quite unneeded, but which seems at the +moment indispensable; perhaps to arrange her hair, or +a drawer which she recollects to have seen that morning +in a state of curious confusion; perhaps only to take a +peep from a particular window at a particular view, whence +Briarfield church and rectory are visible, pleasantly bowered +in trees. She has scarcely returned, and again taken up +the slip of cambric or square of half-wrought canvas, when +Tartar's bold scrape and strangled whistle are heard at +the porch door, and she must run to open it for him. It is +a hot day; he comes in panting; she must convoy him +to the kitchen, and see with her own eyes that his water-bowl +is replenished. Through the open kitchen door the court is +visible, all sunny and gay, and peopled with turkeys and +their poults, peahens and their chicks, pearl-flecked Guinea-fowls, +and a bright variety of pure white, and purple-necked, +and blue and cinnamon plumed pigeons. Irresistible +spectacle to Shirley! She runs to the pantry for a roll, +and she stands on the door step scattering crumbs. Around +her throng her eager, plump, happy feathered vassals.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>339<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +John is about the stables, and John must be talked to, and +her mare looked at. She is still petting and patting it when +the cows come in to be milked. This is important; Shirley +must stay and take a review of them all. There are perhaps +some little calves, some little new-yeaned lambs—it +may be twins, whose mothers have rejected them. Miss +Keeldar must be introduced to them by John, must permit +herself the treat of feeding them with her own hand, under +the direction of her careful foreman. Meantime John +moots doubtful questions about the farming of certain +"crofts," and "ings," and "holmes," and his mistress is +necessitated to fetch her garden-hat—a gipsy straw—and +accompany him, over stile and along hedgerow, to hear +the conclusion of the whole agricultural matter on the spot, +and with the said "crofts," "ings," and "holms" under +her eye. Bright afternoon thus wears into soft evening, +and she comes home to a late tea, and after tea she never +sews.</p> + +<p>After tea Shirley reads, and she is just about as tenacious +of her book as she is lax of her needle. Her study +is the rug, her seat a footstool, or perhaps only the carpet +at Mrs. Pryor's feet: there she always learned her lessons +when a child, and old habits have a strong power over her. +The tawny and lionlike bulk of Tartar is ever stretched +beside her, his negro muzzle laid on his fore paws—straight, +strong, and shapely as the limbs of an Alpine wolf. One +hand of the mistress generally reposes on the loving serf's +rude head, because if she takes it away he groans and is +discontented. Shirley's mind is given to her book. She +lifts not her eyes; she neither stirs nor speaks—unless, +indeed, it be to return a brief respectful answer to Mrs. +Pryor, who addresses deprecatory phrases to her now and +then.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you had better not have that great dog so +near you; he is crushing the border of your dress."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is only muslin. I can put a clean one on to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting +to a table when you read."</p> + +<p>"I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable +to do as one has always been accustomed to do."</p> + +<p>"My dear, let me beg of you to put that book down. +You are trying your eyes by the doubtful firelight."</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am, not at all; my eyes are never tired."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>340<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>At last, however, a pale light falls on the page from +the window. She looks; the moon is up. She closes the +volume, rises, and walks through the room. Her book +has perhaps been a good one; it has refreshed, refilled, +rewarmed her heart; it has set her brain astir, furnished +her mind with pictures. The still parlour, the clean hearth, +the window opening on the twilight sky, and showing its +"sweet regent," new throned and glorious, suffice to make +earth an Eden, life a poem, for Shirley. A still, deep, inborn +delight glows in her young veins, unmingled, untroubled, +not to be reached or ravished by human agency, +because by no human agency bestowed—the pure gift of +God to His creature, the free dower of Nature to her child. +This joy gives her experience of a genii-life. Buoyant, by +green steps, by glad hills, all verdure and light, she reaches +a station scarcely lower than that whence angels looked +down on the dreamer of Bethel, and her eye seeks, and her +soul possesses, the vision of life as she wishes it. No, not +as she wishes it; she has not time to wish. The swift +glory spreads out, sweeping and kindling, and multiplies +its splendours faster than Thought can effect his combinations, +faster than Aspiration can utter her longings. Shirley +says nothing while the trance is upon her—she is quite +mute; but if Mrs. Pryor speaks to her now, she goes out +quietly, and continues her walk upstairs in the dim gallery.</p> + +<p>If Shirley were not an indolent, a reckless, an ignorant +being, she would take a pen at such moments, or at least +while the recollection of such moments was yet fresh on +her spirit. She would seize, she would fix the apparition, +tell the vision revealed. Had she a little more of the organ +of acquisitiveness in her head, a little more of the love of +property in her nature, she would take a good-sized sheet +of paper and write plainly out, in her own queer but clear +and legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the +song that has been sung to her, and thus possess what she +was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless she is, +and most ignorant; for she does not know her dreams +are rare, her feelings peculiar. She does not know, has +never known, and will die without knowing, the full value +of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart +keeps it green.</p> + +<p>Shirley takes life easily. Is not that fact written in her +eye? In her good-tempered moments is it not as full of +lazy softness as in her brief fits of anger it is fulgent with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>341<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +quick-flashing fire? Her nature is in her eye. So long +as she is calm, indolence, indulgence, humour, and tenderness +possess that large gray sphere; incense her, a red ray +pierces the dew, it quickens instantly to flame.</p> + +<p>Ere the month of July was past, Miss Keeldar would +probably have started with Caroline on that northern tour +they had planned; but just at that epoch an invasion +befell Fieldhead. A genteel foraging party besieged Shirley +in her castle, and compelled her to surrender at discretion. +An uncle, an aunt, and two cousins from the south—a +Mr., Mrs., and two Misses Sympson, of Sympson Grove, +——shire—came down upon her in state. The laws of hospitality +obliged her to give in, which she did with a facility +which somewhat surprised Caroline, who knew her to be +prompt in action and fertile in expedient where a victory +was to be gained for her will. Miss Helstone even asked her +how it was she submitted so readily. She answered, old +feelings had their power; she had passed two years of +her early youth at Sympson Grove.</p> + +<p>"How did she like her relatives?"</p> + +<p>She had nothing in common with them, she replied. +Little Harry Sympson, indeed, the sole son of the family, +was very unlike his sisters, and of him she had formerly +been fond; but he was not coming to Yorkshire—at least +not yet.</p> + +<p>The next Sunday the Fieldhead pew in Briarfield Church +appeared peopled with a prim, trim, fidgety, elderly gentleman, +who shifted his spectacles, and changed his position +every three minutes; a patient, placid-looking elderly lady +in brown satin; and two pattern young ladies, in pattern +attire, with pattern deportment. Shirley had the air of +a black swan or a white crow in the midst of this party, +and very forlorn was her aspect. Having brought her into +respectable society, we will leave her there a while, and +look after Miss Helstone.</p> + +<p>Separated from Miss Keeldar for the present, as she +could not seek her in the midst of her fine relatives, scared +away from Fieldhead by the visiting commotion which +the new arrivals occasioned in the neighbourhood, Caroline +was limited once more to the gray rectory, the solitary +morning walk in remote by-paths, the long, lonely afternoon +sitting in a quiet parlour which the sun forsook at noon, or +in the garden alcove where it shone bright, yet sad, on the +ripening red currants trained over the trellis, and on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>342<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +fair monthly roses entwined between, and through them fell +chequered on Caroline sitting in her white summer dress, +still as a garden statue. There she read old books, taken +from her uncle's library. The Greek and Latin were of +no use to her, and its collection of light literature was +chiefly contained on a shelf which had belonged to her +aunt Mary—some venerable Lady's Magazines, that had +once performed a sea-voyage with their owner, and undergone +a storm, and whose pages were stained with salt water; +some mad Methodist Magazines, full of miracles and apparitions, +of preternatural warnings, ominous dreams, and +frenzied fanaticism; the equally mad letters of Mrs. +Elizabeth Rowe from the Dead to the Living; a few old +English classics. From these faded flowers Caroline had +in her childhood extracted the honey; they were tasteless +to her now. By way of change, and also of doing good, +she would sew—make garments for the poor, according to +good Miss Ainley's direction. Sometimes, as she felt and +saw her tears fall slowly on her work, she would wonder +how the excellent woman who had cut it out and arranged +it for her managed to be so equably serene in <em>her</em> solitude.</p> + +<p>"I never find Miss Ainley oppressed with despondency or +lost in grief," she thought; "yet her cottage is a still, dim +little place, and she is without a bright hope or near friend +in the world. I remember, though, she told me once she +had tutored her thoughts to tend upwards to heaven. She +allowed there was, and ever had been, little enjoyment in +this world for her, and she looks, I suppose, to the bliss of +the world to come. So do nuns, with their close cell, their +iron lamp, their robe strait as a shroud, their bed narrow +as a coffin. She says often she has no fear of death—no +dread of the grave; no more, doubtless, had St. Simeon +Stylites, lifted up terrible on his wild column in the wilderness; +no more has the Hindu votary stretched on his couch +of iron spikes. Both these having violated nature, their +natural likings and antipathies are reversed; they grow +altogether morbid. I do fear death as yet, but I believe it +is because I am young. Poor Miss Ainley would cling +closer to life if life had more charms for her. God surely +did not create us and cause us to live with the sole end of +wishing always to die. I believe in my heart we were +intended to prize life and enjoy it so long as we retain it. +Existence never was originally meant to be that useless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>343<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +blank, pale, slow-trailing thing it often becomes to many, +and is becoming to me among the rest.</p> + +<p>"Nobody," she went on—"nobody in particular is to +blame, that I can see, for the state in which things are; +and I cannot tell, however much I puzzle over it, how they +are to be altered for the better; but I feel there is something +wrong somewhere. I believe single women should +have more to do—better chances of interesting and profitable +occupation than they possess now. And when I speak +thus I have no impression that I displease God by my +words; that I am either impious or impatient, irreligious +or sacrilegious. My consolation is, indeed, that God hears +many a groan, and compassionates much grief which man +stops his ears against, or frowns on with impotent contempt. +I say <em>impotent</em>, for I observe that to such grievances +as society cannot readily cure it usually forbids utterance, +on pain of its scorn, this scorn being only a sort of tinselled +cloak to its deformed weakness. People hate to be reminded +of ills they are unable or unwilling to remedy. Such +reminder, in forcing on them a sense of their own incapacity, +or a more painful sense of an obligation to make some unpleasant +effort, troubles their ease and shakes their self-complacency. +Old maids, like the houseless and unemployed +poor, should not ask for a place and an occupation +in the world; the demand disturbs the happy and rich—it +disturbs parents. Look at the numerous families of girls +in this neighbourhood—the Armitages, the Birtwhistles, the +Sykeses. The brothers of these girls are every one in +business or in professions; they have something to do. +Their sisters have no earthly employment but household +work and sewing, no earthly pleasure but an unprofitable +visiting, and no hope, in all their life to come, of anything +better. This stagnant state of things makes them decline +in health. They are never well, and their minds and views +shrink to wondrous narrowness. The great wish, the sole aim +of every one of them is to be married, but the majority will +never marry; they will die as they now live. They scheme, +they plot, they dress to ensnare husbands. The gentlemen +turn them into ridicule; they don't want them; they +hold them very cheap. They say—I have heard them say it +with sneering laughs many a time—the matrimonial market +is overstocked. Fathers say so likewise, and are angry +with their daughters when they observe their manœuvres—they +order them to stay at home. What do they expect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>344<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +them to do at home? If you ask, they would answer, +sew and cook. They expect them to do this, and this only, +contentedly, regularly, uncomplainingly, all their lives long, +as if they had no germs of faculties for anything else—a +doctrine as reasonable to hold as it would be that +the fathers have no faculties but for eating what their +daughters cook or for wearing what they sew. Could men +live so themselves? Would they not be very weary? +And when there came no relief to their weariness, but only +reproaches at its slightest manifestation, would not their +weariness ferment in time to frenzy? Lucretia, spinning +at midnight in the midst of her maidens, and Solomon's +virtuous woman are often quoted as patterns of what 'the +sex,' as they say, ought to be. I don't know. Lucretia, +I dare say, was a most worthy sort of person, much like +my cousin Hortense Moore; but she kept her servants +up very late. I should not have liked to be amongst the +number of the maidens. Hortense would just work me +and Sarah in that fashion, if she could, and neither of us +would bear it. The 'virtuous woman,' again, had her +household up in the very middle of the night; she 'got +breakfast over,' as Mrs. Sykes says, before one o'clock a.m.; +but <em>she</em> had something more to do than spin and give out +portions. She was a manufacturer—she made fine linen +and sold it; she was an agriculturist—she bought estates +and planted vineyards. <em>That</em> woman was a manager. +She was what the matrons hereabouts call 'a clever woman.' +On the whole, I like her a good deal better than Lucretia; +but I don't believe either Mr. Armitage or Mr. Sykes could +have got the advantage of her in a bargain. Yet I like her. +'Strength and honour were her clothing; the heart of her +husband safely trusted in her. She opened her mouth +with wisdom; in her tongue was the law of kindness; her +children rose up and called her blessed; her husband also +praised her.' King of Israel! your model of a woman is +a worthy model! But are we, in these days, brought up +to be like her? Men of Yorkshire! do your daughters +reach this royal standard? Can they reach it? Can you +help them to reach it? Can you give them a field in which +their faculties may be exercised and grow? Men of England! +look at your poor girls, many of them fading around +you, dropping off in consumption or decline; or, what is +worse, degenerating to sour old maids—envious, back-biting, +wretched, because life is a desert to them; or, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>345<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +is worst of all, reduced to strive, by scarce modest coquetry +and debasing artifice, to gain that position and consideration +by marriage which to celibacy is denied. Fathers! +cannot you alter these things? Perhaps not all at once; +but consider the matter well when it is brought before you, +receive it as a theme worthy of thought; do not dismiss +it with an idle jest or an unmanly insult. You would wish +to be proud of your daughters, and not to blush for them; +then seek for them an interest and an occupation which +shall raise them above the flirt, the manœuvrer, the mischief-making +tale-bearer. Keep your girls' minds narrow and +fettered; they will still be a plague and a care, sometimes +a disgrace to you. Cultivate them—give them scope and +work; they will be your gayest companions in health, +your tenderest nurses in sickness, your most faithful prop +in age."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>346<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>AN EVENING OUT.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">One</span> fine summer day that Caroline had spent entirely alone +(her uncle being at Whinbury), and whose long, bright, +noiseless, breezeless, cloudless hours (how many they +seemed since sunrise!) had been to her as desolate as if +they had gone over her head in the shadowless and trackless +wastes of Sahara, instead of in the blooming garden of an +English home, she was sitting in the alcove—her task of +work on her knee, her fingers assiduously plying the needle, +her eyes following and regulating their movements, her +brain working restlessly—when Fanny came to the door, +looked round over the lawn and borders, and not seeing +her whom she sought, called out, "Miss Caroline!"</p> + +<p>A low voice answered "Fanny!" It issued from the +alcove, and thither Fanny hastened, a note in her hand, +which she delivered to fingers that hardly seemed to have +nerve to hold it. Miss Helstone did not ask whence it +came, and she did not look at it; she let it drop amongst +the folds of her work.</p> + +<p>"Joe Scott's son, Harry, brought it," said Fanny.</p> + +<p>The girl was no enchantress, and knew no magic spell; +yet what she said took almost magical effect on her young +mistress. She lifted her head with the quick motion of +revived sensation; she shot, not a languid, but a lifelike, +questioning glance at Fanny.</p> + +<p>"Harry Scott! who sent him?"</p> + +<p>"He came from the Hollow."</p> + +<p>The dropped note was snatched up eagerly, the seal was +broken—it was read in two seconds. An affectionate billet +from Hortense, informing her young cousin that she was +returned from Wormwood Wells; that she was alone to-day, +as Robert was gone to Whinbury market; that nothing +would give her greater pleasure than to have Caroline's +company to tea, and the good lady added, she was quite sure +such a change would be most acceptable and beneficial to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>347<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Caroline, who must be sadly at a loss both for safe guidance +and improving society since the misunderstanding between +Robert and Mr. Helstone had occasioned a separation from +her "meilleure amie, Hortense Gérard Moore." In a +postscript she was urged to put on her bonnet and run down +directly.</p> + +<p>Caroline did not need the injunction. Glad was she to +lay by the brown holland child's slip she was trimming with +braid for the Jew's basket, to hasten upstairs, cover her +curls with her straw bonnet, and throw round her shoulders +the black silk scarf, whose simple drapery suited as well her +shape as its dark hue set off the purity of her dress and the +fairness of her face; glad was she to escape for a few hours +the solitude, the sadness, the nightmare of her life; glad +to run down the green lane sloping to the Hollow, to scent +the fragrance of hedge flowers sweeter than the perfume of +moss-rose or lily. True, she knew Robert was not at the +cottage; but it was delight to go where he had lately been. +So long, so totally separated from him, merely to see his +home, to enter the room where he had that morning sat, +felt like a reunion. As such it revived her; and then +Illusion was again following her in Peri mask. The soft +agitation of wings caressed her cheek, and the air, breathing +from the blue summer sky, bore a voice which whispered, +"Robert may come home while you are in his house, and +then, at least, you may look in his face—at least you may +give him your hand; perhaps, for a minute, you may sit +beside him."</p> + +<p>"Silence!" was her austere response; but she loved the +comforter and the consolation.</p> + +<p>Miss Moore probably caught from the window the gleam +and flutter of Caroline's white attire through the branchy +garden shrubs, for she advanced from the cottage porch to +meet her. Straight, unbending, phlegmatic as usual, she +came on. No haste or ecstasy was ever permitted to disorder +the dignity of <em>her</em> movements; but she smiled, well +pleased to mark the delight of her pupil, to feel her kiss and +the gentle, genial strain of her embrace. She led her +tenderly in, half deceived and wholly flattered. Half +deceived! had it not been so she would in all probability +have put her to the wicket, and shut her out. Had she +known clearly to whose account the chief share of this +childlike joy was to be placed, Hortense would most likely +have felt both shocked and incensed. Sisters do not like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>348<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +young ladies to fall in love with their brothers. It seems, +if not presumptuous, silly, weak, a delusion, an absurd +mistake. <em>They</em> do not love these gentlemen—whatever +sisterly affection they may cherish towards them—and that +others should, repels them with a sense of crude romance. +The first movement, in short, excited by such discovery +(as with many parents on finding their children to be in +love) is one of mixed impatience and contempt. Reason—if +they be rational people—corrects the false feeling in time; +but if they be irrational, it is never corrected, and the +daughter or sister-in-law is disliked to the end.</p> + +<p>"You would expect to find me alone, from what I said +in my note," observed Miss Moore, as she conducted Caroline +towards the parlour; "but it was written this morning: +since dinner, company has come in."</p> + +<p>And opening the door she made visible an ample spread +of crimson skirts overflowing the elbow-chair at the fireside, +and above them, presiding with dignity, a cap more +awful than a crown. That cap had never come to the +cottage under a bonnet; no, it had been brought in a vast +bag, or rather a middle-sized balloon of black silk, held +wide with whalebone. The screed, or frill of the cap, stood +a quarter of a yard broad round the face of the wearer. The +ribbon, flourishing in puffs and bows about the head, was of +the sort called love-ribbon. There was a good deal of it, I +may say, a very great deal. Mrs. Yorke wore the cap—it +became her; she wore the gown also—it suited her no less.</p> + +<p>That great lady was come in a friendly way to take tea +with Miss Moore. It was almost as great and as rare a +favour as if the queen were to go uninvited to share pot-luck +with one of her subjects. A higher mark of distinction +she could not show—she who in general scorned visiting and +tea-drinking, and held cheap and stigmatized as "gossips" +every maid and matron of the vicinage.</p> + +<p>There was no mistake, however; Miss Moore <em>was</em> a +favourite with her. She had evinced the fact more than +once—evinced it by stopping to speak to her in the churchyard +on Sundays; by inviting her, almost hospitably, to +come to Briarmains; evinced it to-day by the grand condescension +of a personal visit. Her reasons for the preference, +as assigned by herself, were that Miss Moore was a +woman of steady deportment, without the least levity of +conversation or carriage; also that, being a foreigner, she +must feel the want of a friend to countenance her. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>349<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +might have added that her plain aspect, homely, precise +dress, and phlegmatic, unattractive manner were to her so +many additional recommendations. It is certain, at least, +that ladies remarkable for the opposite qualities of beauty, +lively bearing, and elegant taste in attire were not often +favoured with her approbation. Whatever gentlemen are +apt to admire in women, Mrs. Yorke condemned; and what +they overlook or despise, she patronized.</p> + +<p>Caroline advanced to the mighty matron with some sense +of diffidence. She knew little of Mrs. Yorke, and, as a +parson's niece, was doubtful what sort of a reception she +might get. She got a very cool one, and was glad to hide +her discomfiture by turning away to take off her bonnet. +Nor, upon sitting down, was she displeased to be immediately +accosted by a little personage in a blue frock and sash, +who started up like some fairy from the side of the great +dame's chair, where she had been sitting on a footstool, +screened from view by the folds of the wide red gown, and +running to Miss Helstone, unceremoniously threw her arms +round her neck and demanded a kiss.</p> + +<p>"My mother is not civil to you," said the petitioner, +as she received and repaid a smiling salute, "and Rose +there takes no notice of you; it is their way. If, instead +of you, a white angel, with a crown of stars, had come into +the room, mother would nod stiffly, and Rose never lift her +head at all; but I will be your friend—I have always liked +you."</p> + +<p>"Jessie, curb that tongue of yours, and repress your +forwardness!" said Mrs. Yorke.</p> + +<p>"But, mother, you are so frozen!" expostulated Jessie. +"Miss Helstone has never done you any harm; why can't +you be kind to her? You sit so stiff, and look so cold, and +speak so dry—what for? That's just the fashion in which +you treat Miss Shirley Keeldar and every other young lady +who comes to our house. And Rose there is such an aut—aut—I +have forgotten the word, but it means a machine +in the shape of a human being. However, between you, +you will drive every soul away from Briarmains; Martin +often says so."</p> + +<p>"I am an automaton? Good! Let me alone, then," said +Rose, speaking from a corner where she was sitting on the +carpet at the foot of a bookcase, with a volume spread open +on her knee.—"Miss Helstone, how do you do?" she +added, directing a brief glance to the person addressed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>350<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and then again casting down her gray, remarkable eyes on +the book and returning to the study of its pages.</p> + +<p>Caroline stole a quiet gaze towards her, dwelling on her +young, absorbed countenance, and observing a certain +unconscious movement of the mouth as she read—a movement +full of character. Caroline had tact, and she had +fine instinct. She felt that Rose Yorke was a peculiar child—one +of the unique; she knew how to treat her. Approaching +quietly, she knelt on the carpet at her side, and +looked over her little shoulder at her book. It was a +romance of Mrs. Radcliffe's—"The Italian."</p> + +<p>Caroline read on with her, making no remark. Presently +Rose showed her the attention of asking, ere she +turned the leaf, "Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>Caroline only nodded.</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?" inquired Rose ere long.</p> + +<p>"Long since, when I read it as a child, I was wonderfully +taken with it."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"It seemed to open with such promise—such foreboding +of a most strange tale to be unfolded."</p> + +<p>"And in reading it you feel as if you were far away from +England—really in Italy—under another sort of sky—that +blue sky of the south which travellers describe."</p> + +<p>"You are sensible of that, Rose?"</p> + +<p>"It makes me long to travel, Miss Helstone."</p> + +<p>"When you are a woman, perhaps, you may be able to +gratify your wish."</p> + +<p>"I mean to make a way to do so, if one is not made for +me. I cannot live always in Briarfield. The whole world +is not very large compared with creation. I must see the +outside of our own round planet, at least."</p> + +<p>"How much of its outside?"</p> + +<p>"First this hemisphere where we live; then the other. +I am resolved that my life shall be a life. Not a black +trance like the toad's, buried in marble; nor a long, slow +death like yours in Briarfield rectory."</p> + +<p>"Like mine! what can you mean, child?"</p> + +<p>"Might you not as well be tediously dying as for ever +shut up in that glebe-house—a place that, when I pass it, +always reminds me of a windowed grave? I never see any +movement about the door. I never hear a sound from the +wall. I believe smoke never issues from the chimneys. +What do you do there?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>351<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I sew, I read, I learn lessons."</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Should I be happy wandering alone in strange countries +as you wish to do?"</p> + +<p>"Much happier, even if you did nothing but wander. +Remember, however, that I shall have an object in view; +but if you only went on and on, like some enchanted lady +in a fairy tale, you might be happier than now. In a day's +wandering you would pass many a hill, wood, and watercourse, +each perpetually altering in aspect as the sun shone +out or was overcast; as the weather was wet or fair, dark +or bright. Nothing changes in Briarfield rectory. The +plaster of the parlour ceilings, the paper on the walls, the +curtains, carpets, chairs, are still the same."</p> + +<p>"Is change necessary to happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is it synonymous with it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; but I feel monotony and death to be +almost the same."</p> + +<p>Here Jessie spoke.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she mad?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"But, Rose," pursued Caroline, "I fear a wanderer's +life, for me at least, would end like that tale you are reading—in +disappointment, vanity, and vexation of spirit."</p> + +<p>"Does 'The Italian' so end?"</p> + +<p>"I thought so when I read it."</p> + +<p>"Better to try all things and find all empty than to try +nothing and leave your life a blank. To do this is to +commit the sin of him who buried his talent in a napkin—despicable +sluggard!"</p> + +<p>"Rose," observed Mrs. Yorke, "solid satisfaction is only +to be realized by doing one's duty."</p> + +<p>"Right, mother! And if my Master has given me ten +talents, my duty is to trade with them, and make them +ten talents more. Not in the dust of household drawers +shall the coin be interred. I will <em>not</em> deposit it in a broken-spouted +teapot, and shut it up in a china closet among tea-things. +I will <em>not</em> commit it to your work-table to be +smothered in piles of woollen hose. I will <em>not</em> prison it in +the linen press to find shrouds among the sheets. And +least of all, mother" (she got up from the floor)—"least +of all will I hide it in a tureen of cold potatoes, to be ranged +with bread, butter, pastry, and ham on the shelves of the +larder."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>352<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She stopped, then went on, "Mother, the Lord who gave +each of us our talents will come home some day, and will +demand from all an account. The teapot, the old stocking-foot, +the linen rag, the willow-pattern tureen will yield up +their barren deposit in many a house. Suffer your daughters, +at least, to put their money to the exchangers, that they +may be enabled at the Master's coming to pay Him His own +with usury."</p> + +<p>"Rose, did you bring your sampler with you, as I told +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, and do a line of marking."</p> + +<p>Rose sat down promptly, and wrought according to orders. +After a busy pause of ten minutes, her mother asked, "Do +you think yourself oppressed now—a victim?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother."</p> + +<p>"Yet, as far as I understood your tirade, it was a protest +against all womanly and domestic employment."</p> + +<p>"You misunderstood it, mother. I should be sorry not +to learn to sew. You do right to teach me, and to make +me work."</p> + +<p>"Even to the mending of your brothers' stockings and +the making of sheets?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Where is the use of ranting and spouting about it, +then?"</p> + +<p>"Am I to do nothing but that? I will do that, and +then I will do more. Now, mother, I have said my say. +I am twelve years old at present, and not till I am sixteen +will I speak again about talents. For four years I bind +myself an industrious apprentice to all you can teach me."</p> + +<p>"You see what my daughters are, Miss Helstone," +observed Mrs. Yorke; "how precociously wise in their +own conceits! 'I would rather this, I prefer that'—such +is Jessie's cuckoo song; while Rose utters the bolder cry, +'I <em>will</em>, and I will <em>not</em>!'"</p> + +<p>"I render a reason, mother; besides, if my cry is bold, +it is only heard once in a twelvemonth. About each birthday +the spirit moves me to deliver one oracle respecting +my own instruction and management. I utter it and leave +it; it is for you, mother, to listen or not."</p> + +<p>"I would advise all young ladies," pursued Mrs. Yorke, +"to study the characters of such children as they chance +to meet with before they marry and have any of their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>353<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to consider well how they would like the responsibility of +guiding the careless, the labour of persuading the stubborn, +the constant burden and task of training the best."</p> + +<p>"But with love it need not be so very difficult," interposed +Caroline. "Mothers love their children most dearly—almost +better than they love themselves."</p> + +<p>"Fine talk! very sentimental! There is the rough, +practical part of life yet to come for you, young miss."</p> + +<p>"But, Mrs. Yorke, if I take a little baby into my arms—any +poor woman's infant, for instance—I feel that I love +that helpless thing quite peculiarly, though I am not its +mother. I could do almost anything for it willingly, if it +were delivered over entirely to my care—if it were quite +dependent on me."</p> + +<p>"You <em>feel</em>! Yes, yes! I dare say, now. You are led +a great deal by your <em>feelings</em>, and you think yourself a very +sensitive personage, no doubt. Are you aware that, with +all these romantic ideas, you have managed to train your +features into an habitually lackadaisical expression, better +suited to a novel-heroine than to a woman who is to make +her way in the real world by dint of common sense?"</p> + +<p>"No; I am not at all aware of that, Mrs. Yorke."</p> + +<p>"Look in the glass just behind you. Compare the face +you see there with that of any early-rising, hard-working +milkmaid."</p> + +<p>"My face is a pale one, but it is <em>not</em> sentimental; and +most milkmaids, however red and robust they may be, are +more stupid and less practically fitted to make their way +in the world than I am. I think more, and more correctly, +than milkmaids in general do; consequently, where they +would often, for want of reflection, act weakly, I, by dint +of reflection, should act judiciously."</p> + +<p>"Oh no! you would be influenced by your feelings; you +would be guided by impulse."</p> + +<p>"Of course I should often be influenced by my feelings. +They were given me to that end. Whom my feelings teach +me to love I <em>must</em> and <em>shall</em> love; and I hope, if ever I +have a husband and children, my feelings will induce me +to love them. I hope, in that case, all my impulses will be +strong in compelling me to love."</p> + +<p>Caroline had a pleasure in saying this with emphasis; +she had a pleasure in daring to say it in Mrs. Yorke's presence. +She did not care what unjust sarcasm might be +hurled at her in reply. She flushed, not with anger but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>354<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +excitement, when the ungenial matron answered coolly, +"Don't waste your dramatic effects. That was well said—it +was quite fine; but it is lost on two women—an old wife +and an old maid. There should have been a disengaged +gentleman present.—Is Mr. Robert nowhere hid behind +the curtains, do you think, Miss Moore?"</p> + +<p>Hortense, who during the chief part of the conversation +had been in the kitchen superintending the preparations for +tea, did not yet quite comprehend the drift of the discourse. +She answered, with a puzzled air, that Robert was at Whinbury. +Mrs. Yorke laughed her own peculiar short laugh.</p> + +<p>"Straightforward Miss Moore!" said she patronizingly. +"It is like you to understand my question so literally and +answer it so simply. <em>Your</em> mind comprehends nothing of +intrigue. Strange things might go on around you without +your being the wiser; you are not of the class the world +calls sharp-witted."</p> + +<p>These equivocal compliments did not seem to please +Hortense. She drew herself up, puckered her black eyebrows, +but still looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I have ever been noted for sagacity and discernment +from childhood," she returned; for, indeed, on the possession +of these qualities she peculiarly piqued herself.</p> + +<p>"You never plotted to win a husband, I'll be bound," +pursued Mrs. Yorke; "and you have not the benefit of +previous experience to aid you in discovering when others +plot."</p> + +<p>Caroline felt this kind language where the benevolent +speaker intended she should feel it—in her very heart. +She could not even parry the shafts; she was defenceless +for the present. To answer would have been to avow that +the cap fitted. Mrs. Yorke, looking at her as she sat with +troubled, downcast eyes, and cheek burning painfully, and +figure expressing in its bent attitude and unconscious tremor +all the humiliation and chagrin she experienced, felt the +sufferer was fair game. The strange woman had a natural +antipathy to a shrinking, sensitive character—a nervous +temperament; nor was a pretty, delicate, and youthful +face a passport to her affections. It was seldom she met +with all these obnoxious qualities combined in one individual; +still more seldom she found that individual at her mercy, +under circumstances in which she could crush her well. +She happened this afternoon to be specially bilious and +morose—as much disposed to gore as any vicious "mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>355<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of the herd." Lowering her large head she made a new +charge.</p> + +<p>"Your cousin Hortense is an excellent sister, Miss Helstone. +Such ladies as come to try their life's luck here +at Hollow's Cottage may, by a very little clever female +artifice, cajole the mistress of the house, and have the game +all in their own hands. You are fond of your cousin's +society, I dare say, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Of which cousin's?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, of the lady's, <em>of course</em>."</p> + +<p>"Hortense is, and always has been, most kind to me."</p> + +<p>"Every sister with an eligible single brother is considered +most kind by her spinster friends."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Yorke," said Caroline, lifting her eyes slowly, +their blue orbs at the same time clearing from trouble, +and shining steady and full, while the glow of shame left +her cheek, and its hue turned pale and settled—"Mrs. +Yorke, may I ask what you mean?"</p> + +<p>"To give you a lesson on the cultivation of rectitude, to +disgust you with craft and false sentiment."</p> + +<p>"Do I need this lesson?"</p> + +<p>"Most young ladies of the present day need it. You are +quite a modern young lady—morbid, delicate, professing +to like retirement; which implies, I suppose, that you find +little worthy of your sympathies in the ordinary world. +The ordinary world—every-day honest folks—are better +than you think them, much better than any bookish, +romancing chit of a girl can be who hardly ever puts her +nose over her uncle the parson's garden wall."</p> + +<p>"Consequently of whom you know nothing. Excuse +me—indeed, it does not matter whether you excuse me or +not—you have attacked me without provocation; I shall +defend myself without apology. Of my relations with +my two cousins you are ignorant. In a fit of ill-humour +you have attempted to poison them by gratuitous insinuations, +which are far more crafty and false than anything +with which you can justly charge me. That I happen to +be pale, and sometimes to look diffident, is no business of +yours; that I am fond of books, and indisposed for common +gossip, is still less your business; that I am a 'romancing +chit of a girl' is a mere conjecture on your part. I never +romanced to you nor to anybody you know. That I am +the parson's niece is not a crime, though you may be narrow-minded +enough to think it so. You dislike me. You have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>356<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +no just reason for disliking me; therefore keep the expression +of your aversion to yourself. If at any time in +future you evince it annoyingly, I shall answer even less +scrupulously than I have done now."</p> + +<p>She ceased, and sat in white and still excitement. She +had spoken in the clearest of tones, neither fast nor loud; +but her silver accents thrilled the ear. The speed of the +current in her veins was just then as swift as it was viewless.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Yorke was not irritated at the reproof, worded with +a severity so simple, dictated by a pride so quiet. Turning +coolly to Miss Moore, she said, nodding her cap approvingly, +"She has spirit in her, after all.—Always speak as honestly +as you have done just now," she continued, "and you'll +do."</p> + +<p>"I repel a recommendation so offensive," was the answer, +delivered in the same pure key, with the same clear look. +"I reject counsel poisoned by insinuation. It is my right +to speak as I think proper; nothing binds me to converse +as you dictate. So far from always speaking as I have +done just now, I shall never address any one in a tone so +stern or in language so harsh, unless in answer to unprovoked +insult."</p> + +<p>"Mother, you have found your match," pronounced little +Jessie, whom the scene appeared greatly to edify. Rose +had heard the whole with an unmoved face. She now said, +"No; Miss Helstone is not my mother's match, for she +allows herself to be vexed. My mother would wear her out +in a few weeks. Shirley Keeldar manages better.—Mother, +you have never hurt Miss Keeldar's feelings yet. She +wears armour under her silk dress that you cannot penetrate."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Yorke often complained that her children were +mutinous. It was strange that with all her strictness, with +all her "strong-mindedness," she could gain no command +over them. A look from their father had more influence +with them than a lecture from her.</p> + +<p>Miss Moore—to whom the position of witness to an altercation +in which she took no part was highly displeasing, +as being an unimportant secondary post—now rallying her +dignity, prepared to utter a discourse which was to prove +both parties in the wrong, and to make it clear to each disputant +that she had reason to be ashamed of herself, and +ought to submit humbly to the superior sense of the individual +then addressing her. Fortunately for her audience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>357<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +she had not harangued above ten minutes when Sarah's +entrance with the tea-tray called her attention, first to the +fact of that damsel having a gilt comb in her hair and a red +necklace round her throat, and secondly, and subsequently +to a pointed remonstrance, to the duty of making tea. +After the meal Rose restored her to good-humour by bringing +her guitar and asking for a song, and afterwards engaging +her in an intelligent and sharp cross-examination about +guitar-playing and music in general.</p> + +<p>Jessie, meantime, directed her assiduities to Caroline. +Sitting on a stool at her feet, she talked to her, first about +religion and then about politics. Jessie was accustomed +at home to drink in a great deal of what her father said on +these subjects, and afterwards in company to retail, with +more wit and fluency than consistency or discretion, his +opinions, antipathies, and preferences. She rated Caroline +soundly for being a member of the Established Church, +and for having an uncle a clergyman. She informed her +that she lived on the country, and ought to work for her +living honestly, instead of passing a useless life, and eating +the bread of idleness in the shape of tithes. Thence Jessie +passed to a review of the ministry at that time in office, +and a consideration of its deserts. She made familiar mention +of the names of Lord Castlereagh and Mr. Perceval. +Each of these personages she adorned with a character +that might have separately suited Moloch and Belial. She +denounced the war as wholesale murder, and Lord Wellington +as a "hired butcher."</p> + +<p>Her auditress listened with exceeding edification. Jessie +had something of the genius of humour in her nature. It +was inexpressibly comic to hear her repeating her sire's +denunciations in his nervous northern Doric; as hearty a +little Jacobin as ever pent a free mutinous spirit in a muslin +frock and sash. Not malignant by nature, her language +was not so bitter as it was racy, and the expressive little +face gave a piquancy to every phrase which held a beholder's +interest captive.</p> + +<p>Caroline chid her when she abused Lord Wellington; +but she listened delighted to a subsequent tirade against +the Prince Regent. Jessie quickly read, in the sparkle of +her hearer's eye and the laughter hovering round her lips, +that at last she had hit on a topic that pleased. Many a +time had she heard the fat "Adonis of fifty" discussed at +her father's breakfast-table, and she now gave Mr. Yorke's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>358<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +comments on the theme—genuine as uttered by his Yorkshire +lips.</p> + +<p>But, Jessie, I will write about you no more. This is an +autumn evening, wet and wild. There is only one cloud +in the sky, but it curtains it from pole to pole. The wind +cannot rest; it hurries sobbing over hills of sullen outline, +colourless with twilight and mist. Rain has beat all day +on that church tower. It rises dark from the stony enclosure +of its graveyard. The nettles, the long grass, and +the tombs all drip with wet. This evening reminds me too +forcibly of another evening some years ago—a howling, +rainy autumn evening too—when certain who had that +day performed a pilgrimage to a grave new-made in a heretic +cemetery sat near a wood fire on the hearth of a foreign +dwelling. They were merry and social, but they each knew +that a gap, never to be filled, had been made in their circle. +They knew they had lost something whose absence could +never be quite atoned for so long as they lived; and they +knew that heavy falling rain was soaking into the wet +earth which covered their lost darling, and that the sad, +sighing gale was mourning above her buried head. The +fire warmed them; life and friendship yet blessed them; +but Jessie lay cold, coffined, solitary—only the sod screening +her from the storm.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mrs. Yorke folded up her knitting, cut short the music +lesson and the lecture on politics, and concluded her visit +to the cottage, at an hour early enough to ensure her return +to Briarmains before the blush of sunset should quite have +faded in heaven, or the path up the fields have become +thoroughly moist with evening dew.</p> + +<p>The lady and her daughters being gone, Caroline felt +that she also ought to resume her scarf, kiss her cousin's +cheek, and trip away homeward. If she lingered much +later dusk would draw on, and Fanny would be put to the +trouble of coming to fetch her. It was both baking and +ironing day at the rectory, she remembered—Fanny would be +busy. Still, she could not quit her seat at the little parlour +window. From no point of view could the west look so +lovely as from that lattice with the garland of jessamine +round it, whose white stars and green leaves seemed now but +gray pencil outlines—graceful in form, but colourless in +tint—against the gold incarnadined of a summer evening—against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>359<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the fire-tinged blue of an August sky at eight +o'clock p.m.</p> + +<p>Caroline looked at the wicket-gate, beside which holly-oaks +spired up tall. She looked at the close hedge of privet +and laurel fencing in the garden; her eyes longed to see +something more than the shrubs before they turned from +that limited prospect. They longed to see a human figure, +of a certain mould and height, pass the hedge and enter +the gate. A human figure she at last saw—nay, two. +Frederick Murgatroyd went by, carrying a pail of water; +Joe Scott followed, dangling on his forefinger the keys of +the mill. They were going to lock up mill and stables for +the night, and then betake themselves home.</p> + +<p>"So must I," thought Caroline, as she half rose and +sighed.</p> + +<p>"This is all folly—heart-breaking folly," she added. "In +the first place, though I should stay till dark there will be +no arrival; because I feel in my heart, Fate has written +it down in to-day's page of her eternal book, that I am not +to have the pleasure I long for. In the second place, if he +stepped in this moment, my presence here would be a +chagrin to him, and the consciousness that it must be so +would turn half my blood to ice. His hand would, perhaps, +be loose and chill if I put mine into it; his eye would be +clouded if I sought its beam. I should look up for that +kindling, something I have seen in past days, when my +face, or my language, or my disposition had at some happy +moment pleased him; I should discover only darkness. +I had better go home."</p> + +<p>She took her bonnet from the table where it lay, and +was just fastening the ribbon, when Hortense, directing +her attention to a splendid bouquet of flowers in a glass +on the same table, mentioned that Miss Keeldar had sent +them that morning from Fieldhead; and went on to comment +on the guests that lady was at present entertaining, +on the bustling life she had lately been leading; adding +divers conjectures that she did not very well like it, and +much wonderment that a person who was so fond of her +own way as the heiress did not find some means of sooner +getting rid of this <em>cortége</em> of relatives.</p> + +<p>"But they say she actually will not let Mr. Sympson +and his family go," she added. "They wanted much to +return to the south last week, to be ready for the reception +of the only son, who is expected home from a tour. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>360<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +insists that her cousin Henry shall come and join his friends +here in Yorkshire. I dare say she partly does it to oblige +Robert and myself."</p> + +<p>"How to oblige Robert and you?" inquired Caroline.</p> + +<p>"Why, my child, you are dull. Don't you know—you +must often have heard——"</p> + +<p>"Please, ma'am," said Sarah, opening the door, "the +preserves that you told me to boil in treacle—the congfiters, +as you call them—is all burnt to the pan."</p> + +<p>"Les confitures! Elles sont brûlées? Ah, quelle négligence +coupable! Coquine de cuisinière, fille insupportable!"</p> + +<p>And mademoiselle, hastily taking from a drawer a large +linen apron, and tying it over her black apron, rushed +<em>éperdue</em> into the kitchen, whence, to speak truth, exhaled +an odour of calcined sweets rather strong than savoury.</p> + +<p>The mistress and maid had been in full feud the whole +day, on the subject of preserving certain black cherries, +hard as marbles, sour as sloes. Sarah held that sugar was +the only orthodox condiment to be used in that process; +mademoiselle maintained—and proved it by the practice +and experience of her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother—that +treacle, "mélasse," was infinitely preferable. +She had committed an imprudence in leaving +Sarah in charge of the preserving-pan, for her want of +sympathy in the nature of its contents had induced a degree +of carelessness in watching their confection, whereof the +result was—dark and cindery ruin. Hubbub followed; +high upbraiding, and sobs rather loud than deep or real.</p> + +<p>Caroline, once more turning to the little mirror, was +shading her ringlets from her cheek to smooth them under +her cottage bonnet, certain that it would not only be useless +but unpleasant to stay longer, when, on the sudden opening +of the back-door, there fell an abrupt calm in the kitchen. +The tongues were checked, pulled up as with bit and bridle. +"Was it—was it—Robert?" He often—almost always—entered +by the kitchen way on his return from market. +No; it was only Joe Scott, who, having hemmed significantly +thrice—every hem being meant as a lofty rebuke +to the squabbling womankind—said, "Now, I thowt I +heerd a crack?"</p> + +<p>None answered.</p> + +<p>"And," he continued pragmatically, "as t' maister's +comed, and as he'll enter through this hoyle, I <em>con</em>sidered +it desirable to step in and let ye know. A household o'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>361<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +women is nivver fit to be comed on wi'out warning. Here +he is.—Walk forrard, sir. They war playing up queerly, +but I think I've quietened 'em."</p> + +<p>Another person, it was now audible, entered. Joe Scott +proceeded with his rebukes.</p> + +<p>"What d'ye mean by being all i' darkness? Sarah, +thou quean, canst t' not light a candle? It war sundown +an hour syne. He'll brak his shins agean some o' yer pots, +and tables, and stuff.—Tak tent o' this baking-bowl, sir; +they've set it i' yer way, fair as if they did it i' malice."</p> + +<p>To Joe's observations succeeded a confused sort of pause, +which Caroline, though she was listening with both her ears, +could not understand. It was very brief. A cry broke it—a +sound of surprise, followed by the sound of a kiss; +ejaculations, but half articulate, succeeded.</p> + +<p>"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Est-ce que je m'y attendais?" +were the words chiefly to be distinguished.</p> + +<p>"Et tu te portes toujours bien, bonne sœur?" inquired +another voice—Robert's, certainly.</p> + +<p>Caroline was puzzled. Obeying an impulse the wisdom +of which she had not time to question, she escaped from +the little parlour, by way of leaving the coast clear, and +running upstairs took up a position at the head of the +banisters, whence she could make further observations ere +presenting herself. It was considerably past sunset now; +dusk filled the passage, yet not such deep dusk but that +she could presently see Robert and Hortense traverse it.</p> + +<p>"Caroline! Caroline!" called Hortense, a moment afterwards, +"venez voir mon frère!"</p> + +<p>"Strange," commented Miss Helstone, "passing strange! +What does this unwonted excitement about such an every-day +occurrence as a return from market portend? She has +not lost her senses, has she? Surely the burnt treacle has +not crazed her?"</p> + +<p>She descended in a subdued flutter. Yet more was she +fluttered when Hortense seized her hand at the parlour door, +and leading her to Robert, who stood in bodily presence, +tall and dark against the one window, presented her with +a mixture of agitation and formality, as though they had +been utter strangers, and this was their first mutual introduction.</p> + +<p>Increasing puzzle! He bowed rather awkwardly, and +turning from her with a stranger's embarrassment, he met +the doubtful light from the window. It fell on his face,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>362<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and the enigma of the dream (a dream it seemed) was at +its height. She saw a visage like and unlike—Robert, and +no Robert.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" said Caroline. "Is my sight +wrong? Is it my cousin?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly it is your cousin," asserted Hortense.</p> + +<p>Then who was this now coming through the passage—now +entering the room? Caroline, looking round, met a +new Robert—the real Robert, as she felt at once.</p> + +<p>"Well," said he, smiling at her questioning, astonished +face, "which is which?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, this is <em>you</em>!" was the answer.</p> + +<p>He laughed. "I believe it is <em>me</em>. And do you know +who <em>he</em> is? You never saw him before, but you have +heard of him."</p> + +<p>She had gathered her senses now.</p> + +<p>"It <em>can</em> be only one person—your brother, since it is +so like you; my other cousin, Louis."</p> + +<p>"Clever little Œdipus! you would have baffled the +Sphinx! But now, see us together.—Change places; change +again, to confuse her, Louis.—Which is the old love now, +Lina?"</p> + +<p>"As if it were possible to make a mistake when you +speak! You should have told Hortense to ask. But you +are not so much alike. It is only your height, your figure, +and complexion that are so similar."</p> + +<p>"And I am Robert, am I not?" asked the newcomer, +making a first effort to overcome what seemed his natural +shyness.</p> + +<p>Caroline shook her head gently. A soft, expressive ray +from her eye beamed on the real Robert. It said much.</p> + +<p>She was not permitted to quit her cousins soon. Robert +himself was peremptory in obliging her to remain. Glad, +simple, and affable in her demeanour (glad for this night, +at least), in light, bright spirits for the time, she was too +pleasant an addition to the cottage circle to be willingly +parted with by any of them. Louis seemed naturally rather +a grave, still, retiring man; but the Caroline of this evening, +which was not (as you know, reader) the Caroline of +every day, thawed his reserve, and cheered his gravity +soon. He sat near her and talked to her. She already +knew his vocation was that of tuition. She learned now he +had for some years been the tutor of Mr. Sympson's son; +that he had been travelling with him, and had accompanied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>363<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +him to the north. She inquired if he liked his post, but +got a look in reply which did not invite or license further +question. The look woke Caroline's ready sympathy. She +thought it a very sad expression to pass over so sensible a +face as Louis's; for he <em>had</em> a sensible face, though not handsome, +she considered, when seen near Robert's. She turned +to make the comparison. Robert was leaning against the +wall, a little behind her, turning over the leaves of a book +of engravings, and probably listening, at the same time, +to the dialogue between her and Louis.</p> + +<p>"How could I think them alike?" she asked herself. +"I see now it is Hortense Louis resembles, not Robert."</p> + +<p>And this was in part true. He had the shorter nose and +longer upper lip of his sister rather than the fine traits of +his brother. He had her mould of mouth and chin—all +less decisive, accurate, and clear than those of the young +mill-owner. His air, though deliberate and reflective, could +scarcely be called prompt and acute. You felt, in sitting +near and looking up at him, that a slower and probably a +more benignant nature than that of the elder Moore shed +calm on your impressions.</p> + +<p>Robert—perhaps aware that Caroline's glance had wandered +towards and dwelt upon him, though he had neither +met nor answered it—put down the book of engravings, +and approaching, took a seat at her side. She resumed +her conversation with Louis, but while she talked to him +her thoughts were elsewhere. Her heart beat on the side +from which her face was half averted. She acknowledged +a steady, manly, kindly air in Louis; but she bent before +the secret power of Robert. To be so near him—though +he was silent, though he did not touch so much as her scarf-fringe +or the white hem of her dress—affected her like a +spell. Had she been obliged to speak to him <em>only</em>, it would +have quelled, but, at liberty to address another, it excited +her. Her discourse flowed freely; it was gay, playful, +eloquent. The indulgent look and placid manner of her +auditor encouraged her to ease; the sober pleasure expressed +by his smile drew out all that was brilliant in her nature. +She felt that this evening she appeared to advantage, and +as Robert was a spectator, the consciousness contented her. +Had he been called away, collapse would at once have succeeded +stimulus.</p> + +<p>But her enjoyment was not long to shine full-orbed; a +cloud soon crossed it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>364<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Hortense, who for some time had been on the move +ordering supper, and was now clearing the little table of +some books, etc., to make room for the tray, called Robert's +attention to the glass of flowers, the carmine and snow and +gold of whose petals looked radiant indeed by candlelight.</p> + +<p>"They came from Fieldhead," she said, "intended as a +gift to you, no doubt. We know who is the favourite +there; not I, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>It was a wonder to hear Hortense jest—a sign that her +spirits were at high-water mark indeed.</p> + +<p>"We are to understand, then, that Robert is the favourite?" +observed Louis.</p> + +<p>"Mon cher," replied Hortense, "Robert—c'est tout ce +qu'il y a de plus précieux au monde; à côté de lui le reste +du genre humain n'est que du rebut.—N'ai-je pas raison, +mon enfant?" she added, appealing to Caroline.</p> + +<p>Caroline was obliged to reply, "Yes," and her beacon +was quenched. Her star withdrew as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Et toi, Robert?" inquired Louis.</p> + +<p>"When you shall have an opportunity, ask herself," was +the quiet answer. Whether he reddened or paled Caroline +did not examine. She discovered that it was late, and she +must go home. Home she would go; not even Robert +could detain her now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>365<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> future sometimes seems to sob a low warning of the +events it is bringing us, like some gathering though yet +remote storm, which, in tones of the wind, in flushings of +the firmament, in clouds strangely torn, announces a blast +strong to strew the sea with wrecks; or commissioned to +bring in fog the yellow taint of pestilence covering white +Western isles with the poisoned exhalations of the East, +dimming the lattices of English homes with the breath of +Indian plague. At other times this future bursts suddenly, +as if a rock had rent, and in it a grave had opened, whence +issues the body of one that slept. Ere you are aware +you stand face to face with a shrouded and unthought-of +calamity—a new Lazarus.</p> + +<p>Caroline Helstone went home from Hollow's Cottage in +good health, as she imagined. On waking the next morning +she felt oppressed with unwonted languor. At breakfast, +at each meal of the following day, she missed all sense +of appetite. Palatable food was as ashes and sawdust to +her.</p> + +<p>"Am I ill?" she asked, and looked at herself in the +glass. Her eyes were bright, their pupils dilated, her cheeks +seemed rosier, and fuller than usual. "I look well; why +can I not eat?"</p> + +<p>She felt a pulse beat fast in her temples; she felt, too, +her brain in strange activity. Her spirits were raised; +hundreds of busy and broken but brilliant thoughts engaged +her mind. A glow rested on them, such as tinged her +complexion.</p> + +<p>Now followed a hot, parched, thirsty, restless night. +Towards morning one terrible dream seized her like a tiger; +when she woke, she felt and knew she was ill.</p> + +<p>How she had caught the fever (fever it was) she could +not tell. Probably in her late walk home, some sweet, +poisoned breeze, redolent of honey-dew and miasma, had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>366<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +passed into her lungs and veins, and finding there already a +fever of mental excitement, and a languor of long conflict +and habitual sadness, had fanned the spark to flame, and +left a well-lit fire behind it.</p> + +<p>It seemed, however, but a gentle fire. After two hot +days and worried nights, there was no violence in the +symptoms, and neither her uncle, nor Fanny, nor the doctor, +nor Miss Keeldar, when she called, had any fear for her. +A few days would restore her, every one believed.</p> + +<p>The few days passed, and—though it was still thought +it could not long delay—the revival had not begun. Mrs. +Pryor, who had visited her daily—being present in her +chamber one morning when she had been ill a fortnight—watched +her very narrowly for some minutes. She took +her hand and placed her finger on her wrist; then, quietly +leaving the chamber, she went to Mr. Helstone's study. +With him she remained closeted a long time—half the +morning. On returning to her sick young friend, she laid +aside shawl and bonnet. She stood awhile at the bedside, +one hand placed in the other, gently rocking herself to and +fro, in an attitude and with a movement habitual to her. +At last she said, "I have sent Fanny to Fieldhead to fetch +a few things for me, such as I shall want during a short stay +here. It is my wish to remain with you till you are better. +Your uncle kindly permits my attendance. Will it to yourself +be acceptable, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you should take such needless trouble. I +do not feel very ill, but I cannot refuse resolutely. It will +be such comfort to know you are in the house, to see you +sometimes in the room; but don't confine yourself on my +account, dear Mrs. Pryor. Fanny nurses me very well."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor, bending over the pale little sufferer, was now +smoothing the hair under her cap, and gently raising her +pillow. As she performed these offices, Caroline, smiling, +lifted her face to kiss her.</p> + +<p>"Are you free from pain? Are you tolerably at ease?" +was inquired in a low, earnest voice, as the self-elected nurse +yielded to the caress.</p> + +<p>"I think I am almost happy."</p> + +<p>"You wish to drink? Your lips are parched."</p> + +<p>She held a glass filled with some cooling beverage to her +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Have you eaten anything to-day, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot eat."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>367<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"But soon your appetite will return; it <em>must</em> return—that +is, I pray God it may."</p> + +<p>In laying her again on the couch, she encircled her in her +arms; and while so doing, by a movement which seemed +scarcely voluntary, she drew her to her heart, and held her +close gathered an instant.</p> + +<p>"I shall hardly wish to get well, that I may keep you +always," said Caroline.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor did not smile at this speech. Over her features +ran a tremor, which for some minutes she was absorbed +in repressing.</p> + +<p>"You are more used to Fanny than to me," she remarked +ere long. "I should think my attendance must seem +strange, officious?"</p> + +<p>"No; quite natural, and very soothing. You must +have been accustomed to wait on sick people, ma'am. +You move about the room so softly, and you speak so +quietly, and touch me so gently."</p> + +<p>"I am dexterous in nothing, my dear. You will often +find me awkward, but never negligent."</p> + +<p>Negligent, indeed, she was not. From that hour Fanny +and Eliza became ciphers in the sick-room. Mrs. Pryor +made it her domain; she performed all its duties; she lived +in it day and night. The patient remonstrated—faintly, +however, from the first, and not at all ere long. Loneliness +and gloom were now banished from her bedside; protection +and solace sat there instead. She and her nurse coalesced +in wondrous union. Caroline was usually pained to require +or receive much attendance. Mrs. Pryor, under ordinary +circumstances, had neither the habit nor the art of performing +little offices of service; but all now passed with +such ease, so naturally, that the patient was as willing to +be cherished as the nurse was bent on cherishing; no sign +of weariness in the latter ever reminded the former that +she ought to be anxious. There was, in fact, no very hard +duty to perform; but a hireling might have found it hard.</p> + +<p>With all this care it seemed strange the sick girl did not +get well; yet such was the case. She wasted like any +snow-wreath in thaw; she faded like any flower in drought. +Miss Keeldar, on whose thoughts danger or death seldom +intruded, had at first entertained no fears at all for her +friend; but seeing her change and sink from time to time +when she paid her visits, alarm clutched her heart. She +went to Mr. Helstone and expressed herself with so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>368<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +energy that that gentleman was at last obliged, however +unwillingly, to admit the idea that his niece was ill of something +more than a migraine; and when Mrs. Pryor came +and quietly demanded a physician, he said she might send +for two if she liked. One came, but that one was an oracle. +He delivered a dark saying of which the future was to +solve the mystery, wrote some prescriptions, gave some +directions—the whole with an air of crushing authority—pocketed +his fee, and went. Probably he knew well enough +he could do no good, but didn't like to say so.</p> + +<p>Still, no rumour of serious illness got wind in the neighbourhood. +At Hollow's Cottage it was thought that Caroline +had only a severe cold, she having written a note to +Hortense to that effect; and mademoiselle contented herself +with sending two pots of currant jam, a recipe for a +tisane, and a note of advice.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Yorke being told that a physician had been summoned, +sneered at the hypochondriac fancies of the rich +and idle, who, she said, having nothing but themselves to +think about, must needs send for a doctor if only so much +as their little finger ached.</p> + +<p>The "rich and idle," represented in the person of Caroline, +were meantime falling fast into a condition of prostration, +whose quickly consummated debility puzzled all who +witnessed it except one; for that one alone reflected how +liable is the undermined structure to sink in sudden ruin.</p> + +<p>Sick people often have fancies inscrutable to ordinary +attendants, and Caroline had one which even her tender +nurse could not at first explain. On a certain day in the +week, at a certain hour, she would—whether worse or better—entreat +to be taken up and dressed, and suffered to sit +in her chair near the window. This station she would retain +till noon was past. Whatever degree of exhaustion or +debility her wan aspect betrayed, she still softly put off +all persuasion to seek repose until the church clock had +duly tolled midday. The twelve strokes sounded, she grew +docile, and would meekly lie down. Returned to the couch, +she usually buried her face deep in the pillow, and drew the +coverlets close round her, as if to shut out the world and +sun, of which she was tired. More than once, as she thus +lay, a slight convulsion shook the sick-bed, and a faint sob +broke the silence round it. These things were not unnoted +by Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>369<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +rise, and now she sat wrapped in her white dressing-gown, +leaning forward in the easy-chair, gazing steadily and +patiently from the lattice. Mrs. Pryor was seated a little +behind, knitting as it seemed, but, in truth, watching her. +A change crossed her pale, mournful brow, animating its +languor; a light shot into her faded eyes, reviving their +lustre; she half rose and looked earnestly out. Mrs. Pryor, +drawing softly near, glanced over her shoulder. From this +window was visible the churchyard, beyond it the road; +and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman. The +figure was not yet too remote for recognition. Mrs. Pryor +had long sight; she knew Mr. Moore. Just as an intercepting +rising ground concealed him from view, the clock +struck twelve.</p> + +<p>"May I lie down again?" asked Caroline.</p> + +<p>Her nurse assisted her to bed. Having laid her down +and drawn the curtain, she stood listening near. The little +couch trembled, the suppressed sob stirred the air. A contraction +as of anguish altered Mrs. Pryor's features; she +wrung her hands; half a groan escaped her lips. She now +remembered that Tuesday was Whinbury market day. Mr. +Moore must always pass the rectory on his way thither, +just ere noon of that day.</p> + +<p>Caroline wore continually round her neck a slender braid +of silk, attached to which was some trinket. Mrs. Pryor +had seen the bit of gold glisten, but had not yet obtained +a fair view of it. Her patient never parted with it. When +dressed it was hidden in her bosom; as she lay in bed she +always held it in her hand. That Tuesday afternoon the +transient doze—more like lethargy than sleep—which sometimes +abridged the long days, had stolen over her. The +weather was hot. While turning in febrile restlessness, she +had pushed the coverlets a little aside. Mrs. Pryor bent +to replace them. The small, wasted hand, lying nerveless +on the sick girl's breast, clasped as usual her jealously-guarded +treasure. Those fingers whose attenuation it gave +pain to see were now relaxed in sleep. Mrs. Pryor gently +disengaged the braid, drawing out a tiny locket—a slight +thing it was, such as it suited her small purse to purchase. +Under its crystal face appeared a curl of black hair, too +short and crisp to have been severed from a female head.</p> + +<p>Some agitated movement occasioned a twitch of the +silken chain. The sleeper started and woke. Her thoughts +were usually now somewhat scattered on waking, her look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>370<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +generally wandering. Half rising, as if in terror, she exclaimed, +"Don't take it from me, Robert! Don't! It is +my last comfort; let me keep it. I never tell any one +whose hair it is; I never show it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor had already disappeared behind the curtain. +Reclining far back in a deep arm-chair by the bedside, she +was withdrawn from view. Caroline looked abroad into +the chamber; she thought it empty. As her stray ideas +returned slowly, each folding its weak wings on the mind's +sad shore, like birds exhausted, beholding void, and perceiving +silence round her, she believed herself alone. Collected +she was not yet; perhaps healthy self-possession and +self-control were to be hers no more; perhaps that world +the strong and prosperous live in had already rolled from +beneath her feet for ever. So, at least, it often seemed to +herself. In health she had never been accustomed to think +aloud, but now words escaped her lips unawares.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <em>should</em> see him once more before all is over! +Heaven <em>might</em> favour me thus far!" she cried. "God +grant me a little comfort before I die!" was her humble +petition.</p> + +<p>"But he will not know I am ill till I am gone, and he +will come when they have laid me out, and I am senseless, +cold, and stiff.</p> + +<p>"What can my departed soul feel then? Can it see or +know what happens to the clay? Can spirits, through any +medium, communicate with living flesh? Can the dead +at all revisit those they leave? Can they come in the +elements? Will wind, water, fire, lend me a path to Moore?</p> + +<p>"Is it for nothing the wind sounds almost articulately +sometimes—sings as I have lately heard it sing at night—or +passes the casement sobbing, as if for sorrow to come? +Does nothing, then, haunt it, nothing inspire it?</p> + +<p>"Why, it suggested to me words one night; it poured +a strain which I could have written down, only I was appalled, +and dared not rise to seek pencil and paper by the +dim watch-light.</p> + +<p>"What is that electricity they speak of, whose changes +make us well or ill, whose lack or excess blasts, whose even +balance revives? What are all those influences that are +about us in the atmosphere, that keep playing over our +nerves like fingers on stringed instruments, and call forth +now a sweet note, and now a wail—now an exultant swell, +and anon the saddest cadence?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>371<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"<em>Where is</em> the other world? In <em>what</em> will another life +consist? Why do I ask? Have I not cause to think that +the hour is hasting but too fast when the veil must be rent +for me? Do I not know the Grand Mystery is likely to +burst prematurely on me? Great Spirit, in whose goodness +I confide, whom, as my Father, I have petitioned night and +morning from early infancy, help the weak creation of Thy +hands! Sustain me through the ordeal I dread and must +undergo! Give me strength! Give me patience! Give +me—oh, <em>give me</em> <span class="smcap">faith</span>!"</p> + +<p>She fell back on her pillow. Mrs. Pryor found means to +steal quietly from the room. She re-entered it soon after, +apparently as composed as if she had really not overheard +this strange soliloquy.</p> + +<p>The next day several callers came. It had become known +that Miss Helstone was worse. Mr. Hall and his sister +Margaret arrived. Both, after they had been in the sickroom, +quitted it in tears; they had found the patient more +altered than they expected. Hortense Moore came. Caroline +seemed stimulated by her presence. She assured her, +smiling, she was not dangerously ill; she talked to her in +a low voice, but cheerfully. During her stay, excitement +kept up the flush of her complexion; she looked better.</p> + +<p>"How is Mr. Robert?" asked Mrs. Pryor, as Hortense +was preparing to take leave.</p> + +<p>"He was very well when he left."</p> + +<p>"Left! Is he gone from home?"</p> + +<p>It was then explained that some police intelligence about +the rioters of whom he was in pursuit had, that morning, +called him away to Birmingham, and probably a fortnight +might elapse ere he returned.</p> + +<p>"He is not aware that Miss Helstone is very ill?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! He thought, like me, that she had only a bad +cold."</p> + +<p>After this visit, Mrs. Pryor took care not to approach +Caroline's couch for above an hour. She heard her weep, +and dared not look on her tears.</p> + +<p>As evening closed in, she brought her some tea. Caroline, +opening her eyes from a moment's slumber, viewed her +nurse with an unrecognizing glance.</p> + +<p>"I smelt the honeysuckles in the glen this summer morning," +she said, "as I stood at the counting-house window."</p> + +<p>Strange words like these from pallid lips pierce a loving +listener's heart more poignantly than steel. They sound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>372<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +romantic, perhaps, in books; in real life they are harrowing.</p> + +<p>"My darling, do you know me?" said Mrs. Pryor.</p> + +<p>"I went in to call Robert to breakfast. I have been +with him in the garden. He asked me to go. A heavy dew +has refreshed the flowers. The peaches are ripening."</p> + +<p>"My darling! my darling!" again and again repeated +the nurse.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was daylight—long after sunrise. It looks +dark. Is the moon now set?"</p> + +<p>That moon, lately risen, was gazing full and mild upon +her. Floating in deep blue space, it watched her unclouded.</p> + +<p>"Then it is not morning? I am not at the cottage? +Who is this? I see a shape at my bedside."</p> + +<p>"It is myself—it is your friend—your nurse—your—— Lean +your head on my shoulder. Collect yourself." In a +lower tone—"O God, take pity! Give <em>her</em> life, and <em>me</em> +strength! Send me courage! Teach me words!"</p> + +<p>Some minutes passed in silence. The patient lay mute +and passive in the trembling arms, on the throbbing bosom +of the nurse.</p> + +<p>"I am better now," whispered Caroline at last, "much +better. I feel where I am. This is Mrs. Pryor near me. +I was dreaming. I talk when I wake up from dreams; +people often do in illness. How fast your heart beats, +ma'am! Do not be afraid."</p> + +<p>"It is not fear, child—only a little anxiety, which will +pass. I have brought you some tea, Cary. Your uncle +made it himself. You know he says he can make a better +cup of tea than any housewife can. Taste it. He is concerned +to hear that you eat so little; he would be glad +if you had a better appetite."</p> + +<p>"I am thirsty. Let me drink."</p> + +<p>She drank eagerly.</p> + +<p>"What o'clock is it, ma'am?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Past nine."</p> + +<p>"Not later? Oh! I have yet a long night before me. +But the tea has made me strong. I will sit up."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor raised her, and arranged her pillows.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven! I am not always equally miserable, +and ill, and hopeless. The afternoon has been bad since +Hortense went; perhaps the evening may be better. It is +a fine night, I think? The moon shines clear."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>373<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Very fine—a perfect summer night. The old church-tower +gleams white almost as silver."</p> + +<p>"And does the churchyard look peaceful?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and the garden also. Dew glistens on the foliage."</p> + +<p>"Can you see many long weeds and nettles amongst the +graves? or do they look turfy and flowery?"</p> + +<p>"I see closed daisy-heads gleaming like pearls on some +mounds. Thomas has mown down the dock-leaves and +rank grass, and cleared all away."</p> + +<p>"I always like that to be done; it soothes one's mind +to see the place in order. And, I dare say, within the church +just now that moonlight shines as softly as in my room. +It will fall through the east window full on the Helstone +monument. When I close my eyes I seem to see poor +papa's epitaph in black letters on the white marble. There +is plenty of room for other inscriptions underneath."</p> + +<p>"William Farren came to look after your flowers this +morning. He was afraid, now you cannot tend them yourself, +they would be neglected. He has taken two of your +favourite plants home to nurse for you."</p> + +<p>"If I were to make a will, I would leave William all my +plants; Shirley my trinkets—except one, which must not +be taken off my neck; and you, ma'am, my books." After +a pause—"Mrs. Pryor, I feel a longing wish for something."</p> + +<p>"For what, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"You know I always delight to hear you sing. Sing +me a hymn just now. Sing that hymn which begins,—</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">'Our God, our help in ages past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our hope for years to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our shelter from the stormy blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our refuge, haven, home!'"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor at once complied.</p> + +<p>No wonder Caroline liked to hear her sing. Her voice, +even in speaking, was sweet and silver clear; in song it +was almost divine. Neither flute nor dulcimer has tones +so pure. But the tone was secondary, compared to the +expression which trembled through—a tender vibration from +a feeling heart.</p> + +<p>The servants in the kitchen, hearing the strain, stole to +the stair-foot to listen. Even old Helstone, as he walked +in the garden, pondering over the unaccountable and feeble +nature of women, stood still amongst his borders to catch +the mournful melody more distinctly. Why it reminded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>374<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +him of his forgotten dead wife, he could not tell; nor why +it made him more concerned than he had hitherto been for +Caroline's fading girlhood. He was glad to recollect that +he had promised to pay Wynne, the magistrate, a visit that +evening. Low spirits and gloomy thoughts were very much +his aversion. When they attacked him he usually found +means to make them march in double-quick time. The +hymn followed him faintly as he crossed the fields. He +hastened his customary sharp pace, that he might get beyond +its reach.</p> + +<div class="block2"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Thy word commands our flesh to dust,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Return, ye sons of men;'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All nations rose from earth at first,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And turn to earth again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"A thousand ages in Thy sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are like an evening gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short as the watch that ends the night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the rising sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Time, like an ever-rolling stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bears all its sons away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fly, forgotten, as a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dies at the opening day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Like flowery fields, the nations stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fresh in the morning light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers beneath the mower's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lie withering ere 'tis night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Our God, our help in ages past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our hope for years to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be Thou our guard while troubles last—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Father, be our home!"<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p>"Now sing a song—a Scottish song," suggested Caroline, +when the hymn was over—"'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie +Doon.'"</p> + +<p>Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, or essayed to obey. At the +close of the first stanza she stopped. She could get no +further. Her full heart flowed over.</p> + +<p>"You are weeping at the pathos of the air. Come here, +and I will comfort you," said Caroline, in a pitying accent. +Mrs. Pryor came. She sat down on the edge of her patient's +bed, and allowed the wasted arms to encircle her.</p> + +<p>"You often soothe me; let me soothe you," murmured +the young girl, kissing her cheek. "I hope," she added, +"it is not for me you weep?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>375<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>No answer followed.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I shall not get better? I do not feel +<em>very</em> ill—only weak."</p> + +<p>"But your mind, Caroline—your mind is crushed. Your +heart is almost broken; you have been so neglected, so +repulsed, left so desolate."</p> + +<p>"I believe grief is, and always has been, my worst ailment. +I sometimes think if an abundant gush of happiness came +on me I could revive yet."</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to live?"</p> + +<p>"I have no object in life."</p> + +<p>"You love me, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Very much—very truly—inexpressibly sometimes. Just +now I feel as if I could almost grow to your heart."</p> + +<p>"I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor, as +she laid Caroline down.</p> + +<p>Quitting her, she glided to the door, softly turned the key +in the lock, ascertained that it was fast, and came back. +She bent over her. She threw back the curtain to admit the +moonlight more freely. She gazed intently on her face.</p> + +<p>"Then, if you love me," said she, speaking quickly, with +an altered voice; "if you feel as if, to use your own words, +you could 'grow to my heart,' it will be neither shock nor +pain for you to know that <em>that</em> heart is the source whence +yours was filled; that from <em>my</em> veins issued the tide which +flows in <em>yours</em>; that you are <em>mine</em>—my daughter—my own +child."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pryor——"</p> + +<p>"My own child!"</p> + +<p>"That is—that means—you have adopted me?"</p> + +<p>"It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at +least gave you life; that I bore you, nursed you; that I +am your true mother. No other woman can claim the +title; it is <em>mine</em>."</p> + +<p>"But Mrs. James Helstone—but my father's wife, whom +I do not remember ever to have seen, she is my mother?"</p> + +<p>"She <em>is</em> your mother. James Helstone was <em>my</em> husband. +I say you are <em>mine</em>. I have proved it. I thought perhaps +you were all his, which would have been a cruel dispensation +for me. I find it is <em>not</em> so. God permitted me to be the +parent of my child's mind. It belongs to me; it is my +property—my <em>right</em>. These features are James's own. He +had a fine face when he was young, and not altered by error. +Papa, my darling, gave you your blue eyes and soft brown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>376<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +hair; he gave you the oval of your face and the regularity +of your lineaments—the outside <em>he</em> conferred; but the +heart and the brain are <em>mine</em>. The germs are from <em>me</em>, +and they are improved, they are developed to excellence. I +esteem and approve my child as highly as I do most fondly +love her."</p> + +<p>"Is what I hear true? Is it no dream?"</p> + +<p>"I wish it were as true that the substance and colour +of health were restored to your cheek."</p> + +<p>"My own mother! is she one I can be so fond of as I +can of you? People generally did not like her—so I have +been given to understand."</p> + +<p>"They told you that? Well, your mother now tells +you that, not having the gift to please people generally, +for their approbation she does not care. Her thoughts are +centred in her child. Does that child welcome or reject +her?"</p> + +<p>"But if you <em>are</em> my mother, the world is all changed to +me. Surely I can live. I should like to recover——"</p> + +<p>"You <em>must</em> recover. You drew life and strength from +my breast when you were a tiny, fair infant, over whose +blue eyes I used to weep, fearing I beheld in your very +beauty the sign of qualities that had entered my heart like +iron, and pierced through my soul like a sword. Daughter! +we have been long parted; I return now to cherish you +again."</p> + +<p>She held her to her bosom; she cradled her in her arms; +she rocked her softly, as if lulling a young child to sleep.</p> + +<p>"My mother—my own mother!"</p> + +<p>The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent, feeling +the endearment and hearing the appeal, gathered her closer +still. She covered her with noiseless kisses; she murmured +love over her, like a cushat fostering its young.</p> + +<p>There was silence in the room for a long while.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Does my uncle know?"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle knows. I told him when I first came to +stay with you here."</p> + +<p>"Did you recognize me when we first met at Fieldhead?"</p> + +<p>"How could it be otherwise? Mr. and Miss Helstone +being announced, I was prepared to see my child."</p> + +<p>"It was that, then, which moved you. I saw you disturbed."</p> + +<p>"You saw nothing, Caroline; I can cover my feelings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>377<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +You can never tell what an age of strange sensation I +lived, during the two minutes that elapsed between the +report of your name and your entrance. You can never +tell how your look, mien, carriage, shook me."</p> + +<p>"Why? Were you disappointed?"</p> + +<p>"What will she be like? I had asked myself; and +when I saw what you were like, I could have dropped."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, why?"</p> + +<p>"I trembled in your presence. I said, I will never own +her; she shall never know me."</p> + +<p>"But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little +diffident at the thought of an introduction to strangers—that +was all."</p> + +<p>"I soon saw you were diffident. That was the first +thing which reassured me. Had you been rustic, clownish, +awkward, I should have been content."</p> + +<p>"You puzzle me."</p> + +<p>"I had reason to dread a fair outside, to mistrust a +popular bearing, to shudder before distinction, grace, and +courtesy. Beauty and affability had come in my way +when I was recluse, desolate, young, and ignorant—a toil-worn +governess perishing of uncheered labour, breaking +down before her time. These, Caroline, when they smiled +on me, I mistook for angels. I followed them home; and +when into their hands I had given without reserve my whole +chance of future happiness, it was my lot to witness a transfiguration +on the domestic hearth—to see the white mask +lifted, the bright disguise put away, and opposite me sat +down—— O God, I <em>have</em> suffered!"</p> + +<p>She sank on the pillow.</p> + +<p>"I <em>have</em> suffered! None saw—none knew. There was +no sympathy, no redemption, no redress!"</p> + +<p>"Take comfort, mother. It is over now."</p> + +<p>"It is over, and not fruitlessly. I tried to keep the word +of His patience. He kept me in the days of my anguish. +I was afraid with terror—I was troubled. Through great +tribulation He brought me through to a salvation revealed +in this last time. My fear had torment; He has cast it +out. He has given me in its stead perfect love. But, +Caroline——"</p> + +<p>Thus she invoked her daughter after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Mother!"</p> + +<p>"I charge you, when you next look on your father's monument, +to respect the name chiselled there. To you he did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>378<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +only good. On you he conferred his whole treasure of +beauties, nor added to them one dark defect. All <em>you</em> +derived from him is excellent. You owe him gratitude. +Leave, between him and me, the settlement of our mutual +account. Meddle not. God is the arbiter. This world's +laws never came near us—never! They were powerless +as a rotten bulrush to protect me—impotent as idiot babblings +to restrain him! As you said, it is all over now; +the grave lies between us. There he sleeps, in that church. +To his dust I say this night, what I have never said before, +'James, slumber peacefully! See! your terrible debt is +cancelled! Look! I wipe out the long, black account +with my own hand! James, your child atones. This living +likeness of you—this thing with your perfect features—this +one good gift you gave me has nestled affectionately +to my heart, and tenderly called me "mother." Husband, +rest forgiven!'"</p> + +<p>"Dearest mother, that is right! Can papa's spirit hear +us? Is he comforted to know that we still love him?"</p> + +<p>"I said nothing of love. I spoke of forgiveness. Mind +the truth, child; I said nothing of love! On the threshold +of eternity, should he be there to see me enter, will I maintain +that."</p> + +<p>"O mother, you must have suffered!"</p> + +<p>"O child, the human heart <em>can</em> suffer! It can hold +more tears than the ocean holds waters. We never know +how deep, how wide it is, till misery begins to unbind her +clouds, and fill it with rushing blackness."</p> + +<p>"Mother, forget."</p> + +<p>"Forget!" she said, with the strangest spectre of a +laugh. "The north pole will rush to the south, and the +headlands of Europe be locked into the bays of Australia +ere I forget."</p> + +<p>"Hush, mother! Rest! Be at peace!"</p> + +<p>And the child lulled the parent, as the parent had erst +lulled the child. At last Mrs. Pryor wept. She then grew +calmer. She resumed those tender cares agitation had +for a moment suspended. Replacing her daughter on the +couch, she smoothed the pillow and spread the sheet. The +soft hair whose locks were loosened she rearranged, the +damp brow she refreshed with a cool, fragrant essence.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, let them bring a candle, that I may see you; +and tell my uncle to come into this room by-and-by. I +want to hear him say that I am your daughter. And,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>379<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +mamma, take your supper here. Don't leave me for one +minute to-night."</p> + +<p>"O Caroline, it is well you are gentle! You will say +to me, Go, and I shall go; Come, and I shall come; Do +this, and I shall do it. You inherit a certain manner as +well as certain features. It will always be 'mamma' +prefacing a mandate—softly spoken, though, from you, thank +God! Well," she added, under her breath, "he spoke softly +too, once, like a flute breathing tenderness; and then, when +the world was not by to listen, discords that split the nerves +and curdled the blood—sounds to inspire insanity."</p> + +<p>"It seems so natural, mamma, to ask you for this and +that. I shall want nobody but you to be near me, or to +do anything for me. But do not let me be troublesome. +Check me if I encroach."</p> + +<p>"You must not depend on me to check you; you must +keep guard over yourself. I have little moral courage; +the want of it is my bane. It is that which has made me +an unnatural parent—which has kept me apart from my +child during the ten years which have elapsed since my +husband's death left me at liberty to claim her. It was +that which first unnerved my arms and permitted the +infant I might have retained a while longer to be snatched +prematurely from their embrace."</p> + +<p>"How, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I let you go as a babe, because you were pretty, and +I feared your loveliness, deeming it the stamp of perversity. +They sent me your portrait, taken at eight years +old; that portrait confirmed my fears. Had it shown +me a sunburnt little rustic—a heavy, blunt-featured, +commonplace child—I should have hastened to claim you; +but there, under the silver paper, I saw blooming the +delicacy of an aristocratic flower—'little lady' was written +on every trait. I had too recently crawled from under the +yoke of the fine gentleman—escaped galled, crushed, +paralyzed, dying—to dare to encounter his still finer and +most fairy-like representative. My sweet little lady overwhelmed +me with dismay; her air of native elegance froze +my very marrow. In my experience I had not met with +truth, modesty, good principle as the concomitants of beauty. +A form so straight and fine, I argued, must conceal a mind +warped and cruel. I had little faith in the power of education +to rectify such a mind; or rather, I entirely misdoubted +my own ability to influence it. Caroline, I dared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>380<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +not undertake to rear you. I resolved to leave you in your +uncle's hands. Matthewson Helstone I knew, if an austere, +was an upright man. He and all the world thought hardly +of me for my strange, unmotherly resolve, and I deserved +to be misjudged."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, why did you call yourself Mrs. Pryor?"</p> + +<p>"It was a name in my mother's family. I adopted it +that I might live unmolested. My married name recalled +too vividly my married life; I could not bear it. Besides, +threats were uttered of forcing me to return to bondage. +It could not be. Rather a bier for a bed, the grave for a +home. My new name sheltered me. I resumed under its +screen my old <a name="occupation" id="occupation"></a><ins title="was accupation">occupation</ins> of teaching. At first it scarcely +procured me the means of sustaining life; but how savoury +was hunger when I fasted in peace! How safe seemed +the darkness and chill of an unkindled hearth when no +lurid reflection from terror crimsoned its desolation! How +serene was solitude, when I feared not the irruption of +violence and vice!"</p> + +<p>"But, mamma, you have been in this neighbourhood +before. How did it happen that when you reappeared +here with Miss Keeldar you were not recognized?"</p> + +<p>"I only paid a short visit, as a bride, twenty years ago, +and then I was very different to what I am now—slender, +almost as slender as my daughter is at this day. My complexion, +my very features are changed; my hair, my style +of dress—everything is altered. You cannot fancy me a +slim young person, attired in scanty drapery of white +muslin, with bare arms, bracelets and necklace of beads, +and hair disposed in round Grecian curls above my forehead?"</p> + +<p>"You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I +heard the front door open. If it is my uncle coming in, +just ask him to step upstairs, and let me hear his assurance +that I am truly awake and collected, and not dreaming +or delirious."</p> + +<p>The rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs, +and Mrs. Pryor summoned him to his niece's apartment.</p> + +<p>"She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired hastily.</p> + +<p>"I think her better. She is disposed to converse; she +seems stronger."</p> + +<p>"Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room.—"Ha, +Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? +I made it for you just as I like it myself."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>381<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I drank it every drop, uncle. It did me good; it has +made me quite alive. I have a wish for company, so I +begged Mrs. Pryor to call you in."</p> + +<p>The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. +He was willing enough to bestow his company +on his sick niece for ten minutes, since it was her whim to +wish it; but what means to employ for her entertainment +he knew not. He hemmed—he fidgeted.</p> + +<p>"You'll be up in a trice," he observed, by way of saying +something. "The little weakness will soon pass off; and +then you must drink port wine—a pipe, if you can—and +eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, if they are +to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong +as Samson before we're done with you."</p> + +<p>"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the +bed-foot?"</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, +is she, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor smiled.</p> + +<p>"I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, +in a soft, happy voice, "and I want you to tell me whether +it is real or visionary. What lady is that? Give her a +name, uncle."</p> + +<p>"We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am; or better still, +MacTurk. He's less of a humbug. Thomas must saddle +the pony and go for him."</p> + +<p>"No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my +only physician. Now, do you understand, uncle?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to +his forehead, handled his snuff-box, and administered to +himself a portion of the contents. Thus fortified, he +answered briefly, "I see daylight. You've told her then, +ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"And is it <em>true</em>?" demanded Caroline, rising on her +pillow. "Is she <em>really</em> my mother?"</p> + +<p>"You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, +if I answer Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Cry! I'd cry if you said <em>No</em>. It would be terrible +to be disappointed now. But give her a name. How do +you call her?"</p> + +<p>"I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks +young enough to wear much smarter raiment, if she would—I +call her Agnes Helstone. She married my brother +James, and is his widow."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>382<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And my mother?"</p> + +<p>"What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, +Mrs. Pryor, scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive +with acuteness and eagerness." To Caroline—"She had +the trouble of bringing you into the world at any rate. +Mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well, +and repairing the waste of these cheeks.—Heigh-ho! she +used to be plump. What she has done with it all I can't, +for the life of me, divine."</p> + +<p>"If <em>wishing</em> to get well will help me, I shall not be long +sick. This morning I had no reason and no strength to +wish it."</p> + +<p>Fanny here tapped at the door, and said that supper was +ready.</p> + +<p>"Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of +supper—anything you like, from your own plate. That +is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for +you judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above +all, intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the +vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wire-drawn +notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give +her an edible or a wearable—be the same a roc's egg or the +breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and +honey or the leathern girdle about his loins—I can, at least, +understand the demand; but when they pine for they +know not what—sympathy, sentiment, some of these +indefinite abstractions—I can't do it; I don't know it; +I haven't got it.—Madam, accept my arm."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor signified that she should stay with her daughter +that evening. Helstone, accordingly, left them together. +He soon returned, bringing a plate in his own consecrated +hand.</p> + +<p>"This is chicken," he said, "but we'll have partridge to-morrow.—Lift +her up, and put a shawl over her. On my +word, I understand nursing.—Now, here is the very same +little silver fork you used when you first came to the rectory. +That strikes me as being what you may call a happy thought—a +delicate attention. Take it, Cary, and munch away +cleverly."</p> + +<p>Caroline did her best. Her uncle frowned to see that +her powers were so limited. He prophesied, however, great +things for the future; and as she praised the morsel he had +brought, and smiled gratefully in his face, he stooped over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>383<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, rugged +accent, "Good-night, bairnie! God bless thee!"</p> + +<p>Caroline enjoyed such peaceful rest that night, circled +by her mother's arms, and pillowed on her breast, that she +forgot to wish for any other stay; and though more than +one feverish dream came to her in slumber, yet, when she +woke up panting, so happy and contented a feeling returned +with returning consciousness that her agitation was soothed +almost as soon as felt.</p> + +<p>As to the mother, she spent the night like Jacob at Peniel. +Till break of day she wrestled with God in earnest prayer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>384<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE WEST WIND BLOWS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Not</span> always do those who dare such divine conflict prevail. +Night after night the sweat of agony may burst dark on the +forehead; the supplicant may cry for mercy with that +soundless voice the soul utters when its appeal is to the +Invisible. "Spare my beloved," it may implore. "Heal +my life's life. Rend not from me what long affection +entwines with my whole nature. God of heaven, bend, +hear, be clement!" And after this cry and strife the sun +may rise and see him worsted. That opening morn, which +used to salute him with the whisper of zephyrs, the carol +of skylarks, may breathe, as its first accents, from the dear +lips which colour and heat have quitted, "Oh! I have had +a suffering night. This morning I am worse. I have tried +to rise. I cannot. Dreams I am unused to have troubled +me."</p> + +<p>Then the watcher approaches the patient's pillow, and +sees a new and strange moulding of the familiar features, +feels at once that the insufferable moment draws nigh, +knows that it is God's will his idol shall be broken, and +bends his head, and subdues his soul to the sentence he +cannot avert and scarce can bear.</p> + +<p>Happy Mrs. Pryor! She was still praying, unconscious +that the summer sun hung above the hills, when her child +softly woke in her arms. No piteous, unconscious moaning—sound +which so wastes our strength that, even if we have +sworn to be firm, a rush of unconquerable tears sweeps +away the oath—preceded her waking. No space of deaf +apathy followed. The first words spoken were not those of +one becoming estranged from this world, and already +permitted to stray at times into realms foreign to the +living. Caroline evidently remembered with clearness what +had happened.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I have slept <em>so</em> well. I only dreamed and +woke twice."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>385<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Mrs. Pryor rose with a start, that her daughter might not +see the joyful tears called into her eyes by that affectionate +word "mamma," and the welcome assurance that followed +it.</p> + +<p>For many days the mother dared rejoice only with +trembling. That first revival seemed like the flicker of a +dying lamp. If the flame streamed up bright one moment, +the next it sank dim in the socket. Exhaustion followed +close on excitement.</p> + +<p>There was always a touching endeavour to <em>appear</em> better, +but too often ability refused to second will; too often the +attempt to bear up failed. The effort to eat, to talk, to +look cheerful, was unsuccessful. Many an hour passed +during which Mrs. Pryor feared that the chords of life +could never more be strengthened, though the time of their +breaking might be deferred.</p> + +<p>During this space the mother and daughter seemed left +almost alone in the neighbourhood. It was the close of +August; the weather was fine—that is to say, it was very +dry and very dusty, for an arid wind had been blowing +from the east this month past; very cloudless, too, though +a pale haze, stationary in the atmosphere, seemed to rob +of all depth of tone the blue of heaven, of all freshness the +verdure of earth, and of all glow the light of day. Almost +every family in Briarfield was absent on an excursion. +Miss Keeldar and her friends were at the seaside; so were +Mrs. Yorke's household. Mr. Hall and Louis Moore, between +whom a spontaneous intimacy seemed to have arisen—the +result, probably, of harmony of views and temperament—were +gone "up north" on a pedestrian excursion +to the Lakes. Even Hortense, who would fain have stayed +at home and aided Mrs. Pryor in nursing Caroline, had been +so earnestly entreated by Miss Mann to accompany her +once more to Wormwood Wells, in the hope of alleviating +sufferings greatly aggravated by the insalubrious weather, +that she felt obliged to comply; indeed, it was not in her +nature to refuse a request that at once appealed to her +goodness of heart, and, by a confession of dependency, +flattered her <em>amour propre</em>. As for Robert, from Birmingham +he had gone on to London, where he still sojourned.</p> + +<p>So long as the breath of Asiatic deserts parched Caroline's +lips and fevered her veins, her physical convalescence +could not keep pace with her returning mental tranquillity; +but there came a day when the wind ceased to sob at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>386<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +eastern gable of the rectory, and at the oriel window of the +church. A little cloud like a man's hand arose in the west; +gusts from the same quarter drove it on and spread it wide; +wet and tempest prevailed a while. When that was over +the sun broke out genially, heaven regained its azure, and +earth its green; the livid cholera-tint had vanished from +the face of nature; the hills rose clear round the horizon, +absolved from that pale malaria-haze.</p> + +<p>Caroline's youth could now be of some avail to her, and +so could her mother's nurture. Both, crowned by God's +blessing, sent in the pure west wind blowing soft as fresh +through the ever-open chamber lattice, rekindled her long-languishing +energies. At last Mrs. Pryor saw that it was +permitted to hope: a genuine, material convalescence had +commenced. It was not merely Caroline's smile which was +brighter, or her spirits which were cheered, but a certain look +had passed from her face and eye—a look dread and indescribable, +but which will easily be recalled by those who +have watched the couch of dangerous disease. Long before +the emaciated outlines of her aspect began to fill, or its +departed colour to return, a more subtle change took place; +all grew softer and warmer. Instead of a marble mask and +glassy eye, Mrs. Pryor saw laid on the pillow a face pale and +wasted enough, perhaps more haggard than the other +appearance, but less awful; for it was a sick, living girl, +not a mere white mould or rigid piece of statuary.</p> + +<p>Now, too, she was not always petitioning to drink. The +words, "I am <em>so</em> thirsty," ceased to be her plaint. Sometimes, +when she had swallowed a morsel, she would say it +had revived her. All descriptions of food were no longer +equally distasteful; she could be induced, sometimes, to +indicate a preference. With what trembling pleasure and +anxious care did not her nurse prepare what was selected! +How she watched her as she partook of it!</p> + +<p>Nourishment brought strength. She could sit up. Then +she longed to breathe the fresh air, to revisit her flowers, to +see how the fruit had ripened. Her uncle, always liberal, +had bought a garden-chair for her express use. He carried +her down in his own arms, and placed her in it himself, and +William Farren was there to wheel her round the walks, to +show her what he had done amongst her plants, to take her +directions for further work.</p> + +<p>William and she found plenty to talk about. They had +a dozen topics in common—interesting to them, unimportant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>387<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to the rest of the world. They took a similar interest in +animals, birds, insects, and plants; they held similar +doctrines about humanity to the lower creation, and had a +similar turn for minute observation on points of natural +history. The nest and proceedings of some ground-bees, +which had burrowed in the turf under an old cherry-tree, +was one subject of interest; the haunts of certain hedge-sparrows, +and the welfare of certain pearly eggs and callow +fledglings, another.</p> + +<p>Had <em>Chambers's Journal</em> existed in those days, it would +certainly have formed Miss Helstone's and Farren's favourite +periodical. She would have subscribed for it, and to him +each number would duly have been lent; both would have +put implicit faith and found great savour in its marvellous +anecdotes of animal sagacity.</p> + +<p>This is a digression, but it suffices to explain why Caroline +would have no other hand than William's to guide her +chair, and why his society and conversation sufficed to give +interest to her garden-airings.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor, walking near, wondered how her daughter +could be so much at ease with a "man of the people." +<em>She</em> found it impossible to speak to him otherwise than +stiffly. She felt as if a great gulf lay between her caste +and his, and that to cross it or meet him half-way would +be to degrade herself. She gently asked Caroline, "Are you +not afraid, my dear, to converse with that person so unreservedly? +He may presume, and become troublesomely +garrulous."</p> + +<p>"William presume, mamma? You don't know him. +He never presumes. He is altogether too proud and +sensitive to do so. William has very fine feelings."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Pryor smiled sceptically at the naïve notion +of that rough-handed, rough-headed, fustian-clad clown +having "fine feelings."</p> + +<p>Farren, for his part, showed Mrs. Pryor only a very sulky +brow. He knew when he was misjudged, and was apt to +turn unmanageable with such as failed to give him his +due.</p> + +<p>The evening restored Caroline entirely to her mother, +and Mrs. Pryor liked the evening; for then, alone with +her daughter, no human shadow came between her and +what she loved. During the day she would have her stiff +demeanour and cool moments, as was her wont. Between +her and Mr. Helstone a very respectful but most rigidly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>388<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +ceremonious intercourse was kept up. Anything like +familiarity would have bred contempt at once in one or +both these personages; but by dint of strict civility and +well-maintained distance they got on very smoothly.</p> + +<p>Towards the servants Mrs. Pryor's bearing was not uncourteous, +but shy, freezing, ungenial. Perhaps it was +diffidence rather than pride which made her appear so +haughty; but, as was to be expected, Fanny and Eliza +failed to make the distinction, and she was unpopular with +them accordingly. She felt the effect produced; it rendered +her at times dissatisfied with herself for faults she could +not help, and with all else dejected, chill, and taciturn.</p> + +<p>This mood changed to Caroline's influence, and to that +influence alone. The dependent fondness of her nursling, +the natural affection of her child, came over her suavely. +Her frost fell away, her rigidity unbent; she grew smiling +and pliant. Not that Caroline made any wordy profession +of love—that would ill have suited Mrs. Pryor; she would +have read therein the proof of insincerity—but she hung on +her with easy dependence; she confided in her with fearless +reliance. These things contented the mother's heart.</p> + +<p>She liked to hear her daughter say, "Mamma, do this;" +"Please, mamma, fetch me that;" "Mamma, read to me;" +"Sing a little, mamma."</p> + +<p>Nobody else—not one living thing—had ever so claimed +her services, so looked for help at her hand. Other people +were always more or less reserved and stiff with her, as +she was reserved and stiff with them; other people betrayed +consciousness of and annoyance at her weak points. +Caroline no more showed such wounding sagacity or reproachful +sensitiveness now than she had done when a +suckling of three months old.</p> + +<p>Yet Caroline could find fault. Blind to the constitutional +defects that were incurable, she had her eyes wide +open to the acquired habits that were susceptible of remedy. +On certain points she would quite artlessly lecture her +parent; and that parent, instead of being hurt, felt a +sensation of pleasure in discovering that the girl <em>dared</em> +lecture her, that she was so much at home with her.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I am determined you shall not wear that old +gown any more. Its fashion is not becoming; it is too +strait in the skirt. You shall put on your black silk every +afternoon. In that you look nice; it suits you. And you +shall have a black satin dress for Sundays—a real satin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>389<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +not a satinet or any of the shams. And, mamma, when +you get the new one, mind you must wear it."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I thought of the black silk serving me as a +best dress for many years yet, and I wished to buy you +several things."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, mamma. My uncle gives me cash to get +what I want. You know he is generous enough; and I +have set my heart on seeing you in a black satin. Get it +soon, and let it be made by a dressmaker of my recommending. +Let me choose the pattern. You always want +to disguise yourself like a grandmother. You would persuade +one that you are old and ugly. Not at all! On +the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful you are very +comely indeed; your smile is so pleasant, your teeth are +so white, your hair is still such a pretty light colour. And +then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine +tone, and you sing better than any young lady I ever heard. +Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such +as nobody else ever wears?"</p> + +<p>"Does it annoy you, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"Very much; it vexes me even. People say you are +miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the +poor and to religious societies—though your gifts are +conveyed so secretly and quietly that they are known to +few except the receivers. But I will be your lady's-maid +myself. When I get a little stronger I will set to work, +and you must be good, mamma, and do as I bid you."</p> + +<p>And Caroline, sitting near her mother, rearranged her +muslin handkerchief and resmoothed her hair.</p> + +<p>"My own mamma," then she went on, as if pleasing +herself with the thought of their relationship, "who belongs +to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now. I +have something I can love well, and not be afraid of loving. +Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Let me unpin +it and look at it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers +and near approach, allowed the license complacently.</p> + +<p>"Did papa give you this, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"My sister gave it me—my only sister, Cary. Would +that your Aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!"</p> + +<p>"Have you nothing of papa's—no trinket, no gift of +his?"</p> + +<p>"I have one thing."</p> + +<p>"That you prize?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>390<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"That I prize."</p> + +<p>"Valuable and pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Invaluable and sweet to me."</p> + +<p>"Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?"</p> + +<p>"It is talking to me now, leaning on me. Its arms are +round me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, mamma, you mean your teasing daughter, who +will never let you alone; who, when you go into your +room, cannot help running to seek for you; who follows +you upstairs and down, like a dog."</p> + +<p>"Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. +I half fear your fair looks yet, child."</p> + +<p>"You don't; you can't. Mamma, I am sorry papa was +not good. I do so wish he had been. Wickedness spoils and +poisons all pleasant things. It kills love. If you and I +thought each other wicked, we could not love each other, +could we?"</p> + +<p>"And if we could not trust each other, Cary?"</p> + +<p>"How miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew +you I had an apprehension that you were not good—that +I could not esteem you. That dread damped my wish to +see you. And now my heart is elate because I find you +perfect—almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is +that you are old-fashioned, and of that I shall cure you. +Mamma, put your work down; read to me. I like your +southern accent; it is so pure, so soft. It has no rugged +burr, no nasal twang, such as almost every one's voice here +in the north has. My uncle and Mr. Hall say that you are +a fine reader, mamma. Mr. Hall said he never heard any +lady read with such propriety of expression or purity of +accent."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could reciprocate the compliment, Cary; but, +really, the first time I heard your truly excellent friend read +and preach I could not understand his broad northern +tongue."</p> + +<p>"Could you understand me, mamma? Did I seem to +speak roughly?"</p> + +<p>"No. I almost wished you had, as I wished you had +looked unpolished. Your father, Caroline, naturally spoke +well, quite otherwise than your worthy uncle—correctly, +gently, smoothly. You inherit the gift."</p> + +<p>"Poor papa! When he was so agreeable, why was he +not good?"</p> + +<p>"Why he was <em>as</em> he was—and happily of that you, child,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>391<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +can form no conception—I cannot tell. It is a deep mystery. +The key is in the hands of his Maker. There I leave it."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you will keep stitching, stitching away. Put +down the sewing; I am an enemy to it. It cumbers your +lap, and I want it for my head; it engages your eyes, and +I want them for a book. Here is your favourite—Cowper."</p> + +<p>These importunities were the mother's pleasure. If ever +she delayed compliance, it was only to hear them repeated, +and to enjoy her child's soft, half-playful, half-petulant +urgency. And then, when she yielded, Caroline would say +archly, "You will spoil me, mamma. I always thought +I should like to be spoiled, and I find it very sweet." So +did Mrs. Pryor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>392<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>OLD COPY-BOOKS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">By</span> the time the Fieldhead party returned to Briarfield +Caroline was nearly well. Miss Keeldar, who had received +news by post of her friend's convalescence, hardly suffered +an hour to elapse between her arrival at home and her +first call at the rectory.</p> + +<p>A shower of rain was falling gently, yet fast, on the late +flowers and russet autumn shrubs, when the garden wicket +was heard to swing open, and Shirley's well-known form +passed the window. On her entrance her feelings were +evinced in her own peculiar fashion. When deeply moved +by serious fears or joys she was not garrulous. The strong +emotion was rarely suffered to influence her tongue, and +even her eye refused it more than a furtive and fitful conquest. +She took Caroline in her arms, gave her one look, +one kiss, then said, "You are better."</p> + +<p>And a minute after, "I see you are safe now; but take +care. God grant your health may be called on to sustain +no more shocks!"</p> + +<p>She proceeded to talk fluently about the journey. In +the midst of vivacious discourse her eye still wandered to +Caroline. There spoke in its light a deep solicitude, some +trouble, and some amaze.</p> + +<p>"She may be better," it said, "but how weak she still +is! What peril she has come through!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly her glance reverted to Mrs. Pryor. It pierced +her through.</p> + +<p>"When will my governess return to me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"May I tell her all?" demanded Caroline of her mother. +Leave being signified by a gesture, Shirley was presently +enlightened on what had happened in her absence.</p> + +<p>"Very good," was the cool comment—"very good! +But it is no news to me."</p> + +<p>"What! did you know?"</p> + +<p>"I guessed long since the whole business. I have heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>393<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +somewhat of Mrs. Pryor's history—not from herself, but +from others. With every detail of Mr. James Helstone's +career and character I was acquainted. An afternoon's +sitting and conversation with Miss Mann had rendered me +familiar therewith; also he is one of Mrs. Yorke's warning +examples—one of the blood-red lights she hangs out to +scare young ladies from matrimony. I believe I should have +been sceptical about the truth of the portrait traced by such +fingers—both these ladies take a dark pleasure in offering +to view the dark side of life—but I questioned Mr. Yorke +on the subject, and he said, <a name="quote" id="quote"></a><ins title="was double quote">'Shirley</ins>, my woman, if you +want to know aught about yond' James Helstone, I can +only say he was a man-tiger. He was handsome, dissolute, +soft, treacherous, courteous, cruel——' Don't cry, Cary; +we'll say no more about it."</p> + +<p>"I am not crying, Shirley; or if I am, it is nothing. +Go on; you are no friend if you withhold from me the +truth. I hate that false plan of disguising, mutilating the +truth."</p> + +<p>"Fortunately I have said pretty nearly all that I have +to say, except that your uncle himself confirmed Mr. Yorke's +words; for he too scorns a lie, and deals in none of those +conventional subterfuges that are shabbier than lies."</p> + +<p>"But papa is dead; they should let him alone now."</p> + +<p>"They should; and we <em>will</em> let him alone. Cry away, +Cary; it will do you good. It is wrong to check natural +tears. Besides, I choose to please myself by sharing an +idea that at this moment beams in your mother's eye while +she looks at you. Every drop blots out a sin. Weep! +your tears have the virtue which the rivers of Damascus +lacked. Like Jordan, they can cleanse a leprous memory."</p> + +<p>"Madam," she continued, addressing Mrs. Pryor, "did +you think I could be daily in the habit of seeing you and +your daughter together—marking your marvellous similarity +in many points, observing (pardon me) your irrepressible +emotions in the presence and still more in the absence of +your child—and not form my own conjectures? I formed +them, and they are literally correct. I shall begin to think +myself shrewd."</p> + +<p>"And you said nothing?" observed Caroline, who soon +regained the quiet control of her feelings.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I had no warrant to breathe a word on the +subject. <em>My</em> business it was not; I abstained from making +it such."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>394<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You guessed so deep a secret, and did not hint that +you guessed it?"</p> + +<p>"Is that so difficult?"</p> + +<p>"It is not like you."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"You are not reserved; you are frankly communicative."</p> + +<p>"I may be communicative, yet know where to stop. +In showing my treasure I may withhold a gem or two—a +curious, unbought graven stone—an amulet of whose mystic +glitter I rarely permit even myself a glimpse. Good-day."</p> + +<p>Caroline thus seemed to get a view of Shirley's character +under a novel aspect. Ere long the prospect was renewed; +it opened upon her.</p> + +<p>No sooner had she regained sufficient strength to bear a +change of scene—the excitement of a little society—than +Miss Keeldar sued daily for her presence at Fieldhead. +Whether Shirley had become wearied of her honoured relatives +is not known. She did not say she was; but she +claimed and retained Caroline with an eagerness which +proved that an addition to that worshipful company was +not unwelcome.</p> + +<p>The Sympsons were church people. Of course the rector's +niece was received by them with courtesy. Mr. Sympson +proved to be a man of spotless respectability, worrying +temper, pious principles, and worldly views; his lady was +a very good woman—patient, kind, well-bred. She had +been brought up on a narrow system of views, starved on +a few prejudices—a mere handful of bitter herbs; a few +preferences, soaked till their natural flavour was extracted, +and with no seasoning added in the cooking; some excellent +principles, made up in a stiff raised crust of bigotry difficult +to digest. Far too submissive was she to complain of this +diet or to ask for a crumb beyond it.</p> + +<p>The daughters were an example to their sex. They were +tall, with a Roman nose apiece. They had been educated +faultlessly. All they did was well done. History and the +most solid books had cultivated their minds. Principles +and opinions they possessed which could not be mended. +More exactly-regulated lives, feelings, manners, habits, it +would have been difficult to find anywhere. They knew by +heart a certain young-ladies'-schoolroom code of laws on +language, demeanour, etc.; themselves never deviated from +its curious little pragmatical provisions, and they regarded +with secret whispered horror all deviations in others. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>395<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Abomination of Desolation was no mystery to them; they +had discovered that unutterable Thing in the characteristic +others call Originality. Quick were they to recognize the +signs of this evil; and wherever they saw its trace—whether +in look, word, or deed; whether they read it in the fresh, +vigorous style of a book, or listened to it in interesting, +unhackneyed, pure, expressive language—they shuddered, +they recoiled. Danger was above their heads, peril about +their steps. What was this strange thing? Being unintelligible +it must be bad. Let it be denounced and +chained up.</p> + +<p>Henry Sympson, the only son and youngest child of +the family, was a boy of fifteen. He generally kept with +his tutor. When he left him, he sought his cousin Shirley. +This boy differed from his sisters. He was little, lame, +and pale; his large eyes shone somewhat languidly in a wan +orbit. They were, indeed, usually rather dim, but they +were capable of illumination. At times they could not +only shine, but blaze. Inward emotion could likewise give +colour to his cheek and decision to his crippled movements. +Henry's mother loved him; she thought his peculiarities +were a mark of election. He was not like other children, +she allowed. She believed him regenerate—a new Samuel—called +of God from his birth. He was to be a clergyman. +Mr. and the Misses Sympson, not understanding the youth, +let him much alone. Shirley made him her pet, and he +made Shirley his playmate.</p> + +<p>In the midst of this family circle, or rather outside it, +moved the tutor—the satellite.</p> + +<p>Yes, Louis Moore was a satellite of the house of Sympson—connected, +yet apart; ever attendant, ever distant. Each +member of that correct family treated him with proper +dignity. The father was austerely civil, sometimes irritable; +the mother, being a kind woman, was attentive, but +formal; the daughters saw in him an abstraction, not a +man. It seemed, by their manner, that their brother's +tutor did not live for them. They were learned; so was +he—but not for them. They were accomplished; he had +talents too, imperceptible to their senses. The most spirited +sketch from his fingers was a blank to their eyes; the most +original observation from his lips fell unheard on their ears. +Nothing could exceed the propriety of their behaviour.</p> + +<p>I should have said nothing could have equalled it; but +I remember a fact which strangely astonished Caroline<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>396<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Helstone. It was—to discover that her cousin had absolutely +<em>no</em> sympathizing friend at Fieldhead; that to Miss +Keeldar he was as much a mere teacher, as little a gentleman, +as little a man, as to the estimable Misses Sympson.</p> + +<p>What had befallen the kind-hearted Shirley that she +should be so indifferent to the dreary position of a fellow-creature +thus isolated under her roof? She was not, perhaps, +haughty to him, but she never noticed him—she let +him alone. He came and went, spoke or was silent, and +she rarely recognized his existence.</p> + +<p>As to Louis Moore himself, he had the air of a man used +to this life, and who had made up his mind to bear it for a +time. His faculties seemed walled up in him, and were +unmurmuring in their captivity. He never laughed; he +seldom smiled; he was uncomplaining. He fulfilled the +round of his duties scrupulously. His pupil loved him; he +asked nothing more than civility from the rest of the world. +It even appeared that he would accept nothing more—in +that abode at least; for when his cousin Caroline made +gentle overtures of friendship, he did not encourage them—he +rather avoided than sought her. One living thing alone, +besides his pale, crippled scholar, he fondled in the house, +and that was the ruffianly Tartar, who, sullen and impracticable +to others, acquired a singular partiality for him—a +partiality so marked that sometimes, when Moore, +summoned to a meal, entered the room and sat down unwelcomed, +Tartar would rise from his lair at Shirley's feet +and betake himself to the taciturn tutor. Once—but once—she +noticed the desertion, and holding out her white hand, +and speaking softly, tried to coax him back. Tartar looked, +slavered, and sighed, as his manner was, but yet disregarded +the invitation, and coolly settled himself on his haunches +at Louis Moore's side. That gentleman drew the dog's +big, black-muzzled head on to his knee, patted him, and +smiled one little smile to himself.</p> + +<p>An acute observer might have remarked, in the course +of the same evening, that after Tartar had resumed his +allegiance to Shirley, and was once more couched near her +footstool, the audacious tutor by one word and gesture +fascinated him again. He pricked up his ears at the word; +he started erect at the gesture, and came, with head lovingly +depressed, to receive the expected caress. As it was given, +the significant smile again rippled across Moore's quiet face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>397<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p><hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Shirley," said Caroline one day, as they two were sitting +alone in the summer-house, "did you know that my +cousin Louis was tutor in your uncle's family before the +Sympsons came down here?"</p> + +<p>Shirley's reply was not so prompt as her responses usually +were, but at last she answered, "Yes—of course; I knew +it well."</p> + +<p>"I thought you must have been aware of the circumstance."</p> + +<p>"Well! what then?"</p> + +<p>"It puzzles me to guess how it chanced that you never +mentioned it to me."</p> + +<p>"Why should it puzzle you?"</p> + +<p>"It seems odd. I cannot account for it. You talk a +great deal—you talk freely. How was that circumstance +never touched on?"</p> + +<p>"Because it never was," and Shirley laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are a singular being!" observed her friend. "I +thought I knew you quite well; I begin to find myself +mistaken. You were silent as the grave about Mrs. Pryor, +and now again here is another secret. But why you made +it a secret is the mystery to me."</p> + +<p>"I never made it a secret; I had no reason for so doing. +If you had asked me who Henry's tutor was, I would have +told you. Besides, I thought you knew."</p> + +<p>"I am puzzled about more things than one in this matter. +You don't like poor Louis. Why? Are you impatient at +what you perhaps consider his <em>servile</em> position? Do you +wish that Robert's brother were more highly placed?"</p> + +<p>"Robert's brother, indeed!" was the exclamation, uttered +in a tone like the accents of scorn; and with a movement +of proud impatience Shirley snatched a rose from a branch +peeping through the open lattice.</p> + +<p>"Yes," repeated Caroline, with mild firmness, "Robert's +brother. He <em>is</em> thus closely related to Gérard Moore of +the Hollow, though nature has not given him features so +handsome or an air so noble as his kinsman; but his +blood is as good, and he is as much a gentleman were he +free."</p> + +<p>"Wise, humble, pious Caroline!" exclaimed Shirley ironically. +"Men and angels, hear her! We should not despise +plain features, nor a laborious yet honest occupation, should +we? Look at the subject of your panegyric. He is there +in the garden," she continued, pointing through an aperture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>398<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +in the clustering creepers; and by that aperture Louis +Moore was visible, coming slowly down the walk.</p> + +<p>"He is not ugly, Shirley," pleaded Caroline; "he is not +ignoble. He is sad; silence seals his mind. But I believe +him to be intelligent; and be certain, if he had not something +very commendable in his disposition, Mr. Hall would +never seek his society as he does."</p> + +<p>Shirley laughed; she laughed again, each time with a +slightly sarcastic sound. "Well, well," was her comment. +"On the plea of the man being Cyril Hall's friend and Robert +Moore's brother, we'll just tolerate his existence; won't +we, Cary? You believe him to be intelligent, do you? +Not quite an idiot—eh? Something commendable in his +disposition!—<em>id est</em>, not an absolute ruffian. Good! Your +representations have weight with me; and to prove that +they have, should he come this way I will speak to him."</p> + +<p>He approached the summer-house. Unconscious that it +was tenanted, he sat down on the step. Tartar, now his +customary companion, had followed him, and he couched +across his feet.</p> + +<p>"Old boy!" said Louis, pulling his tawny ear, or rather +the mutilated remains of that organ, torn and chewed in +a hundred battles, "the autumn sun shines as pleasantly +on us as on the fairest and richest. This garden is none of +ours, but we enjoy its greenness and perfume, don't we?"</p> + +<p>He sat silent, still caressing Tartar, who slobbered with +exceeding affection. A faint twittering commenced among +the trees round. Something fluttered down as light as leaves. +They were little birds, which, lighting on the sward at shy +distance, hopped as if expectant.</p> + +<p>"The small brown elves actually remember that I fed +them the other day," again soliloquized Louis. "They +want some more biscuit. To-day I forgot to save a fragment. +Eager little sprites, I have not a crumb for you."</p> + +<p>He put his hand in his pocket and drew it out empty.</p> + +<p>"A want easily supplied," whispered the listening Miss +Keeldar.</p> + +<p>She took from her reticule a morsel of sweet-cake; for +that repository was never destitute of something available +to throw to the chickens, young ducks, or sparrows. She +crumbled it, and bending over his shoulder, put the crumbs +into his hand.</p> + +<p>"There," said she—"there is a providence for the improvident."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>399<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"This September afternoon is pleasant," observed Louis +Moore, as, not at all discomposed, he calmly cast the crumbs +on to the grass.</p> + +<p>"Even for you?"</p> + +<p>"As pleasant for me as for any monarch."</p> + +<p>"You take a sort of harsh, solitary triumph in drawing +pleasure out of the elements and the inanimate and lower +animate creation."</p> + +<p>"Solitary, but not harsh. With animals I feel I am +Adam's son, the heir of him to whom dominion was given +over 'every living thing that moveth upon the earth.' +Your dog likes and follows me. When I go into that yard, +the pigeons from your dovecot flutter at my feet. Your +mare in the stable knows me as well as it knows you, and +obeys me better."</p> + +<p>"And my roses smell sweet to you, and my trees give +you shade."</p> + +<p>"And," continued Louis, "no caprice can withdraw +these pleasures from me; they are <em>mine</em>."</p> + +<p>He walked off. Tartar followed him, as if in duty and +affection bound, and Shirley remained standing on the +summer-house step. Caroline saw her face as she looked +after the rude tutor. It was pale, as if her pride bled +inwardly.</p> + +<p>"You see," remarked Caroline apologetically, "his feelings +are so often hurt it makes him morose."</p> + +<p>"You see," retorted Shirley, with ire, "he is a topic +on which you and I shall quarrel if we discuss it often; +so drop it henceforward and for ever."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has more than once behaved in this way," +thought Caroline to herself, "and that renders Shirley so +distant to him. Yet I wonder she cannot make allowance +for character and circumstances. I wonder the general +modesty, manliness, sincerity of his nature do not plead +with her in his behalf. She is not often so inconsiderate, so +irritable."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The verbal testimony of two friends of Caroline's to her +cousin's character augmented her favourable opinion of +him. William Farren, whose cottage he had visited in +company with Mr. Hall, pronounced him a "real gentleman;" +there was not such another in Briarfield. He—William—"could +do aught for that man. And then to +see how t' bairns liked him, and how t' wife took to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>400<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +first minute she saw him. He never went into a house but +t' childer wor about him directly. Them little things wor +like as if they'd a keener sense nor grown-up folks i' finding +our folk's natures."</p> + +<p>Mr. Hall, in answer to a question of Miss Helstone's as +to what he thought of Louis Moore, replied promptly that +he was the best fellow he had met with since he left Cambridge.</p> + +<p>"But he is so grave," objected Caroline.</p> + +<p>"Grave! the finest company in the world! Full of +odd, quiet, out-of-the-way humour. Never enjoyed an excursion +so much in my life as the one I took with him to +the Lakes. His understanding and tastes are so superior, +it does a man good to be within their influence; and as to +his temper and nature, I call them fine."</p> + +<p>"At Fieldhead he looks gloomy, and, I believe, has the +character of being misanthropical."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I fancy he is rather out of place there—in a false +position. The Sympsons are most estimable people, but +not the folks to comprehend him. They think a great deal +about form and ceremony, which are quite out of Louis's +way."</p> + +<p>"I don't think Miss Keeldar likes him."</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know him—she doesn't know him; otherwise +she has sense enough to do justice to his merits."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose she doesn't know him," mused Caroline +to herself, and by this hypothesis she endeavoured to account +for what seemed else unaccountable. But such simple solution +of the difficulty was not left her long. She was obliged +to refuse Miss Keeldar even this negative excuse for her +prejudice.</p> + +<p>One day she chanced to be in the schoolroom with Henry +Sympson, whose amiable and affectionate disposition had +quickly recommended him to her regard. The boy was +busied about some mechanical contrivance; his lameness +made him fond of sedentary occupation. He began to ransack +his tutor's desk for a piece of wax or twine necessary +to his work. Moore happened to be absent. Mr. Hall, +indeed, had called for him to take a long walk. Henry +could not immediately find the object of his search. He +rummaged compartment after compartment; and at last, +opening an inner drawer, he came upon—not a ball of cord +or a lump of beeswax, but a little bundle of small marble-coloured +cahiers, tied with tape. Henry looked at them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>401<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +"What rubbish Mr. Moore stores up in his desk!" he said. +"I hope he won't keep my old exercises so carefully."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Old copy-books."</p> + +<p>He threw the bundle to Caroline. The packet looked so +neat externally her curiosity was excited to see its contents.</p> + +<p>"If they are only copy-books, I suppose I may open +them?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, quite freely. Mr. Moore's desk is half mine—for +he lets me keep all sorts of things in it—and I give +you leave."</p> + +<p>On scrutiny they proved to be French compositions, +written in a hand peculiar but compact, and exquisitely +clean and clear. The writing was recognizable. She scarcely +needed the further evidence of the name signed at the +close of each theme to tell her whose they were. Yet that +name astonished her—"Shirley Keeldar, Sympson Grove, +——shire" (a southern county), and a date four years back.</p> + +<p>She tied up the packet, and held it in her hand, meditating +over it. She half felt as if, in opening it, she had +violated a confidence.</p> + +<p>"They are Shirley's, you see," said Henry carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Did <em>you</em> give them to Mr. Moore? She wrote them with +Mrs. Pryor, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"She wrote them in my schoolroom at Sympson Grove, +when she lived with us there. Mr. Moore taught her French; +it is his native language."</p> + +<p>"I know. Was she a good pupil, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"She was a wild, laughing thing, but pleasant to have +in the room. She made lesson-time charming. She learned +fast—you could hardly tell when or how. French was +nothing to her. She spoke it quick, quick—as quick as +Mr. Moore himself."</p> + +<p>"Was she obedient? Did she give trouble?"</p> + +<p>"She gave plenty of trouble, in a way. She was giddy, +but I liked her. I'm desperately fond of Shirley."</p> + +<p>"<em>Desperately</em> fond—you small simpleton! You don't +know what you say."</p> + +<p>"I <em>am desperately</em> fond of her. She is the light of my +eyes. I said so to Mr. Moore last night."</p> + +<p>"He would reprove you for speaking with exaggeration."</p> + +<p>"He didn't. He never reproves and reproves, as girls' +governesses do. He was reading, and he only smiled into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>402<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +his book, and said that if Miss Keeldar was no more than +that, she was less than he took her to be; for I was but a +dim-eyed, short-sighted little chap. I'm afraid I am a poor +unfortunate, Miss Caroline Helstone. I am a cripple, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Henry, you are a very nice little fellow; +and if God has not given you health and strength, He +has given you a good disposition and an excellent heart +and brain."</p> + +<p>"I shall be despised. I sometimes think both Shirley +and you despise me."</p> + +<p>"Listen, Henry. Generally, I don't like schoolboys. I +have a great horror of them. They seem to me little ruffians, +who take an unnatural delight in killing and tormenting +birds, and insects, and kittens, and whatever is weaker +than themselves. But you are so different I am quite +fond of you. You have almost as much sense as a man +(far more, God wot," she muttered to herself, "than many +men); you are fond of reading, and you can talk sensibly +about what you read."</p> + +<p>"I <em>am</em> fond of reading. I know I have sense, and I know +I have feeling."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar here entered.</p> + +<p>"Henry," she said, "I have brought your lunch here. +I shall prepare it for you myself."</p> + +<p>She placed on the table a glass of new milk, a plate of +something which looked not unlike leather, and a utensil +which resembled a toasting-fork.</p> + +<p>"What are you two about," she continued, "ransacking +Mr. Moore's desk?"</p> + +<p>"Looking at your old copy-books," returned Caroline.</p> + +<p>"My old copy-books?"</p> + +<p>"French exercise-books. Look here! They must be +held precious; they are kept carefully."</p> + +<p>She showed the bundle. Shirley snatched it up. "Did +not know one was in existence," she said. "I thought +the whole lot had long since lit the kitchen fire, or curled +the maid's hair at Sympson Grove.—What made you keep +them, Henry?"</p> + +<p>"It is not my doing. I should not have thought of it. +It never entered my head to suppose copy-books of value. +Mr. Moore put them by in the inner drawer of his desk. +Perhaps he forgot them."</p> + +<p>"C'est cela. He forgot them, no doubt," echoed Shirley.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>403<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +"They are extremely well written," she observed complacently.</p> + +<p>"What a giddy girl you were, Shirley, in those days! +I remember you so well. A slim, light creature whom, +though you were so tall, I could lift off the floor. I see +you with your long, countless curls on your shoulders, and +your streaming sash. You used to make Mr. Moore lively—that +is, at first. I believe you grieved him after a while."</p> + +<p>Shirley turned the closely-written pages and said nothing. +Presently she observed, "That was written one winter +afternoon. It was a description of a snow scene."</p> + +<p>"I remember," said Henry. "Mr. Moore, when he read +it, cried, 'Voilà le Français gagné!' He said it was well +done. Afterwards you made him draw, in sepia, the landscape +you described."</p> + +<p>"You have not forgotten, then, Hal?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. We were all scolded that day for not +coming down to tea when called. I can remember my +tutor sitting at his easel, and you standing behind him, +holding the candle, and watching him draw the snowy cliff, +the pine, the deer couched under it, and the half-moon +hung above."</p> + +<p>"Where are his drawings, Harry? Caroline should see +them."</p> + +<p>"In his portfolio. But it is padlocked; he has the key."</p> + +<p>"Ask him for it when he comes in."</p> + +<p>"You should ask him, Shirley. You are shy of him now. +You are grown a proud lady to him; I notice that."</p> + +<p>"Shirley, you are a real enigma," whispered Caroline in +her ear. "What queer discoveries I make day by day +now!—I who thought I had your confidence. Inexplicable +creature! even this boy reproves you."</p> + +<p>"I have forgotten 'auld lang syne,' you see, Harry," +said Miss Keeldar, answering young Sympson, and not +heeding Caroline.</p> + +<p>"Which you never should have done. You don't deserve +to be a man's morning star if you have so short a memory."</p> + +<p>"A man's morning star, indeed! and by 'a man' is +meant your worshipful self, I suppose? Come, drink your +new milk while it is warm."</p> + +<p>The young cripple rose and limped towards the fire; he +had left his crutch near the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"My poor lame darling!" murmured Shirley, in her +softest voice, aiding him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>404<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Whether do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, +Shirley?" inquired the boy, as she settled him in an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>"O Harry, Sam Wynne is my aversion; you are my pet."</p> + +<p>"Me or Mr. Malone?"</p> + +<p>"You again, a thousand times."</p> + +<p>"Yet they are great whiskered fellows, six feet high each."</p> + +<p>"Whereas, as long as you live, Harry, you will never be +anything more than a little pale lameter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"You need not be sorrowful. Have I not often told you +who was almost as little, as pale, as suffering as you, and +yet potent as a giant and brave as a lion?"</p> + +<p>"Admiral Horatio?"</p> + +<p>"Admiral Horatio, Viscount Nelson, and Duke of Bronte; +great at heart as a Titan; gallant and heroic as all the +world and age of chivalry; leader of the might of England; +commander of her strength on the deep; hurler of her +thunder over the flood."</p> + +<p>"A great man. But I am not warlike, Shirley; and yet +my mind is so restless I burn day and night—for what I +can hardly tell—to be—to do—to suffer, I think."</p> + +<p>"Harry, it is your mind, which is stronger and older +than your frame, that troubles you. It is a captive; it +lies in physical bondage. But it will work its own redemption +yet. Study carefully not only books but the world. +You love nature; love her without fear. Be patient—wait +the course of time. You will not be a soldier or a +sailor, Henry; but if you live you will be—listen to my +prophecy—you will be an author, perhaps a poet."</p> + +<p>"An author! It is a flash—a flash of light to me! I +will—I <em>will</em>! I'll write a book that I may dedicate it to +you."</p> + +<p>"You will write it that you may give your soul its natural +release. Bless me! what am I saying? more than I understand, +I believe, or can make good. Here, Hal—here is +your toasted oatcake; eat and live!"</p> + +<p>"Willingly!" here cried a voice outside the open window. +"I know that fragrance of meal bread. Miss Keeldar, may +I come in and partake?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hall"—it was Mr. Hall, and with him was Louis +Moore, returned from their walk—"there is a proper luncheon +laid out in the dining-room and there are proper +people seated round it. You may join that society and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>405<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +share that fare if you please; but if your ill-regulated +tastes lead you to prefer ill-regulated proceedings, step in +here, and do as we do."</p> + +<p>"I approve the perfume, and therefore shall suffer myself +to be led by the nose," returned Mr. Hall, who presently +entered, accompanied by Louis Moore. That gentleman's +eye fell on his desk, pillaged.</p> + +<p>"Burglars!" said he.—"Henry, you merit the ferule."</p> + +<p>"Give it to Shirley and Caroline; they did it," was +alleged, with more attention to effect than truth.</p> + +<p>"Traitor and false witness!" cried both the girls. "We +never laid hands on a thing, except in the spirit of laudable +inquiry!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly so," said Moore, with his rare smile. "And +what have you ferreted out, in your 'spirit of laudable +inquiry'?"</p> + +<p>He perceived the inner drawer open.</p> + +<p>"This is empty," said he. "Who has taken——"</p> + +<p>"Here, here!" Caroline hastened to say, and she restored +the little packet to its place. He shut it up; he +locked it in with a small key attached to his watch-guard; +he restored the other papers to order, closed the repository, +and sat down without further remark.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would have scolded much more, sir," +said Henry. "The girls deserve reprimand."</p> + +<p>"I leave them to their own consciences."</p> + +<p>"It accuses them of crimes intended as well as perpetrated, +sir. If I had not been here, they would have treated +your portfolio as they have done your desk; but I told them +it was padlocked."</p> + +<p>"And will you have lunch with us?" here interposed +Shirley, addressing Moore, and desirous, as it seemed, to +turn the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if I may."</p> + +<p>"You will be restricted to new milk and Yorkshire oatcake."</p> + +<p>"Va—pour le lait frais!" said Louis. "But for your +oatcake!" and he made a grimace.</p> + +<p>"He cannot eat it," said Henry. "He thinks it is like +bran, raised with sour yeast."</p> + +<p>"Come, then; by special dispensation we will allow him +a few cracknels, but nothing less homely."</p> + +<p>The hostess rang the bell and gave her frugal orders, +which were presently executed. She herself measured out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>406<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the milk, and distributed the bread round the cosy circle +now enclosing the bright little schoolroom fire. She then +took the post of toaster-general; and kneeling on the rug, +fork in hand, fulfilled her office with dexterity. Mr. Hall, +who relished any homely innovation on ordinary usages, +and to whom the husky oatcake was from custom suave as +manna, seemed in his best spirits. He talked and laughed +gleefully—now with Caroline, whom he had fixed by his +side, now with Shirley, and again with Louis Moore. And +Louis met him in congenial spirit. He did not laugh much, +but he uttered in the quietest tone the wittiest things. +Gravely spoken sentences, marked by unexpected turns +and a quite fresh flavour and poignancy, fell easily from his +lips. He proved himself to be—what Mr. Hall had said he +was—excellent company. Caroline marvelled at his humour, +but still more at his entire self-possession. Nobody there +present seemed to impose on him a sensation of unpleasant +restraint. Nobody seemed a bore—a check—a chill to +him; and yet there was the cool and lofty Miss Keeldar +kneeling before the fire, almost at his feet.</p> + +<p>But Shirley was cool and lofty no longer, at least not +at this moment. She appeared unconscious of the humility +of her present position; or if conscious, it was only to taste +a charm in its lowliness. It did not revolt her pride that +the group to whom she voluntarily officiated as handmaid +should include her cousin's tutor. It did not scare +her that while she handed the bread and milk to the +rest, she had to offer it to him also; and Moore took his +portion from her hand as calmly as if he had been her +equal.</p> + +<p>"You are overheated now," he said, when she had retained +the fork for some time; "let me relieve you."</p> + +<p>And he took it from her with a sort of quiet authority, +to which she submitted passively, neither resisting him nor +thanking him.</p> + +<p>"I should like to see your pictures, Louis," said Caroline, +when the sumptuous luncheon was discussed.—"Would not +you, Mr. Hall?"</p> + +<p>"To please you, I should; but, for my own part, I have +cut him as an artist. I had enough of him in that capacity +in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Many a wetting we +got amongst the mountains because he would persist in +sitting on a camp-stool, catching effects of rain-clouds, +gathering mists, fitful sunbeams, and what not."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>407<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Here is the portfolio," said Henry, bringing it in one +hand and leaning on his crutch with the other.</p> + +<p>Louis took it, but he still sat as if he wanted another to +speak. It seemed as if he would not open it unless the +proud Shirley deigned to show herself interested in the +exhibition.</p> + +<p>"He makes us wait to whet our curiosity," she said.</p> + +<p>"You understand opening it," observed Louis, giving +her the key. "You spoiled the lock for me once; try now."</p> + +<p>He held it. She opened it, and, monopolizing the contents, +had the first view of every sketch herself. She enjoyed +the treat—if treat it were—in silence, without a single +comment. Moore stood behind her chair and looked over +her shoulder, and when she had done and the others were +still gazing, he left his post and paced through the +room.</p> + +<p>A carriage was heard in the lane—the gate-bell rang. +Shirley started.</p> + +<p>"There are callers," she said, "and I shall be summoned +to the room. A pretty figure—as they say—I am to receive +company. I and Henry have been in the garden gathering +fruit half the morning. Oh for rest under my own vine +and my own fig-tree! Happy is the slave-wife of the +Indian chief, in that she has no drawing-room duty to perform, +but can sit at ease weaving mats, and stringing beads, +and peacefully flattening her pickaninny's head in an unmolested +corner of her wigwam. I'll emigrate to the western +woods."</p> + +<p>Louis Moore laughed.</p> + +<p>"To marry a White Cloud or a Big Buffalo, and after +wedlock to devote yourself to the tender task of digging +your lord's maize-field while he smokes his pipe or drinks +fire-water."</p> + +<p>Shirley seemed about to reply, but here the schoolroom +door unclosed, admitting Mr. Sympson. That personage +stood aghast when he saw the group around the fire.</p> + +<p>"I thought you alone, Miss Keeldar," he said. "I find +quite a party."</p> + +<p>And evidently from his shocked, scandalized air, had he +not recognized in one of the party a clergyman, he would +have delivered an extempore philippic on the extraordinary +habits of his niece: respect for the cloth arrested him.</p> + +<p>"I merely wished to announce," he proceeded coldly, +"that the family from De Walden Hall, Mr., Mrs., the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>408<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Misses, and Mr. Sam Wynne, are in the drawing-room." +And he bowed and withdrew.</p> + +<p>"The family from De Walden Hall! Couldn't be a +worse set," murmured Shirley.</p> + +<p>She sat still, looking a little contumacious, and very much +indisposed to stir. She was flushed with the fire. Her +dark hair had been more than once dishevelled by the +morning wind that day. Her attire was a light, neatly +fitting, but amply flowing dress of muslin; the shawl she +had worn in the garden was still draped in a careless fold +round her. Indolent, wilful, picturesque, and singularly +pretty was her aspect—prettier than usual, as if some soft +inward emotion, stirred who knows how, had given new +bloom and expression to her features.</p> + +<p>"Shirley, Shirley, you ought to go," whispered Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I wonder why?"</p> + +<p>She lifted her eyes, and saw in the glass over the fireplace +both Mr. Hall and Louis Moore gazing at her gravely.</p> + +<p>"If," she said, with a yielding smile—"if a majority +of the present company maintain that the De Walden Hall +people have claims on my civility, I will subdue my inclinations +to my duty. Let those who think I ought to go +hold up their hands."</p> + +<p>Again consulting the mirror, it reflected an unanimous +vote against her.</p> + +<p>"You must go," said Mr. Hall, "and behave courteously +too. You owe many duties to society. It is not permitted +you to please only yourself."</p> + +<p>Louis Moore assented with a low "Hear, hear!"</p> + +<p>Caroline, approaching her, smoothed her wavy curls, gave +to her attire a less artistic and more domestic grace, and +Shirley was put out of the room, protesting still, by a pouting +lip, against her dismissal.</p> + +<p>"There is a curious charm about her," observed Mr. +Hall, when she was gone. "And now," he added, "I must +away; for Sweeting is off to see his mother, and there are +two funerals."</p> + +<p>"Henry, get your books; it is lesson-time," said Moore, +sitting down to his desk.</p> + +<p>"A curious charm!" repeated the pupil, when he and +his master were left alone. "True. Is she not a kind of +white witch?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Of whom are you speaking, sir?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>409<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Of my cousin Shirley."</p> + +<p>"No irrelevant questions; study in silence."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore looked and spoke sternly—sourly. Henry +knew this mood. It was a rare one with his tutor; but +when it came he had an awe of it. He obeyed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>410<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE FIRST BLUESTOCKING.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Miss Keeldar</span> and her uncle had characters that would +not harmonize, that never had harmonized. He was irritable, +and she was spirited. He was despotic, and she liked +freedom. He was worldly, and she, perhaps, romantic.</p> + +<p>Not without purpose had he come down to Yorkshire. +His mission was clear, and he intended to discharge it conscientiously. +He anxiously desired to have his niece +married, to make for her a suitable match, give her in +charge to a proper husband, and wash his hands of her +for ever.</p> + +<p>The misfortune was, from infancy upwards, Shirley and +he had disagreed on the meaning of the words "suitable" +and "proper." She never yet had accepted his definition; +and it was doubtful whether, in the most important step +of her life, she would consent to accept it.</p> + +<p>The trial soon came.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wynne proposed in form for his son, Samuel Fawthrop +Wynne.</p> + +<p>"Decidedly suitable! most proper!" pronounced Mr. +Sympson. "A fine unencumbered estate, real substance, +good connections. <em>It must be done!</em>"</p> + +<p>He sent for his niece to the oak parlour; he shut himself +up there with her alone; he communicated the offer; he +gave his opinion; he claimed her consent.</p> + +<p>It was withheld.</p> + +<p>"No; I shall not marry Samuel Fawthrop Wynne."</p> + +<p>"I ask why. I must have a reason. In all respects he +is more than worthy of you."</p> + +<p>She stood on the hearth. She was pale as the white +marble slab and cornice behind her; her eyes flashed large, +dilated, unsmiling.</p> + +<p>"And <em>I</em> ask in what sense that young man is worthy +of <em>me</em>?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>411<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"He has twice your money, twice your common sense, +equal connections, equal respectability."</p> + +<p>"Had he my money counted fivescore times I would take +no vow to love him."</p> + +<p>"Please to state your objections."</p> + +<p>"He has run a course of despicable, commonplace profligacy. +Accept that as the first reason why I spurn him."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, you shock me!"</p> + +<p>"That conduct alone sinks him in a gulf of immeasurable +inferiority. His intellect reaches no standard I can +esteem: there is a second stumbling-block. His views are +narrow, his feelings are blunt, his tastes are coarse, his +manners vulgar."</p> + +<p>"The man is a respectable, wealthy man! To refuse him +is presumption on your part."</p> + +<p>"I refuse point-blank! Cease to annoy me with the +subject; I forbid it!"</p> + +<p>"Is it your intention ever to marry; or do you prefer +celibacy?"</p> + +<p>"I deny your right to claim an answer to that question."</p> + +<p>"May I ask if you expect some man of title—some peer +of the realm—to demand your hand?"</p> + +<p>"I doubt if the peer breathes on whom I would confer it."</p> + +<p>"Were there insanity in the family, I should believe you +mad. Your eccentricity and conceit touch the verge of +frenzy."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, ere I have finished, you will see me over-leap +it."</p> + +<p>"I anticipate no less. Frantic and impracticable girl! +Take warning! I dare you to sully our name by a <em>mésalliance</em>!"</p> + +<p>"<em>Our</em> name! Am <em>I</em> called Sympson?"</p> + +<p>"God be thanked that you are not! But be on your +guard; I will not be trifled with!"</p> + +<p>"What, in the name of common law and common sense, +would you or could you do if my pleasure led me to a choice +you disapproved?"</p> + +<p>"Take care! take care!" warning her with voice and +hand that trembled alike.</p> + +<p>"Why? What shadow of power have <em>you</em> over me? +Why should I fear you?"</p> + +<p>"Take care, madam!"</p> + +<p>"Scrupulous care I will take, Mr. Sympson. Before I +marry I am resolved to esteem—to admire—to <em>love</em>."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>412<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Preposterous stuff! indecorous, unwomanly!"</p> + +<p>"To love with my whole heart. I know I speak in an +unknown tongue; but I feel indifferent whether I am comprehended +or not."</p> + +<p>"And if this love of yours should fall on a beggar?"</p> + +<p>"On a beggar it will never fall. Mendicancy is not +estimable."</p> + +<p>"On a low clerk, a play-actor, a play-writer, or—or——"</p> + +<p>"Take courage, Mr. Sympson! Or what?"</p> + +<p>"Any literary scrub, or shabby, whining artist."</p> + +<p>"For the scrubby, shabby, whining I have no taste; for +literature and the arts I have. And there I wonder how +your Fawthrop Wynne would suit me. He cannot write a +note without orthographical errors; he reads only a sporting +paper; he was the booby of Stilbro' grammar school!"</p> + +<p>"Unladylike language! Great God! to what will she +come?" He lifted hands and eyes.</p> + +<p>"Never to the altar of Hymen with Sam Wynne."</p> + +<p>"To what will she come? Why are not the laws more +stringent, that I might compel her to hear reason?"</p> + +<p>"Console yourself, uncle. Were Britain a serfdom and +you the Czar, you could not <em>compel</em> me to this step. <em>I</em> +will write to Mr. Wynne. Give yourself no further trouble +on the subject."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Fortune is proverbially called changeful, yet her caprice +often takes the form of repeating again and again a similar +stroke of luck in the same quarter. It appeared that Miss +Keeldar—or her fortune—had by this time made a sensation +in the district, and produced an impression in quarters +by her unthought of. No less than three offers followed +Mr. Wynne's, all more or less eligible. All were in succession +pressed on her by her uncle, and all in succession she +refused. Yet amongst them was more than one gentleman +of unexceptionable character as well as ample wealth. +Many besides her uncle asked what she meant, and whom +she expected to entrap, that she was so insolently fastidious.</p> + +<p>At last the gossips thought they had found the key to +her conduct, and her uncle was sure of it; and what is +more, the discovery showed his niece to him in quite a new +light, and he changed his whole deportment to her accordingly.</p> + +<p>Fieldhead had of late been fast growing too hot to hold +them both. The suave aunt could not reconcile them; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>413<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +daughters froze at the view of their quarrels. Gertrude +and Isabella whispered by the hour together in their dressing-room, +and became chilled with decorous dread if they +chanced to be left alone with their audacious cousin. But, +as I have said, a change supervened. Mr. Sympson was +appeased and his family tranquillized.</p> + +<p>The village of Nunnely has been alluded to—its old church, +its forest, its monastic ruins. It had also its hall, called the +priory—an older, a larger, a more lordly abode than any +Briarfield or Whinbury owned; and what is more, it had +its man of title—its baronet, which neither Briarfield nor +Whinbury could boast. This possession—its proudest and +most prized—had for years been nominal only. The present +baronet, a young man hitherto resident in a distant province, +was unknown on his Yorkshire estate.</p> + +<p>During Miss Keeldar's stay at the fashionable watering-place +of Cliffbridge, she and her friends had met with and +been introduced to Sir Philip Nunnely. They encountered +him again and again on the sands, the cliffs, in the various +walks, sometimes at the public balls of the place. He +seemed solitary. His manner was very unpretending—too +simple to be termed affable; rather timid than proud. He +did not <em>condescend</em> to their society; he seemed <em>glad</em> of it.</p> + +<p>With any unaffected individual Shirley could easily and +quickly cement an acquaintance. She walked and talked +with Sir Philip; she, her aunt, and cousins sometimes took +a sail in his yacht. She liked him because she found him +kind and modest, and was charmed to feel she had the power +to amuse him.</p> + +<p>One slight drawback there was—where is the friendship +without it?—Sir Philip had a literary turn. He wrote +poetry—sonnets, stanzas, ballads. Perhaps Miss Keeldar +thought him a little too fond of reading and reciting these +compositions; perhaps she wished the rhyme had possessed +more accuracy, the measure more music, the tropes +more freshness, the inspiration more fire. At any rate, she +always winced when he recurred to the subject of his poems, +and usually did her best to divert the conversation into +another channel.</p> + +<p>He would beguile her to take moonlight walks with him +on the bridge, for the sole purpose, as it seemed, of pouring +into her ear the longest of his ballads. He would lead +her away to sequestered rustic seats, whence the rush of +the surf to the sands was heard soft and soothing; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>414<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +when he had her all to himself, and the sea lay before them, +and the scented shade of gardens spread round, and the +tall shelter of cliffs rose behind them, he would pull out his +last batch of sonnets, and read them in a voice tremulous +with emotion. He did not seem to know that though they +might be rhyme they were not poetry. It appeared, by +Shirley's downcast eye and disturbed face, that she knew +it, and felt heartily mortified by the single foible of this +good and amiable gentleman.</p> + +<p>Often she tried, as gently as might be, to wean him from +this fanatic worship of the Muses. It was his monomania; +on all ordinary subjects he was sensible enough, and fain +was she to engage him in ordinary topics. He questioned +her sometimes about his place at Nunnely; she was but +too happy to answer his interrogatories at length. She +never wearied of describing the antique priory, the wild +silvan park, the hoary church and hamlet; nor did she fail +to counsel him to come down and gather his tenantry about +him in his ancestral halls.</p> + +<p>Somewhat to her surprise, Sir Philip followed her advice +to the letter, and actually, towards the close of September, +arrived at the priory.</p> + +<p>He soon made a call at Fieldhead, and his first visit was +not his last. He said—when he had achieved the round +of the neighbourhood—that under no roof had he found +such pleasant shelter as beneath the massive oak beams +of the gray manor-house of Briarfield; a cramped, modest +dwelling enough compared with his own, but he liked it.</p> + +<p>Presently it did not suffice to sit with Shirley in her +panelled parlour, where others came and went, and where +he could rarely find a quiet moment to show her the latest +production of his fertile muse; he must have her out amongst +the pleasant pastures, and lead her by the still waters. +<em>Tête-à-tête</em> ramblings she shunned, so he made parties for +her to his own grounds, his glorious forest; to remoter +scenes—woods severed by the Wharfe, vales watered by the +Aire.</p> + +<p>Such assiduity covered Miss Keeldar with distinction. +Her uncle's prophetic soul anticipated a splendid future. +He already scented the time afar off when, with nonchalant +air, and left foot nursed on his right knee, he +should be able to make dashingly-familiar allusion to his +"nephew the baronet." Now his niece dawned upon him +no longer "a mad girl," but a "most sensible woman."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>415<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +He termed her, in confidential dialogues with Mrs. Sympson, +"a truly superior person; peculiar, but very clever." +He treated her with exceeding deference; rose reverently +to open and shut doors for her; reddened his face and gave +himself headaches with stooping to pick up gloves, handkerchiefs, +and other loose property, whereof Shirley usually +held but insecure tenure. He would cut mysterious jokes +about the superiority of woman's wit over man's wisdom; +commence obscure apologies for the blundering mistake +he had committed respecting the generalship, the tactics, +of "a personage not a hundred miles from Fieldhead." +In short, he seemed elate as any "midden-cock on pattens."</p> + +<p>His niece viewed his manœuvres and received his innuendoes +with phlegm; apparently she did not above half +comprehend to what aim they tended. When plainly +charged with being the preferred of the baronet, she said +she believed he did like her, and for her part she liked him. +She had never thought a man of rank—the only son of a +proud, fond mother, the only brother of doting sisters—could +have so much goodness, and, on the whole, so much +sense.</p> + +<p>Time proved, indeed, that Sir Philip liked her. Perhaps +he had found in her that "curious charm" noticed by Mr. +Hall. He sought her presence more and more, and at last +with a frequency that attested it had become to him an +indispensable stimulus. About this time strange feelings +hovered round Fieldhead; restless hopes and haggard +anxieties haunted some of its rooms. There was an unquiet +wandering of some of the inmates among the still +fields round the mansion; there was a sense of expectancy +that kept the nerves strained.</p> + +<p>One thing seemed clear: Sir Philip was not a man to be +despised. He was amiable; if not highly intellectual, he +was intelligent. Miss Keeldar could not affirm of him, +what she had so bitterly affirmed of Sam Wynne, that his +feelings were blunt, his tastes coarse, and his manners +vulgar. There was sensibility in his nature; there was a +very real, if not a very discriminating, love of the arts; +there was the English gentleman in all his deportment. +As to his lineage and wealth, both were, of course, far beyond +her claims.</p> + +<p>His appearance had at first elicited some laughing though +not ill-natured remarks from the merry Shirley. It was +boyish. His features were plain and slight, his hair sandy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>416<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +his stature insignificant. But she soon checked her sarcasm +on this point; she would even fire up if any one else made +uncomplimentary allusion thereto. He had "a pleasing +countenance," she affirmed; "and there was that in his +heart which was better than three Roman noses, than the +locks of Absalom or the proportions of Saul." A spare and +rare shaft she still reserved for his unfortunate poetic propensity; +but even here she would tolerate no irony save +her own.</p> + +<p>In short, matters had reached a point which seemed +fully to warrant an observation made about this time by +Mr. Yorke to the tutor, Louis.</p> + +<p>"Yond' brother Robert of yours seems to me to be +either a fool or a madman. Two months ago I could have +sworn he had the game all in his own hands; and there +he runs the country, and quarters himself up in London +for weeks together, and by the time he comes back he'll +find himself checkmated. Louis, 'there is a tide in the +affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune, +but, once let slip, never returns again.' I'd write to Robert, +if I were you, and remind him of that."</p> + +<p>"Robert had views on Miss Keeldar?" inquired Louis, +as if the idea was new to him.</p> + +<p>"Views I suggested to him myself, and views he might +have realized, for she liked him."</p> + +<p>"As a neighbour?"</p> + +<p>"As more than that. I have seen her change countenance +and colour at the mere mention of his name. Write +to the lad, I say, and tell him to come home. He is a finer +gentleman than this bit of a baronet, after all."</p> + +<p>"Does it not strike you, Mr. Yorke, that for a mere +penniless adventurer to aspire to a rich woman's hand is +presumptuous—contemptible?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you are for high notions and double-refined +sentiment, I've naught to say. I'm a plain, practical man +myself, and if Robert is willing to give up that royal prize +to a lad-rival—a puling slip of aristocracy—I am quite +agreeable. At <em>his</em> age, in <em>his</em> place, with <em>his</em> inducements, +I would have acted differently. Neither baronet, nor duke, +nor prince should have snatched my sweetheart from me +without a struggle. But you tutors are such solemn chaps; +it is almost like speaking to a parson to consult with you."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Flattered and fawned upon as Shirley was just now, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>417<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +appeared she was not absolutely spoiled—that her better +nature did not quite leave her. Universal report had indeed +ceased to couple her name with that of Moore, and this +silence seemed sanctioned by her own apparent oblivion +of the absentee; but that she had not <em>quite</em> forgotten him—that +she still regarded him, if not with love, yet with +interest—seemed proved by the increased attention which +at this juncture of affairs a sudden attack of illness induced +her to show that tutor-brother of Robert's, to whom she +habitually bore herself with strange alternations of cool +reserve and docile respect—now sweeping past him in all +the dignity of the moneyed heiress and prospective Lady +Nunnely, and anon accosting him as abashed school-girls +are wont to accost their stern professors; bridling her neck +of ivory and curling her lip of carmine, if he encountered +her glance, one minute, and the next submitting to the +grave rebuke of his eye with as much contrition as if he had +the power to inflict penalties in case of contumacy.</p> + +<p>Louis Moore had perhaps caught the fever, which for +a few days laid him low, in one of the poor cottages of +the district, which he, his lame pupil, and Mr. Hall were +in the habit of visiting together. At any rate he sickened, +and after opposing to the malady a taciturn resistance for +a day or two, was obliged to keep his chamber.</p> + +<p>He lay tossing on his thorny bed one evening, Henry, +who would not quit him, watching faithfully beside him, +when a tap—too light to be that of Mrs. Gill or the housemaid—summoned +young Sympson to the door.</p> + +<p>"How is Mr. Moore to-night?" asked a low voice from +the dark gallery.</p> + +<p>"Come in and see him yourself."</p> + +<p>"Is he asleep?"</p> + +<p>"I wish he could sleep. Come and speak to him, Shirley."</p> + +<p>"He would not like it."</p> + +<p>But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate +on the threshold, took her hand and drew her to the couch.</p> + +<p>The shaded light showed Miss Keeldar's form but imperfectly; +yet it revealed her in elegant attire. There was +a party assembled below, including Sir Philip Nunnely; +the ladies were now in the drawing-room, and their hostess +had stolen from them to visit Henry's tutor. Her pure +white dress, her fair arms and neck, the trembling chainlet +of gold circling her throat and quivering on her breast,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>418<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +glistened strangely amid the obscurity of the sickroom. +Her mien was chastened and pensive. She spoke gently.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, how are you to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I have not been very ill, and am now better."</p> + +<p>"I heard that you complained of thirst. I have brought +you some grapes; can you taste one?"</p> + +<p>"No; but I thank you for remembering me."</p> + +<p>"Just one."</p> + +<p>From the rich cluster that filled a small basket held in +her hand she severed a berry and offered it to his lips. +He shook his head, and turned aside his flushed face.</p> + +<p>"But what, then, can I bring you instead? You have +no wish for fruit; yet I see that your lips are parched. +What beverage do you prefer?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Gill supplies me with toast-and-water. I like it +best."</p> + +<p>Silence fell for some minutes.</p> + +<p>"Do you suffer?—have you pain?"</p> + +<p>"Very little."</p> + +<p>"What made you ill?"</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what caused this fever? To what do you +attribute it?"</p> + +<p>"Miasma, perhaps—malaria. This is autumn, a season +fertile in fevers."</p> + +<p>"I hear you often visit the sick in Briarfield, and Nunnely +too, with Mr. Hall. You should be on your guard; temerity +is not wise."</p> + +<p>"That reminds me, Miss Keeldar, that perhaps you had +better not enter this chamber or come near this couch. +I do not believe my illness is infectious. I scarcely fear"—with +a sort of smile—"<em>you</em> will take it; but why should +you run even the shadow of a risk? Leave me."</p> + +<p>"Patience, I will go soon; but I should like to do something +for you before I depart—any little service——"</p> + +<p>"They will miss you below."</p> + +<p>"No; the gentlemen are still at table."</p> + +<p>"They will not linger long. Sir Philip Nunnely is no +wine-bibber, and I hear him just now pass from the dining-room +to the drawing-room."</p> + +<p>"It is a servant."</p> + +<p>"It is Sir Philip; I know his step."</p> + +<p>"Your hearing is acute."</p> + +<p>"It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>419<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +present. Sir Philip was here to tea last night. I heard +you sing to him some song which he had brought you. +I heard him, when he took his departure at eleven o'clock, +call you out on to the pavement, to look at the evening +star."</p> + +<p>"You must be nervously sensitive."</p> + +<p>"I heard him kiss your hand."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"No: my chamber is over the hall, the window just +above the front door; the sash was a little raised, for I +felt feverish. You stood ten minutes with him on the steps. +I heard your discourse, every word, and I heard the salute.—Henry, +give me some water."</p> + +<p>"Let me give it him."</p> + +<p>But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, +and declined her attendance.</p> + +<p>"And can I do nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing; for you cannot guarantee me a night's +peaceful rest, and it is all I at present want."</p> + +<p>"You do not sleep well?"</p> + +<p>"Sleep has left me."</p> + +<p>"Yet you said you were not very ill?"</p> + +<p>"I am often sleepless when in high health."</p> + +<p>"If I had power, I would lap you in the most placid +slumber—quite deep and hushed, without a dream."</p> + +<p>"Blank annihilation! I do not ask that."</p> + +<p>"With dreams of all you most desire."</p> + +<p>"Monstrous delusions! The sleep would be delirium, +the waking death."</p> + +<p>"Your wishes are not so chimerical; you are no visionary."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, I suppose you think so; but my character +is not, perhaps, quite as legible to you as a page of the last +new novel might be."</p> + +<p>"That is possible. But this sleep—I <em>should</em> like to woo +it to your pillow, to win for you its favour. If I took a +book and sat down and read some pages? I can well spare +half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, but I will not detain you."</p> + +<p>"I would read softly."</p> + +<p>"It would not do. I am too feverish and excitable +to bear a soft, cooing, vibrating voice close at my ear. +You had better leave me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will go."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>420<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And no good-night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, yes. Mr. Moore, good-night." (Exit Shirley.)</p> + +<p>"Henry, my boy, go to bed now; it is time you had +some repose."</p> + +<p>"Sir, it would please me to watch at your bedside all +night."</p> + +<p>"Nothing less called for. I am getting better. There, +go."</p> + +<p>"Give me your blessing, sir."</p> + +<p>"God bless you, my best pupil!"</p> + +<p>"You never call me your dearest pupil!"</p> + +<p>"No, nor ever shall."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Possibly Miss Keeldar resented her former teacher's +rejection of her courtesy. It is certain she did not repeat +the offer of it. Often as her light step traversed the gallery +in the course of a day, it did not again pause at his door; +nor did her "cooing, vibrating voice" disturb a second +time the hush of the sickroom. A sickroom, indeed, it +soon ceased to be; Mr. Moore's good constitution quickly +triumphed over his indisposition. In a few days he shook +it off, and resumed his duties as tutor.</p> + +<p>That "auld lang syne" had still its authority both with +preceptor and scholar was proved by the manner in which +he sometimes promptly passed the distance she usually +maintained between them, and put down her high reserve +with a firm, quiet hand.</p> + +<p>One afternoon the Sympson family were gone out to +take a carriage airing. Shirley, never sorry to snatch a +reprieve from their society, had remained behind, detained +by business, as she said. The business—a little letter-writing—was +soon dispatched after the yard gates had +closed on the carriage; Miss Keeldar betook herself to the +garden.</p> + +<p>It was a peaceful autumn day. The gilding of the +Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide. The +russet woods stood ripe to be stripped, but were yet full +of leaf. The purple of heath-bloom, faded but not +withered, tinged the hills. The beck wandered down to +the Hollow, through a silent district; no wind followed +its course or haunted its woody borders. Fieldhead gardens +bore the seal of gentle decay. On the walks, swept that +morning, yellow leaves had fluttered down again. Its time +of flowers, and even of fruits, was over; but a scantling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>421<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of apples enriched the trees. Only a blossom here and there +expanded pale and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves.</p> + +<p>These single flowers—the last of their race—Shirley +culled as she wandered thoughtfully amongst the beds. +She was fastening into her girdle a hueless and scentless +nosegay, when Henry Sympson called to her as he came +limping from the house.</p> + +<p>"Shirley, Mr. Moore would be glad to see you in the +schoolroom and to hear you read a little French, if you +have no more urgent occupation."</p> + +<p>The messenger delivered his commission very simply, as +if it were a mere matter of course.</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Moore tell you to say that?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly; why not? And now, do come, and let +us once more be as we were at Sympson Grove. We used +to have pleasant school-hours in those days."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar perhaps thought that circumstances were +changed since then; however, she made no remark, but +after a little reflection quietly followed Henry.</p> + +<p>Entering the schoolroom, she inclined her head with +a decent obeisance, as had been her wont in former times. +She removed her bonnet, and hung it up beside Henry's +cap. Louis Moore sat at his desk, turning the leaves of +a book, open before him, and marking passages with his +pencil. He just moved, in acknowledgment of her curtsy, +but did not rise.</p> + +<p>"You proposed to read to me a few nights ago," said he. +"I could not hear you then. My attention is now at your +service. A little renewed practice in French may not be unprofitable. +Your accent, I have observed, begins to rust."</p> + +<p>"What book shall I take?"</p> + +<p>"Here are the posthumous works of St. Pierre. Read +a few pages of the 'Fragments de l'Amazone.'"</p> + +<p>She accepted the chair which he had placed in readiness +near his own; the volume lay on his desk—there was but +one between them; her sweeping curls dropped so low as +to hide the page from him.</p> + +<p>"Put back your hair," he said.</p> + +<p>For one moment Shirley looked not quite certain whether +she would obey the request or disregard it. A flicker of +her eye beamed furtive on the professor's face. Perhaps if +he had been looking at her harshly or timidly, or if one +undecided line had marked his countenance, she would have +rebelled, and the lesson had ended there and then; but he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>422<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +was only awaiting her compliance—as calm as marble, and +as cool. She threw the veil of tresses behind her ear. It +was well her face owned an agreeable outline, and that her +cheek possessed the polish and the roundness of early youth, +or, thus robbed of a softening shade, the contours might +have lost their grace. But what mattered that in the +present society? Neither Calypso nor Eucharis cared to +fascinate Mentor.</p> + +<p>She began to read. The language had become strange +to her tongue; it faltered; the lecture flowed unevenly, +impeded by hurried breath, broken by Anglicized tones. +She stopped.</p> + +<p>"I can't do it. Read me a paragraph, if you please, +Mr. Moore."</p> + +<p>What <em>he</em> read <em>she</em> repeated. She caught his accent in +three minutes.</p> + +<p>"Très bien," was the approving comment at the close +of the piece.</p> + +<p>"C'est presque le Français rattrapé, n'est-ce pas?"</p> + +<p>"You could not write French as you once could, I dare +say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! I should make strange work of my concords +now."</p> + +<p>"You could not compose the <em>devoir</em> of 'La Première +Femme Savante'?"</p> + +<p>"Do you still remember that rubbish?"</p> + +<p>"Every line."</p> + +<p>"I doubt you."</p> + +<p>"I will engage to repeat it word for word."</p> + +<p>"You would stop short at the first line."</p> + +<p>"Challenge me to the experiment."</p> + +<p>"I challenge you."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to recite the following. He gave it in +French, but we must translate, on pain of being unintelligible +to some readers.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<blockquote><p class="hang">"And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of +the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons +of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they +took them wives of all which they chose."</p></blockquote> + +<p>This was in the dawn of time, before the morning stars +were set, and while they yet sang together.</p> + +<p>The epoch is so remote, the mists and dewy gray of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>423<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +matin twilight veil it with so vague an obscurity, that all +distinct feature of custom, all clear line of locality, evade +perception and baffle research. It must suffice to know +that the world then existed; that men peopled it; that +man's nature, with its passions, sympathies, pains, and +pleasures, informed the planet and gave it soul.</p> + +<p>A certain tribe colonized a certain spot on the globe; +of what race this tribe—unknown; in what region that +spot—untold. We usually think of the East when we +refer to transactions of that date; but who shall declare +that there was no life in the West, the South, the North? +What is to disprove that this tribe, instead of camping +under palm groves in Asia, wandered beneath island oak +woods rooted in our own seas of Europe?</p> + +<p>It is no sandy plain, nor any circumscribed and scant +oasis I seem to realize. A forest valley, with rocky sides +and brown profundity of shade, formed by tree crowding +on tree, descends deep before me. Here, indeed, dwell +human beings, but so few, and in alleys so thick branched +and overarched, they are neither heard nor seen. Are they +savage? Doubtless. They live by the crook and the bow; +half shepherds, half hunters, their flocks wander wild as +their prey. Are they happy? No, not more happy than +we are at this day. Are they good? No, not better than +ourselves. Their nature is our nature—human both. There +is one in this tribe too often miserable—a child bereaved +of both parents. None cares for this child. She is fed +sometimes, but oftener forgotten. A hut rarely receives +her; the hollow tree and chill cavern are her home. Forsaken, +lost, and wandering, she lives more with the wild +beast and bird than with her own kind. Hunger and cold +are her comrades; sadness hovers over, and solitude besets +her round. Unheeded and unvalued, she should die; but +she both lives and grows. The green wilderness nurses her, +and becomes to her a mother; feeds her on juicy berry, on +saccharine root and nut.</p> + +<p>There is something in the air of this clime which fosters +life kindly. There must be something, too, in its dews +which heals with sovereign balm. Its gentle seasons +exaggerate no passion, no sense; its temperature tends +to harmony; its breezes, you would say, bring down from +heaven the germ of pure thought and purer feeling. Not +grotesquely fantastic are the forms of cliff and foliage, not +violently vivid the colouring of flower and bird. In all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>424<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +grandeur of these forests there is repose; in all their freshness +there is tenderness.</p> + +<p>The gentle charm vouchsafed to flower and tree, bestowed +on deer and dove, has not been denied to the human nursling. +All solitary, she has sprung up straight and graceful. +Nature cast her features in a fine mould; they have matured +in their pure, accurate first lines, unaltered by the shocks +of disease. No fierce dry blast has dealt rudely with the +surface of her frame; no burning sun has crisped or withered +her tresses. Her form gleams ivory-white through the +trees; her hair flows plenteous, long, and glossy; her eyes, +not dazzled by vertical fires, beam in the shade large and +open, and full and dewy. Above those eyes, when the +breeze bares her forehead, shines an expanse fair and ample—a +clear, candid page, whereon knowledge, should knowledge +ever come, might write a golden record. You see in +the desolate young savage nothing vicious or vacant. She +haunts the wood harmless and thoughtful, though of what +one so untaught can think it is not easy to divine.</p> + +<p>On the evening of one summer day, before the Flood, +being utterly alone—for she had lost all trace of her tribe, +who had wandered leagues away, she knew not where—she +went up from the vale, to watch Day take leave and +Night arrive. A crag overspread by a tree was her station. +The oak roots, turfed and mossed, gave a seat; the oak +boughs, thick-leaved, wove a canopy.</p> + +<p>Slow and grand the Day withdrew, passing in purple +fire, and parting to the farewell of a wild, low chorus from +the woodlands. Then Night entered, quiet as death. +The wind fell, the birds ceased singing. Now every nest +held happy mates, and hart and hind slumbered blissfully +safe in their lair.</p> + +<p>The girl sat, her body still, her soul astir; occupied, +however, rather in feeling than in thinking, in wishing +than hoping, in imagining than projecting. She felt the +world, the sky, the night, boundlessly mighty. Of all +things herself seemed to herself the centre—a small, forgotten +atom of life, a spark of soul, emitted inadvertent +from the great creative source, and now burning unmarked +to waste in the heart of a black hollow. She asked, was +she thus to burn out and perish, her living light doing no good, +never seen, never needed—a star in an else starless firmament, +which nor shepherd, nor wanderer, nor sage, nor +priest tracked as a guide or read as a prophecy? Could this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>425<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +be, she demanded, when the flame of her intelligence burned +so vivid; when her life beat so true, and real, and potent; +when something within her stirred disquieted, and restlessly +asserted a God-given strength, for which it insisted she +should find exercise?</p> + +<p>She gazed abroad on Heaven and Evening. Heaven +and Evening gazed back on her. She bent down, searching +bank, hill, river, spread dim below. All she questioned +responded by oracles. She heard—she was impressed; +but she could not understand. Above her head she raised +her hands joined together.</p> + +<p>"Guidance—help—comfort—come!" was her cry.</p> + +<p>There was no voice, nor any that answered.</p> + +<p>She waited, kneeling, steadfastly looking up. Yonder +sky was sealed; the solemn stars shone alien and remote.</p> + +<p>At last one overstretched chord of her agony slacked; +she thought Something above relented; she felt as if Something +far round drew nigher; she heard as if Silence spoke. +There was no language, no word, only a tone.</p> + +<p>Again—a fine, full, lofty tone, a deep, soft sound, like +a storm whispering, made twilight undulate.</p> + +<p>Once more, profounder, nearer, clearer, it rolled harmonious.</p> + +<p>Yet again—a distinct voice passed between Heaven +and Earth.</p> + +<p>"Eva!"</p> + +<p>If Eva were not this woman's name, she had none. She +rose. "Here am I."</p> + +<p>"Eva!"</p> + +<p>"O Night (it can be but Night that speaks), I am here!"</p> + +<p>The voice, descending, reached Earth.</p> + +<p>"Eva!"</p> + +<p>"Lord," she cried, "behold thine handmaid!"</p> + +<p>She had her religion—all tribes held some creed.</p> + +<p>"I come—a Comforter!"</p> + +<p>"Lord, come quickly!"</p> + +<p>The Evening flushed full of hope; the Air panted; +the Moon—rising before—ascended large, but her light +showed no shape.</p> + +<p>"Lean towards me, Eva. Enter my arms; repose +thus."</p> + +<p>"Thus I lean, O Invisible but felt! And what art thou?"</p> + +<p>"Eva, I have brought a living draught from heaven. +Daughter of Man, drink of my cup!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>426<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I drink: it is as if sweetest dew visited my lips in +a full current. My arid heart revives; my affliction is +lightened; my strait and struggle are gone. And the +night changes! the wood, the hill, the moon, the wide +sky—all change!"</p> + +<p>"All change, and for ever. I take from thy vision +darkness; I loosen from thy faculties fetters! I level +in thy path obstacles; I with my presence fill vacancy. +I claim as mine the lost atom of life. I take to myself +the spark of soul—burning heretofore forgotten!"</p> + +<p>"O take me! O claim me! This is a god."</p> + +<p>"This is a son of God—one who feels himself in the +portion of life that stirs you. He is suffered to reclaim his +own, and so to foster and aid that it shall not perish hopeless."</p> + +<p>"A son of God! Am I indeed chosen?"</p> + +<p>"Thou only in this land. I saw thee that thou wert +fair; I knew thee that thou wert mine. To me it is given +to rescue, to sustain, to cherish mine own. Acknowledge +in me that Seraph on earth named Genius."</p> + +<p>"My glorious Bridegroom! true Dayspring from on high! +All I would have at last I possess. I receive a revelation. +The dark hint, the obscure whisper, which have haunted me +from childhood, are interpreted. Thou art He I sought. +Godborn, take me, thy bride!"</p> + +<p>"Unhumbled, I can take what is mine. Did I not +give from the altar the very flame which lit Eva's being? +Come again into the heaven whence thou wert +sent."</p> + +<p>That Presence, invisible but mighty, gathered her in +like a lamb to the fold; that voice, soft but all-pervading, +vibrated through her heart like music. Her eye received +no image; and yet a sense visited her vision and her brain +as of the serenity of stainless air, the power of sovereign +seas, the majesty of marching stars, the energy of colliding +elements, the rooted endurance of hills wide based, and, +above all, as of the lustre of heroic beauty rushing victorious +on the Night, vanquishing its shadows like a diviner +sun.</p> + +<p>Such was the bridal hour of Genius and Humanity. Who +shall rehearse the tale of their after-union? Who shall +depict its bliss and bale? Who shall tell how He between +whom and the Woman God put enmity forged deadly plots +to break the bond or defile its purity? Who shall record<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>427<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the long strife between Serpent and Seraph:—How still the +Father of Lies insinuated evil into good, pride into wisdom, +grossness into glory, pain into bliss, poison into passion? +How the "dreadless Angel" defied, resisted, and repelled? +How again and again he refined the polluted cup, exalted +the debased emotion, rectified the perverted impulse, detected +the lurking venom, baffled the frontless temptation—purified, +justified, watched, and withstood? How, by his +patience, by his strength, by that unutterable excellence +he held from God—his Origin—this faithful Seraph fought +for Humanity a good fight through time; and, when Time's +course closed, and Death was encountered at the end, +barring with fleshless arm the portals of Eternity, how +Genius still held close his dying bride, sustained her through +the agony of the passage, bore her triumphant into his +own home, Heaven; restored her, redeemed, to Jehovah, +her Maker; and at last, before Angel and Archangel, crowned +her with the crown of Immortality?</p> + +<p>Who shall of these things write the chronicle?</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"I never could correct that composition," observed +Shirley, as Moore concluded. "Your censor-pencil scored +it with condemnatory lines, whose signification I strove +vainly to fathom."</p> + +<p>She had taken a crayon from the tutor's desk, and was +drawing little leaves, fragments of pillars, broken crosses, +on the margin of the book.</p> + +<p>"French may be half forgotten, but the habits of the +French lesson are retained, I see," said Louis. "My +books would now, as erst, be unsafe with you. My newly-bound +St. Pierre would soon be like my Racine—Miss +Keeldar, her mark, traced on every page."</p> + +<p>Shirley dropped her crayon as if it burned her fingers.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what were the faults of that <em>devoir</em>?" she asked. +"Were they grammatical errors, or did you object to the +substance?"</p> + +<p>"I never said that the lines I drew were indications +of faults at all. You would have it that such was the case, +and I refrained from contradiction."</p> + +<p>"What else did they denote?"</p> + +<p>"No matter now."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore," cried Henry, "make Shirley repeat some +of the pieces she used to say so well by heart."</p> + +<p>"If I ask for any, it will be 'Le Cheval Dompté,'"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>428<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +said Moore, trimming with his penknife the pencil Miss +Keeldar had worn to a stump.</p> + +<p>She turned aside her head; the neck, the clear cheek, +forsaken by their natural veil, were seen to flush warm.</p> + +<p>"Ah! she has not forgotten, you see, sir," said Henry, +exultant. "She knows how naughty she was."</p> + +<p>A smile, which Shirley would not permit to expand, +made her lip tremble; she bent her face, and hid it half +with her arms, half in her curls, which, as she stooped, +fell loose again. "Certainly I was a rebel," she answered.</p> + +<p>"A rebel!" repeated Henry. "Yes; you and papa +had quarrelled terribly, and you set both him and mamma, +and Mrs. Pryor, and everybody, at defiance. You said he +had insulted you——"</p> + +<p>"He <em>had</em> insulted me," interposed Shirley.</p> + +<p>"And you wanted to leave Sympson Grove directly. +You packed your things up, and papa threw them out +of your trunk; mamma cried, Mrs. Pryor cried; they +both stood wringing their hands begging you to be patient; +and you knelt on the floor with your things and your up-turned +box before you, looking, Shirley, looking—why, in +one of <em>your</em> passions. Your features, in such passions, are +not distorted; they are fixed, but quite beautiful. You +scarcely look angry, only resolute, and in a certain haste; +yet one feels that at such times an obstacle cast across your +path would be split as with lightning. Papa lost heart, and +called Mr. Moore."</p> + +<p>"Enough, Henry."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not enough. I hardly know how Mr. Moore +managed, except that I recollect he suggested to papa that +agitation would bring on his gout; and then he spoke +quietly to the ladies, and got them away; and afterwards +he said to you, Miss Shirley, that it was of no use talking or +lecturing now, but that the tea-things were just brought into +the schoolroom, and he was very thirsty, and he would be +glad if you would leave your packing for the present and +come and make a cup of tea for him and me. You came; +you would not talk at first, but soon you softened and grew +cheerful. Mr. Moore began to tell us about the Continent, +the war, and Bonaparte—subjects we were both fond of +listening to. After tea he said we should neither of us leave +him that evening; he would not let us stray out of his sight, +lest we should again get into mischief. We sat one on each +side of him. We were so happy. I never passed so pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>429<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +an evening. The next day he gave you, missy, a lecture of +an hour, and wound it up by marking you a piece to learn +in Bossuet as a punishment-lesson—'Le Cheval Dompté.' +You learned it instead of packing up, Shirley. We heard +no more of your running away. Mr. Moore used to tease you +on the subject for a year afterwards."</p> + +<p>"She never said a lesson with greater spirit," subjoined +Moore. "She then, for the first time, gave me the treat +of hearing my native tongue spoken without accent by an +English girl."</p> + +<p>"She was as sweet as summer cherries for a month +afterwards," struck in Henry: "a good hearty quarrel +always left Shirley's temper better than it found +it."</p> + +<p>"You talk of me as if I were not present," observed +Miss Keeldar, who had not yet lifted her face.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you <em>are</em> present?" asked Moore. "There +have been moments since my arrival here when I have been +tempted to inquire of the lady of Fieldhead if she knew +what had become of my former pupil."</p> + +<p>"She is here now."</p> + +<p>"I see her, and humble enough; but I would neither +advise Harry nor others to believe too implicitly in the +humility which one moment can hide its blushing face like +a modest little child, and the next lift it pale and lofty as a +marble Juno."</p> + +<p>"One man in times of old, it is said, imparted vitality +to the statue he had chiselled; others may have the contrary +gift of turning life to stone."</p> + +<p>Moore paused on this observation before he replied to +it. His look, at once struck and meditative, said, "A +strange phrase; what may it mean?" He turned it over +in his mind, with thought deep and slow, as some German +pondering metaphysics.</p> + +<p>"You mean," he said at last, "that some men inspire +repugnance, and so chill the kind heart."</p> + +<p>"Ingenious!" responded Shirley. "If the interpretation +pleases you, you are welcome to hold it valid. <em>I</em> +don't care."</p> + +<p>And with that she raised her head, lofty in look and statue-like +in hue, as Louis had described it.</p> + +<p>"Behold the metamorphosis!" he said; "scarce imagined +ere it is realized: a lowly nymph develops to an inaccessible +goddess. But Henry must not be disappointed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>430<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of his recitation, and Olympia will deign to oblige him. +Let us begin."</p> + +<p>"I have forgotten the very first line."</p> + +<p>"Which I have not. <em>My</em> memory, if a slow, is a retentive +one. I acquire deliberately both knowledge and liking. +The acquisition grows into my brain, and the sentiment +into my breast; and it is not as the rapid-springing +produce which, having no root in itself, flourishes verdurous +enough for a time, but too soon falls withered away. +Attention, Henry! Miss Keeldar consents to favour +you. 'Voyez ce cheval ardent et impétueux,' so it commences."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar did consent to make the effort; but she +soon stopped.</p> + +<p>"Unless I heard the whole repeated I cannot continue +it," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yet it was quickly learned—'soon gained, soon gone,'" +moralized the tutor. He recited the passage deliberately, +accurately, with slow, impressive emphasis.</p> + +<p>Shirley, by degrees, inclined her ear as he went on. Her +face, before turned from him, <em>re</em>turned towards him. When +he ceased, she took the word up as if from his lips; she +took his very tone; she seized his very accent; she delivered +the periods as he had delivered them; she reproduced +his manner, his pronunciation, his expression.</p> + +<p>It was now her turn to petition.</p> + +<p>"Recall 'Le Songe d'Athalie,'" she entreated, "and +say it."</p> + +<p>He said it for her. She took it from him; she found +lively excitement in the pleasure of making his language +her own. She asked for further indulgence; all the old +school pieces were revived, and with them Shirley's old +school days.</p> + +<p>He had gone through some of the best passages of Racine +and Corneille, and then had heard the echo of his own +deep tones in the girl's voice, that modulated itself faithfully +on his. "Le chêne et le Roseau," that most beautiful +of La Fontaine's fables, had been recited, well recited, by +the tutor, and the pupil had animatedly availed herself +of the lesson. Perhaps a simultaneous feeling seized them +now, that their enthusiasm had kindled to a glow, which +the slight fuel of French poetry no longer sufficed to feed; +perhaps they longed for a trunk of English oak to be thrown +as a Yule log to the devouring flame. Moore observed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>431<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +"And these are our best pieces! And we have nothing +more dramatic, nervous, natural!"</p> + +<p>And then he smiled and was silent. His whole nature +seemed serenely alight. He stood on the hearth, leaning +his elbow on the mantelpiece, musing not unblissfully.</p> + +<p>Twilight was closing on the diminished autumn day. +The schoolroom windows—darkened with creeping plants, +from which no high October winds had as yet swept the +sere foliage—admitted scarce a gleam of sky; but the fire +gave light enough to talk by.</p> + +<p>And now Louis Moore addressed his pupil in French, +and she answered at first with laughing hesitation and in +broken phrase. Moore encouraged while he corrected +her. Henry joined in the lesson; the two scholars stood +opposite the master, their arms round each other's waists. +Tartar, who long since had craved and obtained admission, +sat sagely in the centre of the rug, staring at the blaze which +burst fitful from morsels of coal among the red cinders. +The group were happy enough, but—</p> + +<div class="block"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="io">"Pleasures are like poppies spread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You seize the flower—its bloom is shed."<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p class="noi">The dull, rumbling sound of wheels was heard on the pavement +in the yard.</p> + +<p>"It is the carriage returned," said Shirley; "and dinner +must be just ready, and I am not dressed."</p> + +<p>A servant came in with Mr. Moore's candle and tea; +for the tutor and his pupil usually dined at luncheon +time.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sympson and the ladies are returned," she said, +"and Sir Philip Nunnely is with them."</p> + +<p>"How you did start, and how your hand trembled, +Shirley!" said Henry, when the maid had closed the shutter +and was gone. "But I know why—don't you, Mr. +Moore? I know what papa intends. He is a little ugly +man, that Sir Philip. I wish he had not come. I wish +sisters and all of them had stayed at De Walden Hall +to dine.—Shirley should once more have made tea for +you and me, Mr. Moore, and we would have had a happy +evening of it."</p> + +<p>Moore was locking up his desk and putting away his +St. Pierre. "That was <em>your</em> plan, was it, my boy?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>432<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Don't you approve it, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I approve nothing utopian. Look Life in its iron +face; stare Reality out of its brassy countenance. Make +the tea, Henry; I shall be back in a minute."</p> + +<p>He left the room; so did Shirley, by another door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>433<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>PHŒBE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Shirley</span> probably got on pleasantly with Sir Philip that +evening, for the next morning she came down in one of +her best moods.</p> + +<p>"Who will take a walk with me?" she asked, after +breakfast. "Isabella and Gertrude, will you?"</p> + +<p>So rare was such an invitation from Miss Keeldar to +her female cousins that they hesitated before they accepted +it. Their mamma, however, signifying acquiescence +in the project, they fetched their bonnets, and the +trio set out.</p> + +<p>It did not suit these three young persons to be thrown +much together. Miss Keeldar liked the society of few +ladies; indeed, she had a cordial pleasure in that of none +except Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstone. She was civil, +kind, attentive even to her cousins; but still she usually +had little to say to them. In the sunny mood of this particular +morning, she contrived to entertain even the Misses +Sympson. Without deviating from her wonted rule of +discussing with them only ordinary themes, she imparted +to these themes an extraordinary interest; the sparkle of +her spirit glanced along her phrases.</p> + +<p>What made her so joyous? All the cause must have +been in herself. The day was not bright. It was dim—a +pale, waning autumn day. The walks through the +dun woods were damp; the atmosphere was heavy, the +sky overcast; and yet it seemed that in Shirley's heart lived +all the light and azure of Italy, as all its fervour laughed +in her gray English eye.</p> + +<p>Some directions necessary to be given to her foreman, +John, delayed her behind her cousins as they neared Fieldhead +on their return. Perhaps an interval of twenty +minutes elapsed between her separation from them and her +re-entrance into the house. In the meantime she had +spoken to John, and then she had lingered in the lane at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>434<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +gate. A summons to luncheon called her in. She excused +herself from the meal, and went upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Is not Shirley coming to luncheon?" asked Isabella. +"She said she was hungry."</p> + +<p>An hour after, as she did not quit her chamber, one of +her cousins went to seek her there. She was found sitting +at the foot of the bed, her head resting on her hand; she +looked quite pale, very thoughtful, almost sad.</p> + +<p>"You are not ill?" was the question put.</p> + +<p>"A little sick," replied Miss Keeldar.</p> + +<p>Certainly she was not a little changed from what she +had been two hours before.</p> + +<p>This change, accounted for only by those three words, explained +no otherwise; this change—whencesoever springing, +effected in a brief ten minutes—passed like no light summer +cloud. She talked when she joined her friends at dinner, +talked as usual. She remained with them during the evening. +When again questioned respecting her health, she +declared herself perfectly recovered. It had been a mere +passing faintness, a momentary sensation, not worth a +thought; yet it was felt there was a difference in Shirley.</p> + +<p>The next day—the day, the week, the fortnight after—this +new and peculiar shadow lingered on the countenance, +in the manner of Miss Keeldar. A strange quietude +settled over her look, her movements, her very voice. The +alteration was not so marked as to court or permit frequent +questioning, yet it <em>was</em> there, and it would not pass away. +It hung over her like a cloud which no breeze could stir or +disperse. Soon it became evident that to notice this change +was to annoy her. First she shrank from remark; and, if +persisted in, she, with her own peculiar <em>hauteur</em>, repelled it. +"Was she ill?" The reply came with decision.</p> + +<p>"I <em>am not</em>."</p> + +<p>"Did anything weigh on her mind? Had anything +happened to affect her spirits?"</p> + +<p>She scornfully ridiculed the idea. "What did they +mean by spirits? She had no spirits, black or white, +blue or gray, to affect."</p> + +<p>"Something must be the matter—she was so altered."</p> + +<p>"She supposed she had a right to alter at her ease. +She knew she was plainer. If it suited her to grow ugly, +why need others fret themselves on the subject?"</p> + +<p>"There must be a cause for the change. What was +it?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>435<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She peremptorily requested to be let alone.</p> + +<p>Then she would make every effort to appear quite gay, +and she seemed indignant at herself that she could not +perfectly succeed. Brief self-spurning epithets burst from +her lips when alone. "Fool! coward!" she would term +herself. "Poltroon!" she would say, "if you must tremble, +tremble in secret! Quail where no eye sees you!"</p> + +<p>"How dare you," she would ask herself—"how dare +you show your weakness and betray your imbecile anxieties? +Shake them off; rise above them. If you cannot do this, +hide them."</p> + +<p>And to hide them she did her best. She once more +became resolutely lively in company. When weary of +effort and forced to relax, she sought solitude—not the +solitude of her chamber (she refused to mope, shut up +between four walls), but that wilder solitude which lies +out of doors, and which she could chase, mounted on Zoë, +her mare. She took long rides of half a day. Her uncle +disapproved, but he dared not remonstrate. It was never +pleasant to face Shirley's anger, even when she was healthy +and gay; but now that her face showed thin, and her large +eye looked hollow, there was something in the darkening +of that face and kindling of that eye which touched as well +as alarmed.</p> + +<p>To all comparative strangers who, unconscious of the +alterations in her spirits, commented on the alteration +in her looks, she had one reply,—</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly well; I have not an ailment."</p> + +<p>And health, indeed, she must have had, to be able to +bear the exposure to the weather she now encountered. +Wet or fair, calm or storm, she took her daily ride over +Stilbro' Moor, Tartar keeping up at her side, with his wolf-like +gallop, long and untiring.</p> + +<p>Twice, three times, the eyes of gossips—those eyes which +are everywhere, in the closet and on the hill-top—noticed +that instead of turning on Rushedge, the top ridge of Stilbro' +Moor, she rode forwards all the way to the town. Scouts +were not wanting to mark her destination there. It was +ascertained that she alighted at the door of one Mr. Pearson +Hall, a solicitor, related to the vicar of Nunnely. This +gentleman and his ancestors had been the agents of the +Keeldar family for generations back. Some people affirmed +that Miss Keeldar was become involved in business speculations +connected with Hollow's Mill—that she had lost money,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>436<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and was constrained to mortgage her land. Others conjectured +that she was going to be married, and that the +settlements were preparing.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mr. Moore and Henry Sympson were together in the +schoolroom. The tutor was waiting for a lesson which the +pupil seemed busy in preparing.</p> + +<p>"Henry, make haste. The afternoon is getting on."</p> + +<p>"Is it, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Are you nearly ready with that lesson?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Not <em>nearly</em> ready?"</p> + +<p>"I have not construed a line."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore looked up. The boy's tone was rather peculiar.</p> + +<p>"The task presents no difficulties, Henry; or, if it does, +bring them to me. We will work together."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, I can do no work."</p> + +<p>"My boy, you are ill."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I am not worse in bodily health than usual, but +my heart is full."</p> + +<p>"Shut the book. Come hither, Harry. Come to the +fireside."</p> + +<p>Harry limped forward. His tutor placed him in a chair; +his lips were quivering, his eyes brimming. He laid his +crutch on the floor, bent down his head, and wept.</p> + +<p>"This distress is not occasioned by physical pain, you +say, Harry? You have a grief; tell it me."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I have such a grief as I never had before. I wish +it could be relieved in some way; I can hardly bear it."</p> + +<p>"Who knows but, if we talk it over, we may relieve it? +What is the cause? Whom does it concern?"</p> + +<p>"The cause, sir, is Shirley; it concerns Shirley."</p> + +<p>"Does it? You think her changed?"</p> + +<p>"All who know her think her changed—you too, Mr. +Moore."</p> + +<p>"Not seriously—no. I see no alteration but such as +a favourable turn might repair in a few weeks; besides, +her own word must go for something: she says she is well."</p> + +<p>"There it is, sir. As long as she maintained she was +well, I believed her. When I was sad out of her sight, I +soon recovered spirits in her presence. Now——"</p> + +<p>"Well, Harry, now. Has she said anything to you? +You and she were together in the garden two hours this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>437<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +morning. I saw her talking, and you listening. Now, +my dear Harry, if Miss Keeldar has said she is ill, and +enjoined you to keep her secret, do not obey her. For her +life's sake, avow everything. Speak, my boy."</p> + +<p>"<em>She</em> say she is ill! I believe, sir, if she were dying, she +would smile, and aver, 'Nothing ails me.'"</p> + +<p>"What have you learned then? What new circumstance?"</p> + +<p>"I have learned that she has just made her will."</p> + +<p>"Made her will?"</p> + +<p>The tutor and pupil were silent.</p> + +<p>"She told you that?" asked Moore, when some minutes +had elapsed.</p> + +<p>"She told me quite cheerfully, not as an ominous circumstance, +which I felt it to be. She said I was the only person +besides her solicitor, Pearson Hall, and Mr. Helstone and +Mr. Yorke, who knew anything about it; and to me, she +intimated, she wished specially to explain its provisions."</p> + +<p>"Go on, Harry."</p> + +<p>"'Because,' she said, looking down on me with her +beautiful eyes—oh! they <em>are</em> beautiful, Mr. Moore! I +love them! I love her! She is my star! Heaven must +not claim her! She is lovely in this world, and fitted +for this world. Shirley is not an angel; she is a woman, +and she shall live with men. Seraphs shall not have her! +Mr. Moore, if one of the 'sons of God,' with wings wide and +bright as the sky, blue and sounding as the sea, having +seen that she was fair, descended to claim her, his claim +should be withstood—withstood by me—boy and cripple +as I am."</p> + +<p>"Henry Sympson, go on, when I tell you."</p> + +<p>"'Because,' she said, 'if I made no will, and died before +you, Harry, all my property would go to you; and I do not +intend that it should be so, though your father would like +it. But you,' she said, 'will have his whole estate, which +is large—larger than Fieldhead. Your sisters will have +nothing; so I have left them some money, though I do not +love them, both together, half so much as I love one lock +of your fair hair.' She said these words, and she called me +her 'darling,' and let me kiss her. She went on to tell me +that she had left Caroline Helstone some money too; that +this manor house, with its furniture and books, she had +bequeathed to me, as she did not choose to take the old +family place from her own blood; and that all the rest of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>438<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her property, amounting to about twelve thousand pounds, +exclusive of the legacies to my sisters and Miss Helstone, +she had willed, not to me, seeing I was already rich, but to +a good man, who would make the best use of it that any +human being could do—a man, she said, that was both gentle +and brave, strong and merciful—a man that might not +profess to be pious, but she knew he had the secret of +religion pure and undefiled before God. The spirit of love +and peace was with him. He visited the fatherless and +widows in their affliction, and kept himself unspotted from +the world. Then she asked, 'Do you approve what I have +done, Harry?' I could not answer. My tears choked me, +as they do now."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore allowed his pupil a moment to contend with +and master his emotion. He then demanded, "What else +did she say?"</p> + +<p>"When I had signified my full consent to the conditions +of her will, she told me I was a generous boy, and she was +proud of me. 'And now,' she added, 'in case anything +should happen, you will know what to say to Malice when +she comes whispering hard things in your ear, insinuating +that Shirley has wronged you, that she did not love you. +You will know that I <em>did</em> love you, Harry; that no sister +could have loved you better—my own treasure.' Mr. +Moore, sir, when I remember her voice, and recall her look, +my heart beats as if it would break its strings. She +<em>may</em> go to heaven before me—if God commands it, she +<em>must</em>; but the rest of my life—and my life will not be long, +I am glad of that now—shall be a straight, quick, thoughtful +journey in the path her step has pressed. I thought to +enter the vault of the Keeldars before her. Should it be +otherwise, lay my coffin by Shirley's side."</p> + +<p>Moore answered him with a weighty calm, that offered +a strange contrast to the boy's perturbed enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, both of you—you harm each other. +If youth once falls under the influence of a shadowy terror, +it imagines there will never be full sunlight again; its +first calamity it fancies will last a lifetime. What more +did she say? Anything more?"</p> + +<p>"We settled one or two family points between ourselves."</p> + +<p>"I should rather like to know what——"</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Moore, you smile. <em>I</em> could not smile to see +Shirley in such a mood."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>439<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"My boy, I am neither nervous, nor poetic, nor inexperienced. +I see things as they are; you don't as yet. +Tell me these family points."</p> + +<p>"Only, sir, she asked me whether I considered myself +most of a Keeldar or a Sympson; and I answered I was +Keeldar to the core of the heart and to the marrow of the +bones. She said she was glad of it; for, besides her, I was +the only Keeldar left in England. And then we agreed +on some matters."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, that if I lived to inherit my father's estate, +and her house, I was to take the name of Keeldar, and to +make Fieldhead my residence. Henry Shirley Keeldar I +said I would be called; and I will. Her name and her +manor house are ages old, and Sympson and Sympson +Grove are of yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Come, you are neither of you going to heaven yet. I +have the best hopes of you both, with your proud distinctions—a +pair of half-fledged eaglets. Now, what is your +inference from all you have told me? Put it into words."</p> + +<p>"That Shirley thinks she is going to die."</p> + +<p>"She referred to her health?"</p> + +<p>"Not once; but I assure you she is wasting. Her +hands are grown quite thin, and so is her cheek."</p> + +<p>"Does she ever complain to your mother or sisters?"</p> + +<p>"Never. She laughs at them when they question her. +Mr. Moore, she is a strange being, so fair and girlish—not +a man-like woman at all, not an Amazon, and yet +lifting her head above both help and sympathy."</p> + +<p>"Do you know where she is now, Henry? Is she in +the house, or riding out?"</p> + +<p>"Surely not out, sir. It rains fast."</p> + +<p>"True; which, however, is no guarantee that she is not +at this moment cantering over Rushedge. Of late she has +never permitted weather to be a hindrance to her rides."</p> + +<p>"You remember, Mr. Moore, how wet and stormy it was +last Wednesday—so wild, indeed, that she would not permit +Zoë to be saddled? Yet the blast she thought too tempestuous +for her mare she herself faced on foot; that afternoon +she walked nearly as far as Nunnely. I asked her, +when she came in, if she was not afraid of taking cold. +'Not I,' she said. 'It would be too much good luck for +me. I don't know, Harry, but the best thing that could +happen to me would be to take a good cold and fever, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>440<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +so pass off like other Christians.' She is reckless, you see, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Reckless indeed! Go and find out where she is, and if +you can get an opportunity of speaking to her without +attracting attention, request her to come here a minute."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>He snatched his crutch, and started up to go.</p> + +<p>"Harry!"</p> + +<p>He returned.</p> + +<p>"Do not deliver the message formally. Word it as, in +former days, you would have worded an ordinary summons +to the schoolroom."</p> + +<p>"I see, sir. She will be more likely to obey."</p> + +<p>"And, Harry——"</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"I will call you when I want you. Till then, you are +dispensed from lessons."</p> + +<p>He departed. Mr. Moore, left alone, rose from his +desk.</p> + +<p>"I can be very cool and very supercilious with Henry," +he said. "I can seem to make light of his apprehensions, +and look down <em>du haut de ma grandeur</em> on his youthful ardour. +To <em>him</em> I can speak as if, in my eyes, they were both children. +Let me see if I can keep up the same rôle with her. I have +known the moment when I seemed about to forget it, +when Confusion and Submission seemed about to crush me +with their soft tyranny, when my tongue faltered, and I +have almost let the mantle drop, and stood in her presence, +not master—no—but something else. I trust I shall never +so play the fool. It is well for a Sir Philip Nunnely to redden +when he meets her eye. He may permit himself the indulgence +of submission. He may even, without disgrace, +suffer his hand to tremble when it touches hers; but if +one of her farmers were to show himself susceptible and +sentimental, he would merely prove his need of a strait +waistcoat. So far I have always done very well. She has +sat near me, and I have not shaken—more than my desk. +I have encountered her looks and smiles like—why, like a +tutor, as I am. Her hand I never yet touched—never +underwent that test. Her farmer or her footman I am not—no +serf nor servant of hers have I ever been; but I am +poor, and it behoves me to look to my self-respect—not to +compromise an inch of it. What did she mean by that +allusion to the cold people who petrify flesh to marble?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>441<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +It pleased me—I hardly know why; I would not permit +myself to inquire. I never do indulge in scrutiny either of +her language or countenance; for if I did, I should sometimes +forget common sense and believe in romance. A +strange, secret ecstasy steals through my veins at moments. +I'll not encourage—I'll not remember it. I am resolved, as +long as may be, to retain the right to say with Paul, 'I am +not mad, but speak forth the words of truth and soberness.'"</p> + +<p>He paused, listening.</p> + +<p>"Will she come, or will she not come?" he inquired. +"How will she take the message? Naïvely or disdainfully? +Like a child or like a queen? Both characters +are in her nature.</p> + +<p>"If she comes, what shall I say to her? How account, +firstly, for the freedom of the request? Shall I apologize +to her? I could in all humility; but would an apology +tend to place us in the positions we ought relatively to +occupy in this matter? I <em>must</em> keep up the professor, +otherwise—— I hear a door."</p> + +<p>He waited. Many minutes passed.</p> + +<p>"She will refuse me. Henry is entreating her to come; +she declines. My petition is presumption in her eyes. +Let her <em>only</em> come, I can teach her to the contrary. I +would rather she were a little perverse; it will steel me. +I prefer her cuirassed in pride, armed with a taunt. Her +scorn startles me from my dreams; I stand up myself. +A sarcasm from her eyes or lips puts strength into every +nerve and sinew I have. Some step approaches, and not +Henry's."</p> + +<p>The door unclosed; Miss Keeldar came in. The message, +it appeared, had found her at her needle; she brought +her work in her hand. That day she had not been riding +out; she had evidently passed it quietly. She wore her +neat indoor dress and silk apron. This was no Thalestris +from the fields, but a quiet domestic character from the +fireside. Mr. Moore had her at advantage. He should +have addressed her at once in solemn accents, and with +rigid mien. Perhaps he would, had she looked saucy; +but her air never showed less of <em>crânerie</em>. A soft kind of +youthful shyness depressed her eyelid and mantled on her +cheek. The tutor stood silent.</p> + +<p>She made a full stop between the door and his desk.</p> + +<p>"Did you want me, sir?" she asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>442<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I ventured, Miss Keeldar, to send for you—that is, +to ask an interview of a few minutes."</p> + +<p>She waited; she plied her needle.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir" (not lifting her eyes), "what about?"</p> + +<p>"Be seated first. The subject I would broach is one of +some moment. Perhaps I have hardly a right to approach +it. It is possible I ought to frame an apology; it is possible +no apology can excuse me. The liberty I have taken +arises from a conversation with Henry. The boy is unhappy +about your health; all your friends are unhappy +on that subject. It is of your health I would speak."</p> + +<p>"I am quite well," she said briefly.</p> + +<p>"Yet changed."</p> + +<p>"That matters to none but myself. We all change."</p> + +<p>"Will you sit down? Formerly, Miss Keeldar, I had +some influence with you: have I any now? May I feel +that what I am saying is not accounted positive presumption?"</p> + +<p>"Let me read some French, Mr. Moore, or I will even +take a spell at the Latin grammar, and let us proclaim a +truce to all sanitary discussions."</p> + +<p>"No, no. It is time there were discussions."</p> + +<p>"Discuss away, then, but do not choose me for your +text. I am a healthy subject."</p> + +<p>"Do you not think it wrong to affirm and reaffirm what +is substantially untrue?"</p> + +<p>"I say I am well. I have neither cough, pain, nor fever."</p> + +<p>"Is there no equivocation in that assertion? Is it the +direct truth?"</p> + +<p>"The direct truth."</p> + +<p>Louis Moore looked at her earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I can myself," he said, "trace no indications of actual +disease. But why, then, are you altered?"</p> + +<p>"<em>Am</em> I altered?"</p> + +<p>"We will try. We will seek a proof."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"I ask, in the first place, do you sleep as you used to?"</p> + +<p>"I do not; but it is not because I am ill."</p> + +<p>"Have you the appetite you once had?"</p> + +<p>"No; but it is not because I am ill."</p> + +<p>"You remember this little ring fastened to my watch-chain? +It was my mother's, and is too small to pass the +joint of my little finger. You have many a time sportively +purloined it. It fitted your fore-finger. Try now."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>443<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She permitted the test. The ring dropped from the +wasted little hand. Louis picked it up, and reattached it +to the chain. An uneasy flush coloured his brow. Shirley +again said, "It is not because I am ill."</p> + +<p>"Not only have you lost sleep, appetite, and flesh," +proceeded Moore, "but your spirits are always at ebb. +Besides, there is a nervous alarm in your eye, a nervous +disquiet in your manner. These peculiarities were not +formerly yours."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, we will pause here. You have exactly +hit it. I am nervous. Now, talk of something else. What +wet weather we have—steady, pouring rain!"</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em> nervous? Yes; and if Miss Keeldar is nervous, +it is not without a cause. Let me reach it. Let me look +nearer. The ailment is not physical. I have suspected +that. It came in one moment. I know the day. I noticed +the change. Your pain is mental."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. It is nothing so dignified—merely nervous. +Oh! dismiss the topic."</p> + +<p>"When it is exhausted; not till then. Nervous alarms +should always be communicated, that they may be dissipated. +I wish I had the gift of persuasion, and could +incline you to speak willingly. I believe confession, in your +case, would be half equivalent to cure."</p> + +<p>"No," said Shirley abruptly. "I wish that were at all +probable; but I am afraid it is not."</p> + +<p>She suspended her work a moment. She was now seated. +Resting her elbow on the table, she leaned her head on her +hand. Mr. Moore looked as if he felt he had at last gained +some footing in this difficult path. She was serious, and +in her wish was implied an important admission; after +that she could no longer affirm that <em>nothing</em> ailed +her.</p> + +<p>The tutor allowed her some minutes for repose and +reflection ere he returned to the charge. Once his lips +moved to speak, but he thought better of it, and prolonged +the pause. Shirley lifted her eye to his. Had he +betrayed injudicious emotion, perhaps obstinate persistence +in silence would have been the result; but he +looked calm, strong, trustworthy.</p> + +<p>"I had better tell <em>you</em> than my aunt," she said, "or +than my cousins, or my uncle. They would all make such +a bustle, and it is that very bustle I dread—the alarm, the +flurry, the <em>éclat</em>. In short, I never liked to be the centre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>444<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of a small domestic whirlpool. You can bear a little +shock—eh?"</p> + +<p>"A great one, if necessary."</p> + +<p>Not a muscle of the man's frame moved, and yet his +large heart beat fast in his deep chest. What was she +going to tell him? Was irremediable mischief done?</p> + +<p>"Had I thought it right to go to you, I would never have +made a secret of the matter one moment," she continued. +"I would have told you at once, and asked advice."</p> + +<p>"Why was it not right to come to me?"</p> + +<p>"It might be <em>right</em>—I do not mean that; but I could +not do it. I seemed to have no title to trouble you. The +mishap concerned me only. I wanted to keep it to myself, +and people will not let me. I tell you, I hate to be an +object of worrying attention, or a theme for village gossip. +Besides, it may pass away without result—God knows!"</p> + +<p>Moore, though tortured with suspense, did not demand +a quick explanation. He suffered neither gesture, glance, +nor word to betray impatience. His tranquillity tranquillized +Shirley; his confidence reassured her.</p> + +<p>"Great effects may spring from trivial causes," she +remarked, as she loosened a bracelet from her wrist. Then, +unfastening her sleeve, and partially turning it up, "Look +here, Mr. Moore."</p> + +<p>She showed a mark in her white arm—rather a deep +though healed-up indentation—something between a burn +and a cut.</p> + +<p>"I would not show that to any one in Briarfield but you, +because you can take it quietly."</p> + +<p>"Certainly there is nothing in the little mark to shock. +Its history will explain."</p> + +<p>"Small as it is, it has taken my sleep away, and made +me nervous, thin, and foolish; because, on account of that +little mark, I am obliged to look forward to a possibility +that has its terrors."</p> + +<p>The sleeve was readjusted, the bracelet replaced.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that you try me?" he said, smiling. "I +am a patient sort of man, but my pulse is quickening."</p> + +<p>"Whatever happens, you will befriend me, Mr. Moore? +You will give me the benefit of your self-possession, and +not leave me at the mercy of agitated cowards?"</p> + +<p>"I make no promise now. Tell me the tale, and then +exact what pledge you will."</p> + +<p>"It is a very short tale. I took a walk with Isabella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>445<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and Gertrude one day, about three weeks ago. They +reached home before me; I stayed behind to speak to John. +After leaving him, I pleased myself with lingering in the +lane, where all was very still and shady. I was tired of +chattering to the girls, and in no hurry to rejoin them. +As I stood leaning against the gate-pillar, thinking some +very happy thoughts about my future life—for that morning +I imagined that events were beginning to turn as I had +long wished them to turn——"</p> + +<p>"Ah! Nunnely had been with her the evening before!" +thought Moore parenthetically.</p> + +<p>"I heard a panting sound; a dog came running up the +lane. I know most of the dogs in this neighbourhood. +It was Phœbe, one of Mr. Sam Wynne's pointers. The +poor creature ran with her head down, her tongue hanging +out; she looked as if bruised and beaten all over. I called +her. I meant to coax her into the house and give her some +water and dinner. I felt sure she had been ill-used. Mr. +Sam often flogs his pointers cruelly. She was too flurried +to know me; and when I attempted to pat her head, she +turned and snatched at my arm. She bit it so as to draw +blood, then ran panting on. Directly after, Mr. Wynne's +keeper came up, carrying a gun. He asked if I had seen +a dog. I told him I had seen Phœbe.</p> + +<p>"'You had better chain up Tartar, ma'am,' he said, +'and tell your people to keep within the house. I am +after Phœbe to shoot her, and the groom is gone another +way. She is raging mad.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore leaned back in his chair and folded his arms +across his chest. Miss Keeldar resumed her square of silk +canvas, and continued the creation of a wreath of Parmese +violets.</p> + +<p>"And you told no one, sought no help, no cure? You +would not come to me?"</p> + +<p>"I got as far as the schoolroom door; there my courage +failed. I preferred to cushion the matter."</p> + +<p>"Why? What can I demand better in this world than +to be of use to you?"</p> + +<p>"I had no claim."</p> + +<p>"Monstrous! And you did nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I walked straight into the laundry, where they +are ironing most of the week, now that I have so many +guests in the house. While the maid was busy crimping +or starching, I took an Italian iron from the fire, and applied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>446<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm. I bored it well +in. It cauterized the little wound. Then I went upstairs."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you never once groaned?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure I don't know. I was very miserable—not +firm or tranquil at all, I think. There was no calm in my +mind."</p> + +<p>"There was calm in your person. I remember listening +the whole time we sat at luncheon, to hear if you moved +in the room above. All was quiet."</p> + +<p>"I was sitting at the foot of the bed, wishing Phœbe +had not bitten me."</p> + +<p>"And alone. You like solitude."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me."</p> + +<p>"You disdain sympathy."</p> + +<p>"Do I, Mr. Moore?"</p> + +<p>"With your powerful mind you must feel independent +of help, of advice, of society."</p> + +<p>"So be it, since it pleases you."</p> + +<p>She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and +quickly, but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, +and then a drop fell.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, +altered his attitude.</p> + +<p>"If it is not so," he asked, with a peculiar, mellow +change in his voice, "how is it, then?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"You do know, but you won't speak. All must be +locked up in yourself."</p> + +<p>"Because it is not worth sharing."</p> + +<p>"Because nobody can give the high price you require +for your confidence. Nobody is rich enough to purchase +it. Nobody has the honour, the intellect, the power you +demand in your adviser. There is not a shoulder in England +on which you would rest your hand for support, far less a +bosom which you would permit to pillow your head. Of +course you must live alone."</p> + +<p>"I <em>can</em> live alone, if need be. But the question is not +how to live, but how to die alone. That strikes me in a +more grisly light."</p> + +<p>"You apprehend the effects of the virus? You anticipate +an indefinitely threatening, dreadful doom?"</p> + +<p>She bowed.</p> + +<p>"You are very nervous and womanish."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>447<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You complimented me two minutes since on my +powerful mind."</p> + +<p>"You are very womanish. If the whole affair were +coolly examined and discussed, I feel assured it would +turn out that there is no danger of your dying at all."</p> + +<p>"Amen! I am very willing to live, if it please God. +I have felt life sweet."</p> + +<p>"How can it be otherwise than sweet with your endowments +and nature? Do you truly expect that you will +be seized with hydrophobia, and die raving mad?"</p> + +<p>"I <em>expect</em> it, and have <em>feared</em> it. Just now I fear nothing."</p> + +<p>"Nor do I, on your account. I doubt whether the +smallest particle of virus mingled with your blood; and +if it did, let me assure you that, young, healthy, faultlessly +sound as you are, no harm will ensue. For the +rest, I shall inquire whether the dog was really mad. I +hold she was not mad."</p> + +<p>"Tell nobody that she bit me."</p> + +<p>"Why should I, when I believe the bite innocuous as a +cut of this penknife? Make yourself easy. <em>I</em> am easy, +though I value your life as much as I do my own chance +of happiness in eternity. Look up."</p> + +<p>"Why, Mr. Moore?"</p> + +<p>"I wish to see if you are cheered. Put your work down; +raise your head."</p> + +<p>"There——"</p> + +<p>"Look at me. Thank you. And is the cloud broken?"</p> + +<p>"I fear nothing."</p> + +<p>"Is your mind restored to its own natural sunny clime?"</p> + +<p>"I am very content; but I want your promise."</p> + +<p>"Dictate."</p> + +<p>"You know, in case the worst I <em>have</em> feared should happen, +they will smother me. You need not smile. They will; +they always do. My uncle will be full of horror, weakness, +precipitation; and that is the only expedient which will +suggest itself to him. Nobody in the house will be self-possessed +but you. Now promise to befriend me—to keep +Mr. Sympson away from me, not to let Henry come near, +lest I should hurt him. Mind—<em>mind</em> that you take care +of yourself too. But I shall not injure you; I know I shall +not. Lock the chamber door against the surgeons; turn +them out if they get in. Let neither the young nor the old +MacTurk lay a finger on me; nor Mr. Greaves, their colleague; +and lastly, if I give trouble, with your own hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>448<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +administer to me a strong narcotic—such a sure dose of +laudanum as shall leave no mistake. <em>Promise to do this.</em>"</p> + +<p>Moore left his desk, and permitted himself the recreation +of one or two turns through the room. Stopping +behind Shirley's chair, he bent over her, and said, in a low, +emphatic voice, "I promise all you ask—without comment, +without reservation."</p> + +<p>"If female help is needed, call in my housekeeper, +Mrs. Gill. Let her lay me out if I die. She is attached +to me. She wronged me again and again, and again and +again I forgave her. She now loves me, and would not +defraud me of a pin. Confidence has made her honest; forbearance +has made her kind-hearted. At this day I can +trust both her integrity, her courage, and her affection. +Call her; but keep my good aunt and my timid cousins +away. Once more, promise."</p> + +<p>"I promise."</p> + +<p>"That is good in you," she said, looking up at him as +he bent over her, and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Is it good? Does it comfort?"</p> + +<p>"Very much."</p> + +<p>"I will be with you—I and Mrs. Gill only—in any, +in every extremity where calm and fidelity are needed. +No rash or coward hand shall meddle."</p> + +<p>"Yet you think me childish?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Ah! you despise me."</p> + +<p>"Do we despise children?"</p> + +<p>"In fact, I am neither so strong, nor have I such pride +in my strength, as people think, Mr. Moore; nor am I +so regardless of sympathy. But when I have any grief, +I fear to impart it to those I love, lest it should pain them; +and to those whom I view with indifference I cannot condescend +to complain. After all, you should not taunt me +with being childish, for if you were as unhappy as I have been +for the last three weeks, you too would want some friend."</p> + +<p>"We all want a friend, do we not?"</p> + +<p>"All of us that have anything good in our natures."</p> + +<p>"Well, you have Caroline Helstone."</p> + +<p>"Yes. And you have Mr. Hall."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Mrs. Pryor is a wise, good woman. She can +counsel you when you need counsel."</p> + +<p>"For your part, you have your brother Robert."</p> + +<p>"For any right-hand defections, there is the Rev. Matthewson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>449<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Helstone, M.A., to lean upon; for any left-hand +fallings-off there is Hiram Yorke, Esq. Both elders pay you +homage."</p> + +<p>"I never saw Mrs. Yorke so motherly to any young +man as she is to you. I don't know how you have won +her heart, but she is more tender to you than she is to her +own sons. You have, besides, your sister Hortense."</p> + +<p>"It appears we are both well provided."</p> + +<p>"It appears so."</p> + +<p>"How thankful we ought to be!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"How contented!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"For my part, I am almost contented just now, and +very thankful. Gratitude is a divine emotion. It fills +the heart, but not to bursting; it warms it, but not to +fever. I like to taste leisurely of bliss. Devoured in haste, +I do not know its flavour."</p> + +<p>Still leaning on the back of Miss Keeldar's chair, Moore +watched the rapid motion of her fingers, as the green and +purple garland grew beneath them. After a prolonged +pause, he again asked, "Is the shadow <em>quite</em> gone?"</p> + +<p>"Wholly. As I <em>was</em> two hours since, and as I <em>am</em> now, +are two different states of existence. I believe, Mr. Moore, +griefs and fears nursed in silence grow like Titan infants."</p> + +<p>"You will cherish such feelings no more in silence?"</p> + +<p>"Not if I dare speak."</p> + +<p>"In using the word '<em>dare</em>,' to whom do you allude?"</p> + +<p>"To you."</p> + +<p>"How is it applicable to me?"</p> + +<p>"On account of your austerity and shyness."</p> + +<p>"Why am I austere and shy?"</p> + +<p>"Because you are proud."</p> + +<p>"Why am I proud?"</p> + +<p>"I should like to know. Will you be good enough to +tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, because I am poor, for one reason. Poverty +and pride often go together."</p> + +<p>"That is such a nice reason. I should be charmed to +discover another that would pair with it. Mate that +turtle, Mr. Moore."</p> + +<p>"Immediately. What do you think of marrying to sober +Poverty many-tinted Caprice?"</p> + +<p>"Are you capricious?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>450<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"<em>You</em> are."</p> + +<p>"A libel. I am steady as a rock, fixed as the polar +star."</p> + +<p>"I look out at some early hour of the day, and see a fine, +perfect rainbow, bright with promise, gloriously spanning +the beclouded welkin of life. An hour afterwards I look +again: half the arch is gone, and the rest is faded. Still +later, the stern sky denies that it ever wore so benign a +symbol of hope."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Moore, you should contend against these +changeful humours. They are your besetting sin. One +never knows where to have you."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, I had once, for two years, a pupil who +grew very dear to me. Henry is dear, but she was dearer. +Henry never gives me trouble; she—well, she did. I +think she vexed me twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four——"</p> + +<p>"She was never with you above three hours, or at the +most six at a time."</p> + +<p>"She sometimes spilled the draught from my cup, and +stole the food from my plate; and when she had kept +me unfed for a day (and that did not suit me, for I am a +man accustomed to take my meals with reasonable relish, +and to ascribe due importance to the rational enjoyment of +creature comforts)——"</p> + +<p>"I know you do. I can tell what sort of dinners you +like best—perfectly well. I know precisely the dishes +you prefer——"</p> + +<p>"She robbed these dishes of flavour, and made a fool +of me besides. I like to sleep well. In my quiet days, +when I was my own man, I never quarrelled with the night +for being long, nor cursed my bed for its thorns. She +changed all this."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore——"</p> + +<p>"And having taken from me peace of mind and ease +of life, she took from me herself—quite coolly, just as +if, when she was gone, the world would be all the same to +me. I knew I should see her again at some time. At the +end of two years, it fell out that we encountered again +under her own roof, where she was mistress. How do you +think she bore herself towards me, Miss Keeldar?"</p> + +<p>"Like one who had profited well by lessons learned from +yourself."</p> + +<p>"She received me haughtily. She meted out a wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>451<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +space between us, and kept me aloof by the reserved gesture, +the rare and alienated glance, the word calmly civil."</p> + +<p>"She was an excellent pupil! Having seen you distant, +she at once learned to withdraw. Pray, sir, admire in her +<em>hauteur</em> a careful improvement on your own coolness."</p> + +<p>"Conscience, and honour, and the most despotic necessity +dragged me apart from her, and kept me sundered +with ponderous fetters. She was free: she might have been +clement."</p> + +<p>"Never free to compromise her self-respect, to seek +where she had been shunned."</p> + +<p>"Then she was inconsistent; she tantalized as before. +When I thought I had made up my mind to seeing in her +only a lofty stranger, she would suddenly show me such +a glimpse of loving simplicity—she would warm me with +such a beam of reviving sympathy, she would gladden an +hour with converse so gentle, gay, and kindly—that I could +no more shut my heart on her image than I could close +that door against her presence. Explain why she distressed +me so."</p> + +<p>"She could not bear to be quite outcast; and then she +would sometimes get a notion into her head, on a cold, +wet day, that the schoolroom was no cheerful place, and +feel it incumbent on her to go and see if you and Henry kept +up a good fire; and once there, she liked to stay."</p> + +<p>"But she should not be changeful. If she came at +all, she should come oftener."</p> + +<p>"There is such a thing as intrusion."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow you will not be as you are to-day."</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Will you?"</p> + +<p>"I am not mad, most noble Berenice! We may give +one day to dreaming, but the next we must awake; and +I shall awake to purpose the morning you are married +to Sir Philip Nunnely. The fire shines on you and me, +and shows us very clearly in the glass, Miss Keeldar; and +I have been gazing on the picture all the time I have been +talking. Look up! What a difference between your head +and mine! I look old for thirty!"</p> + +<p>"You are so grave; you have such a square brow; +and your face is sallow. I never regard you as a young man, +nor as Robert's junior."</p> + +<p>"Don't you? I thought not. Imagine Robert's clear-cut, +handsome face looking over my shoulder. Does not +the apparition make vividly manifest the obtuse mould<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>452<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +of my heavy traits? There!" (he started), "I have been +expecting that wire to vibrate this last half-hour."</p> + +<p>The dinner-bell rang, and Shirley rose.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore," she said, as she gathered up her silks, +"have you heard from your brother lately? Do you +know what he means by staying in town so long? Does +he talk of returning?"</p> + +<p>"He talks of returning; but what has caused his long +absence I cannot tell. To speak the truth, I thought +none in Yorkshire knew better than yourself why he was +reluctant to come home."</p> + +<p>A crimson shadow passed across Miss Keeldar's cheek.</p> + +<p>"Write to him and urge him to come," she said. "I +know there has been no impolicy in protracting his absence +thus far. It is good to let the mill stand, while trade is so +bad; but he must not abandon the county."</p> + +<p>"I am aware," said Louis, "that he had an interview +with you the evening before he left, and I saw him quit +Fieldhead afterwards. I read his countenance, or <em>tried</em> +to read it. He turned from me. I divined that he would +be long away. Some fine, slight fingers have a wondrous +knack at pulverizing a man's brittle pride. I suppose +Robert put too much trust in his manly beauty and native +gentlemanhood. Those are better off who, being destitute +of advantage, cannot cherish delusion. But I will write, +and say you advise his return."</p> + +<p>"Do not say <em>I</em> advise his return, but that his return +is advisable."</p> + +<p>The second bell rang, and Miss Keeldar obeyed its call.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>453<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br /> +<br /> +<small>LOUIS MOORE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Louis Moore</span> was used to a quiet life. Being a quiet +man, he endured it better than most men would. Having +a large world of his own in his own head and heart, he +tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real +world very patiently.</p> + +<p>How hushed is Fieldhead this evening! All but Moore—Miss +Keeldar, the whole family of the Sympsons, even +Henry—are gone to Nunnely. Sir Philip would have them +come; he wished to make them acquainted with his mother +and sisters, who are now at the priory. Kind gentleman as +the baronet is, he asked the tutor too; but the tutor would +much sooner have made an appointment with the ghost of +the Earl of Huntingdon to meet him, and a shadowy ring +of his merry men, under the canopy of the thickest, blackest, +oldest oak in Nunnely Forest. Yes, he would rather have +appointed tryst with a phantom abbess, or mist-pale nun, +among the wet and weedy relics of that ruined sanctuary +of theirs, mouldering in the core of the wood. Louis Moore +longs to have something near him to-night; but not the +boy-baronet, nor his benevolent but stern mother, nor his +patrician sisters, nor one soul of the Sympsons.</p> + +<p>This night is not calm; the equinox still struggles in +its storms. The wild rains of the day are abated; the great +single cloud disparts and rolls away from heaven, not passing +and leaving a sea all sapphire, but tossed buoyant before a +continued, long-sounding, high-rushing moonlight tempest. +The moon reigns glorious, glad of the gale, as glad as if she +gave herself to his fierce caress with love. No Endymion +will watch for his goddess to-night. There are no flocks +out on the mountains; and it is well, for to-night she welcomes +Æolus.</p> + +<p>Moore, sitting in the schoolroom, heard the storm roar +round the other gable and along the hall-front. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>454<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +end was sheltered. He wanted no shelter; he desired +no subdued sounds or screened position.</p> + +<p>"All the parlours are empty," said he. "I am sick +at heart of this cell."</p> + +<p>He left it, and went where the casements, larger and +freer than the branch-screened lattice of his own apartment, +admitted unimpeded the dark-blue, the silver-fleeced, +the stirring and sweeping vision of the autumn +night-sky. He carried no candle; unneeded was lamp or +fire. The broad and clear though cloud-crossed and fluctuating +beam of the moon shone on every floor and wall.</p> + +<p>Moore wanders through all the rooms. He seems following +a phantom from parlour to parlour. In the oak +room he stops. This is not chill, and polished, and fireless +like the <em>salon</em>. The hearth is hot and ruddy; the +cinders tinkle in the intense heat of their clear glow; +near the rug is a little work-table, a desk upon it, a chair +near it.</p> + +<p>Does the vision Moore has tracked occupy that chair? +You would think so, could you see him standing before +it. There is as much interest now in his eye, and as much +significance in his face, as if in this household solitude +he had found a living companion, and was going to speak +to it.</p> + +<p>He makes discoveries. A bag—a small satin bag—hangs +on the chair-back. The desk is open, the keys are +in the lock. A pretty seal, a silver pen, a crimson berry or +two of ripe fruit on a green leaf, a small, clean, delicate +glove—these trifles at once decorate and disarrange the +stand they strew. Order forbids details in a picture—she +puts them tidily away; but details give charm.</p> + +<p>Moore spoke.</p> + +<p>"Her mark," he said. "Here she has been—careless, +attractive thing!—called away in haste, doubtless, and +forgetting to return and put all to rights. Why does she +leave fascination in her footprints? Whence did she +acquire the gift to be heedless and never offend? There +is always something to chide in her, and the reprimand +never settles in displeasure on the heart, but, for her lover +or her husband, when it had trickled a while in words, +would naturally melt from his lips in a kiss. Better pass +half an hour in remonstrating with her than a day in admiring +or praising any other woman alive. Am I muttering? +soliloquizing? Stop that."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>455<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>He did stop it. He stood thinking, and then he made +an arrangement for his evening's comfort.</p> + +<p>He dropped the curtains over the broad window and +regal moon. He shut out sovereign and court and starry +armies; he added fuel to the hot but fast-wasting fire; +he lit a candle, of which there were a pair on the table; +he placed another chair opposite that near the workstand; +and then he sat down. His next movement was to take from +his pocket a small, thick book of blank paper, to produce +a pencil, and to begin to write in a cramp, compact hand. +Come near, by all means, reader. Do not be shy. Stoop +over his shoulder fearlessly, and read as he scribbles.</p> + +<p>"It is nine o'clock; the carriage will not return before +eleven, I am certain. Freedom is mine till then; till +then I may occupy her room, sit opposite her chair, rest +my elbow on her table, have her little mementoes about +me.</p> + +<p>"I used rather to like Solitude—to fancy her a somewhat +quiet and serious, yet fair nymph; an Oread, descending +to me from lone mountain-passes, something of +the blue mist of hills in her array and of their chill breeze +in her breath, but much also of their solemn beauty in her +mien. I once could court her serenely, and imagine my +heart easier when I held her to it—all mute, but majestic.</p> + +<p>"Since that day I called S. to me in the schoolroom, +and she came and sat so near my side; since she opened +the trouble of her mind to me, asked my protection, appealed +to my strength—since that hour I abhor Solitude. Cold +abstraction, fleshless skeleton, daughter, mother, and mate +of Death!</p> + +<p>"It is pleasant to write about what is near and dear +as the core of my heart. None can deprive me of this little +book, and through this pencil I can say to it what I will—say +what I dare utter to nothing living—say what I dare +not <em>think</em> aloud.</p> + +<p>"We have scarcely encountered each other since that +evening. Once, when I was alone in the drawing-room, +seeking a book of Henry's, she entered, dressed for a concert +at Stilbro'. Shyness—<em>her</em> shyness, not mine—drew a silver +veil between us. Much cant have I heard and read about +'maiden modesty,' but, properly used, and not hackneyed, +the words are good and appropriate words. As she passed +to the window, after tacitly but gracefully recognizing me, +I could call her nothing in my own mind save 'stainless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>456<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +virgin.' To my perception, a delicate splendour robed her, +and the modesty of girlhood was her halo. I may be the +most fatuous, as I am one of the plainest, of men, but in +truth that shyness of hers touched me exquisitely; it +flattered my finest sensations. I looked a stupid block, I +dare say. I was alive with a life of Paradise, as she turned +<em>her</em> glance from <em>my</em> glance, and softly averted her head to +hide the suffusion of her cheek.</p> + +<p>"I know this is the talk of a dreamer—of a rapt, romantic +lunatic. I <em>do</em> dream. I <em>will</em> dream now and then; and if +she has inspired romance into my prosaic composition, how +can I help it?</p> + +<p>"What a child she is sometimes! What an unsophisticated, +untaught thing! I see her now looking up into +my face, and entreating me to prevent them from smothering +her, and to be sure and give her a strong narcotic. I +see her confessing that she was not so self-sufficing, so independent +of sympathy, as people thought. I see the secret +tear drop quietly from her eyelash. She said I thought her +childish, and I did. She imagined I despised her. Despised +her! It was unutterably sweet to feel myself at once near +her and above her—to be conscious of a natural right and +power to sustain her, as a husband should sustain his wife.</p> + +<p>"I worship her perfections; but it is her faults, or at +least her foibles, that bring her near to me, that nestle +her to my heart, that fold her about with my love, and +that for a most selfish but deeply-natural reason. These +faults are the steps by which I mount to ascendency over +her. If she rose a trimmed, artificial mound, without +inequality, what vantage would she offer the foot? It is +the natural hill, with its mossy breaks and hollows, whose +slope invites ascent, whose summit it is pleasure to gain.</p> + +<p>"To leave metaphor. It delights my eye to look on +her. She suits me. If I were a king and she the housemaid +that swept my palace-stairs, across all that space +between us my eye would recognize her qualities; a true +pulse would beat for her in my heart, though an unspanned +gulf made acquaintance impossible. If I were a gentleman, +and she waited on me as a servant, I could not help liking +that Shirley. Take from her her education; take her +ornaments, her sumptuous dress, all extrinsic advantages; +take all grace, but such as the symmetry of her form renders +inevitable; present her to me at a cottage door, in a stuff +gown; let her offer me there a draught of water, with that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>457<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +smile, with that warm good-will with which she now dispenses +manorial hospitality—I should like her. I should +wish to stay an hour; I should linger to talk with that rustic. +I should not feel as I <em>now</em> do; I should find in her nothing +divine; but whenever I met the young peasant, it would be +with pleasure; whenever I left her, it would be with regret.</p> + +<p>"How culpably careless in her to leave her desk open, +where I know she has money! In the lock hang the keys +of all her repositories, of her very jewel-casket. There +is a purse in that little satin bag; I see the tassel of silver +beads hanging out. That spectacle would provoke my +brother Robert. All her little failings would, I know, be a +source of irritation to him. If they vex me it is a most +pleasurable vexation. I delight to find her at fault; and +were I always resident with her, I am aware she would be +no niggard in thus ministering to my enjoyment. She +would just give me something to do, to rectify—a theme +for my tutor lectures. I never lecture Henry, never feel +disposed to do so. If he does wrong—and that is very seldom, +dear, excellent lad!—a word suffices. Often I do no +more than shake my head. But the moment her <em>minois +mutin</em> meets my eye, expostulatory words crowd to my +lips. From a taciturn man I believe she would transform +me into a talker. Whence comes the delight I take in that +talk? It puzzles myself sometimes. The more <em>crâne, malin, +taquin</em> is her mood, consequently the clearer occasion she +gives me for disapprobation, the more I seek her, the better +I like her. She is never wilder than when equipped in her +habit and hat, never less manageable than when she and +Zoë come in fiery from a race with the wind on the hills; +and I confess it—to this mute page I may confess it—I have +waited an hour in the court for the chance of witnessing her +return, and for the dearer chance of receiving her in my +arms from the saddle. I have noticed (again it is to this +page only I would make the remark) that she will never +permit any man but myself to render her that assistance. +I have seen her politely decline Sir Philip Nunnely's aid. +She is always mighty gentle with her young baronet, mighty +tender for his feelings, forsooth, and of his very thin-skinned +<em>amour propre</em>. I have marked her haughtily reject Sam +Wynne's. Now I know—my heart knows it, for it has felt +it—that she resigns herself to me unreluctantly. Is she +conscious how my strength rejoices to serve her? I myself +am not her slave—I declare it—but my faculties gather to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>458<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +her beauty, like the genii to the glisten of the lamp. All +my knowledge, all my prudence, all my calm, and all my +power stand in her presence humbly waiting a task. How +glad they are when a mandate comes! What joy they +take in the toils she assigns! Does she know it?</p> + +<p>"I have called her careless. It is remarkable that her +carelessness never compromises her refinement. Indeed, +through this very loophole of character, the reality, depth, +genuineness of that refinement may be ascertained. A +whole garment sometimes covers meagreness and malformation; +through a rent sleeve a fair round arm may be +revealed. I have seen and handled many of her possessions, +because they are frequently astray. I never saw anything +that did not proclaim the lady—nothing sordid, nothing +soiled. In one sense she is as scrupulous as, in another, she +is unthinking. As a peasant girl, she would go ever trim +and cleanly. Look at the pure kid of this little glove, at +the fresh, unsullied satin of the bag.</p> + +<p>"What a difference there is between S. and that pearl +C. H.! Caroline, I fancy, is the soul of conscientious punctuality +and nice exactitude. She would precisely suit the +domestic habits of a certain fastidious kinsman of mine—so +delicate, dexterous, quaint, quick, quiet—all done to a +minute, all arranged to a strawbreadth. She would suit +Robert. But what could <em>I</em> do with anything so nearly +faultless? <em>She</em> is my equal, poor as myself. She is certainly +pretty: a little Raffaelle head hers—Raffaelle in +feature, quite English in expression, all insular grace and +purity; but where is there anything to alter, anything to +endure, anything to reprimand, to be anxious about? There +she is, a lily of the valley, untinted, needing no tint. What +change could improve her? What pencil dare to paint? +<em>My</em> sweetheart, if I ever have one, must bear nearer affinity +to the rose—a sweet, lively delight guarded with prickly +peril. <em>My</em> wife, if I ever marry, must stir my great +frame with a sting now and then; she must furnish use +to her husband's vast mass of patience. I was not made +so enduring to be mated with a lamb; I should find more +congenial responsibility in the charge of a young lioness +or leopardess. I like few things sweet but what are likewise +pungent—few things bright but what are likewise hot. +I like the summer day, whose sun makes fruit blush and corn +blanch. Beauty is never so beautiful as when, if I tease +it, it wreathes back on me with spirit. Fascination is never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>459<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +so imperial as when, roused and half ireful, she threatens +transformation to fierceness. I fear I should tire of the +mute, monotonous innocence of the lamb; I should ere long +feel as burdensome the nestling dove which never stirred +in my bosom; but my patience would exult in stilling the +flutterings and training the energies of the restless merlin. +In managing the wild instincts of the scarce manageable +<em>bête fauve</em> my powers would revel.</p> + +<p>"O my pupil! O Peri! too mutinous for heaven, too +innocent for hell, never shall I do more than see, and worship, +and wish for thee. Alas! knowing I could make thee +happy, will it be my doom to see thee possessed by those +who have not that power?</p> + +<p>"However kindly the hand, if it is feeble, it cannot bend +Shirley; and she must be bent. It cannot curb her; +and she must be curbed.</p> + +<p>"Beware, Sir Philip Nunnely! I never see you walking +or sitting at her side, and observe her lips compressed, +or her brow knit, in resolute endurance of some trait of +your character which she neither admires nor likes, in +determined toleration of some weakness she believes atoned +for by a virtue, but which annoys her despite that belief; I +never mark the grave glow of her face, the unsmiling sparkle +of her eye, the slight recoil of her whole frame when you +draw a little too near, and gaze a little too expressively, +and whisper a little too warmly—I never witness these +things but I think of the fable of Semele reversed.</p> + +<p>"It is not the daughter of Cadmus I see, nor do I realize +her fatal longing to look on Jove in the majesty of his god-head. +It is a priest of Juno that stands before me, watching +late and lone at a shrine in an Argive temple. For years +of solitary ministry he has lived on dreams. There is +divine madness upon him. He loves the idol he serves, +and prays day and night that his frenzy may be fed, and +that the Ox-eyed may smile on her votary. She has heard; +she will be propitious. All Argos slumbers. The doors +of the temple are shut; the priest waits at the altar.</p> + +<p>"A shock of heaven and earth is felt—not by the slumbering +city, only by that lonely watcher, brave and unshaken +in his fanaticism. In the midst of silence, with no +preluding sound, he is wrapped in sudden light. Through +the roof, through the rent, wide-yawning, vast, white-blazing +blue of heaven above, pours a wondrous descent, +dread as the downrushing of stars. He has what he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>460<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Withdraw—forbear to look—I am blinded. I hear in that +fane an unspeakable sound. Would that I could not hear +it! I see an insufferable glory burning terribly between the +pillars. Gods be merciful and quench it!</p> + +<p>"A pious Argive enters to make an early offering in the +cool dawn of morning. There was thunder in the night; +the bolt fell here. The shrine is shivered, the marble +pavement round split and blackened. Saturnia's statue +rises chaste, grand, untouched; at her feet piled ashes lie +pale. No priest remains; he who watched will be seen no +more.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"There is the carriage! Let me lock up the desk and +pocket the keys. She will be seeking them to-morrow; +she will have to come to me. I hear her: 'Mr. Moore, have +you seen my keys?'</p> + +<p>"So she will say, in her clear voice, speaking with reluctance, +looking ashamed, conscious that this is the twentieth +time of asking. I will tantalize her, keep her with me, +expecting, doubting; and when I <em>do</em> restore them, it shall +not be without a lecture. Here is the bag, too, and the purse; +the glove—pen—seal. She shall wring them all out of me +slowly and separately—only by confession, penitence, entreaty. +I never can touch her hand, or a ringlet of her +head, or a ribbon of her dress, but I will make privileges +for myself. Every feature of her face, her bright eyes, her +lips, shall go through each change they know, for my pleasure—display +each exquisite variety of glance and curve, to +delight, thrill, perhaps more hopelessly to enchain me. If +I must be her slave, I will not lose my freedom for nothing."</p> + +<p>He locked the desk, pocketed all the property, and went.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>461<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br /> +<br /> +<small>RUSHEDGE—A CONFESSIONAL.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Everybody</span> said it was high time for Mr. Moore to return +home. All Briarfield wondered at his strange absence, +and Whinbury and Nunnely brought each its separate +contribution of amazement.</p> + +<p>Was it known why he stayed away? Yes. It was +known twenty—forty times over, there being at least +forty plausible reasons adduced to account for the unaccountable +circumstance. Business it was not—<em>that</em> the +gossips agreed. He had achieved the business on which +he departed long ago. His four ringleaders he had soon +scented out and run down. He had attended their trial, +heard their conviction and sentence, and seen them safely +shipped prior to transportation.</p> + +<p>This was known at Briarfield. The newspapers had +reported it. The <em>Stilbro' Courier</em> had given every particular, +with amplifications. None applauded his perseverance +or hailed his success, though the mill-owners were +glad of it, trusting that the terrors of law vindicated would +henceforward paralyze the sinister valour of disaffection. +Disaffection, however, was still heard muttering to himself. +He swore ominous oaths over the drugged beer of alehouses, +and drank strange toasts in fiery British gin.</p> + +<p>One report affirmed that Moore <em>dared</em> not come to Yorkshire; +he knew his life was not worth an hour's purchase +if he did.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him that," said Mr. Yorke, when his foreman +mentioned the rumour; "and if <em>that</em> does not bring him +home full gallop, nothing will."</p> + +<p>Either that or some other motive prevailed at last to +recall him. He announced to Joe Scott the day he should +arrive at Stilbro', desiring his hackney to be sent to the +George for his accommodation; and Joe Scott having +informed Mr. Yorke, that gentleman made it in his way to +meet him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>462<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>It was market-day. Moore arrived in time to take his +usual place at the market dinner. As something of a stranger, +and as a man of note and action, the assembled manufacturers +received him with a certain distinction. Some, who +in public would scarcely have dared to acknowledge his +acquaintance, lest a little of the hate and vengeance laid up +in store for him should perchance have fallen on them, in +private hailed him as in some sort their champion. When +the wine had circulated, their respect would have kindled to +enthusiasm had not Moore's unshaken nonchalance held it in +a damp, low, smouldering state.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, the permanent president of these dinners, +witnessed his young friend's bearing with exceeding complacency. +If one thing could stir his temper or excite his +contempt more than another, it was to see a man befooled +by flattery or elate with popularity. If one thing smoothed, +soothed, and charmed him especially, it was the spectacle +of a public character incapable of relishing his publicity—<em>incapable</em>, +I say. Disdain would but have incensed; it +was indifference that appeased his rough spirit.</p> + +<p>Robert, leaning back in his chair, quiet and almost surly, +while the clothiers and blanket-makers vaunted his prowess +and rehearsed his deeds—many of them interspersing +their flatteries with coarse invectives against the operative +class—was a delectable sight for Mr. Yorke. His heart +tingled with the pleasing conviction that these gross eulogiums +shamed Moore deeply, and made him half scorn +himself and his work. On abuse, on reproach, on calumny, +it is easy to smile; but painful indeed is the panegyric of +those we contemn. Often had Moore gazed with a brilliant +countenance over howling crowds from a hostile +hustings. He had breasted the storm of unpopularity with +gallant bearing and soul elate; but he drooped his head +under the half-bred tradesmen's praise, and shrank chagrined +before their congratulations.</p> + +<p>Yorke could not help asking him how he liked his supporters, +and whether he did not think they did honour +to his cause. "But it is a pity, lad," he added, "that +you did not hang these four samples of the unwashed. +If you had managed <em>that</em> feat, the gentry here would have +riven the horses out of the coach, yoked to a score of +asses, and drawn you into Stilbro' like a conquering +general."</p> + +<p>Moore soon forsook the wine, broke from the party,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>463<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and took the road. In less than five minutes Mr. Yorke +followed him. They rode out of Stilbro' together.</p> + +<p>It was early to go home, but yet it was late in the day. +The last ray of the sun had already faded from the cloud-edges, +and the October night was casting over the moorlands +the shadow of her approach.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke, moderately exhilarated with his moderate +libations, and not displeased to see young Moore again +in Yorkshire, and to have him for his comrade during the +long ride home, took the discourse much to himself. He +touched briefly, but scoffingly, on the trials and the conviction; +he passed thence to the gossip of the neighbourhood, and ere +long he attacked Moore on his own personal concerns.</p> + +<p>"Bob, I believe you are worsted, and you deserve it. +All was smooth. Fortune had fallen in love with you. +She had decreed you the first prize in her wheel—twenty +thousand pounds; she only required that you should hold +your hand out and take it. And what did you do? You +called for a horse and rode a-hunting to Warwickshire. +Your sweetheart—Fortune, I mean—was perfectly indulgent. +She said, 'I'll excuse him; he's young.' She +waited, like 'Patience on a monument,' till the chase was +over and the vermin-prey run down. She expected you +would come back then, and be a good lad. You might +still have had her first prize.</p> + +<p>"It capped her beyond expression, and me too, to find +that, instead of thundering home in a breakneck gallop +and laying your assize laurels at her feet, you coolly took +coach up to London. What you have done there Satan +knows; nothing in this world, I believe, but sat and sulked. +Your face was never lily fair, but it is olive green now. +You're not as bonny as you were, man."</p> + +<p>"And who is to have this prize you talk so much about?"</p> + +<p>"Only a baronet; that is all. I have not a doubt in +my own mind you've lost her. She will be Lady Nunnely +before Christmas."</p> + +<p>"Hem! Quite probable."</p> + +<p>"But she need not to have been. Fool of a lad! I +swear you might have had her."</p> + +<p>"By what token, Mr. Yorke?"</p> + +<p>"By every token—by the light of her eyes, the red of +her cheeks. Red they grew when your name was mentioned, +though of custom they are pale."</p> + +<p>"My chance is quite over, I suppose?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>464<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"It ought to be. But try; it is worth trying. I call this +Sir Philip milk and water. And then he writes verses, they +say—tags rhymes. <em>You</em> are above that, Bob, at all events."</p> + +<p>"Would you advise me to propose, late as it is, Mr. +Yorke—at the eleventh hour?"</p> + +<p>"You can but make the experiment, Robert. If she +has a fancy for you—and, on my conscience, I believe she +has or had—she will forgive much. But, my lad, you are +laughing. Is it at me? You had better grin at your own +perverseness. I see, however, you laugh at the wrong side +of your mouth. You have as sour a look at this moment as +one need wish to see."</p> + +<p>"I have so quarrelled with myself, Yorke. I have so +kicked against the pricks, and struggled in a strait waistcoat, +and dislocated my wrists with wrenching them in +handcuffs, and battered my hard head by driving it against +a harder wall."</p> + +<p>"Ha! I'm glad to hear that. Sharp exercise yon! +I hope it has done you good—ta'en some of the self-conceit +out of you?"</p> + +<p>"Self-conceit? What is it? Self-respect, self-tolerance +even, what are they? Do you sell the articles? +Do you know anybody who does? Give an indication. +They would find in me a liberal chapman. I would part +with my last guinea this minute to buy."</p> + +<p>"Is it so with you, Robert? I find that spicy. I like +a man to speak his mind. What has gone wrong?"</p> + +<p>"The machinery of all my nature; the whole enginery +of this human mill; the boiler, which I take to be the heart, +is fit to burst."</p> + +<p>"That suld be putten i' print; it's striking. It's almost +blank verse. Ye'll be jingling into poetry just e'now. If +the afflatus comes, give way, Robert. Never heed me; +I'll bear it this whet [time]."</p> + +<p>"Hideous, abhorrent, base blunder! You may commit +in a moment what you will rue for years—what life +cannot cancel."</p> + +<p>"Lad, go on. I call it pie, nuts, sugar-candy. I like +the taste uncommonly. Go on. It will do you good to +talk. The moor is before us now, and there is no life for +many a mile round."</p> + +<p>"I <em>will</em> talk. I am not ashamed to tell. There is a sort +of wild cat in my breast, and I choose that you shall hear +how it can yell."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>465<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"To me it is music. What grand voices you and Louis +have! When Louis sings—tones off like a soft, deep bell—I've +felt myself tremble again. The night is still. It +listens. It is just leaning down to you, like a black priest +to a blacker penitent. Confess, lad. Smooth naught +down. Be candid as a convicted, justified, sanctified Methody +at an experience meeting. Make yourself as wicked as +Beelzebub. It will ease your mind."</p> + +<p>"As mean as Mammon, you would say. Yorke, if I +got off horseback and laid myself down across the road, +would you have the goodness to gallop over me, backwards +and forwards, about twenty times?"</p> + +<p>"Wi' all the pleasure in life, if there were no such thing +as a coroner's inquest."</p> + +<p>"Hiram Yorke, I certainly believed she loved me. I +have seen her eyes sparkle radiantly when she has found +me out in a crowd; she has flushed up crimson when she +has offered me her hand, and said, 'How do you do, Mr. +Moore?'</p> + +<p>"My name had a magical influence over her. When +others uttered it she changed countenance—I know she +did. She pronounced it herself in the most musical of +her many musical tones. She was cordial to me; she took +an interest in me; she was anxious about me; she wished +me well; she sought, she seized every opportunity to benefit +me. I considered, paused, watched, weighed, wondered. +I could come to but one conclusion—this is love.</p> + +<p>"I looked at her, Yorke. I saw in her youth and a +species of beauty. I saw power in her. Her wealth offered +me the redemption of my honour and my standing. I +owed her gratitude. She had aided me substantially and +effectually by a loan of five thousand pounds. Could I +remember these things? Could I believe she loved me? +Could I hear wisdom urge me to marry her, and disregard +every dear advantage, disbelieve every flattering suggestion, +disdain every well-weighed counsel, turn and leave her? +Young, graceful, gracious—my benefactress, attached to +me, enamoured of me. I used to say so to myself; dwell +on the word; mouth it over and over again; swell over it +with a pleasant, pompous complacency, with an admiration +dedicated entirely to myself, and unimpaired even by +esteem for her; indeed I smiled in deep secrecy at her +<em>naïveté</em> and simplicity in being the first to love, and to +show it. That whip of yours seems to have a good heavy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>466<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +handle, Yorke; you can swing it about your head and +knock me out of the saddle, if you choose. I should rather +relish a loundering whack."</p> + +<p>"Tak patience, Robert, till the moon rises and I can +see you. Speak plain out—did you love her or not? I +could like to know. I feel curious."</p> + +<p>"Sir—sir—I say—she is very pretty, in her own style, +and very attractive. She has a look, at times, of a thing +made out of fire and air, at which I stand and marvel, +without a thought of clasping and kissing it. I felt in her +a powerful magnet to my interest and vanity. I never felt +as if nature meant her to be my other and better self. +When a question on that head rushed upon me, I flung it off, +saying brutally I should be rich with her and ruined without +her—vowing I would be practical, and not romantic."</p> + +<p>"A very sensible resolve. What mischief came of it, +Bob?"</p> + +<p>"With this sensible resolve I walked up to Fieldhead +one night last August. It was the very eve of my departure +for Birmingham; for, you see, I wanted to secure +Fortune's splendid prize. I had previously dispatched a +note requesting a private interview. I found her at home, +and alone.</p> + +<p>"She received me without embarrassment, for she +thought I came on business. <em>I</em> was embarrassed enough, +but determined. I hardly know how I got the operation +over; but I went to work in a hard, firm fashion—frightful +enough, I dare say. I sternly offered myself—my fine +person—with my debts, of course, as a settlement.</p> + +<p>"It vexed me, it kindled my ire, to find that she neither +blushed, trembled, nor looked down. She responded, 'I +doubt whether I have understood you, Mr. Moore.'</p> + +<p>"And I had to go over the whole proposal twice, and +word it as plainly as A B C, before she would fully take +it in. And then, what did she do? Instead of faltering +a sweet Yes, or maintaining a soft, confused silence (which +would have been as good), she started up, walked twice fast +through the room, in the way that <em>she</em> only does, and no other +woman, and ejaculated, 'God bless me!'</p> + +<p>"Yorke, I stood on the hearth, backed by the mantelpiece; +against it I leaned, and prepared for anything—everything. +I knew my doom, and I knew myself. There +was no misunderstanding her aspect and voice. She +stopped and looked at me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>467<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'God bless me!' she piteously repeated, in that shocked, +indignant, yet saddened accent. 'You have made a strange +proposal—strange from <em>you</em>; and if you knew how strangely +you worded it and looked it, you would be startled at yourself. +You spoke like a brigand who demanded my purse +rather than like a lover who asked my heart.'</p> + +<p>"A queer sentence, was it not, Yorke? And I knew, +as she uttered it, it was true as queer. Her words were +a mirror in which I saw myself.</p> + +<p>"I looked at her, dumb and wolfish. She at once enraged +and shamed me.</p> + +<p>"'Gérard Moore, you know you don't love Shirley +Keeldar.' I might have broken out into false swearing—vowed +that I did love her; but I could not lie in her pure +face. I could not perjure myself in her truthful presence. +Besides, such hollow oaths would have been vain as void. +She would no more have believed me than she would have +believed the ghost of Judas, had he broken from the night and +stood before her. Her female heart had finer perceptions +than to be cheated into mistaking my half-coarse, half-cold +admiration for true-throbbing, manly love.</p> + +<p>"What next happened? you will say, Mr. Yorke.</p> + +<p>"Why, she sat down in the window-seat and cried. +She cried passionately. Her eyes not only rained but +lightened. They flashed, open, large, dark, haughty, upon +me. They said, 'You have pained me; you have outraged +me; you have deceived me.'</p> + +<p>"She added words soon to looks.</p> + +<p>"'I <em>did</em> respect—I <em>did</em> admire—I <em>did</em> like you,' she +said—'yes, as much as if you were my brother; and <em>you—you</em> +want to make a speculation of me. You would immolate +me to that mill, your Moloch!'</p> + +<p>"I had the common sense to abstain from any word +of excuse, any attempt at palliation. I stood to be scorned.</p> + +<p>"Sold to the devil for the time being, I was certainly +infatuated. When I did speak, what do you think I said?</p> + +<p>"'Whatever my own feelings were, I was persuaded +<em>you</em> loved <em>me</em>, Miss Keeldar.'</p> + +<p>"Beautiful, was it not? She sat quite confounded. +'Is it Robert Moore that speaks?' I heard her mutter. +'Is it a man—or something lower?'</p> + +<p>"'Do you mean,' she asked aloud—'do you mean you +thought I loved you as we love those we wish to marry?'</p> + +<p>"It <em>was</em> my meaning, and I said so.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>468<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'You conceived an idea obnoxious to a woman's feelings,' +was her answer. 'You have announced it in a fashion +revolting to a woman's soul. You insinuate that all the +frank kindness I have shown you has been a complicated, +a bold, and an immodest manœuvre to ensnare a husband. +You imply that at last you come here out of pity to offer +me your hand, because I have courted you. Let me say +this: Your sight is jaundiced; you have seen wrong. +Your mind is warped; you have judged wrong. Your +tongue betrays you; you now speak wrong. I never loved +you. Be at rest there. My heart is as pure of passion for +you as yours is barren of affection for me.'</p> + +<p>"I hope I was answered, Yorke?</p> + +<p>"'I seem to be a blind, besotted sort of person,' was +my remark.</p> + +<p>"'<em>Loved</em> you!' she cried. 'Why, I have been as frank +with you as a sister—never shunned you, never feared you. +You cannot,' she affirmed triumphantly—'you cannot make +me tremble with your coming, nor accelerate my pulse by +your influence.'</p> + +<p>"I alleged that often, when she spoke to me, she blushed, +and that the sound of my name moved her.</p> + +<p>"'Not for <em>your</em> sake!' she declared briefly. I urged +explanation, but could get none.</p> + +<p>"'When I sat beside you at the school feast, did you +think I loved you then? When I stopped you in Maythorn +Lane, did you think I loved you then? When I +called on you in the counting-house, when I walked with +you on the pavement, did you think I loved you then?'</p> + +<p>"So she questioned me; and I said I did.</p> + +<p>"By the Lord! Yorke, she rose, she grew tall, she expanded +and refined almost to flame. There was a trembling +all through her, as in live coal when its vivid vermilion is +hottest.</p> + +<p>"'That is to say that you have the worst opinion of +me; that you deny me the possession of all I value most. +That is to say that I am a traitor to all my sisters; that +I have acted as no woman can act without degrading herself +and her sex; that I have sought where the incorrupt of +my kind naturally scorn and abhor to seek.' She and I were +silent for many a minute. 'Lucifer, Star of the Morning,' +she went on, 'thou art fallen! You, once high in my esteem, +are hurled down; you, once intimate in my friendship, are +cast out. Go!'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>469<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I went not. I had heard her voice tremble, seen her +lip quiver. I knew another storm of tears would fall, +and then I believed some calm and some sunshine must +come, and I would wait for it.</p> + +<p>"As fast, but more quietly than before, the warm rain +streamed down. There was another sound in her weeping—a +softer, more regretful sound. While I watched, +her eyes lifted to me a gaze more reproachful than haughty, +more mournful than incensed.</p> + +<p>"'O Moore!' said she. It was worse than 'Et tu, +Brute!'</p> + +<p>"I relieved myself by what should have been a sigh, +but it became a groan. A sense of Cain-like desolation +made my breast ache.</p> + +<p>"'There has been error in what I have done,' I said, +'and it has won me bitter wages, which I will go and spend +far from her who gave them.'</p> + +<p>"I took my hat. All the time I could not have borne +to depart so, and I believed she would not let me. Nor +would she but for the mortal pang I had given her pride, +that cowed her compassion and kept her silent.</p> + +<p>"I was obliged to turn back of my own accord when +I reached the door, to approach her, and to say, 'Forgive +me.'</p> + +<p>"'I could, if there was not myself to forgive too,' was +her reply; 'but to mislead a sagacious man so far I must +have done wrong.'</p> + +<p>"I broke out suddenly with some declamation I do not +remember. I know that it was sincere, and that my wish +and aim were to absolve her to herself. In fact, in her +case self-accusation was a chimera.</p> + +<p>"At last she extended her hand. For the first time +I wished to take her in my arms and kiss her. I <em>did</em> kiss +her hand many times.</p> + +<p>"'Some day we shall be friends again,' she said, 'when +you have had time to read my actions and motives in +a true light, and not so horribly to misinterpret them. Time +may give you the right key to all. Then, perhaps, you +will comprehend me, and then we shall be reconciled.'</p> + +<p>"Farewell drops rolled slow down her cheeks. She +wiped them away.</p> + +<p>"'I am sorry for what has happened—deeply sorry,' she +sobbed. So was I, God knows! Thus were we severed."</p> + +<p>"A queer tale!" commented Mr. Yorke.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>470<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I'll do it no more," vowed his companion; "never +more will I mention marriage to a woman unless I feel +love. Henceforth credit and commerce may take care of +themselves. Bankruptcy may come when it lists. I have +done with slavish fear of disaster. I mean to work diligently, +wait patiently, bear steadily. Let the worst come, I will +take my axe and an emigrant's berth, and go out with +Louis to the West; he and I have settled it. No woman +shall ever again look at me as Miss Keeldar looked, ever +again feel towards me as Miss Keeldar felt. In no woman's +presence will I ever again stand at once such a fool and +such a knave, such a brute and such a puppy."</p> + +<p>"Tut!" said the imperturbable Yorke, "you make too +much of it; but still, I say, I am capped. Firstly, that +she did not love you; and secondly, that you did not love +her. You are both young; you are both handsome; you +are both well enough for wit and even for temper—take +you on the right side. What ailed you that you could not +agree?"</p> + +<p>"We never <em>have</em> been, never <em>could</em> be <em>at home</em> with each +other, Yorke. Admire each other as we might at a distance, +still we jarred when we came very near. I have sat at +one side of a room and observed her at the other, perhaps +in an excited, genial moment, when she had some of her +favourites round her—her old beaux, for instance, yourself +and Helstone, with whom she is so playful, pleasant, and +eloquent. I have watched her when she was most natural, +most lively, and most lovely; my judgment has pronounced +her beautiful. Beautiful she is at times, when her mood +and her array partake of the splendid. I have drawn a +little nearer, feeling that our terms of acquaintance gave +me the right of approach. I have joined the circle round +her seat, caught her eye, and mastered her attention; then +we have conversed; and others, thinking me, perhaps, +peculiarly privileged, have withdrawn by degrees, and left +us alone. Were we happy thus left? For myself, I must +say No. Always a feeling of constraint came over me; +always I was disposed to be stern and strange. We talked +politics and business. No soft sense of domestic intimacy +ever opened our hearts, or thawed our language and made +it flow easy and limpid. If we had confidences, they were +confidences of the counting-house, not of the heart. Nothing +in her cherished affection in me, made me better, +gentler; she only stirred my brain and whetted my acuteness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>471<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +She never crept into my heart or influenced its +pulse; and for this good reason, no doubt, because I had +not the secret of making her love me."</p> + +<p>"Well, lad, it is a queer thing. I might laugh at thee, +and reckon to despise thy refinements; but as it is dark +night and we are by ourselves, I don't mind telling thee +that thy talk brings back a glimpse of my own past life. +Twenty-five years ago I tried to persuade a beautiful woman +to love me, and she would not. I had not the key to her +nature; she was a stone wall to me, doorless and windowless."</p> + +<p>"But you loved <em>her</em>, Yorke; you worshipped Mary +Cave. Your conduct, after all, was that of a man—never +of a fortune-hunter."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I <em>did</em> love her; but then she was beautiful as the +moon we do <em>not</em> see to-night. There is naught like her in +these days. Miss Helstone, maybe, has a look of her, but +nobody else."</p> + +<p>"Who has a look of her?"</p> + +<p>"That black-coated tyrant's niece—that quiet, delicate +Miss Helstone. Many a time I have put on my spectacles +to look at the lassie in church, because she has gentle blue +een, wi' long lashes; and when she sits in shadow, and is +very still and very pale, and is, happen, about to fall asleep +wi' the length of the sermon and the heat of the biggin', +she is as like one of Canova's marbles as aught else."</p> + +<p>"Was Mary Cave in that style?"</p> + +<p>"Far grander!—less lass-like and flesh-like. You +wondered why she hadn't wings and a crown. She was a +stately, peaceful angel was my Mary."</p> + +<p>"And you could not persuade her to love you?"</p> + +<p>"Not with all I could do, though I prayed Heaven many +a time, on my bended knees, to help me."</p> + +<p>"Mary Cave was not what you think her, Yorke. I +have seen her picture at the rectory. She is no angel, but +a fair, regular-featured, taciturn-looking woman—rather +too white and lifeless for my taste. But, supposing she +had been something better than she was——"</p> + +<p>"Robert," interrupted Yorke, "I could fell you off your +horse at this moment. However, I'll hold my hand. +Reason tells me you are right and I am wrong. I know +well enough that the passion I still have is only the remnant +of an illusion. If Miss Cave had possessed either feeling +or sense, she could not have been so perfectly impassible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>472<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to my regard as she showed herself; she must have preferred +me to that copper-faced despot."</p> + +<p>"Supposing, Yorke, she had been educated (no women +were educated in those days); supposing she had possessed +a thoughtful, original mind, a love of knowledge, a wish for +information, which she took an artless delight in receiving +from your lips, and having measured out to her by your +hand; supposing her conversation, when she sat at your +side, was fertile, varied, imbued with a picturesque grace +and genial interest, quiet flowing but clear and bounteous; +supposing that when you stood near her by chance, or when +you sat near her by design, comfort at once became your +atmosphere, and content your element; supposing that +whenever her face was under your gaze, or her idea filled +your thoughts, you gradually ceased to be hard and anxious, +and pure affection, love of home, thirst for sweet discourse, +unselfish longing to protect and cherish, replaced the +sordid, cankering calculations of your trade; supposing, +with all this, that many a time, when you had been so +happy as to possess your Mary's little hand, you had felt it +tremble as you held it, just as a warm little bird trembles +when you take it from its nest; supposing you had noticed +her shrink into the background on your entrance into a +room, yet if you sought her in her retreat she welcomed you +with the sweetest smile that ever lit a fair virgin face, and +only turned her eyes from the encounter of your own lest +their clearness should reveal too much; supposing, in +short, your Mary had been not cold, but modest; not +vacant, but reflective; not obtuse, but sensitive; not +inane, but innocent; not prudish, but pure,—would you +have left her to court another woman for her wealth?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Yorke raised his hat, wiped his forehead with his +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"The moon is up," was his first not quite relevant remark, +pointing with his whip across the moor. "There she is, +rising into the haze, staring at us wi' a strange red glower. +She is no more silver than old Helstone's brow is ivory. +What does she mean by leaning her cheek on Rushedge +i' that way, and looking at us wi' a scowl and a menace?"</p> + +<p>"Yorke, if Mary had loved you silently yet faithfully, +chastely yet fervently, as you would wish your wife to love, +would you have left her?"</p> + +<p>"Robert!"—he lifted his arm, he held it suspended, +and paused—"Robert! this is a queer world, and men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>473<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +are made of the queerest dregs that Chaos churned up +in her ferment. I might swear sounding oaths—oaths +that would make the poachers think there was a bittern +booming in Bilberry Moss—that, in the case you put, +death only should have parted me from Mary. But I +have lived in the world fifty-five years; I have been forced +to study human nature; and, to speak a dark truth, the +odds are, if Mary had loved and not scorned me, if I had +been secure of her affection, certain of her constancy, +been irritated by no doubts, stung by no humiliations—the +odds are" (he let his hand fall heavy on the saddle)—"the +odds are I should have left her!"</p> + +<p>They rode side by side in silence. Ere either spoke again +they were on the other side of Rushedge. Briarfield lights +starred the purple skirt of the moor. Robert, being the +youngest, and having less of the past to absorb him than +his comrade, recommenced first.</p> + +<p>"I believe—I daily find it proved—that we can get +nothing in this world worth keeping, not so much as a +principle or a conviction, except out of purifying flame +or through strengthening peril. We err, we fall, we are +humbled; then we walk more carefully. We greedily +eat and drink poison out of the gilded cup of vice or from +the beggar's wallet of avarice. We are sickened, degraded; +everything good in us rebels against us; our souls rise +bitterly indignant against our bodies; there is a period +of civil war; if the soul has strength, it conquers and rules +thereafter."</p> + +<p>"What art thou going to do now, Robert? What are +thy plans?"</p> + +<p>"For my private plans, I'll keep them to myself—which +is very easy, as at present I have none. No private +life is permitted a man in my position—a man in debt. +For my public plans, my views are a little altered. While +I was in Birmingham I looked a little into reality, considered +closely and at their source the causes of the present +troubles of this country. I did the same in London. Unknown, +I could go where I pleased, mix with whom I would. +I went where there was want of food, of fuel, of clothing; +where there was no occupation and no hope. I saw some, +with naturally elevated tendencies and good feelings, kept +down amongst sordid privations and harassing griefs. I +saw many originally low, and to whom lack of education +left scarcely anything but animal wants, disappointed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>474<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +those wants, ahungered, athirst, and desperate as famished +animals. I saw what taught my brain a new lesson, and +filled my breast with fresh feelings. I have no intention to +profess more softness or sentiment than I have hitherto +professed; mutiny and ambition I regard as I have always +regarded them. I should resist a riotous mob just as heretofore; +I should open on the scent of a runaway ringleader +as eagerly as ever, and run him down as relentlessly, and +follow him up to condign punishment as rigorously; but +I should do it now chiefly for the sake and the security of +those he misled. Something there is to look to, Yorke, +beyond a man's personal interest, beyond the advancement +of well-laid schemes, beyond even the discharge of dishonouring +debts. To respect himself, a man must believe +he renders justice to his fellow-men. Unless I am more +considerate to ignorance, more forbearing to suffering, than +I have hitherto been, I shall scorn myself as grossly unjust.—What +now?" he said, addressing his horse, which, hearing +the ripple of water, and feeling thirsty, turned to a wayside +trough, where the moonbeam was playing in a crystal eddy.</p> + +<p>"Yorke," pursued Moore, "ride on; I must let him +drink."</p> + +<p>Yorke accordingly rode slowly forwards, occupying himself +as he advanced in discriminating, amongst the many +lights now spangling the distance, those of Briarmains. +Stilbro' Moor was left behind; plantations rose dusk on +either hand; they were descending the hill; below them +lay the valley with its populous parish: they felt already +at home.</p> + +<p>Surrounded no longer by heath, it was not startling to +Mr. Yorke to see a hat rise, and to hear a voice speak behind +the wall. The words, however, were peculiar.</p> + +<p>"When the wicked perisheth there is shouting," it said; +and added, "As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked no +more" (with a deeper growl): "terrors take hold of him +as waters; hell is naked before him. He shall die without +knowledge."</p> + +<p>A fierce flash and sharp crack violated the calm of night. +Yorke, ere he turned, knew the four convicts of Birmingham +were avenged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>475<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>UNCLE AND NIECE.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">The</span> die was cast. Sir Philip Nunnely knew it; Shirley +knew it; Mr. Sympson knew it. That evening, when +all the Fieldhead family dined at Nunnely Priory, decided +the business.</p> + +<p>Two or three things conduced to bring the baronet to +a point. He had observed that Miss Keeldar looked +pensive and delicate. This new phase in her demeanour +smote him on his weak or poetic side. A spontaneous +sonnet brewed in his brain; and while it was still working +there, one of his sisters persuaded his lady-love to sit +down to the piano and sing a ballad—one of Sir Philip's +own ballads. It was the least elaborate, the least +affected—out of all comparison the best of his numerous +efforts.</p> + +<p>It chanced that Shirley, the moment before, had been +gazing from a window down on the park. She had seen +that stormy moonlight which "le Professeur Louis" was +perhaps at the same instant contemplating from her own +oak-parlour lattice; she had seen the isolated trees of the +domain—broad, strong, spreading oaks, and high-towering +heroic beeches—wrestling with the gale. Her ear had +caught the full roar of the forest lower down; the swift +rushing of clouds, the moon, to the eye, hasting swifter +still, had crossed her vision. She turned from sight and +sound—touched, if not rapt; wakened, if not inspired.</p> + +<p>She sang, as requested. There was much about love +in the ballad—faithful love that refused to abandon its +object; love that disaster could not shake; love that +in calamity waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The +words were set to a fine old air; in themselves they were +simple and sweet. Perhaps, when read, they wanted +force; when <em>well</em> sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley +sang them well. She breathed into the feeling softness; +she poured round the passion force. Her voice was fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>476<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that evening, its expression dramatic. She impressed all, +and charmed one.</p> + +<p>On leaving the instrument she went to the fire, and sat +down on a seat—semi-stool, semi-cushion. The ladies +were round her; none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson +and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her as quiet poultry +might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. +What made her sing so? <em>They</em> never sang so. Was it +<em>proper</em> to sing with such expression, with such originality—so +unlike a school-girl? Decidedly not. It was strange, +it was unusual. What was <em>strange</em> must be <em>wrong</em>; what +was <em>unusual</em> must be <em>improper</em>. Shirley was judged.</p> + +<p>Moreover, old Lady Nunnely eyed her stonily from her +great chair by the fireside. Her gaze said, "This woman +is not of mine or my daughters' kind. I object to her as +my son's wife."</p> + +<p>Her son, catching the look, read its meaning. He grew +alarmed. What he so wished to win there was danger +he might lose. He must make haste.</p> + +<p>The room they were in had once been a picture-gallery. +Sir Philip's father—Sir Monckton—had converted it into +a saloon; but still it had a shadowy, long-withdrawing +look. A deep recess with a window—a recess that held +one couch, one table, and a fairy cabinet—formed a room +within a room. Two persons standing there might interchange +a dialogue, and, so it were neither long nor loud, +none be the wiser.</p> + +<p>Sir Philip induced two of his sisters to perpetrate a duet. +He gave occupation to the Misses Sympson. The elder +ladies were conversing together. He was pleased to remark +that meantime Shirley rose to look at the pictures. +He had a tale to tell about one ancestress, whose dark +beauty seemed as that of a flower of the south. He joined +her, and began to tell it.</p> + +<p>There were mementoes of the same lady in the cabinet +adorning the recess; and while Shirley was stooping to +examine the missal and the rosary on the inlaid shelf, and +while the Misses Nunnely indulged in a prolonged screech, +guiltless of expression, pure of originality, perfectly conventional +and absolutely unmeaning, Sir Philip stooped +too, and whispered a few hurried sentences. At first +Miss Keeldar was struck so still you might have fancied +that whisper a charm which had changed her to a statue; +but she presently looked up and answered. They parted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>477<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Miss Keeldar returned to the fire, and resumed her seat. +The baronet gazed after her, then went and stood behind +his sisters. Mr. Sympson—Mr. Sympson only—had marked +the pantomime.</p> + +<p>That gentleman drew his own conclusions. Had he been +as acute as he was meddling, as profound as he was prying, +he might have found that in Sir Philip's face whereby to +correct his inference. Ever shallow, hasty, and positive, +he went home quite cock-a-hoop.</p> + +<p>He was not a man that kept secrets well. When elate +on a subject, he could not avoid talking about it. The +next morning, having occasion to employ his son's tutor +as his secretary, he must needs announce to him, in mouthing +accents, and with much flimsy pomp of manner, that +he had better hold himself prepared for a return to the +south at an early day, as the important business which had +detained him (Mr. Sympson) so long in Yorkshire was now +on the eve of fortunate completion. His anxious and laborious +efforts were likely, at last, to be crowned with the +happiest success. A truly eligible addition was about to +be made to the family connections.</p> + +<p>"In Sir Philip Nunnely?" Louis Moore conjectured.</p> + +<p>Whereupon Mr. Sympson treated himself simultaneously +to a pinch of snuff and a chuckling laugh, checked +only by a sudden choke of dignity, and an order to the tutor +to proceed with business.</p> + +<p>For a day or two Mr. Sympson continued as bland as +oil, but also he seemed to sit on pins, and his gait, when +he walked, emulated that of a hen treading a hot girdle. +He was for ever looking out of the window and listening +for chariot-wheels. Bluebeard's wife—Sisera's mother—were +nothing to him. He waited when the matter should +be opened in form, when himself should be consulted, +when lawyers should be summoned, when settlement +discussions and all the delicious worldly fuss should pompously +begin.</p> + +<p>At last there came a letter. He himself handed it to +Miss Keeldar out of the bag. He knew the handwriting; +he knew the crest on the seal. He did not see it opened +and read, for Shirley took it to her own room; nor did +he see it answered, for she wrote her reply shut up, and +was very long about it—the best part of a day. He questioned +her whether it was answered; she responded, +"Yes."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>478<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Again he waited—waited in silence, absolutely not +daring to speak, kept mute by something in Shirley's face—a +very awful something—inscrutable to him as the +writing on the wall to Belshazzar. He was moved more +than once to call Daniel, in the person of Louis Moore, +and to ask an interpretation; but his dignity forbade the +familiarity. Daniel himself, perhaps, had his own private +difficulties connected with that baffling bit of translation; +he looked like a student for whom grammars are blank and +dictionaries dumb.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mr. Sympson had been out, to while away an anxious +hour in the society of his friends at De Walden Hall. He +returned a little sooner than was expected. His family +and Miss Keeldar were assembled in the oak parlour. +Addressing the latter, he requested her to step with him +into another room. He wished to have with her a "<em>strictly</em> +private interview."</p> + +<p>She rose, asking no questions and professing no surprise.</p> + +<p>"Very well, sir," she said, in the tone of a determined +person who is informed that the dentist is come to extract +that large double tooth of his, from which he has suffered +such a purgatory this month past. She left her sewing +and her thimble in the window-seat, and followed her +uncle where he led.</p> + +<p>Shut into the drawing-room, the pair took seats, each +in an arm-chair, placed opposite, a few yards between +them.</p> + +<p>"I have been to De Walden Hall," said Mr. Sympson. +He paused. Miss Keeldar's eyes were on the pretty white-and-green +carpet. <em>That</em> information required no response. +She gave none.</p> + +<p>"I have learned," he went on slowly—"I have learned +a circumstance which surprises me."</p> + +<p>Resting her cheek on her forefinger, she waited to be +told <em>what</em> circumstance.</p> + +<p>"It seems that Nunnely Priory is shut up—that the +family are gone back to their place in ——shire. It seems +that the baronet—that the baronet—that Sir Philip himself +has accompanied his mother and sisters."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Shirley.</p> + +<p>"May I ask if you share the amazement with which I +received this news?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>479<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"<em>Is</em> it news to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I mean—I mean," pursued Mr. Sympson, now fidgeting +in his chair, quitting his hitherto brief and tolerably +clear phraseology, and returning to his customary wordy, +confused, irritable style—"I mean to have a <em>thorough</em> explanation. +I will <em>not</em> be put off. I—I—shall <em>insist</em> on +being heard, and on—on having my own way. My questions +<em>must</em> be answered. I will have clear, satisfactory replies. +I am not to be trifled with. (Silence.)</p> + +<p>"It is a strange and an extraordinary thing—a very +singular—a most odd thing! I thought all was right, +knew no other; and there—the family are gone!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose, sir, they had a right to go."</p> + +<p>"<em>Sir Philip is gone!</em>" (with emphasis).</p> + +<p>Shirley raised her brows. "<em>Bon voyage!</em>" said she.</p> + +<p>"This will not do; this must be altered, ma'am."</p> + +<p>He drew his chair forward; he pushed it back; he +looked perfectly incensed, and perfectly helpless.</p> + +<p>"Come, come now, uncle," expostulated Shirley, "do +not begin to fret and fume, or we shall make no sense of +the business. Ask me what you want to know. I am +as willing to come to an explanation as you. I promise +you truthful replies."</p> + +<p>"I want—I demand to know, Miss Keeldar, whether +Sir Philip has made you an offer?"</p> + +<p>"He has."</p> + +<p>"You avow it?"</p> + +<p>"I avow it. But now, go on. Consider that point +settled."</p> + +<p>"He made you an offer that night we dined at the +priory?"</p> + +<p>"It is enough to say that he made it. Go on."</p> + +<p>"He proposed in the recess—in the room that used to +be a picture-gallery—that Sir Monckton converted into it +saloon?"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"You were both examining a cabinet. I saw it all. +My sagacity was not at fault—it never is. Subsequently +you received a letter from him. On what subject—of +what nature were the contents?"</p> + +<p>"No matter."</p> + +<p>"Ma'am, is that the way in which you speak to me?"</p> + +<p>Shirley's foot tapped quick on the carpet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>480<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"There you sit, silent and sullen—<em>you</em> who promised +truthful replies."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I have answered you thus far. Proceed."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see that letter."</p> + +<p>"You <em>cannot</em> see it."</p> + +<p>"I <em>must</em> and <em>shall</em>, ma'am; I am your guardian."</p> + +<p>"Having ceased to be a ward, I have no guardian."</p> + +<p>"Ungrateful being! Reared by me as my own +daughter——"</p> + +<p>"Once more, uncle, have the kindness to keep to the +point. Let us both remain cool. For my part, I do not +wish to get into a passion; but, you know, once drive +me beyond certain bounds, I care little what I say—I +am not then soon checked. Listen! You have asked me +whether Sir Philip made me an offer. That question is +answered. What do you wish to know next?"</p> + +<p>"I desire to know whether you accepted or refused him, +and know it I will."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, you ought to know it. I refused him."</p> + +<p>"Refused him! You—<em>you</em>, Shirley Keeldar, <em>refused</em> +Sir Philip Nunnely?"</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first +rushed and then trotted through the room.</p> + +<p>"There it is! There it is! There it is!"</p> + +<p>"Sincerely speaking, I am sorry, uncle, you are so +disappointed."</p> + +<p>Concession, contrition, never do any good with some +people. Instead of softening and conciliating, they but +embolden and harden them. Of that number was Mr. +Sympson.</p> + +<p>"<em>I</em> disappointed? What is it to me? Have <em>I</em> an +interest in it? You would insinuate, perhaps, that I +have motives?"</p> + +<p>"Most people have motives of some sort for their +actions."</p> + +<p>"She accuses me to my face! I, that have been a +parent to her, she charges with bad motives!"</p> + +<p>"<em>Bad</em> motives I did not say."</p> + +<p>"And now you prevaricate; you have no principles!"</p> + +<p>"Uncle, you tire me. I want to go away."</p> + +<p>"Go you shall not! I will be answered. What are +your intentions, Miss Keeldar?"</p> + +<p>"In what respect?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>481<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"In respect of matrimony?"</p> + +<p>"To be quiet, and to do just as I please."</p> + +<p>"Just as you please! The words are to the last degree +indecorous."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sympson, I advise you not to become insulting. +You know I will not bear that."</p> + +<p>"You read French. Your mind is poisoned with French +novels. You have imbibed French principles."</p> + +<p>"The ground you are treading now returns a mighty +hollow sound under your feet. Beware!"</p> + +<p>"It will end in infamy, sooner or later. I have foreseen +it all along."</p> + +<p>"Do you assert, sir, that something in which <em>I</em> am concerned +will end in infamy?"</p> + +<p>"That it will—that it will. You said just now you would +act as you please. You acknowledge no rules—no limitations."</p> + +<p>"Silly stuff, and vulgar as silly!"</p> + +<p>"Regardless of decorum, you are prepared to fly in the +face of propriety."</p> + +<p>"You tire me, uncle."</p> + +<p>"What, madam—<em>what</em> could be your reasons for refusing +Sir Philip?"</p> + +<p>"At last there is another sensible question; I shall be +glad to reply to it. Sir Philip is too young for me. I regard +him as a boy. All his relations—his mother especially—would +be annoyed if he married me. Such a step would +embroil him with them. I am not his equal in the world's +estimation."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"Our dispositions are not compatible."</p> + +<p>"Why, a more amiable gentleman never breathed."</p> + +<p>"He is very amiable—very excellent—truly estimable; +but <em>not my master</em>—not in one point. I could not trust +myself with his happiness. I would not undertake the +keeping of it for thousands. I will accept no hand which +cannot hold me in check."</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked to do as you please. You are +vastly inconsistent."</p> + +<p>"When I promise to obey, it shall be under the conviction +that I can keep that promise. I could not obey a youth +like Sir Philip. Besides, he would never command me. He +would expect me always to rule—to guide—and I have no +taste whatever for the office."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>482<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"<em>You</em> no taste for swaggering, and subduing, and ordering, +and ruling?"</p> + +<p>"Not my husband; only my uncle."</p> + +<p>"Where is the difference?"</p> + +<p>"There <em>is</em> a slight difference—that is certain. And I +know full well any man who wishes to live in decent comfort +with me as a husband must be able to control me."</p> + +<p>"I wish you had a real tyrant."</p> + +<p>"A tyrant would not hold me for a day, not for an hour. +I would rebel—break from him—defy him."</p> + +<p>"Are you not enough to bewilder one's brain with your +self-contradiction?"</p> + +<p>"It is evident I bewilder your brain."</p> + +<p>"You talk of Sir Philip being young. He is two-and-twenty."</p> + +<p>"My husband must be thirty, with the sense of forty."</p> + +<p>"You had better pick out some old man—some white-headed +or bald-headed swain."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"You could lead some doting fool; you might pin him +to your apron."</p> + +<p>"I might do that with a boy; but it is not my vocation. +Did I not say I prefer a <em>master</em>—one in whose presence I +shall feel obliged and disposed to be good; one whose +control my impatient temper must acknowledge; a man +whose approbation can reward, whose displeasure punish +me; a man I shall feel it impossible not to love, and very +possible to fear?"</p> + +<p>"What is there to hinder you from doing all this with +Sir Philip? He is a baronet—a man of rank, property, +connections far above yours. If you talk of intellect, +he is a poet—he writes verses; which you, I take it, cannot +do, with all your cleverness."</p> + +<p>"Neither his title, wealth, pedigree, nor poetry avail +to invest him with the power I describe. These are feather-weights; +they want ballast. A measure of sound, solid, +practical sense would have stood him in better stead with +me."</p> + +<p>"You and Henry rave about poetry! You used to +catch fire like tinder on the subject when you were a girl."</p> + +<p>"O uncle, there is nothing really valuable in this world, +there is nothing glorious in the world to come that is not +poetry!"</p> + +<p>"Marry a poet, then, in God's name!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>483<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Show him me, and I will."</p> + +<p>"Sir Philip."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. You are almost as good a poet as he."</p> + +<p>"Madam, you are wandering from the point."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, uncle, I wanted to do so, and I shall be glad +to lead you away with me. Do not let us get out of temper +with each other; it is not worth while."</p> + +<p>"Out of temper, Miss Keeldar! I should be glad to know +who is out of temper."</p> + +<p>"<em>I</em> am not, yet."</p> + +<p>"If you mean to insinuate that <em>I</em> am, I consider that +you are guilty of impertinence."</p> + +<p>"You will be soon, if you go on at that rate."</p> + +<p>"There it is! With your pert tongue you would try +the patience of a Job."</p> + +<p>"I know I should."</p> + +<p>"No levity, miss! This is not a laughing matter. It +is an affair I am resolved to probe thoroughly, convinced +that there is mischief at the bottom. You described just +now, with far too much freedom for your years and sex, +the sort of individual you would prefer as a husband. Pray, +did you paint from the life?"</p> + +<p>Shirley opened her lips, but instead of speaking she only +glowed rose-red.</p> + +<p>"I shall have an answer to that question," affirmed +Mr. Sympson, assuming vast courage and consequence on +the strength of this symptom of confusion.</p> + +<p>"It was an historical picture, uncle, from several originals."</p> + +<p>"Several originals! Bless my heart!"</p> + +<p>"I have been in love several times."</p> + +<p>"This is cynical."</p> + +<p>"With heroes of many nations."</p> + +<p>"What next——"</p> + +<p>"And philosophers."</p> + +<p>"She is mad——"</p> + +<p>"Don't ring the bell, uncle; you will alarm my aunt."</p> + +<p>"Your poor dear aunt, what a niece has she!"</p> + +<p>"Once I loved Socrates."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! no trifling, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"I admired Themistocles, Leonidas, Epaminondas."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar——"</p> + +<p>"To pass over a few centuries, Washington was a +plain man, but I liked him; but to speak of the actual +present——"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>484<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Ah! the actual present."</p> + +<p>"To quit crude schoolgirl fancies, and come to realities."</p> + +<p>"Realities! That is the test to which you shall be +brought, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"To avow before what altar I now kneel—to reveal the +present idol of my soul——"</p> + +<p>"You will make haste about it, if you please. It is +near luncheon time, and confess <em>you shall</em>."</p> + +<p>"Confess I must. My heart is full of the secret. It must +be spoken. I only wish you were Mr. Helstone instead of +Mr. Sympson; you would sympathize with me better."</p> + +<p>"Madam, it is a question of common sense and common +prudence, not of sympathy and sentiment, and so on. Did +you say it was Mr. Helstone?"</p> + +<p>"Not precisely, but as near as may be; they are rather +alike."</p> + +<p>"I will know the name; I will have particulars."</p> + +<p>"They positively <em>are</em> rather alike. Their very faces +are not dissimilar—a pair of human falcons—and dry, +direct, decided both. But my hero is the mightier of the +two. His mind has the clearness of the deep sea, the +patience of its rocks, the force of its billows."</p> + +<p>"Rant and fustian!"</p> + +<p>"I dare say he can be harsh as a saw-edge and gruff as a +hungry raven."</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar, does the person reside in Briarfield? +Answer me that."</p> + +<p>"Uncle, I am going to tell you; his name is trembling +on my tongue."</p> + +<p>"Speak, girl!"</p> + +<p>"That was well said, uncle. 'Speak, girl!' It is +quite tragic. England has howled savagely against this +man, uncle, and she will one day roar exultingly over him. +He has been unscared by the howl, and he will be unelated +by the shout."</p> + +<p>"I said she was mad. She is."</p> + +<p>"This country will change and change again in her +demeanour to him; he will never change in his duty to +her. Come, cease to chafe, uncle, I'll tell you his name."</p> + +<p>"You shall tell me, or——"</p> + +<p>"Listen! Arthur Wellesley, Lord Wellington."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sympson rose up furious. He bounced out of the +room, but immediately bounced back again, shut the door, +and resumed his seat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>485<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Ma'am, you <em>shall</em> tell me <em>this</em>. Will your principles +permit you to marry a man without money—a man below +you?"</p> + +<p>"Never a man below me."</p> + +<p>(In a high voice.) "Will you, Miss Keeldar, marry a +poor man?"</p> + +<p>"What right have you, Mr. Sympson, to ask me?"</p> + +<p>"I insist upon knowing."</p> + +<p>"You don't go the way to know."</p> + +<p>"My family respectability shall not be compromised."</p> + +<p>"A good resolution; keep it."</p> + +<p>"Madam, it is <em>you</em> who shall keep it."</p> + +<p>"Impossible, sir, since I form no part of your family."</p> + +<p>"Do you disown us?"</p> + +<p>"I disdain your dictatorship."</p> + +<p>"Whom <em>will</em> you marry, Miss Keeldar?"</p> + +<p>"Not Mr. Sam Wynne, because I scorn him; not Sir +Philip Nunnely, because I <em>only</em> esteem him."</p> + +<p>"Whom have you in your eye?"</p> + +<p>"Four rejected candidates."</p> + +<p>"Such obstinacy could not be unless you were under +improper influence."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? There are certain phrases potent +to make my blood boil. Improper influence! What old +woman's cackle is that?"</p> + +<p>"Are you a young lady?"</p> + +<p>"I am a thousand times better: I am an honest woman, +and as such I will be treated."</p> + +<p>"Do you know" (leaning mysteriously forward, and +speaking with ghastly solemnity)—"do you know the +whole neighbourhood teems with rumours respecting you and +a bankrupt tenant of yours, the foreigner Moore?"</p> + +<p>"Does it?"</p> + +<p>"It does. Your name is in every mouth."</p> + +<p>"It honours the lips it crosses, and I wish to the gods it +may purify them."</p> + +<p>"Is it <em>that</em> person who has power to influence you?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond any whose cause you have advocated."</p> + +<p>"Is it he you will marry?"</p> + +<p>"He is handsome, and manly, and commanding."</p> + +<p>"You declare it to my face! The Flemish knave! +the low trader!"</p> + +<p>"He is talented, and venturous, and resolute. Prince +is on his brow, and ruler in his bearing."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>486<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"She glories in it! She conceals nothing! No shame, +no fear!"</p> + +<p>"When we speak the name of Moore, shame should +be forgotten and fear discarded. The Moores know only +honour and courage."</p> + +<p>"I say she is mad."</p> + +<p>"You have taunted me till my blood is up; you have +worried me till I turn again."</p> + +<p>"That Moore is the brother of my son's tutor. Would +you let the usher call you sister?"</p> + +<p>Bright and broad shone Shirley's eye as she fixed it on +her questioner now.</p> + +<p>"No, no; not for a province of possession, not for a +century of life."</p> + +<p>"You cannot separate the husband from his family."</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Louis Moore's sister you will be."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sympson, I am sick at heart with all this weak +trash; I will bear no more. Your thoughts are not my +thoughts, your aims are not my aims, your gods are not +my gods. We do not view things in the same light; we +do not measure them by the same standard; we hardly +speak in the same tongue. Let us part."</p> + +<p>"It is not," she resumed, much excited—"it is not that +I hate you; you are a good sort of man. Perhaps you +mean well in your way. But we cannot suit; we are ever +at variance. You annoy me with small meddling, with +petty tyranny; you exasperate my temper, and make and +keep me passionate. As to your small maxims, your narrow +rules, your little prejudices, aversions, dogmas, bundle them +off. Mr. Sympson, go, offer them a sacrifice to the deity +you worship; I'll none of them. I wash my hands of the +lot. I walk by another creed, light, faith, and hope than +you."</p> + +<p>"Another creed! I believe she is an infidel."</p> + +<p>"An infidel to <em>your</em> religion, an atheist to <em>your</em> god."</p> + +<p>"<em>An—atheist!!!</em>"</p> + +<p>"Your god, sir, is the world. In my eyes you too, if not +an infidel, are an idolater. I conceive that you ignorantly +worship; in all things you appear to me too superstitious. +Sir, your god, your great Bel, your fish-tailed Dagon, rises +before me as a demon. You, and such as you, have raised +him to a throne, put on him a crown, given him a sceptre. +Behold how hideously he governs! See him busied at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>487<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +work he likes best—making marriages. He binds the young +to the old, the strong to the imbecile. He stretches out the +arm of Mezentius, and fetters the dead to the living. In his +realm there is hatred—secret hatred; there is disgust—unspoken +disgust; there is treachery—family treachery; +there is vice—deep, deadly domestic vice. In his dominions +children grow unloving between parents who have never +loved; infants are nursed on deception from their very +birth; they are reared in an atmosphere corrupt with lies. +Your god rules at the bridal of kings; look at your royal +dynasties! Your deity is the deity of foreign aristocracies; +analyze the blue blood of Spain! Your god is the Hymen +of France; what is French domestic life? All that surrounds +him hastens to decay; all declines and degenerates +under his sceptre. <em>Your</em> god is a masked Death."</p> + +<p>"This language is terrible! My daughters and you +must associate no longer, Miss Keeldar; there is danger +in such companionship. Had I known you a little earlier—but, +extraordinary as I thought you, I could not have +believed——"</p> + +<p>"Now, sir, do you begin to be aware that it is useless +to scheme for me; that in doing so you but sow the wind +to reap the whirlwind? I sweep your cobweb projects +from my path, that I may pass on unsullied. I am anchored +on a resolve you cannot shake. My heart, my conscience +shall dispose of my hand—<em>they only</em>. Know this at last."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sympson was becoming a little bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Never heard such language!" he muttered again and +again; "never was so addressed in my life—never was +so used!"</p> + +<p>"You are quite confused, sir. You had better withdraw, +or I will."</p> + +<p>He rose hastily. "We must leave this place; they +must pack up at once."</p> + +<p>"Do not hurry my aunt and cousins; give them time."</p> + +<p>"No more intercourse; she's not proper."</p> + +<p>He made his way to the door. He came back for his +handkerchief. He dropped his snuff-box, leaving the contents +scattered on the carpet; he stumbled out. Tartar +lay outside across the mat; Mr. Sympson almost fell over +him. In the climax of his exasperation he hurled an oath +at the dog and a coarse epithet at his mistress.</p> + +<p>"Poor Mr. Sympson! he is both feeble and vulgar," +said Shirley to herself. "My head aches, and I am tired,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>488<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +she added; and leaning her head upon a cushion, she softly +subsided from excitement to repose. One, entering the +room a quarter of an hour afterwards, found her asleep. +When Shirley had been agitated, she generally took this +natural refreshment; it would come at her call.</p> + +<p>The intruder paused in her unconscious presence, and +said, "Miss Keeldar."</p> + +<p>Perhaps his voice harmonized with some dream into +which she was passing. It did not startle, it hardly roused +her. Without opening her eyes, she but turned her head +a little, so that her cheek and profile, before hidden by her +arm, became visible. She looked rosy, happy, half smiling, +but her eyelashes were wet. She had wept in slumber; or +perhaps, before dropping asleep, a few natural tears had +fallen after she had heard that epithet. No man—no +woman—is always strong, always able to bear up against +the unjust opinion, the vilifying word. Calumny, even +from the mouth of a fool, will sometimes cut into unguarded +feelings. Shirley looked like a child that had been naughty +and punished, but was now forgiven and at rest.</p> + +<p>"Miss Keeldar," again said the voice. This time it +woke her. She looked up, and saw at her side Louis Moore—not +close at her side, but standing, with arrested step, two +or three yards from her.</p> + +<p>"O Mr. Moore!" she said. "I was afraid it was my +uncle again: he and I have quarrelled."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Sympson should let you alone," was the reply. +"Can he not see that you are as yet far from strong?"</p> + +<p>"I assure you he did not find me weak. I did not cry +when he was here."</p> + +<p>"He is about to evacuate Fieldhead—so he says. He +is now giving orders to his family. He has been in the +schoolroom issuing commands in a manner which, I suppose, +was a continuation of that with which he has harassed +you."</p> + +<p>"Are you and Henry to go?"</p> + +<p>"I believe, as far as Henry is concerned, that was the +tenor of his scarcely intelligible directions; but he may +change all to-morrow. He is just in that mood when you +cannot depend on his consistency for two consecutive hours. +I doubt whether he will leave you for weeks yet. To myself +he addressed some words which will require a little attention +and comment by-and-by, when I have time to bestow +on them. At the moment he came in I was busied with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>489<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +note I had got from Mr. Yorke—so fully busied that I cut +short the interview with him somewhat abruptly. I left +him raving. Here is the note. I wish you to see it. It +refers to my brother Robert." And he looked at Shirley.</p> + +<p>"I shall be glad to hear news of him. Is he coming +home?"</p> + +<p>"He is come. He is in Yorkshire. Mr. Yorke went +yesterday to Stilbro' to meet him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, something is wrong——"</p> + +<p>"Did my voice tremble? He is now at Briarmains, +and I am going to see him."</p> + +<p>"What has occurred?"</p> + +<p>"If you turn so pale I shall be sorry I have spoken. +It might have been worse. Robert is not dead, but much +hurt."</p> + +<p>"O sir, it is you who are pale. Sit down near me."</p> + +<p>"Read the note. Let me open it."</p> + +<p>Miss Keeldar read the note. It briefly signified that +last night Robert Moore had been shot at from behind +the wall of Milldean plantation, at the foot of the Brow; +that he was wounded severely, but it was hoped not fatally. +Of the assassin, or assassins, nothing was known; they +had escaped. "No doubt," Mr. Yorke observed, "it was +done in revenge. It was a pity ill-will had ever been raised; +but that could not be helped now."</p> + +<p>"He is my only brother," said Louis, as Shirley returned +the note. "I cannot hear unmoved that ruffians +have laid in wait for him, and shot him down, like some +wild beast from behind a wall."</p> + +<p>"Be comforted; be hopeful. He will get better—I +know he will."</p> + +<p>Shirley, solicitous to soothe, held her hand over Mr. +Moore's as it lay on the arm of the chair. She just touched +it lightly, scarce palpably.</p> + +<p>"Well, give me your hand," he said. "It will be for +the first time; it is in a moment of calamity. Give it me."</p> + +<p>Awaiting neither consent nor refusal, he took what he +asked.</p> + +<p>"I am going to Briarmains now," he went on. "I +want you to step over to the rectory and tell Caroline +Helstone what has happened. Will you do this? She +will hear it best from you."</p> + +<p>"Immediately," said Shirley, with docile promptitude. +"Ought I to say that there is no danger?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>490<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Say so."</p> + +<p>"You will come back soon, and let me know more?"</p> + +<p>"I will either come or write."</p> + +<p>"Trust me for watching over Caroline. I will communicate +with your sister too; but doubtless she is already +with Robert?"</p> + +<p>"Doubtless, or will be soon. Good-morning now."</p> + +<p>"You will bear up, come what may."</p> + +<p>"We shall see that."</p> + +<p>Shirley's fingers were obliged to withdraw from the +tutor's. Louis was obliged to relinquish that hand folded, +clasped, hidden in his own.</p> + +<p>"I thought I should have had to support her," he said, +as he walked towards Briarmains, "and it is she who has +made me strong. That look of pity, that gentle touch! +No down was ever softer, no elixir more potent! It lay +like a snowflake; it thrilled like lightning. A thousand +times I have longed to possess that hand—to have it in +mine. I <em>have</em> possessed it; for five minutes I held it. Her +fingers and mine can never be strangers more. Having met +once they must meet again."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>491<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE WOOD-NYMPH.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Briarmains</span> being nearer than the Hollow, Mr. Yorke +had conveyed his young comrade there. He had seen him +laid in the best bed of the house, as carefully as if he had +been one of his own sons. The sight of his blood, welling +from the treacherously inflicted wound, made him indeed +the son of the Yorkshire gentleman's heart. The spectacle +of the sudden event, of the tall, straight shape prostrated +in its pride across the road, of the fine southern head laid +low in the dust, of that youth in prime flung at once before +him pallid, lifeless, helpless—this was the very combination +of circumstances to win for the victim Mr. Yorke's liveliest +interest.</p> + +<p>No other hand was there to raise—to aid, no other voice +to question kindly, no other brain to concert measures; +he had to do it all himself. This utter dependence of the +speechless, bleeding youth (as a youth he regarded him) +on his benevolence secured that benevolence most effectually. +Well did Mr. Yorke like to have power, and to use it. He +had now between his hands power over a fellow-creature's +life. It suited him.</p> + +<p>No less perfectly did it suit his saturnine better half. +The incident was quite in her way and to her taste. Some +women would have been terror-struck to see a gory man +brought in over their threshold, and laid down in their hall +in the "howe of the night." There, you would suppose, was +subject-matter for hysterics. No. Mrs. Yorke went into +hysterics when Jessie would not leave the garden to come to +her knitting, or when Martin proposed starting for Australia, +with a view to realize freedom and escape the tyranny +of Matthew; but an attempted murder near her door—a +half-murdered man in her best bed—set her straight, cheered +her spirits, gave her cap the dash of a turban.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Yorke was just the woman who, while rendering +miserable the drudging life of a simple maid-servant, would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>492<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +nurse like a heroine a hospital full of plague patients. She +almost loved Moore. Her tough heart almost yearned +towards him when she found him committed to her charge—left +in her arms, as dependent on her as her youngest-born +in the cradle. Had she seen a domestic or one of her daughters +give him a draught of water or smooth his pillow, she +would have boxed the intruder's ears. She chased Jessie +and Rose from the upper realm of the house; she forbade +the housemaids to set their foot in it.</p> + +<p>Now, if the accident had happened at the rectory gates, +and old Helstone had taken in the martyr, neither Yorke +nor his wife would have pitied him. They would have +adjudged him right served for his tyranny and meddling. +As it was, he became, for the present, the apple of their eye.</p> + +<p>Strange! Louis Moore was permitted to come—to sit +down on the edge of the bed and lean over the pillow; +to hold his brother's hand, and press his pale forehead +with his fraternal lips; and Mrs. Yorke bore it well. She +suffered him to stay half the day there; she once suffered +him to sit up all night in the chamber; she rose herself +at five o'clock of a wet November morning, and with her +own hands lit the kitchen fire, and made the brothers a +breakfast, and served it to them herself. Majestically +arrayed in a boundless flannel wrapper, a shawl, and her +nightcap, she sat and watched them eat, as complacently as +a hen beholds her chickens feed. Yet she gave the cook +warning that day for venturing to make and carry up to +Mr. Moore a basin of sago-gruel; and the housemaid lost +her favour because, when Mr. Louis was departing, she +brought him his surtout aired from the kitchen, and, like +a "forward piece" as she was, helped him on with it, and +accepted in return a smile, a "Thank you, my girl," and a +shilling. Two ladies called one day, pale and anxious, and +begged earnestly, humbly, to be allowed to see Mr. Moore one +instant. Mrs. Yorke hardened her heart, and sent them +packing—not without <a name="opprobrium" id="opprobrium"></a><ins title="was approbrium">opprobrium</ins>.</p> + +<p>But how was it when Hortense Moore came? Not so +bad as might have been expected. The whole family of +the Moores really seemed to suit Mrs. Yorke so as no other +family had ever suited her. Hortense and she possessed +an exhaustless mutual theme of conversation in the corrupt +propensities of servants. Their views of this class were +similar; they watched them with the same suspicion, and +judged them with the same severity. Hortense, too, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>493<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the very first showed no manner of jealousy of Mrs. Yorke's +attentions to Robert—she let her keep the post of nurse with +little interference; and, for herself, found ceaseless occupation +in fidgeting about the house, holding the kitchen under +surveillance, reporting what passed there, and, in short, +making herself generally useful. Visitors they both of them +agreed in excluding sedulously from the sickroom. They +held the young mill-owner captive, and hardly let the air +breathe or the sun shine on him.</p> + +<p>Mr. MacTurk, the surgeon to whom Moore's case had +been committed, pronounced his wound of a dangerous, +but, he trusted, not of a hopeless character. At first he +wished to place with him a nurse of his own selection; +but this neither Mrs. Yorke nor Hortense would hear of. +They promised faithful observance of directions. He was +left, therefore, for the present in their hands.</p> + +<p>Doubtless they executed the trust to the best of their +ability; but something got wrong. The bandages were +displaced or tampered with; great loss of blood followed. +MacTurk, being summoned, came with steed afoam. He +was one of those surgeons whom it is dangerous to vex—abrupt +in his best moods, in his worst savage. On seeing +Moore's state he relieved his feelings by a little flowery +language, with which it is not necessary to strew the present +page. A bouquet or two of the choicest blossoms fell on the +unperturbed head of one Mr. Graves, a stony young assistant +he usually carried about with him; with a second nosegay he +gifted another young gentleman in his train—an interesting +fac-simile of himself, being indeed his own son; but the +full <em>corbeille</em> of blushing bloom fell to the lot of meddling +womankind, <em>en masse</em>.</p> + +<p>For the best part of one winter night himself and satellites +were busied about Moore. There at his bedside, +shut up alone with him in his chamber, they wrought and +wrangled over his exhausted frame. They three were on one +side of the bed, and Death on the other. The conflict was +sharp; it lasted till day broke, when the balance between +the belligerents seemed so equal that both parties might +have claimed the victory.</p> + +<p>At dawn Graves and young MacTurk were left in charge +of the patient, while the senior went himself in search of +additional strength, and secured it in the person of Mrs. +Horsfall, the best nurse on his staff. To this woman he +gave Moore in charge, with the sternest injunctions respecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>494<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +the responsibility laid on her shoulders. She took this +responsibility stolidly, as she did also the easy-chair at the +bedhead. That moment she began her reign.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horsfall had one virtue—orders received from +MacTurk she obeyed to the letter. The ten commandments +were less binding in her eyes than her surgeon's +dictum. In other respects she was no woman, but a dragon. +Hortense Moore fell effaced before her; Mrs. Yorke withdrew—crushed; +yet both these women were personages +of some dignity in their own estimation, and of some bulk +in the estimation of others. Perfectly cowed by the breadth, +the height, the bone, and the brawn of Mrs. Horsfall, they +retreated to the back parlour. She, for her part, sat upstairs +when she liked, and downstairs when she preferred +it. She took her dram three times a day, and her pipe of +tobacco four times.</p> + +<p>As to Moore, no one now ventured to inquire about him. +Mrs. Horsfall had him at dry-nurse. It was she who was to +do for him, and the general conjecture now ran that she +did for him accordingly.</p> + +<p>Morning and evening MacTurk came to see him. His +case, thus complicated by a new mischance, was become +one of interest in the surgeon's eyes. He regarded him +as a damaged piece of clockwork, which it would be creditable +to his skill to set agoing again. Graves and young +MacTurk—Moore's sole other visitors—contemplated him +in the light in which they were wont to contemplate the +occupant for the time being of the dissecting-room at +Stilbro' Infirmary.</p> + +<p>Robert Moore had a pleasant time of it—in pain, in +danger, too weak to move, almost too weak to speak, a +sort of giantess his keeper, the three surgeons his sole society. +Thus he lay through the diminishing days and lengthening +nights of the whole drear month of November.</p> + +<p>In the commencement of his captivity Moore used feebly +to resist Mrs. Horsfall. He hated the sight of her rough +bulk, and dreaded the contact of her hard hands; but she +taught him docility in a trice. She made no account whatever +of his six feet, his manly thews and sinews; she turned +him in his bed as another woman would have turned a babe +in its cradle. When he was good she addressed him as +"my dear" and "honey," and when he was bad she sometimes +shook him. Did he attempt to speak when MacTurk +was there, she lifted her hand and bade him "Hush!" like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>495<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +a nurse checking a forward child. If she had not smoked, +if she had not taken gin, it would have been better, he +thought; but she did both. Once, in her absence, he intimated +to MacTurk that "that woman was a dram-drinker."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! my dear sir, they are all so," was the reply +he got for his pains. "But Horsfall has this virtue," +added the surgeon—"drunk or sober, she always remembers +to obey <em>me</em>."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>At length the latter autumn passed; its fogs, its rains +withdrew from England their mourning and their tears; +its winds swept on to sigh over lands far away. Behind +November came deep winter—clearness, stillness, frost +accompanying.</p> + +<p>A calm day had settled into a crystalline evening. The +world wore a North Pole colouring; all its lights and tints +looked like the <em>reflets</em><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> of white, or violet, or pale green gems. +The hills wore a lilac blue; the setting sun had purple in +its red; the sky was ice, all silvered azure; when the stars +rose, they were of white crystal, not gold; gray, or cerulean, +or faint emerald hues—cool, pure, and transparent—tinged +the mass of the landscape.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Find me an English word as good, reader, and I will gladly dispense +with the French word. "Reflections" won't do.</p></div> + +<p>What is this by itself in a wood no longer green, no longer +even russet, a wood neutral tint—this dark blue moving +object? Why, it is a schoolboy—a Briarfield grammar-school +boy—who has left his companions, now trudging +home by the highroad, and is seeking a certain tree, with +a certain mossy mound at its root, convenient as a seat. +Why is he lingering here? The air is cold and the time +wears late. He sits down. What is he thinking about? +Does he feel the chaste charm Nature wears to-night? A +pearl-white moon smiles through the gray trees; does he +care for her smile?</p> + +<p>Impossible to say; for he is silent, and his countenance +does not speak. As yet it is no mirror to reflect sensation, +but rather a mask to conceal it. This boy is a stripling +of fifteen—slight, and tall of his years. In his face there +is as little of amenity as of servility, his eye seems prepared +to note any incipient attempt to control or overreach him, +and the rest of his features indicate faculties alert for resistance. +Wise ushers avoid unnecessary interference with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>496<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +that lad. To break him in by severity would be a useless +attempt; to win him by flattery would be an effort worse +than useless. He is best let alone. Time will educate +and experience train him.</p> + +<p>Professedly Martin Yorke (it is a young Yorke, of course) +tramples on the name of poetry. Talk sentiment to him, +and you would be answered by sarcasm. Here he is, wandering +alone, waiting duteously on Nature, while she unfolds +a page of stern, of silent, and of solemn poetry beneath his +attentive gaze.</p> + +<p>Being seated, he takes from his satchel a book—not +the Latin grammar, but a contraband volume of fairy +tales. There will be light enough yet for an hour to serve +his keen young vision. Besides, the moon waits on him; her +beam, dim and vague as yet, fills the glade where he sits.</p> + +<p>He reads. He is led into a solitary mountain region; +all round him is rude and desolate, shapeless, and almost +colourless. He hears bells tinkle on the wind. Forth-riding +from the formless folds of the mist dawns on him +the brightest vision—a green-robed lady, on a snow-white +palfrey. He sees her dress, her gems, and her steed. She +arrests him with some mysterious question. He is spell-bound, +and must follow her into fairyland.</p> + +<p>A second legend bears him to the sea-shore. There +tumbles in a strong tide, boiling at the base of dizzy cliffs. +It rains and blows. A reef of rocks, black and rough, +stretches far into the sea. All along, and among, and above +these crags dash and flash, sweep and leap, swells, wreaths, +drifts of snowy spray. Some lone wanderer is out on these +rocks, treading with cautious step the wet, wild seaweed; +glancing down into hollows where the brine lies fathoms deep +and emerald clear, and seeing there wilder and stranger +and huger vegetation than is found on land, with treasure +of shells—some green, some purple, some pearly—clustered +in the curls of the snaky plants. He hears a cry. Looking +up and forward, he sees, at the bleak point of the reef, a tall, +pale thing—shaped like man, but made of spray—transparent, +tremulous, awful. It stands not alone. They are +all human figures that wanton in the rocks—a crowd of +foam-women—a band of white, evanescent Nereids.</p> + +<p>Hush! Shut the book; hide it in the satchel. Martin +hears a tread. He listens. No—yes. Once more the +dead leaves, lightly crushed, rustle on the wood path. +Martin watches; the trees part, and a woman issues forth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>497<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>She is a lady dressed in dark silk, a veil covering her face. +Martin never met a lady in this wood before—nor any female, +save, now and then, a village girl come to gather nuts. To-night +the apparition does not displease him. He observes, +as she approaches, that she is neither old nor plain, but, on +the contrary, very youthful; and, but that he now recognizes +her for one whom he has often wilfully pronounced ugly, +he would deem that he discovered traits of beauty behind +the thin gauze of that veil.</p> + +<p>She passes him and says nothing. He knew she would. +All women are proud monkeys, and he knows no more +conceited doll than that Caroline Helstone. The thought +is hardly hatched in his mind when the lady retraces those +two steps she had got beyond him, and raising her veil, +reposes her glance on his face, while she softly asks, "Are +you one of Mr. Yorke's sons?"</p> + +<p>No human evidence would ever have been able to persuade +Martin Yorke that he blushed when thus addressed; yet +blush he did, to the ears.</p> + +<p>"I am," he said bluntly, and encouraged himself to +wonder, superciliously, what would come next.</p> + +<p>"You are Martin, I think?" was the observation that +followed.</p> + +<p>It could not have been more felicitous. It was a simple +sentence—very artlessly, a little timidly, pronounced; +but it chimed in harmony to the youth's nature. It stilled +him like a note of music.</p> + +<p>Martin had a keen sense of his personality; he felt it +right and sensible that the girl should discriminate him +from his brothers. Like his father, he hated ceremony. +It was acceptable to hear a lady address him as "Martin," +and not Mr. Martin or Master Martin, which form would +have lost her his good graces for ever. Worse, if possible, +than ceremony was the other extreme of slipshod familiarity. +The slight tone of bashfulness, the scarcely perceptible +hesitation, was considered perfectly in place.</p> + +<p>"I am Martin," he said.</p> + +<p>"Are your father and mother well?" (it was lucky she +did not say <em>papa</em> and <em>mamma</em>; that would have undone +all); "and Rose and Jessie?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"My cousin Hortense is still at Briarmains?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes."</p> + +<p>Martin gave a comic half-smile and demi-groan. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>498<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +half-smile was responded to by the lady, who could guess +in what sort of odour Hortense was likely to be held by the +young Yorkes.</p> + +<p>"Does your mother like her?"</p> + +<p>"They suit so well about the servants they can't help +liking each other."</p> + +<p>"It is cold to-night."</p> + +<p>"Why are you out so late?"</p> + +<p>"I lost my way in this wood."</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, Martin allowed himself a refreshing laugh +of scorn.</p> + +<p>"Lost your way in the mighty forest of Briarmains! +You deserve never more to find it."</p> + +<p>"I never was here before, and I believe I am trespassing +now. You might inform against me if you chose, Martin, +and have me fined. It is your father's wood."</p> + +<p>"I should think I knew that. But since you are so +simple as to lose your way, I will guide you out."</p> + +<p>"You need not. I have got into the track now. I shall +be right. Martin" (a little quickly), "how is Mr. Moore?"</p> + +<p>Martin had heard certain rumours; it struck him that +it might be amusing to make an experiment.</p> + +<p>"Going to die. Nothing can save him. All hope flung +overboard!"</p> + +<p>She put her veil aside. She looked into his eyes, and +said, "To die!"</p> + +<p>"To die. All along of the women, my mother and +the rest. They did something about his bandages that +finished everything. He would have got better but for +them. I am sure they should be arrested, cribbed, tried, +and brought in for Botany Bay, at the very least."</p> + +<p>The questioner, perhaps, did nor hear this judgment. +She stood motionless. In two minutes, without another +word, she moved forwards; no good-night, no further +inquiry. This was not amusing, nor what Martin had calculated +on. He expected something dramatic and demonstrative. +It was hardly worth while to frighten the girl +if she would not entertain him in return. He called, "Miss +Helstone!"</p> + +<p>She did not hear or turn. He hastened after and overtook +her.</p> + +<p>"Come; are you uneasy about what I said?"</p> + +<p>"You know nothing about death, Martin; you are +too young for me to talk to concerning such a thing."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>499<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Did you believe me? It's all flummery! Moore +eats like three men. They are always making sago or +tapioca or something good for him. I never go into the +kitchen but there is a saucepan on the fire, cooking him +some dainty. I think I will play the old soldier, and be +fed on the fat of the land like him."</p> + +<p>"Martin! Martin!" Here her voice trembled, and +she stopped.</p> + +<p>"It is exceedingly wrong of you, Martin. You have +almost killed me."</p> + +<p>Again she stopped. She leaned against a tree, trembling, +shuddering, and as pale as death.</p> + +<p>Martin contemplated her with inexpressible curiosity. +In one sense it was, as he would have expressed it, "nuts" +to him to see this. It told him so much, and he was beginning +to have a great relish for discovering secrets. In +another sense it reminded him of what he had once felt +when he had heard a blackbird lamenting for her nestlings, +which Matthew had crushed with a stone, and that was not +a pleasant feeling. Unable to find anything very appropriate +to <em>say</em> in order to comfort her, he began to cast about in his +mind what he could <em>do</em>. He smiled. The lad's smile gave +wondrous transparency to his physiognomy.</p> + +<p>"Eureka!" he cried. "I'll set all straight by-and-by. +You are better now, Miss Caroline. Walk forward," +he urged.</p> + +<p>Not reflecting that it would be more difficult for Miss +Helstone than for himself to climb a wall or penetrate a +hedge, he piloted her by a short cut which led to no gate. +The consequence was he had to help her over some formidable +obstacles, and while he railed at her for helplessness, +he perfectly liked to feel himself of use.</p> + +<p>"Martin, before we separate, assure me seriously, and +on your word of honour, that Mr. Moore is better."</p> + +<p>"How very much you think of that Moore!"</p> + +<p>"No—but—many of his friends may ask me, and I +wish to be able to give an authentic answer."</p> + +<p>"You may tell them he is well enough, only idle. You +may tell them that he takes mutton chops for dinner, and +the best of arrowroot for supper. I intercepted a basin myself +one night on its way upstairs, and ate half of it."</p> + +<p>"And who waits on him, Martin? who nurses him?"</p> + +<p>"Nurses him? The great baby! Why, a woman as +round and big as our largest water-butt—a rough, hard-favoured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>500<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +old girl. I make no doubt she leads him a rich +life. Nobody else is let near him. He is chiefly in the +dark. It is my belief she knocks him about terribly in +that chamber. I listen at the wall sometimes when I am +in bed, and I think I hear her thumping him. You should +see her fist. She could hold half a dozen hands like yours +in her one palm. After all, notwithstanding the chops and +jellies he gets, I would not be in his shoes. In fact, it is +my private opinion that she eats most of what goes up on +the tray to Mr. Moore. I wish she may not be starving +him."</p> + +<p>Profound silence and meditation on Caroline's part, and a +sly watchfulness on Martin's.</p> + +<p>"You never see him, I suppose, Martin?"</p> + +<p>"I? No. I don't care to see him, for my own part."</p> + +<p>Silence again.</p> + +<p>"Did not you come to our house once with Mrs. Pryor, +about five weeks since, to ask after him?" again inquired +Martin.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I dare say you wished to be shown upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"We <em>did</em> wish it. We entreated it; but your mother +declined."</p> + +<p>"Ay! she declined. I heard it all. She treated you +as it is her pleasure to treat visitors now and then. She +behaved to you rudely and harshly."</p> + +<p>"She was not kind; for you know, Martin, we are relations, +and it is natural we should take an interest in Mr. +Moore. But here we must part; we are at your father's +gate."</p> + +<p>"Very well, what of that? I shall walk home with +you."</p> + +<p>"They will miss you, and wonder where you are."</p> + +<p>"Let them. I can take care of myself, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Martin knew that he had already incurred the penalty +of a lecture, and dry bread for his tea. No matter; the +evening had furnished him with an adventure. It was +better than muffins and toast.</p> + +<p>He walked home with Caroline. On the way he promised +to see Mr. Moore, in spite of the dragon who guarded +his chamber, and appointed an hour on the next day when +Caroline was to come to Briarmains Wood and get tidings +of him. He would meet her at a certain tree. The scheme +led to nothing; still he liked it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>501<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Having reached home, the dry bread and the lecture were +duly administered to him, and he was dismissed to bed at +an early hour. He accepted his punishment with the toughest +stoicism.</p> + +<p>Ere ascending to his chamber he paid a secret visit to +the dining-room, a still, cold, stately apartment, seldom +used, for the family customarily dined in the back parlour. +He stood before the mantelpiece, and lifted his candle to +two pictures hung above—female heads: one, a type of +serene beauty, happy and innocent; the other, more lovely, +but forlorn and desperate.</p> + +<p>"She looked like <em>that</em>," he said, gazing on the latter +sketch, "when she sobbed, turned white, and leaned against +the tree."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," he pursued, when he was in his room, +and seated on the edge of his pallet-bed—"I suppose she +is what they call '<em>in love</em>'—yes, <em>in love</em> with that long thing +in the next chamber. Whisht! is that Horsfall clattering +him? I wonder he does not yell out. It really sounds as if +she had fallen on him tooth and nail; but I suppose she is +making the bed. I saw her at it once. She hit into the +mattresses as if she was boxing. It is queer, Zillah (they +call her Zillah)—Zillah Horsfall is a woman, and Caroline +Helstone is a woman; they are two individuals of the same +species—not much alike though. Is she a pretty girl, +that Caroline? I suspect she is; very nice to look at—something +so clear in her face, so soft in her eyes. I approve +of her looking at me; it does me good. She has long eyelashes. +Their shadow seems to rest where she gazes, and to +instil peace and thought. If she behaves well, and continues +to suit me as she has suited me to-day, I may do her +a good turn. I rather relish the notion of circumventing +my mother and that ogress old Horsfall. Not that I like +humouring Moore; but whatever I do I'll be paid for, and in +coin of my own choosing. I know what reward I will claim—one +displeasing to Moore, and agreeable to myself."</p> + +<p>He turned into bed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>502<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>MARTIN'S TACTICS.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">It</span> was necessary to the arrangement of Martin's plan +that he should stay at home that day. Accordingly, he +found no appetite for breakfast, and just about school-time +took a severe pain about his heart, which rendered +it advisable that, instead of setting out to the grammar +school with Mark, he should succeed to his father's arm-chair +by the fireside, and also to his morning paper. This point +being satisfactorily settled, and Mark being gone to Mr. +Summer's class, and Matthew and Mr. Yorke withdrawn +to the counting-house, three other exploits—nay, four—remained +to be achieved.</p> + +<p>The first of these was to realize the breakfast he had not +yet tasted, and with which his appetite of fifteen could ill +afford to dispense; the second, third, fourth, to get his +mother, Miss Moore, and Mrs. Horsfall successfully out +of the way before four o'clock that afternoon.</p> + +<p>The first was, for the present, the most pressing, since +the work before him demanded an amount of energy which +the present empty condition of his youthful stomach did not +seem likely to supply.</p> + +<p>Martin knew the way to the larder, and knowing this +way he took it. The servants were in the kitchen, breakfasting +solemnly with closed doors; his mother and Miss +Moore were airing themselves on the lawn, and discussing +the closed doors aforesaid. Martin, safe in the larder, +made fastidious selection from its stores. His breakfast +had been delayed; he was determined it should be <em>recherché</em>. +It appeared to him that a variety on his usual +somewhat insipid fare of bread and milk was both desirable +and advisable; the savoury and the salutary he thought +might be combined. There was store of rosy apples laid +in straw upon a shelf; he picked out three. There was +pastry upon a dish; he selected an apricot puff and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>503<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +damson tart. On the plain household bread his eye did +not dwell; but he surveyed with favour some currant tea-cakes, +and condescended to make choice of one. Thanks +to his clasp-knife, he was able to appropriate a wing of fowl +and a slice of ham; a cantlet of cold custard-pudding he +thought would harmonize with these articles; and having +made this final addition to his booty, he at length sallied +forth into the hall.</p> + +<p>He was already half-way across—three steps more would +have anchored him in the harbour of the back parlour—when +the front door opened, and there stood Matthew. +Better far had it been the Old Gentleman, in full equipage +of horns, hoofs, and tail.</p> + +<p>Matthew, sceptic and scoffer, had already failed to +subscribe a prompt belief in that pain about the heart. +He had muttered some words, amongst which the phrase +"shamming Abraham" had been very distinctly audible, +and the succession to the armchair and newspaper had +appeared to affect him with mental spasms. The spectacle +now before him—the apples, the tarts, the tea-cakes, +the fowl, ham, and pudding—offered evidence but too +well calculated to inflate his opinion of his own sagacity.</p> + +<p>Martin paused <em>interdit</em> one minute, one instant; the +next he knew his ground, and pronounced all well. With +the true perspicacity <em>des âmes élites</em>, he at once saw how +this at first sight untoward event might be turned to excellent +account. He saw how it might be so handled as to +secure the accomplishment of his second task—namely, +the disposal of his mother. He knew that a collision between +him and Matthew always suggested to Mrs. Yorke +the propriety of a fit of hysterics. He further knew that, +on the principle of calm succeeding to storm, after a morning +of hysterics his mother was sure to indulge in an afternoon +of bed. This would accommodate him perfectly.</p> + +<p>The collision duly took place in the hall. A dry laugh, +an insulting sneer, a contemptuous taunt, met by a nonchalant +but most cutting reply, were the signals. They +rushed at it. Martin, who usually made little noise on +these occasions, made a great deal now. In flew the +servants, Mrs. Yorke, Miss Moore. No female hand could +separate them. Mr. Yorke was summoned.</p> + +<p>"Sons," said he, "one of you must leave my roof if +this occurs again. I will have no Cain and Abel strife +here."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>504<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Martin now allowed himself to be taken off. He had +been hurt; he was the youngest and slightest. He was +quite cool, in no passion; he even smiled, content that +the most difficult part of the labour he had set himself +was over.</p> + +<p>Once he seemed to flag in the course of the morning.</p> + +<p>"It is not worth while to bother myself for that Caroline," +he remarked. But a quarter of an hour afterwards +he was again in the dining-room, looking at the head with +dishevelled tresses, and eyes turbid with despair.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I made her sob, shudder, almost faint. +I'll see her smile before I've done with her; besides, I +want to outwit all these womenites."</p> + +<p>Directly after dinner Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation +by withdrawing to her chamber. Now for Hortense.</p> + +<p>That lady was just comfortably settled to stocking-mending +in the back parlour, when Martin—laying down +a book which, stretched on the sofa (he was still indisposed, +according to his own account), he had been perusing in all +the voluptuous ease of a yet callow pacha—lazily introduced +some discourse about Sarah, the maid at the Hollow. In +the course of much verbal meandering he insinuated information +that this damsel was said to have three suitors—Frederic +Murgatroyd, Jeremiah Pighills, and John-of-Mally's-of-Hannah's-of-Deb's; +and that Miss Mann had +affirmed she knew for a fact that, now the girl was left in +sole charge of the cottage, she often had her swains to meals, +and entertained them with the best the house afforded.</p> + +<p>It needed no more. Hortense could not have lived +another hour without betaking herself to the scene of these +nefarious transactions, and inspecting the state of matters +in person. Mrs. Horsfall remained.</p> + +<p>Martin, master of the field now, extracted from his +mother's work-basket a bunch of keys; with these he +opened the sideboard cupboard, produced thence a black +bottle and a small glass, placed them on the table, nimbly +mounted the stairs, made for Mr. Moore's door, tapped; +the nurse opened.</p> + +<p>"If you please, ma'am, you are invited to step into +the back parlour and take some refreshment. You will +not be disturbed; the family are out."</p> + +<p>He watched her down; he watched her in; himself +shut the door. He knew she was safe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>505<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He +snatched his cap, and away for the wood.</p> + +<p>It was yet but half-past three. It had been a fine morning, +but the sky looked dark now. It was beginning to +snow; the wind blew cold; the wood looked dismal, the +old tree grim. Yet Martin approved the shadow on his +path. He found a charm in the spectral aspect of the +doddered oak.</p> + +<p>He had to wait. To and fro he walked, while the flakes +fell faster; and the wind, which at first had but moaned, +pitifully howled.</p> + +<p>"She is long in coming," he muttered, as he glanced +along the narrow track. "I wonder," he subjoined, +"what I wish to see her so much for? She is not coming +for me. But I have power over her, and I want her to +come that I may use that power."</p> + +<p>He continued his walk.</p> + +<p>"Now," he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, +"if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her."</p> + +<p>It struck four. He heard the church clock far away. +A step so quick, so light, that, but for the rustling of leaves, +it would scarcely have sounded on the wood-walk, checked +his impatience. The wind blew fiercely now, and the +thickening white storm waxed bewildering; but on she +came, and not dismayed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Martin," she said eagerly, "how is he?"</p> + +<p>"It is queer how she thinks of <em>him</em>," reflected Martin. +"The blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, +I believe; yet she is but a 'chitty-faced creature,' as my +mother would say. I could find in my heart to wish I had +a cloak to wrap her in."</p> + +<p>Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss +Helstone.</p> + +<p>"You have seen him?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you promised you would."</p> + +<p>"I mean to do better by you than that. Didn't I say +<em>I</em> don't care to see him?"</p> + +<p>"But now it will be so long before I get to know any +thing certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, +<em>do</em> see him, and give him Caroline Helstone's regards, and +say she wished to know how he was, and if anything could +be done for his comfort."</p> + +<p>"I won't."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>506<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You are changed. You were so friendly last night."</p> + +<p>"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold."</p> + +<p>"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow +with news."</p> + +<p>"No such thing. I am much too delicate to make and +keep such appointments in the winter season. If you +knew what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and +how I went without breakfast, and was knocked down +besides, you'd feel the impropriety of bringing me here in +the snow. Come, I say."</p> + +<p>"Are you really delicate, Martin?"</p> + +<p>"Don't I look so?"</p> + +<p>"You have rosy cheeks."</p> + +<p>"That's hectic. Will you come—or you won't?"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would +have made you cosy."</p> + +<p>"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the +opposite direction."</p> + +<p>"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you."</p> + +<p>"But the wall—the hedge—it is such hard work climbing, +and you are too slender and young to help me without +hurting yourself."</p> + +<p>"You shall go through the gate."</p> + +<p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"But, but—will you trust me or not?"</p> + +<p>She looked into his face.</p> + +<p>"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious +as I came."</p> + +<p>"I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise +you: be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself."</p> + +<p>"See him myself?"</p> + +<p>"Yourself."</p> + +<p>"But, dear Martin, does he know?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know."</p> + +<p>"And your mother and the others?"</p> + +<p>"All is right."</p> + +<p>Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she +walked on with her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains.</p> + +<p>"Have you made up your mind?" he asked.</p> + +<p>She was silent.</p> + +<p>"Decide; we are just on the spot. I <em>won't</em> see him—that +I tell you—except to announce your arrival."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>507<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; +but all I feel <em>is</em> and <em>has</em> been, for a long time, strange. I +will see him."</p> + +<p>"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the +parlour window; no one will see you. My father and +Matthew are at the mill, Mark is at school, the servants +are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at the cottage, my +mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe—I +need not ring. I open the door; the hall is empty, the +staircase quiet; so is the gallery. The whole house and +all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break +till you are gone."</p> + +<p>"Martin, I trust you."</p> + +<p>"You never said a better word. Let me take your +shawl. I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You +are cold and wet. Never mind; there is a fire upstairs. +Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Follow me."</p> + +<p>He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod. +Caroline stole after, with noiseless step. There was a +gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage +Martin paused before a door and tapped. He had to tap +twice—thrice. A voice, known to one listener, at last said, +"Come in."</p> + +<p>The boy entered briskly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None +of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the +maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the +back kitchen, so I asked her to step up."</p> + +<p>"Up here, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down +again."</p> + +<p>"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, +you absurd lad?"</p> + +<p>"No; so I'll take her off."</p> + +<p>"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Your grandmother from that château on the Scheldt +Miss Moore talks about."</p> + +<p>"Martin," said the softest whisper at the door, "don't +be foolish."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>508<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Is she there?" inquired Moore hastily. He had +caught an imperfect sound.</p> + +<p>"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, +shocked at your want of filial affection."</p> + +<p>"Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a +page. What is she like?"</p> + +<p>"More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful."</p> + +<p>"You are to show her forward. Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Come, Miss Caroline."</p> + +<p>"Miss Caroline!" repeated Moore.</p> + +<p>And when Miss Caroline entered she was encountered +in the middle of the chamber by a tall, thin, wasted figure, +who took both her hands.</p> + +<p>"I give you a quarter of an hour," said Martin, as he +withdrew, "no more. Say what you have to say in that +time. Till it is past I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall +approach; I'll see you safe away. Should you persist in +staying longer, I leave you to your fate."</p> + +<p>He shut the door. In the gallery he was as elate as a +king. He had never been engaged in an adventure he liked +so well, for no adventure had ever invested him with so +much importance or inspired him with so much interest.</p> + +<p>"You are come at last," said the meagre man, gazing on +his visitress with hollow eyes.</p> + +<p>"Did you expect me before?"</p> + +<p>"For a month, near two months, we have been very +near; and I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, +Cary."</p> + +<p>"I could not come."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you? But the rectory and Briarmains are +very near—not two miles apart."</p> + +<p>There was pain and there was pleasure in the girl's face as +she listened to these implied reproaches. It was sweet, it +was bitter to defend herself.</p> + +<p>"When I say I could not come, I mean I could not see +you; for I came with mamma the very day we heard +what had happened. Mr. MacTurk then told us it was +impossible to admit any stranger."</p> + +<p>"But afterwards—every fine afternoon these many weeks +past I have waited and listened. Something here, Cary"—laying +his hand on his breast—"told me it was impossible +but that you should think of me. Not that I merit +thought; but we are old acquaintance—we are cousins."</p> + +<p>"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>509<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Did you? Come, that is worth hearing. Since you +came again, we will sit down and talk about it."</p> + +<p>They sat down. Caroline drew her chair up to his. +The air was now dark with snow; an Iceland blast was +driving it wildly. This pair neither heard the long +"wuthering" rush, nor saw the white burden it drifted. +Each seemed conscious but of one thing—the presence of +the other.</p> + +<p>"So mamma and you came again?"</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Yorke did treat us strangely. We asked to +see you. 'No,' said she, 'not in my house. I am at +present responsible for his life; it shall not be forfeited +for half an hour's idle gossip.' But I must not tell you all +she said; it was very disagreeable. However, we came +yet again—mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we +thought we should conquer, as we were three against one, +and Shirley was on our side. But Mrs. Yorke opened such +a battery."</p> + +<p>Moore smiled. "What did she say?"</p> + +<p>"Things that astonished us. Shirley laughed at last; +I cried; mamma was seriously annoyed. We were all +three driven from the field. Since that time I have only +walked once a day past the house, just for the satisfaction +of looking up at your window, which I could distinguish +by the drawn curtains. I really dared not come +in."</p> + +<p>"I <em>have</em> wished for you, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"I did not know that; I never dreamt one instant that +you thought of me. If I had but most distantly imagined +such a possibility——"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you."</p> + +<p>"She would not. Stratagem should have been tried, +if persuasion failed. I would have come to the kitchen +door; the servants should have let me in, and I would +have walked straight upstairs. In fact, it was far more +the fear of intrusion—the fear of yourself—that baffled +me than the fear of Mrs. Yorke."</p> + +<p>"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again. +Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me—terrible +depression."</p> + +<p>"And you sit alone?"</p> + +<p>"Worse than alone."</p> + +<p>"But you must be getting better, since you can leave +your bed?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>510<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I doubt whether I shall live. I see nothing for it, after +such exhaustion, but decline."</p> + +<p>"You—you shall go home to the Hollow."</p> + +<p>"Dreariness would accompany, nothing cheerful come +near me."</p> + +<p>"I <em>will</em> alter this. This <em>shall</em> be altered, were there ten +Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with."</p> + +<p>"Cary, you make me smile."</p> + +<p>"Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should +like?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me anything—only keep talking. I am Saul; +but for music I should perish."</p> + +<p>"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and +given to me and mamma."</p> + +<p>"A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot +me till now."</p> + +<p>"Do you suffer pain, Robert?"</p> + +<p>"Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and +the state of my mind is inexpressible—dark, barren, impotent. +Do you not read it all in my face? I look a mere +ghost."</p> + +<p>"Altered; yet I should have known you anywhere. +But I understand your feelings; I experienced something +like it. Since we met, I too have been very ill."</p> + +<p>"<em>Very</em> ill?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed +told. Every night, just at midnight, I used to wake from +awful dreams; and the book lay open before me at the +last page, where was written 'Finis.' I had strange feelings."</p> + +<p>"You speak my experience."</p> + +<p>"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew +so thin—as thin as you are now. I could do nothing for +myself—neither rise nor lie down; and I could not eat. +Yet you see I am better."</p> + +<p>"Comforter—sad as sweet. I am too feeble to say +what I feel; but while you speak I <em>do</em> feel."</p> + +<p>"Here I am at your side, where I thought never more +to be. Here I speak to you. I see you listen to me willingly—look +at me kindly. Did I count on that? I +despaired."</p> + +<p>Moore sighed—a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan. +He covered his eyes with his hand.</p> + +<p>"May I be spared to make some atonement."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>511<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>Such was his prayer.</p> + +<p>"And for what?"</p> + +<p>"We will not touch on it now, Cary; unmanned as I +am, I have not the power to cope with such a topic. Was +Mrs. Pryor with you during your illness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes"—Caroline smiled brightly—"you know she is +mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard—Hortense told me; but that tale too +I will receive from yourself. Does she add to your happiness?"</p> + +<p>"What! mamma? She is <em>dear</em> to me; <em>how</em> dear I +cannot say. I was altogether weary, and she held me +up."</p> + +<p>"I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce +lift my hand to my head. I deserve it."</p> + +<p>"It is no reproach against you."</p> + +<p>"It is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every +word you address to me, and every look that lights your +sweet face. Come still nearer, Lina; and give me your +hand—if my thin fingers do not scare you."</p> + +<p>She took those thin fingers between her two little hands; +she bent her head <em>et les effleura de ses lèvres</em>. (I put that +in French because the word <em>effleurer</em> is an exquisite word.) +Moore was much moved. A large tear or two coursed +down his hollow cheek.</p> + +<p>"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I +will put by, and you shall hear of it again one day."</p> + +<p>"Come out!" cried Martin, opening the door—"come +away; you have had twenty minutes instead of a quarter +of an hour."</p> + +<p>"She will not stir yet, you hempseed."</p> + +<p>"I dare not stay longer, Robert."</p> + +<p>"Can you promise to return?"</p> + +<p>"No, she can't," responded Martin. "The thing mustn't +become customary. I can't be troubled. It's very well +for once; I'll not have it repeated."</p> + +<p>"<em>You</em>'ll not have it repeated."</p> + +<p>"Hush! don't vex him; we could not have met to-day +but for him. But I will come again, if it is your wish +that I should come."</p> + +<p>"It <em>is</em> my wish—my <em>one</em> wish—almost the only wish I +can feel."</p> + +<p>"Come this minute. My mother has coughed, got up, +set her feet on the floor. Let her only catch you on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>512<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +stairs, Miss Caroline. You're not to bid him good-bye"—stepping +between her and Moore—"you are to march."</p> + +<p>"My shawl, Martin."</p> + +<p>"I have it. I'll put it on for you when you are in the +hall."</p> + +<p>He made them part. He would suffer no farewell but +what could be expressed in looks. He half carried Caroline +down the stairs. In the hall he wrapped her shawl +round her, and, but that his mother's tread then creaked +in the gallery, and but that a sentiment of diffidence—the +proper, natural, therefore the noble impulse of his +boy's heart—held him back, he would have claimed his +reward; he would have said, "Now, Miss Caroline, for +all this give me one kiss." But ere the words had passed +his lips she was across the snowy road, rather skimming +than wading the drifts.</p> + +<p>"She is my debtor, and I <em>will</em> be paid."</p> + +<p>He flattered himself that it was opportunity, not audacity, +which had failed him. He misjudged the quality of his +own nature, and held it for something lower than it was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>513<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>CASE OF DOMESTIC PERSECUTION—REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF PIOUS PERSEVERANCE +IN THE DISCHARGE OF RELIGIOUS +DUTIES.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Martin</span>, having known the taste of excitement, wanted +a second draught; having felt the dignity of power, he +loathed to relinquish it. Miss Helstone—that girl he had +always called ugly, and whose face was now perpetually +before his eyes, by day and by night, in dark and in sunshine—had +once come within his sphere. It fretted him +to think the visit might never be repeated.</p> + +<p>Though a schoolboy he was no ordinary schoolboy; +he was destined to grow up an original. At a few years' +later date he took great pains to pare and polish himself +down to the pattern of the rest of the world, but he never +succeeded; an unique stamp marked him always. He +now sat idle at his desk in the grammar school, casting +about in his mind for the means of adding another chapter +to his commenced romance. He did not yet know how +many commenced life-romances are doomed never to get +beyond the first, or at most the second chapter. His +Saturday half-holiday he spent in the wood with his book +of fairy legends, and that other unwritten book of his +imagination.</p> + +<p>Martin harboured an irreligious reluctance to see the +approach of Sunday. His father and mother, while disclaiming +community with the Establishment, failed not +duly, once on the sacred day, to fill their large pew in +Briarfield Church with the whole of their blooming family. +Theoretically, Mr. Yorke placed all sects and churches on +a level. Mrs. Yorke awarded the palm to Moravians and +Quakers, on account of that crown of humility by these +worthies worn. Neither of them were ever known, however, +to set foot in a conventicle.</p> + +<p>Martin, I say, disliked Sunday, because the morning +service was long, and the sermon usually little to his taste.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>514<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +This Saturday afternoon, however, his woodland musings +disclosed to him a new-found charm in the coming day.</p> + +<p>It proved a day of deep snow—so deep that Mrs. Yorke +during breakfast announced her conviction that the children, +both boys and girls, would be better at home; and her +decision that, instead of going to church, they should sit +silent for two hours in the back parlour, while Rose and +Martin alternately read a succession of sermons—John +Wesley's "Sermons." John Wesley, being a reformer and +an agitator, had a place both in her own and her husband's +favour.</p> + +<p>"Rose will do as she pleases," said Martin, not looking +up from the book which, according to his custom then and +in after-life, he was studying over his bread and milk.</p> + +<p>"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," observed +the mother.</p> + +<p>"I am going to church."</p> + +<p>So her son replied, with the ineffable quietude of a true +Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it, and who, +if pushed to the wall, will let himself be crushed to death, +provided no way of escape can be found, but will never +capitulate.</p> + +<p>"It is not fit weather," said the father.</p> + +<p>No answer. The youth read studiously; he slowly +broke his bread and sipped his milk.</p> + +<p>"Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more +to obey," said Mrs. Yorke.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am influenced by pure perverseness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are."</p> + +<p>"Mother, <em>I am not</em>."</p> + +<p>"By what, then, are you influenced?"</p> + +<p>"By a complication of motives, the intricacies of which +I should as soon think of explaining to you as I should of +turning myself inside out to exhibit the internal machinery +of my frame."</p> + +<p>"Hear Martin! hear him!" cried Mr. Yorke. "I must +see and have this lad of mine brought up to the bar. Nature +meant him to live by his tongue. Hesther, your third son +must certainly be a lawyer; he has the stock-in-trade—brass, +self-conceit, and words—words—words."</p> + +<p>"Some bread, Rose, if you please," requested Martin, +with intense gravity, serenity, phlegm. The boy had +naturally a low, plaintive voice, which in his "dour moods" +rose scarcely above a lady's whisper. The more inflexibly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>515<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +stubborn the humour, the softer, the sadder the tone. He +rang the bell, and gently asked for his walking-shoes.</p> + +<p>"But, Martin," urged his sire, "there is drift all the +way; a man could hardly wade through it. However, +lad," he continued, seeing that the boy rose as the church +bell began to toll, "this is a case wherein I would by no +means balk the obdurate chap of his will. Go to church by +all means. There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp, frozen +sleet, besides the depth under foot. Go out into it, since +thou prefers it to a warm fireside."</p> + +<p>Martin quietly assumed his cloak, comforter, and cap, +and deliberately went out.</p> + +<p>"My father has more sense than my mother," he pronounced. +"How women miss it! They drive the nail +into the flesh, thinking they are hammering away at insensate +stone."</p> + +<p>He reached church early.</p> + +<p>"Now, if the weather frightens her (and it is a real December +tempest), or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her going out, +and I should miss her after all, it will vex me; but, tempest +or tornado, hail or ice, she <em>ought</em> to come, and if she has +a mind worthy of her eyes and features she <em>will</em> come. She +will be here for the chance of seeing me, as I am here for +the chance of seeing her. She will want to get a word +respecting her confounded sweetheart, as I want to get +another flavour of what I think the essence of life—a taste +of existence, with the spirit preserved in it, and not evaporated. +Adventure is to stagnation what champagne is +to flat porter."</p> + +<p>He looked round. The church was cold, silent, empty, +but for one old woman. As the chimes subsided and +the single bell tolled slowly, another and another elderly +parishioner came dropping in, and took a humble station +in the free sittings. It is always the frailest, the oldest, +and the poorest that brave the worst weather, to prove +and maintain their constancy to dear old mother church. +This wild morning not one affluent family attended, not one +carriage party appeared—all the lined and cushioned pews +were empty; only on the bare oaken seats sat ranged the +gray-haired elders and feeble paupers.</p> + +<p>"I'll scorn her if she doesn't come," muttered Martin, +shortly and savagely, to himself. The rector's shovel-hat +had passed the porch. Mr. Helstone and his clerk +were in the vestry.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>516<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>The bells ceased—the reading-desk was filled—the doors +were closed—the service commenced. Void stood the +rectory pew—she was not there. Martin scorned her.</p> + +<p>"Worthless thing! vapid thing! commonplace humbug! +Like all other girls—weakly, selfish, shallow!"</p> + +<p>Such was Martin's liturgy.</p> + +<p>"She is not like our picture. Her eyes are not large and +expressive; her nose is not straight, delicate, Hellenic; +her mouth has not that charm I thought it had, which I +imagined could beguile me of sullenness in my worst moods. +What is she? A thread-paper, a doll, a toy, a <em>girl</em>, in +short."</p> + +<p>So absorbed was the young cynic he forgot to rise from +his knees at the proper place, and was still in an exemplary +attitude of devotion when, the litany over, the first hymn +was given out. To be so caught did not contribute to +soothe him. He started up red (for he was as sensitive to +ridicule as any girl). To make the matter worse, the church +door had reopened, and the aisles were filling: patter, +patter, patter, a hundred little feet trotted in. It was the +Sunday scholars. According to Briarfield winter custom, +these children had till now been kept where there was a +warm stove, and only led into church just before the communion +and sermon.</p> + +<p>The little ones were settled first, and at last, when the +boys and the younger girls were all arranged—when the +organ was swelling high, and the choir and congregation +were rising to uplift a spiritual song—a tall class of young +women came quietly in, closing the procession. Their +teacher, having seen them seated, passed into the rectory +pew. The French-gray cloak and small beaver bonnet were +known to Martin; it was the very costume his eyes had +ached to catch. Miss Helstone had not suffered the storm +to prove an impediment. After all, she was come to church. +Martin probably whispered his satisfaction to his hymn +book; at any rate, he therewith hid his face two minutes.</p> + +<p>Satisfied or not, he had time to get very angry with her +again before the sermon was over. She had never once +looked his way; at least he had not been so lucky as to +encounter a glance.</p> + +<p>"If," he said—"if she takes no notice of me, if she +shows I am not in her thoughts, I shall have a worse, a +meaner opinion of her than ever. Most despicable would +it be to come for the sake of those sheep-faced Sunday<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>517<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +scholars, and not for my sake or that long skeleton +Moore's."</p> + +<p>The sermon found an end; the benediction was pronounced; +the congregation dispersed. She had not been +near him.</p> + +<p>Now, indeed, as Martin set his face homeward, he felt +that the sleet was sharp and the east wind cold.</p> + +<p>His nearest way lay through some fields. It was a +dangerous, because an untrodden way. He did not care; +he would take it. Near the second stile rose a clump of +trees. Was that an umbrella waiting there? Yes, an +umbrella, held with evident difficulty against the blast; +behind it fluttered a French-gray cloak. Martin grinned +as he toiled up the steep, encumbered field, difficult to the +foot as a slope in the upper realms of Etna. There was an +inimitable look in his face when, having gained the stile, he +seated himself coolly thereupon, and thus opened a conference +which, for his own part, he was willing to prolong +indefinitely.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better strike a bargain. Exchange +me for Mrs. Pryor."</p> + +<p>"I was not sure whether you would come this way, +Martin, but I thought I would run the chance. There is no +such thing as getting a quiet word spoken in the church or +churchyard."</p> + +<p>"Will you agree?—make over Mrs. Pryor to my mother, +and put me in her skirts?"</p> + +<p>"As if I could understand you! What puts Mrs. Pryor +into your head?"</p> + +<p>"You call her 'mamma,' don't you?"</p> + +<p>"She <em>is</em> my mamma."</p> + +<p>"Not possible—or so inefficient, so careless a mamma; +I should make a five times better one. You <em>may</em> laugh. I +have no objection to see you laugh. Your teeth—I hate +ugly teeth; but yours are as pretty as a pearl necklace, +and a necklace of which the pearls are very fair, even, and +well matched too."</p> + +<p>"Martin, what now? I thought the Yorkes never paid +compliments?"</p> + +<p>"They have not done till this generation; but I feel +as if it were my vocation to turn out a new variety of the +Yorke species. I am rather tired of my own ancestors. +We have traditions going back for four ages—tales of +Hiram, which was the son of Hiram, which was the son of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>518<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Samuel, which was the son of John, which was the son of +Zerubbabel Yorke. All, from Zerubbabel down to the last +Hiram, were such as you see my father. Before that there +was a Godfrey. We have his picture; it hangs in Moore's +bedroom; it is like me. Of his character we know nothing; +but I am sure it was different to his descendants. He has +long, curling dark hair; he is carefully and cavalierly +dressed. Having said that he is like me, I need not add +that he is handsome."</p> + +<p>"You are not handsome, Martin."</p> + +<p>"No; but wait awhile—just let me take my time. +I mean to begin from this day to cultivate, to polish, and +we shall see."</p> + +<p>"You are a very strange, a very unaccountable boy, +Martin. But don't imagine you ever will be handsome; +you cannot."</p> + +<p>"I mean to try. But we were talking about Mrs. Pryor. +She must be the most unnatural mamma in existence, coolly +to let her daughter come out in this weather. Mine was in +such a rage because I would go to church; she was fit to +fling the kitchen brush after me."</p> + +<p>"Mamma was very much concerned about me; but +I am afraid I was obstinate. I <em>would</em> go."</p> + +<p>"To see me?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly; I thought of nothing else. I greatly feared +the snow would hinder you from coming. You don't know +how pleased I was to see you all by yourself in the pew."</p> + +<p>"<em>I</em> came to fulfil my duty, and set the parish a good +example. And so you were obstinate, were you? I should +like to see you obstinate, I should. Wouldn't I have you +in good discipline if I owned you? Let me take the umbrella."</p> + +<p>"I can't stay two minutes; our dinner will be ready."</p> + +<p>"And so will ours; and we have always a hot dinner on +Sundays. Roast goose to-day, with apple-pie and rice-pudding. +I always contrive to know the bill of fare. Well, +I like these things uncommonly; but I'll make the sacrifice, +if you will."</p> + +<p>"We have a cold dinner. My uncle will allow no unnecessary +cooking on the Sabbath. But I must return; +the house would be in commotion if I failed to appear."</p> + +<p>"So will Briarmains, bless you! I think I hear my +father sending out the overlooker and five of the dyers, to +look in six directions for the body of his prodigal son in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>519<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +snow; and my mother repenting her of her many misdeeds +towards me, now I am gone."</p> + +<p>"Martin, how is Mr. Moore?"</p> + +<p>"<em>That</em> is what you came for, just to say that word."</p> + +<p>"Come, tell me quickly."</p> + +<p>"Hang him! he is no worse; but as ill-used as ever—mewed +up, kept in solitary confinement. They mean +to make either an idiot or a maniac of him, and take out a +commission of lunacy. Horsfall starves him; you saw how +thin he was."</p> + +<p>"You were very good the other day, Martin."</p> + +<p>"What day? I am always good—a model."</p> + +<p>"When will you be so good again?"</p> + +<p>"I see what you are after; but you'll not wheedle me—I +am no cat's-paw."</p> + +<p>"But it must be done. It is quite a right thing, and a +necessary thing."</p> + +<p>"How you encroach! Remember, I managed the +matter of my own free will before."</p> + +<p>"And you will again."</p> + +<p>"I won't. The business gave me far too much trouble. +I like my ease."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Moore wishes to see me, Martin, and I wish to see +him."</p> + +<p>"I dare say" (coolly).</p> + +<p>"It is too bad of your mother to exclude his friends."</p> + +<p>"Tell her so."</p> + +<p>"His own relations."</p> + +<p>"Come and blow her up."</p> + +<p>"You know that would advance nothing. Well, I +shall stick to my point. See him I will. If you won't +help me, I'll manage without help."</p> + +<p>"Do; there is nothing like self-reliance, self-dependence."</p> + +<p>"I have no time to reason with you now; but I consider +you provoking. Good-morning."</p> + +<p>Away she went, the umbrella shut, for she could not +carry it against the wind.</p> + +<p>"She is not vapid; she is not shallow," said Martin. +"I shall like to watch, and mark how she will work her +way without help. If the storm were not of snow, but of +fire—such as came refreshingly down on the cities of the +plain—she would go through it to procure five minutes' +speech of that Moore. Now, I consider I have had a pleasant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>520<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +morning. The disappointments got time on; the fears +and fits of anger only made that short discourse pleasanter, +when it came at last. She expected to coax me at once. +She'll not manage that in one effort. She shall come again, +again, and yet again. It would please me to put her in a +passion—to make her cry. I want to discover how far she +will go—what she will do and dare—to get her will. It +seems strange and new to find one human being thinking +so much about another as she thinks about Moore. But it is +time to go home; my appetite tells me the hour. Won't I +walk into that goose? and we'll try whether Matthew or +I shall get the largest cut of the apple-pie to-day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>521<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br /> +<br /> +<small>WHEREIN MATTERS MAKE SOME PROGRESS, BUT NOT MUCH.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Martin</span> had planned well. He had laid out a dexterously +concerted scheme for his private amusement. But older +and wiser schemers than he are often doomed to see their +finest-spun projects swept to annihilation by the sudden +broom of Fate, that fell housewife whose red arm none can +control. In the present instance this broom was manufactured +out of the tough fibres of Moore's own stubborn +purpose, bound tight with his will. He was now resuming +his strength, and making strange head against Mrs. Horsfall. +Each morning he amazed that matron with a fresh astonishment. +First he discharged her from her valet duties; he +would dress himself. Then he refused the coffee she brought +him; he would breakfast with the family. Lastly, he +forbade her his chamber. On the same day, amidst the +outcries of all the women in the place, he put his head out +of doors. The morning after, he followed Mr. Yorke to his +counting-house, and requested an envoy to fetch a chaise +from the Red House Inn. He was resolved, he said, to +return home to the Hollow that very afternoon. Mr. +Yorke, instead of opposing, aided and abetted him. The +chaise was sent for, though Mrs. Yorke declared the step +would be his death. It came. Moore, little disposed to +speak, made his purse do duty for his tongue. He expressed +his gratitude to the servants and to Mrs. Horsfall by the +chink of his coin. The latter personage approved and +understood this language perfectly; it made amends for all +previous contumacy. She and her patient parted the best +friends in the world.</p> + +<p>The kitchen visited and soothed, Moore betook himself +to the parlour. He had Mrs. Yorke to appease; not quite +so easy a task as the pacification of her housemaids. There +she sat plunged in sullen dudgeon, the gloomiest speculations +on the depths of man's ingratitude absorbing her thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>522<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +He drew near and bent over her; she was obliged to look +up, if it were only to bid him "avaunt." There was beauty +still in his pale, wasted features; there was earnestness and +a sort of sweetness—for he was smiling—in his hollow eyes.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" he said, and as he spoke the smile glittered +and melted. He had no iron mastery of his sensations +now; a trifling emotion made itself apparent in his +present weak state.</p> + +<p>"And what are you going to leave us for?" she asked. +"We will keep you, and do anything in the world for you, +if you will only stay till you are stronger."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" he again said; and added, "You have +been a mother to me; give your wilful son one embrace."</p> + +<p>Like a foreigner, as he was, he offered her first one cheek, +then the other. She kissed him.</p> + +<p>"What a trouble—what a burden I have been to you!" +he muttered.</p> + +<p>"You are the worst trouble now, headstrong youth!" +was the answer. "I wonder who is to nurse you at Hollow's +Cottage? Your sister Hortense knows no more about such +matters than a child."</p> + +<p>"Thank God! for I have had nursing enough to last me +my life."</p> + +<p>Here the little girls came in—Jessie crying, Rose quiet +but grave. Moore took them out into the hall to soothe, +pet, and kiss them. He knew it was not in their mother's +nature to bear to see any living thing caressed but herself. +She would have felt annoyed had he fondled a kitten in her +presence.</p> + +<p>The boys were standing about the chaise as Moore entered +it; but for them he had no farewell. To Mr. Yorke +he only said, "You have a good riddance of me. That was +an unlucky shot for you, Yorke; it turned Briarmains +into an hospital. Come and see me at the cottage soon."</p> + +<p>He drew up the glass; the chaise rolled away. In +half an hour he alighted at his own garden wicket. Having +paid the driver and dismissed the vehicle, he leaned on +that wicket an instant, at once to rest and to muse.</p> + +<p>"Six months ago I passed out at this gate," said he, +"a proud, angry, disappointed man. I come back sadder +and wiser; weakly enough, but not worried. A cold, gray, +yet quiet world lies round—a world where, if I hope little, +I fear nothing. All slavish terrors of embarrassment have +left me. Let the worst come, I can work, as Joe Scott<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>523<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +does, for an honourable living; in such doom I yet see +some hardship but no degradation. Formerly, pecuniary +ruin was equivalent in my eyes to personal dishonour. It +is not so now; I know the difference. Ruin <em>is</em> an evil, +but one for which I am prepared; the day of whose coming +I know, for I have calculated. I can yet put it off six +months—not an hour longer. If things by that time alter, +which is not probable; if fetters, which now seem indissoluble, +should be loosened from our trade (of all things the +most unlikely to happen), I might conquer in this long +struggle yet—I might—good God! what might I not do? +But the thought is a brief madness; let me see things with +sane eyes. Ruin will come, lay her axe to my fortune's +roots, and hew them down. I shall snatch a sapling, I shall +cross the sea, and plant it in American woods. Louis will +go with me. Will none but Louis go? I cannot tell—I +have no right to ask."</p> + +<p>He entered the house.</p> + +<p>It was afternoon, twilight yet out of doors—starless +and moonless twilight; for though keenly freezing with +a dry, black frost, heaven wore a mask of clouds congealed +and fast locked. The mill-dam too was frozen. The +Hollow was very still. Indoors it was already dark. Sarah +had lit a good fire in the parlour; she was preparing tea +in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Hortense," said Moore, as his sister bustled up to +help him off with his cloak, "I am pleased to come home."</p> + +<p>Hortense did not feel the peculiar novelty of this expression +coming from her brother, who had never before +called the cottage his home, and to whom its narrow limits +had always heretofore seemed rather restrictive than protective. +Still, whatever contributed to his happiness +pleased her, and she expressed herself to that effect.</p> + +<p>He sat down, but soon rose again. He went to the +window; he came back to the fire.</p> + +<p>"Hortense!"</p> + +<p>"Mon frère?"</p> + +<p>"This little parlour looks very clean and pleasant—unusually +bright, somehow."</p> + +<p>"It is true, brother; I have had the whole house thoroughly +and scrupulously cleaned in your absence."</p> + +<p>"Sister, I think on this first day of your return home +you ought to have a friend or so to tea, if it were only to +see how fresh and spruce you have made the little place."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>524<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"True, brother. If it were not late I might send for Miss +Mann."</p> + +<p>"So you might; but it really is too late to disturb that +good lady, and the evening is much too cold for her to +come out."</p> + +<p>"How thoughtful in you, dear Gérard! We must put +it off till another day."</p> + +<p>"I want some one to-day, dear sister—some quiet guest, +who would tire neither of us."</p> + +<p>"Miss Ainley?"</p> + +<p>"An excellent person, they say; but she lives too far +off. Tell Harry Scott to step up to the rectory with a +request from you that Caroline Helstone should come and +spend the evening with you."</p> + +<p>"Would it not be better to-morrow, dear brother?"</p> + +<p>"I should like her to see the place as it is just now; +its brilliant cleanliness and perfect neatness are so much to +your credit."</p> + +<p>"It might benefit her in the way of example."</p> + +<p>"It might and must; she ought to come."</p> + +<p>He went into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Sarah, delay tea half an hour." He then commissioned +her to dispatch Harry Scott to the rectory, giving +her a twisted note hastily scribbled in pencil by himself, +and addressed "Miss Helstone."</p> + +<p>Scarcely had Sarah time to get impatient under the +fear of damage to her toast already prepared when the +messenger returned, and with him the invited guest.</p> + +<p>She entered through the kitchen, quietly tripped up +Sarah's stairs to take off her bonnet and furs, and came +down as quietly, with her beautiful curls nicely smoothed, +her graceful merino dress and delicate collar all trim and +spotless, her gay little work-bag in her hand. She lingered +to exchange a few kindly words with Sarah, and to look +at the new tortoise-shell kitten basking on the kitchen +hearth, and to speak to the canary-bird, which a sudden +blaze from the fire had startled on its perch; and then she +betook herself to the parlour.</p> + +<p>The gentle salutation, the friendly welcome, were interchanged +in such tranquil sort as befitted cousins meeting; +a sense of pleasure, subtle and quiet as a perfume, +diffused itself through the room; the newly-kindled lamp +burnt up bright; the tray and the singing urn were brought +in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>525<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"I am pleased to come home," repeated Mr. Moore.</p> + +<p>They assembled round the table. Hortense chiefly +talked. She congratulated Caroline on the evident improvement +in her health. Her colour and her plump cheeks +were returning, she remarked. It was true. There was an +obvious change in Miss Helstone. All about her seemed +elastic; depression, fear, forlornness, were withdrawn. +No longer crushed, and saddened, and slow, and drooping, +she looked like one who had tasted the cordial of heart's +ease, and been lifted on the wing of hope.</p> + +<p>After tea Hortense went upstairs. She had not rummaged +her drawers for a month past, and the impulse +to perform that operation was now become resistless. +During her absence the talk passed into Caroline's hands. +She took it up with ease; she fell into her best tone of +conversation. A pleasing facility and elegance of language +gave fresh charm to familiar topics; a new music in the +always soft voice gently surprised and pleasingly captivated +the listener; unwonted shades and lights of expression +elevated the young countenance with character, and kindled +it with animation.</p> + +<p>"Caroline, you look as if you had heard good tidings," +said Moore, after earnestly gazing at her for some minutes.</p> + +<p>"Do I?"</p> + +<p>"I sent for you this evening that I might be cheered; +but you cheer me more than I had calculated."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that. And I <em>really</em> cheer you?"</p> + +<p>"You look brightly, move buoyantly, speak musically."</p> + +<p>"It is pleasant to be here again."</p> + +<p>"Truly it is pleasant; I feel it so. And to see health +on your cheek and hope in your eye is pleasant, Cary; but +what is this hope, and what is the source of this sunshine +I perceive about you?"</p> + +<p>"For one thing, I am happy in mamma. I love her +so much, and she loves me. Long and tenderly she nursed +me. Now, when her care has made me well, I can occupy +myself for and with her all the day. I say it is my turn to +attend to her; and I <em>do</em> attend to her. I am her waiting-woman +as well as her child. I like—you would laugh if you +knew what pleasure I have in making dresses and sewing for +her. She looks so nice now, Robert; I will not let her be +old-fashioned. And then, she is charming to talk to—full +of wisdom, ripe in judgment, rich in information, exhaustless +in stores her observant faculties have quietly amassed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>526<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Every day that I live with her I like her better, I esteem +her more highly, I love her more tenderly."</p> + +<p>"<em>That</em> for one thing, then, Cary. You talk in such a +way about 'mamma' it is enough to make one jealous of +the old lady."</p> + +<p>"She is not old, Robert."</p> + +<p>"Of the young lady, then."</p> + +<p>"She does not pretend to be young."</p> + +<p>"Well, of the matron. But you said 'mamma's' affection +was <em>one</em> thing that made you happy; now for the other +thing."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are better."</p> + +<p>"What besides?"</p> + +<p>"I am glad we are friends."</p> + +<p>"You and I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I once thought we never should be."</p> + +<p>"Cary, some day I mean to tell you a thing about myself +that is not to my credit, and consequently will not +please you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't! I cannot bear to think ill of you."</p> + +<p>"And I cannot bear that you should think better of me +than I deserve."</p> + +<p>"Well, but I half know your 'thing;' indeed, I believe +I know all about it."</p> + +<p>"You do not."</p> + +<p>"I believe I do."</p> + +<p>"Whom does it concern besides me?"</p> + +<p>She coloured; she hesitated; she was silent.</p> + +<p>"Speak, Cary! Whom does it concern?"</p> + +<p>She tried to utter a name, and could not.</p> + +<p>"Tell me; there is none present but ourselves. Be frank."</p> + +<p>"But if I guess wrong?"</p> + +<p>"I will forgive. Whisper, Cary."</p> + +<p>He bent his ear to her lips. Still she would not, or +could not, speak clearly to the point. Seeing that Moore +waited and was resolved to hear something, she at last +said, "Miss Keeldar spent a day at the rectory about a +week since. The evening came on very wintry, and we +persuaded her to stay all night."</p> + +<p>"And you and she curled your hair together?"</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?"</p> + +<p>"And then you chattered, and she told you——"</p> + +<p>"It was not at curling-hair time, so you are not as wise +as you think; and, besides, she didn't tell me."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>527<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"You slept together afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"We occupied the same room and bed. We did not +sleep much; we talked the whole night through."</p> + +<p>"I'll be sworn you did! And then it all came out—<em>tant +pis</em>. I would rather you had heard it from myself."</p> + +<p>"You are quite wrong. She did not tell me what you +suspect—she is not the person to proclaim such things; +but yet I inferred something from parts of her discourse. +I gathered more from rumour, and I made out the rest by +instinct."</p> + +<p>"But if she did not tell you that I wanted to marry her +for the sake of her money, and that she refused me indignantly +and scornfully (you need neither start nor blush; +nor yet need you prick your trembling fingers with your +needle. That is the plain truth, whether you like it or not)—if +such was not the subject of her august confidences, on +what point did they turn? You say you talked the whole +night through; what about?"</p> + +<p>"About things we never thoroughly discussed before, +intimate friends as we have been; but you hardly expect +I should tell you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Cary; you will tell me. You said we were +friends, and friends should always confide in each other."</p> + +<p>"But you are sure you won't repeat it?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure."</p> + +<p>"Not to Louis?"</p> + +<p>"Not even to Louis. What does Louis care for young +ladies' secrets?"</p> + +<p>"Robert, Shirley is a curious, magnanimous being."</p> + +<p>"I dare say. I can imagine there are both odd points +and grand points about her."</p> + +<p>"I have found her chary in showing her feelings; but +when they rush out, river-like, and pass full and powerful +before you—almost without leave from her—you gaze, +wonder; you admire, and—I think—love her."</p> + +<p>"You saw this spectacle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; at dead of night, when all the house was silent, +and starlight and the cold reflection from the snow glimmered +in our chamber, then I saw Shirley's heart."</p> + +<p>"Her heart's core? Do you think she showed you +that?"</p> + +<p>"Her heart's core."</p> + +<p>"And how was it?"</p> + +<p>"Like a shrine, for it was holy; like snow, for it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>528<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +pure; like flame, for it was warm; like death, for it was +strong."</p> + +<p>"Can she love? tell me that."</p> + +<p>"What think you?"</p> + +<p>"She has loved none that have loved her yet."</p> + +<p>"Who are those that have loved her?"</p> + +<p>He named a list of gentlemen, closing with Sir Philip +Nunnely.</p> + +<p>"She has loved none of these."</p> + +<p>"Yet some of them were worthy of a woman's affection."</p> + +<p>"Of some women's, but not of Shirley's."</p> + +<p>"Is she better than others of her sex?"</p> + +<p>"She is peculiar, and more dangerous to take as a wife—rashly."</p> + +<p>"I can imagine that."</p> + +<p>"She spoke of you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she did! I thought you denied it."</p> + +<p>"She did not speak in the way you fancy; but I asked +her, and I would make her tell me what she thought of you, +or rather how she felt towards you. I wanted to know; +I had long wanted to know."</p> + +<p>"So had I; but let us hear. She thinks meanly, she +feels contemptuously, doubtless?"</p> + +<p>"She thinks of you almost as highly as a woman can +think of a man. You know she can be eloquent. I yet +feel in fancy the glow of the language in which her opinion +was conveyed."</p> + +<p>"But how does she feel?"</p> + +<p>"Till you shocked her (she said you had shocked her, +but she would not tell me how) she felt as a sister feels +towards a brother of whom she is at once fond and proud."</p> + +<p>"I'll shock her no more, Cary, for the shock rebounded +on myself till I staggered again. But that comparison +about sister and brother is all nonsense. She is too rich +and proud to entertain fraternal sentiments for me."</p> + +<p>"You don't know her, Robert; and, somehow, I fancy +now (I had other ideas formerly) that you cannot know +her. You and she are not so constructed as to be able +thoroughly to understand each other."</p> + +<p>"It may be so. I esteem her, I admire her; and yet +my impressions concerning her are harsh—perhaps uncharitable. +I believe, for instance, that she is incapable +of love——"</p> + +<p>"Shirley incapable of love!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>529<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"That she will never marry. I imagine her jealous +of compromising her pride, of relinquishing her power, of +sharing her property."</p> + +<p>"Shirley has hurt your <em>amour propre</em>."</p> + +<p>"She did hurt it; though I had not an emotion of +tenderness, nor a spark of passion for her."</p> + +<p>"Then, Robert, it was very wicked in you to want to +marry her."</p> + +<p>"And very mean, my little pastor, my pretty priestess. +I never wanted to kiss Miss Keeldar in my life, though +she has fine lips, scarlet and round as ripe cherries; or, +if I did wish it, it was the mere desire of the eye."</p> + +<p>"I doubt, now, whether you are speaking the truth. +The grapes or the cherries are sour—'hung too high.'"</p> + +<p>"She has a pretty figure, a pretty face, beautiful hair. +I acknowledge all her charms and feel none of them, or +only feel them in a way she would disdain. I suppose +I was truly tempted by the mere gilding of the bait. +Caroline, what a noble fellow your Robert is—great, good, +disinterested, and then so pure!"</p> + +<p>"But not perfect. He made a great blunder once, and +we will hear no more about it."</p> + +<p>"And shall we think no more about it, Cary? Shall +we not despise him in our heart—gentle but just, compassionate +but upright?"</p> + +<p>"Never! We will remember that with what measure +we mete it shall be measured unto us, and so we will give +no scorn, only affection."</p> + +<p>"Which won't satisfy, I warn you of that. Something +besides affection—something far stronger, sweeter, warmer—will +be demanded one day. Is it there to give?"</p> + +<p>Caroline was moved, much moved.</p> + +<p>"Be calm, Lina," said Moore soothingly. "I have no +intention, because I have no right, to perturb your mind +now, nor for months to come. Don't look as if you would +leave me. We will make no more agitating allusions; +we will resume our gossip. Do not tremble; look me in +the face. See what a poor, pale, grim phantom I am—more +pitiable than formidable."</p> + +<p>She looked shyly. "There is something formidable still, +pale as you are," she said, as her eye fell under his.</p> + +<p>"To return to Shirley," pursued Moore: "is it your +opinion that she is ever likely to marry?"</p> + +<p>"She loves."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>530<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Platonically—theoretically—all humbug!"</p> + +<p>"She loves what I call sincerely."</p> + +<p>"Did she say so?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot affirm that she said so. No such confession +as 'I love this man or that' passed her lips."</p> + +<p>"I thought not."</p> + +<p>"But the feeling made its way in spite of her, and I saw +it. She spoke of one man in a strain not to be misunderstood. +Her voice alone was sufficient testimony. Having +wrung from her an opinion on your character, I demanded +a second opinion of—another person about whom I had +my conjectures, though they were the most tangled and +puzzled conjectures in the world. I would <em>make</em> her speak. +I shook her, I chid her, I pinched her fingers when she +tried to put me off with gibes and jests in her queer provoking +way, and at last out it came. The voice, I say, +was enough; hardly raised above a whisper, and yet such +a soft vehemence in its tones. There was no confession, +no confidence, in the matter. To these things she cannot +condescend; but I am sure that man's happiness is dear +to her as her own life."</p> + +<p>"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"I charged her with the fact. She did not deny, she +did not avow, but looked at me. I saw her eyes by the +snow-gleam. It was quite enough. I triumphed over her +mercilessly."</p> + +<p>"What right had <em>you</em> to triumph? Do you mean to +say <em>you</em> are fancy free?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever <em>I</em> am, Shirley is a bondswoman. Lioness, +she has found her captor. Mistress she may be of all +round her, but her own mistress she is not."</p> + +<p>"So you exulted at recognizing a fellow-slave in one so +fair and imperial?"</p> + +<p>"I did; Robert, you say right, in one so fair and imperial."</p> + +<p>"You confess it—a <em>fellow</em>-slave?"</p> + +<p>"I confess nothing; but I say that haughty Shirley is +no more free than was Hagar."</p> + +<p>"And who, pray, is the Abraham, the hero of a patriarch +who has achieved such a conquest?"</p> + +<p>"You still speak scornfully, and cynically, and sorely; +but I will make you change your note before I have done +with you."</p> + +<p>"We will see that. Can she marry this Cupidon?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>531<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"Cupidon! he is just about as much a Cupidon as you +are a Cyclops."</p> + +<p>"Can she marry him?"</p> + +<p>"You will see."</p> + +<p>"I want to know his name, Cary."</p> + +<p>"Guess it."</p> + +<p>"Is it any one in this neighbourhood?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in Briarfield parish."</p> + +<p>"Then it is some person unworthy of her. I don't know +a soul in Briarfield parish her equal."</p> + +<p>"Guess."</p> + +<p>"Impossible. I suppose she is under a delusion, and +will plunge into some absurdity, after all."</p> + +<p>Caroline smiled.</p> + +<p>"Do <em>you</em> approve the choice?" asked Moore.</p> + +<p>"Quite, <em>quite</em>."</p> + +<p>"Then I <em>am</em> puzzled; for the head which owns this +bounteous fall of hazel curls is an excellent little thinking +machine, most accurate in its working. It boasts a +correct, steady judgment, inherited from 'mamma,' I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"And I <em>quite</em> approve, and mamma was charmed."</p> + +<p>"'Mamma' charmed—Mrs. Pryor! It can't be romantic, +then?"</p> + +<p>"It <em>is</em> romantic, but it is also right."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Cary—tell me out of pity; I am too weak to +be tantalized."</p> + +<p>"You shall be tantalized—it will do you no harm; you +are not so weak as you pretend."</p> + +<p>"I have twice this evening had some thoughts of falling +on the floor at your feet."</p> + +<p>"You had better not. I shall decline to help you +up."</p> + +<p>"And worshipping you downright. My mother was a +Roman Catholic. You look like the loveliest of her pictures +of the Virgin. I think I will embrace her faith and kneel +and adore."</p> + +<p>"Robert, Robert, sit still; don't be absurd. I will go +to Hortense if you commit extravagances."</p> + +<p>"You have stolen my senses. Just now nothing will +come into my mind but <em>les litanies de la sainte Vièrge. +Rose céleste, reine des anges</em>!"</p> + +<p>"<em>Tour d'ivoire, maison d'or</em>—is not that the jargon? +Well, sit down quietly, and guess your riddle."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>532<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"But 'mamma' charmed—there's the puzzle."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what mamma said when I told her. 'Depend +upon it, my dear, such a choice will make the happiness of +Miss Keeldar's life.'"</p> + +<p>"I'll guess once, and no more. It is old Helstone. +She is going to be your aunt."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell my uncle; I'll tell Shirley!" cried Caroline, +laughing gleefully. "Guess again, Robert; your blunders +are charming."</p> + +<p>"It is the parson—Hall."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, no; he is mine, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Yours! Ay, the whole generation of women in Briarfield +seem to have made an idol of that priest. I wonder +why; he is bald, sand-blind, gray-haired."</p> + +<p>"Fanny will be here to fetch me before you have solved +the riddle, if you don't make haste."</p> + +<p>"I'll guess no more—I am tired; and then I don't care. +Miss Keeldar may marry <em>le grand Turc</em> for me."</p> + +<p>"Must I whisper?"</p> + +<p>"That you must, and quickly. Here comes Hortense; +come near, a little nearer, my own Lina. I care for the +whisper more than the words."</p> + +<p>She whispered. Robert gave a start, a flash of the eye, +a brief laugh. Miss Moore entered, and Sarah followed +behind, with information that Fanny was come. The hour +of converse was over.</p> + +<p>Robert found a moment to exchange a few more whispered +sentences. He was waiting at the foot of the staircase +as Caroline descended after putting on her shawl.</p> + +<p>"Must I call Shirley a noble creature now?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"If you wish to speak the truth, certainly."</p> + +<p>"Must I forgive her?"</p> + +<p>"Forgive her? Naughty Robert! Was she in the +wrong, or were you?"</p> + +<p>"Must I at length love her downright, Cary?"</p> + +<p>Caroline looked keenly up, and made a movement towards +him, something between the loving and the petulant.</p> + +<p>"Only give the word, and I'll try to obey you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, you must not love her; the bare idea is perverse."</p> + +<p>"But then she is handsome, peculiarly handsome. Hers +is a beauty that grows on you. You think her but graceful +when you first see her; you discover her to be beautiful +when you have known her for a year."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>533<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"It is not you who are to say these things. Now, +Robert, be good."</p> + +<p>"O Cary, I have no love to give. Were the goddess of +beauty to woo me, I could not meet her advances. There +is no heart which I can call mine in this breast."</p> + +<p>"So much the better; you are a great deal safer without. +Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Why must you always go, Lina, at the very instant +when I most want you to stay?"</p> + +<p>"Because you most wish to retain when you are most +certain to lose."</p> + +<p>"Listen; one other word. Take care of your own heart—do +you hear me?"</p> + +<p>"There is no danger."</p> + +<p>"I am not convinced of that. The Platonic parson, +for instance."</p> + +<p>"Who—Malone?"</p> + +<p>"Cyril Hall. I owe more than one twinge of jealousy to +that quarter."</p> + +<p>"As to you, you have been flirting with Miss Mann. +She showed me the other day a plant you had given her.—Fanny, +I am ready."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>534<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br /> +<br /> +<small>WRITTEN IN THE SCHOOLROOM.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Louis Moore's</span> doubts respecting the immediate evacuation +of Fieldhead by Mr. Sympson turned out to be perfectly +well founded. The very next day after the grand +quarrel about Sir Philip Nunnely a sort of reconciliation +was patched up between uncle and niece. Shirley, who +could never find it in her heart to be or to seem inhospitable +(except in the single instance of Mr. Donne), begged +the whole party to stay a little longer. She begged in +such earnest it was evident she wished it for some reason. +They took her at her word. Indeed, the uncle could not +bring himself to leave her quite unwatched—at full liberty +to marry Robert Moore as soon as that gentleman should +be able (Mr. Sympson piously prayed this might never be +the case) to reassert his supposed pretensions to her hand. +They all stayed.</p> + +<p>In his first rage against all the house of Moore, Mr. +Sympson had so conducted himself towards Mr. Louis +that that gentleman—patient of labour or suffering, but +intolerant of coarse insolence—had promptly resigned his +post, and could now be induced to resume and retain it only +till such time as the family should quit Yorkshire. Mrs. +Sympson's entreaties prevailed with him thus far; his own +attachment to his pupil constituted an additional motive +for concession; and probably he had a third motive, +stronger than either of the other two. Probably he would +have found it very hard indeed to leave Fieldhead just now.</p> + +<p>Things went on for some time pretty smoothly. Miss +Keeldar's health was re-established; her spirits resumed +their flow. Moore had found means to relieve her from +every nervous apprehension; and, indeed, from the moment +of giving him her confidence, every fear seemed to have taken +wing. Her heart became as lightsome, her manner as careless, +as those of a little child, that, thoughtless of its own +life or death, trusts all responsibility to its parents. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>535<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +and William Farren—through whose medium he made +inquiries concerning the state of Phœbe—agreed in asserting +that the dog was not mad, that it was only ill-usage +which had driven her from home; for it was proved that +her master was in the frequent habit of chastising her +violently. Their assertion might or might not be true. +The groom and gamekeeper affirmed to the contrary—both +asserting that, if hers was not a clear case of hydrophobia, +there was no such disease. But to this evidence +Louis Moore turned an incredulous ear. He reported to +Shirley only what was encouraging. She believed him; +and, right or wrong, it is certain that in her case the bite +proved innocuous.</p> + +<p>November passed; December came. The Sympsons were +now really departing. It was incumbent on them to be +at home by Christmas. Their packages were preparing; +they were to leave in a few days. One winter evening, +during the last week of their stay, Louis Moore again took +out his little blank book, and discoursed with it as follows:—</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"She is lovelier than ever. Since that little cloud was +dispelled all the temporary waste and wanness have vanished. +It was marvellous to see how soon the magical energy of +youth raised her elastic and revived her blooming.</p> + +<p>"After breakfast this morning, when I had seen her, +and listened to her, and, so to speak, felt her, in every +sentient atom of my frame, I passed from her sunny presence +into the chill drawing-room. Taking up a little gilt +volume, I found it to contain a selection of lyrics. I read +a poem or two; whether the spell was in me or in the verse +I know not, but my heart filled genially, my pulse rose. +I glowed, notwithstanding the frost air. I, too, am young +as yet. Though she said she never considered me young, +I am barely thirty. There are moments when life, for no +other reason than my own youth, beams with sweet hues +upon me.</p> + +<p>"It was time to go to the schoolroom. I went. That +same schoolroom is rather pleasant in a morning. The +sun then shines through the low lattice; the books are in +order; there are no papers strewn about; the fire is clear +and clean; no cinders have fallen, no ashes accumulated. +I found Henry there, and he had brought with him Miss +Keeldar. They were together.</p> + +<p>"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>536<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +rose, not deep but delicate, opens on her cheek. Her eye, +always dark, clear, and speaking, utters now a language +I cannot render; it is the utterance, seen not heard, +through which angels must have communed when there +was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair was always dusk as +night and fine as silk, her neck was always fair, flexible, +polished; but both have now a new charm. The tresses +are soft as shadow, the shoulders they fall on wear a goddess +grace. Once I only <em>saw</em> her beauty, now I <em>feel</em> it.</p> + +<p>"Henry was repeating his lesson to her before bringing +it to me. One of her hands was occupied with the book; +he held the other. That boy gets more than his share +of privileges; he dares caress and is caressed. What +indulgence and compassion she shows him! Too much. +If this went on, Henry in a few years, when his soul was +formed, would offer it on her altar, as I have offered mine.</p> + +<p>"I saw her eyelid flitter when I came in, but she did +not look up; <em>now</em> she hardly ever gives me a glance. She +seems to grow silent too; to <em>me</em> she rarely speaks, and +when I am present, she says little to others. In my gloomy +moments I attribute this change to indifference, aversion, +what not? In my sunny intervals I give it another meaning. +I say, were I her equal, I could find in this shyness +coyness, and in that coyness love. As it is, dare I look +for it? What could I do with it if found?</p> + +<p>"This morning I dared at least contrive an hour's communion +for her and me; I dared not only <em>wish</em> but <em>will</em> +an interview with her. I dared summon solitude to guard +us. Very decidedly I called Henry to the door. Without +hesitation I said, 'Go where you will, my boy; but, till +I call you, return not here.'</p> + +<p>"Henry, I could see, did not like his dismissal. That +boy is young, but a thinker; his meditative eye shines +on me strangely sometimes. He half feels what links me +to Shirley; he half guesses that there is a dearer delight +in the reserve with which I am treated than in all the +endearments he is allowed. The young, lame, half-grown +lion would growl at me now and then, because I have tamed +his lioness and am her keeper, did not the habit of discipline +and the instinct of affection hold him subdued. +Go, Henry; you must learn to take your share of the bitter +of life with all of Adam's race that have gone before or +will come after you. Your destiny can be no exception +to the common lot; be grateful that your love is overlooked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>537<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +thus early, before it can claim any affinity to passion. An +hour's fret, a pang of envy, suffice to express what you feel. +Jealousy hot as the sun above the line, rage destructive +as the tropic storm, the clime of your sensations ignores—as +yet.</p> + +<p>"I took my usual seat at the desk, quite in my usual +way. I am blessed in that power to cover all inward +ebullition with outward calm. No one who looks at my +slow face can guess the vortex sometimes whirling in my +heart, and engulfing thought and wrecking prudence. +Pleasant is it to have the gift to proceed peacefully and +powerfully in your course without alarming by one eccentric +movement. It was not my present intention to utter one +word of love to her, or to reveal one glimpse of the fire in +which I wasted. Presumptuous I never have been; presumptuous +I never will be. Rather than even <em>seem</em> selfish +and interested, I would resolutely rise, gird my loins, part +and leave her, and seek, on the other side of the globe, a +new life, cold and barren as the rock the salt tide daily +washes. My design this morning was to take of her a near +scrutiny—to read a line in the page of her heart. Before +I left I determined to know <em>what</em> I was leaving.</p> + +<p>"I had some quills to make into pens. Most men's +hands would have trembled when their hearts were so +stirred; mine went to work steadily, and my voice, when +I called it into exercise, was firm.</p> + +<p>"'This day week you will be alone at Fieldhead, Miss +Keeldar.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes: I rather think my uncle's intention to go is a +settled one now.'</p> + +<p>"'He leaves you dissatisfied.'</p> + +<p>"'He is not pleased with me.'</p> + +<p>"'He departs as he came—no better for his journey. +This is mortifying.'</p> + +<p>"'I trust the failure of his plans will take from him all +inclination to lay new ones.'</p> + +<p>"'In his way Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. +All he has done or intended to do he believed to be for the +best.'</p> + +<p>"'You are kind to undertake the defence of a man +who has permitted himself to treat you with so much insolence.'</p> + +<p>"'I never feel shocked at, or bear malice for, what +is spoken in character; and most perfectly in character<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>538<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +was that vulgar and violent onset against me, when he had +quitted you worsted.'</p> + +<p>"'You cease now to be Henry's tutor?'</p> + +<p>"'I shall be parted from Henry for a while (if he and +I live we shall meet again somehow, for we love each other) +and be ousted from the bosom of the Sympson family for +ever. Happily this change does not leave me stranded; +it but hurries into premature execution designs long formed.'</p> + +<p>"'No change finds you off your guard. I was sure, +in your calm way, you would be prepared for sudden mutation. +I always think you stand in the world like a solitary +but watchful, thoughtful archer in a wood. And the quiver +on your shoulder holds more arrows than one; your bow is +provided with a second string. Such too is your brother's +wont. You two might go forth homeless hunters to the +loneliest western wilds; all would be well with you. The +hewn tree would make you a hut, the cleared forest yield +you fields from its stripped bosom, the buffalo would feel +your rifle-shot, and with lowered horns and hump pay +homage at your feet.'</p> + +<p>"'And any Indian tribe of Blackfeet or Flatheads would +afford us a bride, perhaps?'</p> + +<p>"'No' (hesitating), 'I think not. The savage is sordid. +I think—that is, I <em>hope</em>—you would neither of you share +your hearth with that to which you could not give your +heart.'</p> + +<p>"'What suggested the wild West to your mind, Miss +Keeldar? Have you been with me in spirit when I did +not see you? Have you entered into my day-dreams, +and beheld my brain labouring at its scheme of a future?'</p> + +<p>"She had separated a slip of paper for lighting tapers—a +spill, as it is called—into fragments. She threw morsel +by morsel into the fire, and stood pensively watching them +consume. She did not speak.</p> + +<p>"'How did you learn what you seem to know about +my intentions?'</p> + +<p>"'I know nothing. I am only discovering them now. +I spoke at hazard.'</p> + +<p>"'Your hazard sounds like divination. A tutor I will +never be again; never take a pupil after Henry and yourself; +not again will I sit habitually at another man's table—no +more be the appendage of a family. I am now a man +of thirty; I have never been free since I was a boy of ten. +I have such a thirst for freedom, such a deep passion to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>539<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +know her and call her mine, such a day-desire and night-longing +to win her and possess her, I will not refuse to cross +the Atlantic for her sake; her I will follow deep into virgin +woods. Mine it shall not be to accept a savage girl as a +slave—she could not be a wife. I know no white woman +whom I love that would accompany me; but I am certain +Liberty will await me, sitting under a pine. When I call +her she will come to my loghouse, and she shall fill my arms.'</p> + +<p>"She could not hear me speak so unmoved, and she +<em>was</em> moved. It was right—I meant to move her. She +could not answer me, nor could she look at me. I should +have been sorry if she could have done either. Her cheek +glowed as if a crimson flower through whose petals the sun +shone had cast its light upon it. On the white lid and dark +lashes of her downcast eye trembled all that is graceful in +the sense of half-painful, half-pleasing shame.</p> + +<p>"Soon she controlled her emotion, and took all her +feelings under command. I saw she had felt insurrection, +and was waking to empire. She sat down. There +was that in her face which I could read. It said, I see the +line which is my limit; nothing shall make me pass it. +I feel—I know how far I may reveal my feelings, and when +I must clasp the volume. I have advanced to a certain +distance, as far as the true and sovereign and undegraded +nature of my kind permits; now here I stand rooted. My +heart may break if it is baffled; let it break. It shall never +dishonour me; it shall never dishonour my sisterhood in +me. Suffering before degradation! death before treachery!</p> + +<p>"I, for my part, said, 'If she were poor, I would be +at her feet; if she were lowly, I would take her in my arms. +Her gold and her station are two griffins that guard her +on each side. Love looks and longs, and dares not; Passion +hovers round, and is kept at bay; Truth and Devotion +are scared. There is nothing to lose in winning her, no +sacrifice to make. It is all clear gain, and therefore unimaginably +difficult.'</p> + +<p>"Difficult or not, something must be done, something +must be said. I could not, and would not, sit silent with +all that beauty modestly mute in my presence. I spoke +thus, and still I spoke with calm. Quiet as my words were, +I could hear they fell in a tone distinct, round, and deep.</p> + +<p>"'Still, I know I shall be strangely placed with that +mountain nymph Liberty. She is, I suspect, akin to that +Solitude which I once wooed, and from which I now seek<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>540<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +a divorce. These Oreads are peculiar. They come upon +you with an unearthly charm, like some starlight evening; +they inspire a wild but not warm delight; their beauty +is the beauty of spirits; their grace is not the grace of life, +but of seasons or scenes in nature. Theirs is the dewy bloom +of morning, the languid flush of evening, the peace of the +moon, the changefulness of clouds. I want and will have +something different. This elfish splendour looks chill to +my vision, and feels frozen to my touch. I am not a poet; +I cannot live with abstractions. You, Miss Keeldar, have +sometimes, in your laughing satire, called me a material +philosopher, and implied that I live sufficiently for the +substantial. Certainly I feel material from head to foot; +and glorious as Nature is, and deeply as I worship her with +the solid powers of a solid heart, I would rather behold her +through the soft human eyes of a loved and lovely wife than +through the wild orbs of the highest goddess of Olympus.'</p> + +<p>"'Juno could not cook a buffalo steak as you like it,' +said she.</p> + +<p>"'She could not; but I will tell you who could—some +young, penniless, friendless orphan girl. I wish I could +find such a one—pretty enough for me to love, with something +of the mind and heart suited to my taste; not uneducated—honest +and modest. I care nothing for attainments, +but I would fain have the germ of those sweet natural +powers which nothing acquired can rival; any temper +Fate wills—I can manage the hottest. To such a creature +as this I should like to be first tutor and then husband. I +would teach her my language, my habits and my principles, +and then I would reward her with my love.'</p> + +<p>"'<em>Reward</em> her, lord of the creation—<em>reward</em> +<a name="quote2" id="quote2"></a><ins title="single close quote omitted">her!'</ins>" +ejaculated she, with a curled lip.</p> + +<p>"'And be repaid a thousandfold.'</p> + +<p>"'If she willed it, monseigneur.'</p> + +<p>"'And she <em>should</em> will it.'</p> + +<p>"'You have stipulated for any temper Fate wills. Compulsion +is flint and a blow to the metal of some souls.'</p> + +<p>"'And love the spark it elicits.'</p> + +<p>"'Who cares for the love that is but a spark—seen, +flown upward, and gone?'</p> + +<p>"'I must find my orphan girl. Tell me how, Miss +Keeldar.'</p> + +<p>"'Advertise; and be sure you add, when you describe +the qualifications, she must be a good plain cook.'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>541<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'I must find her; and when I do find her I shall marry +her.'</p> + +<p>"'Not you!' and her voice took a sudden accent of +peculiar scorn.</p> + +<p>"I liked this. I had roused her from the pensive mood +in which I had first found her. I would stir her further.</p> + +<p>"'Why doubt it?'</p> + +<p>"'<em>You</em> marry!'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, of course; nothing more evident than that I can +and shall.'</p> + +<p>"'The contrary is evident, Mr. Moore.'</p> + +<p>"She charmed me in this mood—waxing disdainful, +half insulting; pride, temper, derision, blent in her large +fine eye, that had just now the look of a merlin's.</p> + +<p>"'Favour me with your reasons for such an opinion, +Miss Keeldar.'</p> + +<p>"'How will <em>you</em> manage to marry, I wonder?'</p> + +<p>"'I shall manage it with ease and speed when I find +the proper person.'</p> + +<p>"'Accept celibacy!' (and she made a gesture with +her hand as if she gave me something) 'take it as your +doom!'</p> + +<p>"'No; you cannot give what I already have. Celibacy +has been mine for thirty years. If you wish to offer +me a gift, a parting present, a keepsake, you must change +the boon.'</p> + +<p>"'Take worse, then!'</p> + +<p>"'How—what?'</p> + +<p>"I now felt, and looked, and spoke eagerly. I was +unwise to quit my sheet-anchor of calm even for an instant; +it deprived me of an advantage and transferred it to her. +The little spark of temper dissolved in sarcasm, and eddied +over her countenance in the ripples of a mocking smile.</p> + +<p>"'Take a wife that has paid you court to save your +modesty, and thrust herself upon you to spare your scruples.'</p> + +<p>"'Only show me where.'</p> + +<p>"'Any stout widow that has had a few husbands already, +and can manage these things.'</p> + +<p>"'She must not be rich, then. Oh these riches!'</p> + +<p>"'Never would you have gathered the produce of the +gold-bearing garden. You have not courage to confront +the sleepless dragon; you have not craft to borrow the +aid of Atlas.'</p> + +<p>"'You look hot and haughty.'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>542<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'And you far haughtier. Yours is the monstrous pride +which counterfeits humility.'</p> + +<p>"'I am a dependant; I know my place.'</p> + +<p>"'I am a woman; I know mine.'</p> + +<p>"'I am poor; I must be proud.'</p> + +<p>"'I have received ordinances, and own obligations +stringent as yours.'</p> + +<p>"We had reached a critical point now, and we halted +and looked at each other. <em>She</em> would not give in, I felt. +Beyond this I neither felt nor saw. A few moments yet +were mine. The end was coming—I heard its rush—but +not come. I would dally, wait, talk, and when impulse +urged I would act. I am never in a hurry; I never was in +a hurry in my whole life. Hasty people drink the nectar +of existence scalding hot; I taste it cool as dew. I proceeded: +'Apparently, Miss Keeldar, you are as little +likely to marry as myself. I know you have refused three—nay, +four—advantageous offers, and, I believe, a fifth. +Have you rejected Sir Philip Nunnely?'</p> + +<p>"I put this question suddenly and promptly.</p> + +<p>"'Did you think I should take him?'</p> + +<p>"'I thought you might.'</p> + +<p>"'On what grounds, may I ask?'</p> + +<p>"'Conformity of rank, age, pleasing contrast of temper—for +<em>he</em> is mild and amiable—harmony of intellectual +tastes.'</p> + +<p>"'A beautiful sentence! Let us take it to pieces. +"Conformity of rank." He is quite above me. Compare +my grange with his palace, if you please. I am disdained +by his kith and kin. "Suitability of age." We were +born in the same year; consequently he is still a boy, while +I am a woman—ten years his senior to all intents and purposes. +"Contrast of temper." Mild and amiable, is he; +I—what? Tell me.'</p> + +<p>"'Sister of the spotted, bright, quick, fiery leopard.'</p> + +<p>"'And you would mate me with a kid—the millennium +being yet millions of centuries from mankind; being +yet, indeed, an archangel high in the seventh heaven, uncommissioned +to descend? Unjust barbarian! "Harmony +of intellectual tastes." He is fond of poetry, and +I hate it——'</p> + +<p>"'Do you? That is news.'</p> + +<p>"'I absolutely shudder at the sight of metre or at the +sound of rhyme whenever I am at the priory or Sir Philip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>543<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +at Fieldhead. Harmony, indeed! When did I whip up +syllabub sonnets or string stanzas fragile as fragments +of glass? and when did I betray a belief that those penny-beads +were genuine brilliants?'</p> + +<p>"'You might have the satisfaction of leading him to +a higher standard, of improving his tastes.'</p> + +<p>"'Leading and improving! teaching and tutoring! +bearing and forbearing! Pah! my husband is not to be +my baby. I am not to set him his daily lesson and see that +he learns it, and give him a sugar-plum if he is good, and a +patient, pensive, pathetic lecture if he is bad. But it is +like a tutor to talk of the "satisfaction of teaching." I +suppose <em>you</em> think it the finest employment in the world. +I don't. I reject it. Improving a husband! No. I +shall insist upon my husband improving me, or else we +part.'</p> + +<p>"'God knows it is needed!'</p> + +<p>"'What do you mean by that, Mr. Moore?'</p> + +<p>"'What I say. Improvement is imperatively needed.'</p> + +<p>"'If you were a woman you would school <em>monsieur, +votre mari</em>, charmingly. It would just suit you; schooling +is your vocation.'</p> + +<p>"'May I ask whether, in your present just and gentle +mood, you mean to taunt me with being a tutor?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, bitterly; and with anything else you please—any +defect of which you are painfully conscious.'</p> + +<p>"'With being poor, for instance?'</p> + +<p>"'Of course; that will sting you. You are sore about +your poverty; you brood over that.'</p> + +<p>"'With having nothing but a very plain person to +offer the woman who may master my heart?'</p> + +<p>"'Exactly. You have a habit of calling yourself plain. +You are sensitive about the cut of your features because +they are not quite on an Apollo pattern. You abase them +more than is needful, in the faint hope that others may say +a word in their behalf—which won't happen. Your face +is nothing to boast of, certainly—not a pretty line nor a +pretty tint to be found therein.'</p> + +<p>"'Compare it with your own.'</p> + +<p>"'It looks like a god of Egypt—a great sand-buried +stone head; or rather I will compare it to nothing so lofty. +It looks like Tartar. You are my mastiff's cousin. I think +you as much like him as a man can be like a dog.'</p> + +<p>"'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>544<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +you rise early, and run out into the fields to wet your feet +with the dew, and freshen your cheek and uncurl your hair +with the breeze, you always call him to follow you. You +call him sometimes with a whistle that you learned from +me. In the solitude of your wood, when you think nobody +but Tartar is listening, you whistle the very tunes you imitated +from my lips, or sing the very songs you have caught +up by ear from my voice. I do not ask whence flows the +feeling which you pour into these songs, for I know it flows +out of your heart, Miss Keeldar. In the winter evenings +Tartar lies at your feet. You suffer him to rest his head +on your perfumed lap; you let him couch on the borders +of your satin raiment. His rough hide is familiar with the +contact of your hand. I once saw you kiss him on that +snow-white beauty spot which stars his broad forehead. +It is dangerous to say I am like Tartar; it suggests to me +a claim to be treated like Tartar.'</p> + +<p>"'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless +and friendless young orphan girl, when you find her.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh could I find her such as I image her! Something +to tame first, and teach afterwards; to break in, +and then to fondle. To lift the destitute proud thing out +of poverty; to establish power over and then to be indulgent +to the capricious moods that never were influenced and +never indulged before; to see her alternately irritated and +subdued about twelve times in the twenty-four hours; and +perhaps, eventually, when her training was accomplished, +to behold her the exemplary and patient mother of about +a dozen children, only now and then lending little Louis a +cordial cuff by way of paying the interest of the vast debt she +owes his father. Oh' (I went on), 'my orphan girl would +give me many a kiss; she would watch on the threshold +for my coming home of an evening; she would run into +my arms; she would keep my hearth as bright as she +would make it warm. God bless the sweet idea! Find her +I must.'</p> + +<p>"Her eyes emitted an eager flash, her lips opened; +but she reclosed them, and impetuously turned away.</p> + +<p>"'Tell me, tell me where she is, Miss Keeldar!'</p> + +<p>"Another movement, all haughtiness and fire and impulse.</p> + +<p>"'I must know. You <em>can</em> tell me; you <em>shall</em> tell me.'</p> + +<p>"'I <em>never will</em>.'</p> + +<p>"She turned to leave me. Could I now let her part<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>545<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +as she had always parted from me? No. I had gone +too far not to finish; I had come too near the end not to +drive home to it. All the encumbrance of doubt, all the +rubbish of indecision, must be removed at once, and the +plain truth must be ascertained. She must take her part, +and tell me what it was; I must take mine and adhere +to it.</p> + +<p>"'A minute, madam,' I said, keeping my hand on the +door-handle before I opened it. 'We have had a long +conversation this morning, but the last word has not been +spoken yet. It is yours to speak it.'</p> + +<p>"'May I pass?'</p> + +<p>"'No; I guard the door. I would almost rather die +than let you leave me just now, without speaking the word +I demand.'</p> + +<p>"'What dare you expect me to say?'</p> + +<p>"'What I am dying and perishing to hear; what I <em>must</em> +and <em>will</em> hear; what you dare not now suppress.'</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Moore, I hardly know what you mean. You +are not like yourself.'</p> + +<p>"I suppose I hardly was like my usual self, for I scared +her—that I could see. It was right: she must be scared +to be won.</p> + +<p>"'You <em>do</em> know what I mean, and for the first time I +stand before you <em>myself</em>. I have flung off the tutor, and beg +to introduce you to the man. And remember, he is a gentleman.'</p> + +<p>"She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to +remove it from the lock. She might as well have tried +to loosen, by her soft touch, metal welded to metal. She +felt she was powerless, and receded; and again she trembled.</p> + +<p>"What change I underwent I cannot explain, but out +of her emotion passed into me a new spirit. I neither was +crushed nor elated by her lands and gold; I thought not +of them, cared not for them. They were nothing—dross +that could not dismay me. I saw only herself—her young +beautiful form, the grace, the majesty, the modesty of her +girlhood.</p> + +<p>"'My pupil,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'My master,' was the low answer.</p> + +<p>"'I have a thing to tell you.'</p> + +<p>"She waited with declined brow and ringlets drooped.</p> + +<p>"'I have to tell you that for four years you have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>546<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +growing into your tutor's heart, and that you are rooted +there now. I have to declare that you have bewitched +me, in spite of sense, and experience, and difference of +station and estate. You have so looked, and spoken, +and moved; so shown me your faults and your virtues—beauties +rather, they are hardly so stern as virtues—that I +love you—love you with my life and strength. It is out +now.'</p> + +<p>"She sought what to say, but could not find a word. +She tried to rally, but vainly. I passionately repeated +that I loved her.</p> + +<p>"'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer I +got, uttered in a tone that would have been petulant if it +had not faltered.</p> + +<p>"'Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no love +for me?'</p> + +<p>"'A little bit.'</p> + +<p>"'I am not to be tortured. I will not even play at +present.'</p> + +<p>"'I don't want to play; I want to go.'</p> + +<p>"'I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. +<em>You</em> go! What! with my heart in your hand, to lay it +on your toilet and pierce it with your pins? From my +presence you do not stir, out of my reach you do not stray, +till I receive a hostage—pledge for pledge—your heart for +mine.'</p> + +<p>"'The thing you want is mislaid—lost some time since. +Let me go and seek it.'</p> + +<p>"'Declare that it is where your keys often are—in +my possession.'</p> + +<p>"'You ought to know. And where are my keys, Mr. +Moore? Indeed and truly I have lost them again; and +Mrs. Gill wants some money, and I have none, except this +sixpence.'</p> + +<p>"She took the coin out of her apron pocket, and showed +it in her palm. I could have trifled with her, but it would +not do; life and death were at stake. Mastering at once the +sixpence and the hand that held it, I demanded, 'Am I to +die without you, or am I to live for you?'</p> + +<p>"'Do as you please. Far be it from me to dictate your +choice.'</p> + +<p>"'You shall tell me with your own lips whether you doom +me to exile or call me to hope.'</p> + +<p>"'Go; I can bear to be left.'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>547<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'Perhaps I too <em>can</em> bear to leave you. But reply, +Shirley, my pupil, my sovereign—reply.'</p> + +<p>"'Die without me if you will; live for me if you dare.'</p> + +<p>"'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I <em>dare</em> live +for and with you, from this hour till my death. Now, then, +I have you. You are mine. I will never let you go. Wherever +my home be, I have chosen my wife. If I stay in England, +in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, you +will cross it also. Our lives are riveted, our lots intertwined.'</p> + +<p>"'And are we equal, then, sir? are we equal at last?'</p> + +<p>"'You are younger, frailer, feebler, more ignorant +than I.'</p> + +<p>"'Will you be good to me, and never tyrannize?'</p> + +<p>"'Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You +must not smile at present. The world swims and changes +round me. The sun is a dizzying scarlet blaze, the sky a +violet vortex whirling over me.'</p> + +<p>"I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All +creation was exaggerated. Colour grew more vivid, motion +more rapid, life itself more vital. I hardly saw her for a +moment, but I heard her voice—pitilessly sweet. She +would not subdue one of her charms in compassion. Perhaps +she did not know what I felt.</p> + +<p>"'You name me leopardess. Remember, the leopardess +is tameless,' said she.</p> + +<p>"'Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are <em>mine</em>.'</p> + +<p>"'I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. +Only his voice will I follow; only his hand shall manage +me; only at his feet will I repose.'</p> + +<p>"I took her back to her seat, and sat down by her side. +I wanted to hear her speak again. I could never have +enough of her voice and her words.</p> + +<p>"'How much do you love me?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'Ah! you know. I will not gratify you—I will not +flatter.'</p> + +<p>"'I don't know half enough; my heart craves to be +fed. If you knew how hungry and ferocious it is, you +would hasten to stay it with a kind word or two.'</p> + +<p>"'Poor Tartar!' said she, touching and patting my +hand—'poor fellow, stalwart friend, Shirley's pet and +favourite, lie down!'</p> + +<p>"'But I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet +word.'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>548<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And at last she gave it.</p> + +<p>"'Dear Louis, be faithful to me; never leave me. I +don't care for life unless I may pass it at your side.'</p> + +<p>"'Something more.'</p> + +<p>"She gave me a change; it was not her way to offer +the same dish twice.</p> + +<p>"'Sir,' she said, starting up, 'at your peril you ever again +name such sordid things as money, or poverty, or inequality. +It will be absolutely dangerous to torment me with these +maddening scruples. I defy you to do it.'</p> + +<p>"My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not +so poor or she were not so rich. She saw the transient +misery; and then, indeed, she caressed me. Blent with +torment, I experienced rapture.</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Moore,' said she, looking up with a sweet, open, +earnest countenance, 'teach me and help me to be good. +I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and +duties of property, but I ask you to share the burden, and +to show me how to sustain my part well. Your judgment +is well balanced, your heart is kind, your principles are sound. +I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe +you are conscientious. Be my companion through life; +be my guide where I am ignorant; be my master where I +am faulty; be my friend always!'</p> + +<p>"'So help me God, I will!'"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Yet again a passage from the blank book if you like, +reader; if you don't like it, pass it over:—</p> + +<p>"The Sympsons are gone, but not before discovery +and explanation. My manner must have betrayed something, +or my looks. I was quiet, but I forgot to be guarded +sometimes. I stayed longer in the room than usual; I +could not bear to be out of her presence; I returned to it, +and basked in it, like Tartar in the sun. If she left the oak +parlour, instinctively I rose and left it too. She chid me +for this procedure more than once. I did it with a vague, +blundering idea of getting a word with her in the hall or +elsewhere. Yesterday towards dusk I had her to myself +for five minutes by the hall fire. We stood side by side; +she was railing at me, and I was enjoying the sound of her +voice. The young ladies passed, and looked at us; we +did not separate. Ere long they repassed, and again looked. +Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move. Mr. Sympson +opened the dining-room door. Shirley flashed him back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>549<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +full payment for his spying gaze. She curled her lip and +tossed her tresses. The glance she gave was at once explanatory +and defiant. It said: 'I like Mr. Moore's society, +and I dare you to find fault with my taste.'</p> + +<p>"I asked, 'Do you mean him to understand how matters +are?'</p> + +<p>"'I do,' said she; 'but I leave the development to +chance. There will be a scene. I neither invite it nor +fear it; only, you must be present, for I am inexpressibly +tired of facing him solus. I don't like to see him in a rage. +He then puts off all his fine proprieties and conventional +disguises, and the real human being below is what you +would call <em>commun, plat, bas—vilain et un peu méchant</em>. His +ideas are not clean, Mr. Moore; they want scouring with +soft soap and fuller's earth. I think, if he could add his +imagination to the contents of Mrs. Gill's bucking-basket, +and let her boil it in her copper, with rain-water and bleaching-powder +(I hope you think me a tolerable laundress), +it would do him incalculable good.'</p> + +<p>"This morning, fancying I heard her descend somewhat +early, I was down instantly. I had not been deceived. +There she was, busy at work in the breakfast-parlour, of +which the housemaid was completing the arrangement and +dusting. She had risen betimes to finish some little keepsake +she intended for Henry. I got only a cool reception, +which I accepted till the girl was gone, taking my book to +the window-seat very quietly. Even when we were alone I +was slow to disturb her. To sit with her in sight was happiness, +and the proper happiness, for early morning—serene, +incomplete, but progressive. Had I been obtrusive, I +knew I should have encountered rebuff. 'Not at home to +suitors' was written on her brow. Therefore I read on, +stole now and then a look, watched her countenance soften +and open as she felt I respected her mood, and enjoyed the +gentle content of the moment.</p> + +<p>"The distance between us shrank, and the light hoar-frost +thawed insensibly. Ere an hour elapsed I was at +her side, watching her sew, gathering her sweet smiles +and her merry words, which fell for me abundantly. We +sat, as we had a right to sit, side by side; my arm rested +on her chair; I was near enough to count the stitches of +her work, and to discern the eye of her needle. The door +suddenly opened.</p> + +<p>"I believe, if I had just then started from her, she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>550<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +have despised me. Thanks to the phlegm of my nature, +I rarely start. When I am well-off, <em>bien</em>, comfortable, +I am not soon stirred. <em>Bien</em> I was—<em>très bien</em>—consequently +immutable. No muscle moved. I hardly looked to the +door.</p> + +<p>"'Good-morning, uncle,' said she, addressing that personage, +who paused on the threshold in a state of petrifaction.</p> + +<p>"'Have you been long downstairs, Miss Keeldar, and +alone with Mr. Moore?'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, a very long time. We both came down early; +it was scarcely light.'</p> + +<p>"'The proceeding is improper——'</p> + +<p>"'It was at first, I was rather cross, and not civil; +but you will perceive that we are now friends.'</p> + +<p>"'I perceive more than you would wish me to perceive.'</p> + +<p>"'Hardly, sir,' said I; 'we have no disguises. Will +you permit me to intimate that any further observations +you have to make may as well be addressed to me? Henceforward +I stand between Miss Keeldar and all annoyance.'</p> + +<p>"'<em>You!</em> What have <em>you</em> to do with Miss Keeldar?'</p> + +<p>"'To protect, watch over, serve her.'</p> + +<p>"'You, sir—you, the tutor?'</p> + +<p>"'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she; 'not +one syllable of disrespect to Mr. Moore in this house.'</p> + +<p>"'Do you take his part?'</p> + +<p>"'<em>His</em> part? oh yes!'</p> + +<p>"She turned to me with a sudden fond movement, +which I met by circling her with my arm. She and I both +rose.</p> + +<p>"'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morning-gown +standing quivering at the door. <em>Ged</em>, I think, must be the +cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares. When hard pressed +he always invokes this idol.</p> + +<p>"'Come forward, uncle; you shall hear all.—Tell him +all, Louis.'</p> + +<p>"'I dare him to speak—the beggar! the knave! the +specious hypocrite! the vile, insinuating, infamous menial!—Stand +apart from my niece, sir. Let her go!'</p> + +<p>"She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future +husband,' she said. 'Who dares touch him or me?'</p> + +<p>"'Her husband!' He raised and spread his hands. +He dropped into a seat.</p> + +<p>"'A while ago you wanted much to know whom I meant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>551<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +to marry. My intention was then formed, but not mature +for communication. Now it is ripe, sun-mellowed, perfect. +Take the crimson peach—take Louis Moore!'</p> + +<p>"'But' (savagely) 'you <em>shall not</em> have him; he <em>shall +not</em> have you.'</p> + +<p>"'I would die before I would have another. I would +die if I might not have him.'</p> + +<p>"He uttered words with which this page shall never be +polluted.</p> + +<p>"She turned white as death; she shook all over; she +lost her strength. I laid her down on the sofa; just looked +to ascertain that she had not fainted—of which, with a divine +smile, she assured me. I kissed her; and then, if I were to +perish, I cannot give a clear account of what happened in +the course of the next five minutes. She has since—through +tears, laughter, and trembling—told me that I turned terrible, +and gave myself to the demon. She says I left her, +made one bound across the room; that Mr. Sympson +vanished through the door as if shot from a cannon. I also +vanished, and she heard Mrs. Gill scream.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses. +I was then in another apartment—the oak parlour, I think. +I held Sympson before me crushed into a chair, and my hand +was on his cravat. His eyes rolled in his head; I was +strangling him, I think. The housekeeper stood wringing +her hands, entreating me to desist. I desisted that moment, +and felt at once as cool as stone. But I told Mrs. Gill to +fetch the Red-House Inn chaise instantly, and informed +Mr. Sympson he must depart from Fieldhead the instant it +came. Though half frightened out of his wits, he declared +he would not. Repeating the former order, I added a +commission to fetch a constable. I said, 'You <em>shall</em> go, +by fair means or foul.'</p> + +<p>"He threatened prosecution; I cared for nothing. I +had stood over him once before, not quite so fiercely as +now, but full as austerely. It was one night when burglars +attempted the house at Sympson Grove, and in his wretched +cowardice he would have given a vain alarm, without daring +to offer defence. I had then been obliged to protect his +family and his abode by mastering himself—and I had +succeeded. I now remained with him till the chaise came. +I marshalled him to it, he scolding all the way. He was +terribly bewildered, as well as enraged. He would have +resisted me, but knew not how. He called for his wife and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>552<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +daughters to come. I said they should follow him as soon +as they could prepare. The smoke, the fume, the fret of +his demeanour was inexpressible, but it was a fury incapable +of producing a deed. That man, properly handled, must +ever remain impotent. I know he will never touch me +with the law. I know his wife, over whom he tyrannizes +in trifles, guides him in matters of importance. I have +long since earned her undying mother's gratitude by my +devotion to her boy. In some of Henry's ailments I have +nursed him—better, she said, than any woman could nurse. +She will never forget that. She and her daughters quitted +me to-day, in mute wrath and consternation; but she +respects me. When Henry clung to my neck as I lifted +him into the carriage and placed him by her side, when I +arranged her own wrapping to make her warm, though she +turned her head from me, I saw the tears start to her eyes. +She will but the more zealously advocate my cause because +she has left me in anger. I am glad of this—not for my +own sake, but for that of my life and idol—my Shirley."</p> + +<p>Once again he writes, a week after:—"I am now at +Stilbro'. I have taken up my temporary abode with a +friend—a professional man, in whose business I can be +useful. Every day I ride over to Fieldhead. How long +will it be before I can call that place my home, and its +mistress mine? I am not easy, not tranquil; I am tantalized, +sometimes tortured. To see her now, one would +think she had never pressed her cheek to my shoulder, or +clung to me with tenderness or trust. I feel unsafe; she +renders me miserable. I am shunned when I visit her; +she withdraws from my reach. Once this day I lifted her +face, resolved to get a full look down her deep, dark eyes. +Difficult to describe what I read there! Pantheress! +beautiful forest-born! wily, tameless, peerless nature! +She gnaws her chain; I see the white teeth working at +the steel! She has dreams of her wild woods and pinings +after virgin freedom. I wish Sympson would come again, +and oblige her again to entwine her arms about me. I wish +there was danger she should lose me, as there is risk I shall +lose her. No; final loss I do not fear, but long delay——</p> + +<p>"It is now night—midnight. I have spent the afternoon +and evening at Fieldhead. Some hours ago she +passed me, coming down the oak staircase to the hall. +She did not know I was standing in the twilight, near the +staircase window, looking at the frost-bright constellations.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>553<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +How closely she glided against the banisters! How shyly +shone her large eyes upon me! How evanescent, fugitive, +fitful she looked—slim and swift as a northern streamer!</p> + +<p>"I followed her into the drawing-room. Mrs. Pryor +and Caroline Helstone were both there; she has summoned +them to bear her company awhile. In her white +evening dress, with her long hair flowing full and wavy, +with her noiseless step, her pale cheek, her eye full of night +and lightning, she looked, I thought, spirit-like—a thing +made of an element, the child of a breeze and a flame, the +daughter of ray and raindrop—a thing never to be overtaken, +arrested, fixed. I wished I could avoid following her with +my gaze as she moved here and there, but it was impossible. +I talked with the other ladies as well as I could, but still I +looked at her. She was very silent; I think she never +spoke to me—not even when she offered me tea. It happened +that she was called out a minute by Mrs. Gill. I +passed into the moonlit hall, with the design of getting a +word as she returned; nor in this did I fail.</p> + +<p>"'Miss Keeldar, stay one instant,' said I, meeting her.</p> + +<p>"'Why? the hall is too cold.'</p> + +<p>"'It is not cold for me; at my side it should not be cold +for you.'</p> + +<p>"'But I shiver.'</p> + +<p>"'With fear, I believe. What makes you fear me? +You are quiet and distant. Why?'</p> + +<p>"'I may well fear what looks like a great dark goblin +meeting me in the moonlight.'</p> + +<p>"'<em>Do not—do not</em> pass! Stay with me awhile. Let +us exchange a few quiet words. It is three days since I +spoke to you alone. Such changes are cruel.'</p> + +<p>"'I have no wish to be cruel,' she responded, softly +enough. Indeed there was softness in her whole deportment—in +her face, in her voice; but there was also reserve, +and an air fleeting, evanishing, intangible.</p> + +<p>"'You certainly give me pain,' said I. 'It is hardly +a week since you called me your future husband and treated +me as such. Now I am once more the tutor for you. I am +addressed as Mr. Moore and sir. Your lips have forgotten +Louis.'</p> + +<p>"'No, Louis, no. It is an easy, liquid name—not soon +forgotten.'</p> + +<p>"'Be cordial to Louis, then; approach him—let him +approach.'</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>554<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'I <em>am</em> cordial,' said she, hovering aloof like a white +shadow.</p> + +<p>"'Your voice is very sweet and very low,' I answered, +quietly advancing. 'You seem subdued, but still startled.'</p> + +<p>"'No—quite calm, and afraid of nothing,' she assured +me.</p> + +<p>"'Of nothing but your votary.'</p> + +<p>"I bent a knee to the flags at her feet.</p> + +<p>"'You see I am in a new world, Mr. Moore. I don't +know myself; I don't know you. But rise. When you +do so I feel troubled and disturbed.'</p> + +<p>"I obeyed. It would not have suited me to retain that +attitude long. I courted serenity and confidence for her, +and not vainly. She trusted and clung to me again.</p> + +<p>"'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far +from happy in my present uncertain, unsettled state.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh yes, you <em>are</em> happy!' she cried hastily. 'You +don't know how happy you are. Any change will be for +the worse.'</p> + +<p>"'Happy or not, I cannot bear to go on so much longer. +You are too generous to require it.'</p> + +<p>"'Be reasonable, Louis; be patient! I like you because +you are patient.'</p> + +<p>"'Like me no longer, then; love me instead. Fix +our marriage day; think of it to-night, and decide.'</p> + +<p>"She breathed a murmur, inarticulate yet expressive; +darted, or melted, from my arms—and I lost her."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>555<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></p> + + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br /> +<br /> +<small>THE WINDING-UP.</small></h2> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="smcap">Yes</span>, reader, we must settle accounts now. I have only +briefly to narrate the final fates of some of the personages +whose acquaintance we have made in this narrative, and +then you and I must shake hands, and for the present +separate.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to the curates—to the much-loved, though +long-neglected. Come forward, modest merit! Malone, +I see, promptly answers the invocation. He knows his +own description when he hears it.</p> + +<p>No, Peter Augustus; we can have nothing to say to you. +It won't do. Impossible to trust ourselves with the touching +tale of your deeds and destinies. Are you not aware, +Peter, that a discriminating public has its crotchets; that the +unvarnished truth does not answer; that plain facts will not +digest? Do you not know that the squeak of the real pig +is no more relished now than it was in days of yore? Were +I to give the catastrophe of your life and conversation, the +public would sweep off in shrieking hysterics, and there would +be a wild cry for sal-volatile and burnt feathers. "Impossible!" +would be pronounced here; "untrue!" would +be responded there; "inartistic!" would be solemnly decided. +Note well. Whenever you present the actual, +simple truth, it is, somehow, always denounced as a lie—they +disown it, cast it off, throw it on the parish; whereas +the product of your own imagination, the mere figment, the +sheer fiction, is adopted, petted, termed pretty, proper, +sweetly natural—the little, spurious wretch gets all the +comfits, the honest, lawful bantling all the cuffs. Such is +the way of the world, Peter; and as you are the legitimate +urchin, rude, unwashed, and naughty, you must stand +down.</p> + +<p>Make way for Mr. Sweeting.</p> + +<p>Here he comes, with his lady on his arm—the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>556<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +splendid and the weightiest woman in Yorkshire—Mrs. +Sweeting, formerly Miss Dora Sykes. They were married +under the happiest auspices, Mr. Sweeting having +been just inducted to a comfortable living, and Mr. Sykes +being in circumstances to give Dora a handsome portion. +They lived long and happily together, beloved by their +parishioners and by a numerous circle of friends.</p> + +<p>There! I think the varnish has been put on very nicely.</p> + +<p>Advance, Mr. Donne.</p> + +<p>This gentleman turned out admirably—far better than +either you or I could possibly have expected, reader. He, +too, married a most sensible, quiet, lady-like little woman. +The match was the making of him. He became an exemplary +domestic character, and a truly active parish +priest (as a pastor he, to his dying day, conscientiously +refused to act). The outside of the cup and platter he +burnished up with the best polishing-powder; the furniture +of the altar and temple he looked after with the zeal +of an upholsterer, the care of a cabinet-maker. His little +school, his little church, his little parsonage, all owed their +erection to him; and they did him credit. Each was a +model in its way. If uniformity and taste in architecture +had been the same thing as consistency and earnestness in +religion, what a shepherd of a Christian flock Mr. Donne +would have made! There was one art in the mastery of +which nothing mortal ever surpassed Mr. Donne: it was +that of begging. By his own unassisted efforts he begged +all the money for all his erections. In this matter he had a +grasp of plan, a scope of action quite unique. He begged of +high and low—of the shoeless cottage brat and the coroneted +duke. He sent out begging-letters far and wide—to +old Queen Charlotte, to the princesses her daughters, +to her sons the royal dukes, to the Prince Regent, to Lord +Castlereagh, to every member of the ministry then in office; +and, what is more remarkable, he screwed something out +of every one of these personages. It is on record that he got +five pounds from the close-fisted old lady Queen Charlotte, +and two guineas from the royal profligate her eldest son. +When Mr. Donne set out on begging expeditions, he armed +himself in a complete suit of brazen mail. That you had +given a hundred pounds yesterday was with him no reason +why you should not give two hundred to-day. He would tell +you so to your face, and, ten to one, get the money out of +you. People gave to get rid of him. After all, he did some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>557<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +good with the cash. He was useful in his day and generation.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I ought to remark that on the premature and +sudden vanishing of Mr. Malone from the stage of Briarfield +parish (you cannot know how it happened, reader; +your curiosity must be robbed to pay your elegant love +of the pretty and pleasing), there came as his successor +another Irish curate, Mr. Macarthey. I am happy to be +able to inform you, <em>with truth</em>, that this gentleman did as +much credit to his country as Malone had done it discredit. +He proved himself as decent, decorous, and conscientious +as Peter was rampant, boisterous, and—— This last epithet +I choose to suppress, because it would let the cat out of the +bag. He laboured faithfully in the parish. The schools, +both Sunday and day schools, flourished under his sway +like green bay trees. Being human, of course he had his +faults. These, however, were proper, steady-going, clerical +faults—what many would call virtues. The circumstance +of finding himself invited to tea with a Dissenter would +unhinge him for a week. The spectacle of a Quaker wearing +his hat in the church, the thought of an unbaptized fellow-creature +being interred with Christian rites—these things +could make strange havoc in Mr. Macarthey's physical and +mental economy. Otherwise he was sane and rational, +diligent and charitable.</p> + +<p>I doubt not a justice-loving public will have remarked, +ere this, that I have thus far shown a criminal remissness +in pursuing, catching, and bringing to condign punishment +the would-be assassin of Mr. Robert Moore. Here +was a fine opening to lead my willing readers a dance, at +once decorous and exciting—a dance of law and gospel, +of the dungeon, the dock, and the "dead-thraw." You +might have liked it, reader, but <em>I</em> should not. I and my +subject would presently have quarrelled, and then I should +have broken down. I was happy to find that facts perfectly +exonerated me from the attempt. The murderer +was never punished, for the good reason that he was never +caught—the result of the further circumstance that he was +never pursued. The magistrates made a shuffling, as if +they were going to rise and do valiant things; but since +Moore himself, instead of urging and leading them as heretofore, +lay still on his little cottage-couch, laughing in his +sleeve, and sneering with every feature of his pale, foreign +face, they considered better of it, and after fulfilling certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>558<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +indispensable forms, prudently resolved to let the matter +quietly drop, which they did.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore knew who had shot him, and all Briarfield +knew. It was no other than Michael Hartley, the half-crazed +weaver once before alluded to, a frantic Antinomian +in religion, and a mad leveller in politics. The poor soul +died of delirium tremens a year after the attempt on Moore, +and Robert gave his wretched widow a guinea to bury +him.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The winter is over and gone; spring has followed with +beamy and shadowy, with flowery and showery flight. +We are now in the heart of summer—in mid-June—the +June of 1812.</p> + +<p>It is burning weather. The air is deep azure and red +gold. It fits the time; it fits the age; it fits the present +spirit of the nations. The nineteenth century wantons +in its giant adolescence; the Titan boy uproots mountains +in his game, and hurls rocks in his wild sport. This +summer Bonaparte is in the saddle; he and his host scour +Russian deserts. He has with him Frenchmen and Poles, +Italians and children of the Rhine, six hundred thousand +strong. He marches on old Moscow. Under old Moscow's +walls the rude Cossack waits him. Barbarian stoic! he +waits without fear of the boundless ruin rolling on. He puts +his trust in a snow-cloud; the wilderness, the wind, and the +hail-storm are his refuge; his allies are the elements—air, +fire, water. And what are these? Three terrible +archangels ever stationed before the throne of Jehovah. +They stand clothed in white, girdled with golden girdles; +they uplift vials, brimming with the wrath of God. Their +time is the day of vengeance; their signal, the word of the +Lord of hosts, "thundering with the voice of His excellency."</p> + +<p>"Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? +or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, which I have +reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle +and war?</p> + +<p>"Go your ways. Pour out the vials of the wrath of +God upon the earth."</p> + +<p>It is done. The earth is scorched with fire; the sea +becomes "as the blood of a dead man;" the islands flee +away; the mountains are not found.</p> + +<p>In this year, Lord Wellington assumed the reins in Spain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>559<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +They made him generalissimo, for their own salvation's +sake. In this year he took Badajos, he fought the field of +Vittoria, he captured Pampeluna, he stormed San Sebastian; +in this year he won Salamanca.</p> + +<p>Men of Manchester, I beg your pardon for this slight +<em>résumé</em> of warlike facts, but it is of no consequence. Lord +Wellington is, for you, only a decayed old gentleman now. +I rather think some of you have called him a "dotard;" +you have taunted him with his age and the loss of his physical +vigour. What fine heroes you are yourselves! Men +like you have a right to trample on what is mortal in a demigod. +Scoff at your ease; your scorn can never break his +grand old heart.</p> + +<p>But come, friends, whether Quakers or cotton-printers, +let us hold a peace-congress, and let out our venom quietly. +We have been talking with unseemly zeal about bloody +battles and butchering generals; we arrive now at a +triumph in your line. On the 18th of June 1812 the Orders +in Council were repealed, and the blockaded ports thrown +open. You know very well—such of you as are old enough +to remember—you made Yorkshire and Lancashire shake +with your shout on that occasion. The ringers cracked +a bell in Briarfield belfry; it is dissonant to this day. The +Association of Merchants and Manufacturers dined together +at Stilbro', and one and all went home in such a plight as +their wives would never wish to witness more. Liverpool +started and snorted like a river-horse roused amongst his +reeds by thunder. Some of the American merchants felt +threatenings of apoplexy, and had themselves bled—all, +like wise men, at this first moment of prosperity, prepared to +rush into the bowels of speculation, and to delve new difficulties, +in whose depths they might lose themselves at some +future day. Stocks which had been accumulating for +years now went off in a moment, in the twinkling of an +eye. Warehouses were lightened, ships were laden; work +abounded, wages rose; the good time seemed come. These +prospects might be delusive, but they were brilliant—to +some they were even true. At that epoch, in that single +month of June, many a solid fortune was realized.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>When a whole province rejoices, the humblest of its +inhabitants tastes a festal feeling; the sound of public +bells rouses the most secluded abode, as if with a call to +be gay. And so Caroline Helstone thought, when she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>560<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +dressed herself more carefully than usual on the day of +this trading triumph, and went, attired in her neatest +muslin, to spend the afternoon at Fieldhead, there to +superintend certain millinery preparations for a great +event, the last appeal in these matters being reserved for +her unimpeachable taste. She decided on the wreath, the +veil, the dress to be worn at the altar. She chose various +robes and fashions for more ordinary occasions, without +much reference to the bride's opinion—that lady, indeed, +being in a somewhat impracticable mood.</p> + +<p>Louis had presaged difficulties, and he had found them—in +fact, his mistress had shown herself exquisitely provoking, +putting off her marriage day by day, week by +week, month by month, at first coaxing him with soft +pretences of procrastination, and in the end rousing +his whole deliberate but determined nature to revolt +against her tyranny, at once so sweet and so intolerable.</p> + +<p>It had needed a sort of tempest-shock to bring her to +the point; but there she was at last, fettered to a fixed +day. There she lay, conquered by love, and bound with +a vow.</p> + +<p>Thus vanquished and restricted, she pined, like any +other chained denizen of deserts. Her captor alone could +cheer her; his society only could make amends for the +lost privilege of liberty. In his absence she sat or wandered +alone, spoke little, and ate less.</p> + +<p>She furthered no preparations for her nuptials; Louis +was himself obliged to direct all arrangements. He was +virtually master of Fieldhead weeks before he became +so nominally—the least presumptuous, the kindest master +that ever was, but with his lady absolute. She abdicated +without a word or a struggle. "Go to Mr. Moore, ask Mr. +Moore," was her answer when applied to for orders. Never +was wooer of wealthy bride so thoroughly absolved from +the subaltern part, so inevitably compelled to assume a +paramount character.</p> + +<p>In all this Miss Keeldar partly yielded to her disposition; +but a remark she made a year afterwards proved +that she partly also acted on system. "Louis," she said, +"would never have learned to rule if she had not ceased +to govern. The incapacity of the sovereign had developed +the powers of the premier."</p> + +<p>It had been intended that Miss Helstone should act as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>561<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +bridesmaid at the approaching nuptials, but Fortune had +destined her another part.</p> + +<p>She came home in time to water her plants. She had +performed this little task. The last flower attended to +was a rose-tree, which bloomed in a quiet green nook at the +back of the house. This plant had received the refreshing +shower; she was now resting a minute. Near the wall +stood a fragment of sculptured stone—a monkish relic—once, +perhaps, the base of a cross. She mounted it, that +she might better command the view. She had still the +watering pot in one hand; with the other her pretty dress +was held lightly aside, to avoid trickling drops. She gazed +over the wall, along some lonely fields; beyond three dusk +trees, rising side by side against the sky; beyond a solitary +thorn at the head of a solitary lane far off. She surveyed +the dusk moors, where bonfires were kindling. The summer +evening was warm; the bell-music was joyous; the blue +smoke of the fires looked soft, their red flame bright. Above +them, in the sky whence the sun had vanished, twinkled a +silver point—the star of love.</p> + +<p>Caroline was not unhappy that evening—far otherwise; +but as she gazed she sighed, and as she sighed a +hand circled her, and rested quietly on her waist. Caroline +thought she knew who had drawn near; she received the +touch unstartled.</p> + +<p>"I am looking at Venus, mamma. See, she is beautiful. +How white her lustre is, compared with the deep +red of the bonfires!"</p> + +<p>The answer was a closer caress; and Caroline turned, +and looked, not into Mrs. Pryor's matron face, but up at +a dark manly visage. She dropped her watering-pot and +stepped down from the pedestal.</p> + +<p>"I have been sitting with 'mamma' an hour," said +the intruder. "I have had a long conversation with her. +Where, meantime, have you been?"</p> + +<p>"To Fieldhead. Shirley is as naughty as ever, Robert. +She will neither say Yes nor No to any question put. She +sits alone. I cannot tell whether she is melancholy or +nonchalant. If you rouse her or scold her, she gives you +a look, half wistful, half reckless, which sends you away +as queer and crazed as herself. What Louis will make of +her, I cannot tell. For my part, if I were a gentleman, +I think I would not dare undertake her."</p> + +<p>"Never mind them. They were cut out for each other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>562<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Louis, strange to say, likes her all the better for these +freaks. He will manage her, if any one can. She tries +him, however. He has had a stormy courtship for such +a calm character; but you see it all ends in victory for him. +Caroline, I have sought you to ask an audience. Why are +those bells ringing?"</p> + +<p>"For the repeal of your terrible law—the Orders you +hate so much. You are pleased, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday evening at this time I was packing some +books for a sea-voyage. They were the only possessions, +except some clothes, seeds, roots, and tools, which I felt +free to take with me to Canada. I was going to leave you."</p> + +<p>"To leave me? To leave <em>me</em>?"</p> + +<p>Her little fingers fastened on his arm; she spoke and +looked affrighted.</p> + +<p>"Not now—not now. Examine my face—yes, look at +me well. Is the despair of parting legible thereon?"</p> + +<p>She looked into an illuminated countenance, whose +characters were all beaming, though the page itself was +dusk. This face, potent in the majesty of its traits, shed +down on her hope, fondness, delight.</p> + +<p>"Will the repeal do you good—<em>much</em> good, <em>immediate</em> +good?" she inquired.</p> + +<p>"The repeal of the Orders in Council saves me. Now I +shall not turn bankrupt; now I shall not give up business; +now I shall not leave England; now I shall be no longer +poor; now I can pay my debts; now all the cloth I have +in my warehouses will be taken off my hands, and commissions +given me for much more. This day lays for my +fortunes a broad, firm foundation, on which, for the first +time in my life, I can securely build."</p> + +<p>Caroline devoured his words; she held his hand in hers; +she drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>"You are saved? Your heavy difficulties are lifted?"</p> + +<p>"They are lifted. I breathe. I can act."</p> + +<p>"At last! Oh, Providence is kind! Thank Him, +Robert."</p> + +<p>"I do thank Providence."</p> + +<p>"And I also, for your sake!" She looked up devoutly.</p> + +<p>"Now I can take more workmen, give better wages, +lay wiser and more liberal plans, do some good, be less +selfish. <em>Now</em>, Caroline, I can have a house—a home which +I can truly call mine—and <em>now</em>——"</p> + +<p>He paused, for his deep voice was checked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>563<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"And <em>now</em>," he resumed—"now I can think of marriage, +<em>now</em> I can seek a wife."</p> + +<p>This was no moment for her to speak. She did not +speak.</p> + +<p>"Will Caroline, who meekly hopes to be forgiven as +she forgives—will she pardon all I have made her suffer, +all that long pain I have wickedly caused her, all that +sickness of body and mind she owed to me? Will she +forget what she knows of my poor ambition, my sordid +schemes? Will she let me expiate these things? Will +she suffer me to prove that, as I once deserted cruelly, +trifled wantonly, injured basely, I can now love faithfully, +cherish fondly, treasure tenderly?"</p> + +<p>His hand was in Caroline's still; a gentle pressure +answered him.</p> + +<p>"Is Caroline mine?"</p> + +<p>"Caroline is yours."</p> + +<p>"I will prize her. The sense of her value is here, in my +heart; the necessity for her society is blended with my +life. Not more jealous shall I be of the blood whose flow +moves my pulses than of her happiness and well-being."</p> + +<p>"I love you, too, Robert, and will take faithful care +of you."</p> + +<p>"Will you take faithful care of me? Faithful care! +As if that rose should promise to shelter from tempest +this hard gray stone! But she <em>will</em> care for me, in her +way. These hands will be the gentle ministrants of every +comfort I can taste. I know the being I seek to entwine +with my own will bring me a solace, a charity, a purity, to +which, of myself, I am a stranger."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered.</p> + +<p>"What flutters my dove?" asked Moore, as she nestled +to and then uneasily shrank from him.</p> + +<p>"Poor mamma! I am all mamma has. Must I leave +her?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I thought of that difficulty. I and +'mamma' have discussed it."</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you wish, what you would like, and I +will consider if it is possible to consent. But I cannot +desert her, even for you. I cannot break her heart, even +for your sake."</p> + +<p>"She was faithful when I was false—was she not? I +never came near your sick-bed, and she watched it ceaselessly."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>564<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"What must I do? Anything but leave her."</p> + +<p>"At my wish you never shall leave her."</p> + +<p>"She may live very near us?"</p> + +<p>"With us—only she will have her own rooms and servant. +For this she stipulates herself."</p> + +<p>"You know she has an income, that, with her habits, +makes her quite independent?"</p> + +<p>"She told me that, with a gentle pride that reminded +me of somebody else."</p> + +<p>"She is not at all interfering, and incapable of gossip."</p> + +<p>"I know her, Cary. But if, instead of being the personification +of reserve and discretion, she were something +quite opposite, I should not fear her."</p> + +<p>"Yet she will be your mother-in-law?" The speaker +gave an arch little nod. Moore smiled.</p> + +<p>"Louis and I are not of the order of men who fear their +mothers-in-law, Cary. Our foes never have been, nor will +be, those of our own household. I doubt not my mother-in-law +will make much of me."</p> + +<p>"That she will—in her quiet way, you know. She is +not demonstrative; and when you see her silent, or even +cool, you must not fancy her displeased; it is only a manner +she has. Be sure to let me interpret for her whenever she +puzzles you; always believe my account of the matter, +Robert."</p> + +<p>"Oh, implicitly! Jesting apart, I feel that she and I +will suit—<em>on ne peut mieux</em>. Hortense, you know, is exquisitely +susceptible—in our French sense of the word—and +not, perhaps, always reasonable in her requirements; +yet, dear, honest girl, I never painfully wounded her feelings +or had a serious quarrel with her in my life."</p> + +<p>"No; you are most generously considerate, indeed, +most tenderly indulgent to her; and you will be considerate +with mamma. You are a gentleman all through, +Robert, to the bone, and nowhere so perfect a gentleman +as at your own fireside."</p> + +<p>"A eulogium I like; it is very sweet. I am well pleased +my Caroline should view me in this light."</p> + +<p>"Mamma just thinks of you as I do."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"She does not want to marry you—don't be vain; but +she said to me the other day, 'My dear, Mr. Moore has +pleasing manners; he is one of the few gentlemen I have +seen who combine politeness with an air of sincerity.'"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>565<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"'Mamma' is rather a misanthropist, is she not? Not +the best opinion of the sterner sex?"</p> + +<p>"She forbears to judge them as a whole, but she has +her exceptions whom she admires—Louis and Mr. Hall, +and, of late, yourself. She did not like you once; I knew +that, because she would never speak of you. But, +Robert——"</p> + +<p>"Well, what now? What is the new thought?"</p> + +<p>"You have not seen my uncle yet?"</p> + +<p>"I have. 'Mamma' called him into the room. He +consents conditionally. If I prove that I can keep a +wife, I may have her; and I <em>can</em> keep her better than he +thinks—better than I choose to boast."</p> + +<p>"If you get rich you will do good with your money, +Robert?"</p> + +<p>"I <em>will</em> do good; you shall tell me how. Indeed, I +have some schemes of my own, which you and I will +talk about on our own hearth one day. I have seen the +necessity of doing good; I have learned the downright +folly of being selfish. Caroline, I foresee what I will now +foretell. This war <em>must</em> ere long draw to a close. Trade +is likely to prosper for some years to come. There may +be a brief misunderstanding between England and America, +but that will not last. What would you think if, one day—perhaps +ere another ten years elapse—Louis and I divide +Briarfield parish betwixt us? Louis, at any rate, is certain +of power and property. He will not bury his talents. He +is a benevolent fellow, and has, besides, an intellect of his +own of no trifling calibre. His mind is slow but strong. +It must work. It may work deliberately, but it will work +well. He will be made magistrate of the district—Shirley +says he shall. She would proceed impetuously and prematurely +to obtain for him this dignity, if he would let her, +but he will not. As usual, he will be in no haste. Ere +he has been master of Fieldhead a year all the district will +feel his quiet influence, and acknowledge his unassuming +superiority. A magistrate is wanted; they will, in time, +invest him with the office voluntarily and unreluctantly. +Everybody admires his future wife, and everybody will, +in time, like him. He is of the <em>pâte</em> generally approved, +<em>bon comme le pain</em>—daily bread for the most fastidious, +good for the infant and the aged, nourishing for the poor, +wholesome for the rich. Shirley, in spite of her whims and +oddities, her dodges and delays, has an infatuated fondness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>566<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +for him. She will one day see him as universally +beloved as even <em>she</em> could wish. He will also be universally +esteemed, considered, consulted, depended on—too much +so. His advice will be always judicious, his help always +good-natured. Ere long both will be in inconvenient +request. He will have to impose restrictions. As for me, +if I succeed as I intend to do, my success will add to his +and Shirley's income. I can double the value of their +mill property. I can line yonder barren Hollow with +lines of cottages and rows of cottage-gardens——"</p> + +<p>"Robert! And root up the copse?"</p> + +<p>"The copse shall be firewood ere five years elapse. The +beautiful wild ravine shall be a smooth descent; the green +natural terrace shall be a paved street. There shall be +cottages in the dark ravine, and cottages on the lonely +slopes. The rough pebbled track shall be an even, firm, +broad, black, sooty road, bedded with the cinders from +my mill; and my mill, Caroline—my mill shall fill its +present yard."</p> + +<p>"Horrible! You will change our blue hill-country air +into the Stilbro' smoke atmosphere."</p> + +<p>"I will pour the waters of Pactolus through the valley +of Briarfield."</p> + +<p>"I like the beck a thousand times better."</p> + +<p>"I will get an Act for enclosing Nunnely Common, +and parcelling it out into farms."</p> + +<p>"Stilbro' Moor, however, defies you, thank Heaven! +What can you grow in Bilberry Moss? What will flourish +on Rushedge?"</p> + +<p>"Caroline, the houseless, the starving, the unemployed +shall come to Hollow's Mill from far and near; and Joe +Scott shall give them work, and Louis Moore, Esq., shall +let them a tenement, and Mrs. Gill shall mete them a portion +till the first pay-day."</p> + +<p>She smiled up in his face.</p> + +<p>"Such a Sunday school as you will have, Cary! such +collections as you will get! such a day school as you and +Shirley and Miss Ainley will have to manage between you! +The mill shall find salaries for a master and mistress, and +the squire or the clothier shall give a treat once a quarter."</p> + +<p>She mutely offered a kiss—an offer taken unfair advantage +of, to the extortion of about a hundred kisses.</p> + +<p>"Extravagant day-dreams," said Moore, with a sigh +and smile, "yet perhaps we may realize some of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>567<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +Meantime, the dew is falling. Mrs. Moore, I shall take +you in."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>It is August. The bells clash out again, not only through +Yorkshire, but through England. From Spain the voice +of a trumpet has sounded long; it now waxes louder and +louder; it proclaims Salamanca won. This night is Briarfield +to be illuminated. On this day the Fieldhead tenantry +dine together; the Hollow's Mill workpeople will be assembled +for a like festal purpose; the schools have a +grand treat. This morning there were two marriages +solemnized in Briarfield church—Louis Gérard Moore, Esq., +late of Antwerp, to Shirley, daughter of the late Charles +Cave Keeldar, Esq., of Fieldhead; Robert Gérard Moore, +Esq., of Hollow's Mill, to Caroline, niece of the Rev. Matthewson +Helstone, M.A., rector of Briarfield.</p> + +<p>The ceremony, in the first instance, was performed by +Mr. Helstone, Hiram Yorke, Esq., of Briarmains, giving +the bride away. In the second instance, Mr. Hall, vicar +of Nunnely, officiated. Amongst the bridal train the two +most noticeable personages were the youthful bridesmen, +Henry Sympson and Martin Yorke.</p> + +<p>I suppose Robert Moore's prophecies were, partially at +least, fulfilled. The other day I passed up the Hollow, +which tradition says was once green, and lone, and wild; +and there I saw the manufacturer's day-dreams embodied +in substantial stone and brick and ashes—the cinder-black +highway, the cottages, and the cottage gardens; +there I saw a mighty mill, and a chimney ambitious as the +tower of Babel. I told my old housekeeper when I came +home where I had been.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said she, "this world has queer changes. I can +remember the old mill being built—the very first it was +in all the district; and then I can remember it being pulled +down, and going with my lake-lasses [companions] to see +the foundation-stone of the new one laid. The two Mr. +Moores made a great stir about it. They were there, and +a deal of fine folk besides, and both their ladies; very +bonny and grand they looked. But Mrs. Louis was the +grandest; she always wore such handsome dresses. Mrs. +Robert was quieter like. Mrs. Louis smiled when she talked. +She had a real, happy, glad, good-natured look; but she +had een that pierced a body through. There is no such +ladies nowadays."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>568<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span>"What was the Hollow like then, Martha?"</p> + +<p>"Different to what it is now; but I can tell of it clean +different again, when there was neither mill, nor cot, nor +hall, except Fieldhead, within two miles of it. I can tell, +one summer evening, fifty years syne, my mother coming +running in just at the edge of dark, almost fleyed out of +her wits, saying she had seen a fairish [fairy] in Fieldhead +Hollow; and that was the last fairish that ever was seen +on this countryside (though they've been heard within +these forty years). A lonesome spot it was, and a bonny +spot, full of oak trees and nut trees. It is altered now."</p> + +<p>The story is told. I think I now see the judicious reader +putting on his spectacles to look for the moral. It would +be an insult to his sagacity to offer directions. I only say, +God speed him in the quest!</p> + +<hr class="white" /> + +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<p class="link"><a href="#CONTENTS">Back to contents</a></p> + +<hr /> + +<hr class="white" /> + + +<p class="noi title center"><span class="smcap">Established 1798</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter2" style="width: 136px;"> +<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="136" height="180" alt="Logo" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>T. NELSON<br /> +AND SONS<br /> +<span class="by">PRINTERS AND<br /> +PUBLISHERS</span></h2> + + +<hr class="white" /> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_III" id="Page_III"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>III<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +THE<br /> +NELSON CLASSICS.</h2> + +<hr class="hr3" /> + +<p class="center"><em>Uniform with this Volume and Same Price.</em></p> + +<hr class="hr4" /> + +<table class="books" summary="Publications"> + +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Jack Sheppard.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"><span class="smcap">Harrison Ainsworth.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Masterman Ready.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"><span class="smcap">Captain Marryat.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="hr3" /> + +<table class="books" summary="Publications"> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Michael Strogoff.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"><span class="smcap">Jules Verne.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Wide Wide World.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"><span class="smcap">Eliz. Wetherell.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This famous American novel has for many years been +a classic in every home. It is a masterpiece of the best +type of domestic fiction.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Hereward the Wake.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This brilliant romance tells of the last stand of the great +English leader, Hereward, against the advance of the +Normans. The scene is largely laid in the Fen country, +and every page is a record of fierce strife. The fall of Hereward +is one of the greatest death scenes in literature.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_IV" id="Page_IV"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>IV<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +<span class="title">David Copperfield—I.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">David Copperfield—II.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">"David Copperfield" is, by general consent, Dickens's masterpiece, +showing, as it does, all his peculiar merits in their highest form. It +is the most autobiographical of his novels, and the one into which he +put most of his philosophy of life.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Jane Eyre.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charlotte Brontë.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">"Jane Eyre" is Charlotte Brontë's first and most famous work. It +was the first realistic novel, in the modern sense of the word, in English +literature, and its influence has been beyond reckoning. It ranks as +one of the great novels of the nineteenth century.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Verdant Green.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Cuthbert Bede.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This is the humorous classic of Oxford life. Published more than +half a century ago, its humour is as fresh to-day as ever.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Pickwick Papers—I.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Pickwick Papers—II.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">Every year sees a new edition of "Pickwick," and the world still +asks for more. It is one of the world's greatest romances of the road, +where adventures fall to those who seek them. It is also a faithful +and loving picture of an older England, from which we have travelled +far to-day. We may become a wiser people, but we shall never again +be so humorous.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Windsor Castle.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Harrison Ainsworth.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">The romances of Harrison Ainsworth need no advertisement. In +this, as in his "Tower of London" and "Old St. Paul's," he has taken +one of England's great historical sites, and woven around it an appropriate +romance.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Peg Woffington.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Reade.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">"Peg Woffington" was the first of Charles Reade's romances, and +was founded upon his comedy, "Masks and Faces." The story of the +famous Irish actress who dazzled London in the eighteenth century, and +with whom Garrick was in love, has been made the foundation of a +charming romance.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_V" id="Page_V"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>V<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +<span class="title">Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"><span class="smcap">Dean Ramsay.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">The only book of jests that has ever attained an honourable place in +literature. Its wealth of genuine humour is a perpetual refutation of +the old slander that Scots joke "wi' deeficulty."</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Parables from Nature.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gatty.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This is one of the great children's books of the world. It was a classic +in our grandmothers' time, and possesses that imperishable charm which +makes it as attractive to-day as when it was first written.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Lavengro.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">George Borrow.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">The greatest romance of the road in English literature, telling of all +the byways and humours of that older England which is fast disappearing.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Little Women.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Louisa M. Alcott.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This delightful book has become a possession of childhood and youth. +It has captured the affections of millions of young people in two continents, +and is certainly the finest piece of work in the whole range of +Miss Alcott's breezy, hopeful, genial, and tender writings.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Pride and Prejudice.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Jane Austen.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Sense and Sensibility.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Jane Austen.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">Sir Walter Scott was among the earliest to detect the merits of Miss +Austen's work, and of recent years her humour and her keen insight +into human nature have been abundantly recognized, so that to-day she +is probably the most read novelist of her period. In Sir Walter Scott's +phrase she possesses "the exquisite touch which renders ordinary commonplace +things and characters interesting."</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Toilers of the Sea.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Laughing Man.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Les Misérables—I.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Les Misérables—II.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_VI" id="Page_VI"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>VI<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">'Ninety-Three.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Victor Hugo.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">Victor Hugo took the romantic novel as invented by Sir Walter Scott +and gave it a new and philosophic interest. All his great romances +have a purpose. "Les Misérables" exposes the tyranny of human +laws; "The Toilers of the Sea" shows the conflict of man with nature; +"The Laughing Man" expounds the tyranny of the aristocratic ideal +as exemplified in England. But being a great artist as well as a great +thinker, he never turned his romances into pamphlets. Drama is always +his aim, and no novelist has attained more often the supreme dramatic +moment.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Heir of Redclyffe.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> C. M. <span class="smcap">Yonge.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This is a reprint of Miss Yonge's most famous tale. It has been +said of her that she domesticated the historical romance, which owed +its origin to Sir Walter Scott, and her characters were for long the +ideal figures of most English households.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Wild Wales.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">George Borrow.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This book was the result of Borrow's wanderings after the publication +of "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye." He tramped on foot +throughout the country, and the work is a classic of description, both +of the scenery and people.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Cloister and the Hearth.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Charles Reade.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">There are many who think this the greatest of all historical novels, +and it is certain that there are few better. It is not a story so much as +a vast and varied transcript of life. It is also a delightful romance, and +Gerard and Margaret are among the immortals of fiction.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Romola.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This is the only novel of George Eliot's in which the scene is laid +outside her own country. It is a story of Florence during the time of +the Renaissance, a marvellous picture of the intellectual and moral +ferment which the New Learning created. With amazing learning and +insight the author portrays the souls of men and women, and her study +of a weak man and a strong woman has rarely been surpassed in English +literature for dramatic power and moral truth.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Silas Marner.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This, the shortest and the most exquisite of George Eliot's tales, +represents her great powers at their best. In the picture of the hero she +shows a profound understanding of human nature, and the feelings which +were then moving rural and industrial England.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_VII" id="Page_VII"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>VII<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +<span class="title">The Abbot.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> Sir <span class="smcap">Walter Scott.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">One of the Waverley novels which has always been deservedly +popular.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Bride of Lammermoor.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> Sir <span class="smcap">Walter Scott.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">The story is a tragedy on the lines of Greek drama, and the ending +has been pronounced by great critics to be the most moving in prose +literature. In the Master of Ravenswood, Scott has drawn perhaps his +greatest tragic figure, and in Caleb Balderstone one of his most humorous +creations.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Black Tulip.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Alexandre Dumas.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This was the last of Dumas' great stories. It is a veritable <em>tour de +force</em>, for in it the reader follows with consuming interest the vicissitudes +of a tulip, and the human element in the story is quite subsidiary. +Nevertheless, it contains such strongly-drawn characters as Cornelius +van Baerle, the guardian of the tulip, and Rosa, the jailer's daughter.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Tom Cringle's Log.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Michael Scott.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">A brilliant story of West Indian life by an author who combined +abundant personal experience with keen observation, sprightly temper, +and delightful humour. "Tom Cringle's Log" has been many times +reprinted, and has lost nothing of its popularity and power to please.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">Tens of thousands of readers have been led to Shakespeare by the +charmingly told stories which Charles and Mary Lamb, about a hundred +years ago, extracted from the plays of the greatest dramatist of all time. +Though produced by Lamb at the very outset of his literary career, +these stories betray that unique and finished art, that delightful freshness +and rare sympathy, which are the characteristics of his mature +work.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdtitle"><span class="title">The Scarlet Letter.</span></td> +<td class="tdauthor"> <span class="smcap">Nathaniel Hawthorne.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdj" colspan="2">This is one of the most powerful and affecting stories ever conceived. +On its first appearance, in 1850, it immediately leaped high into public +favour, and attained the distinction of an unmistakable classic. The +tragedy of Hester Prynne and Arthur Dimmesdale is wrought out in the +midst of an austere Puritan community, which exacts the bitterest expiation +for sin.</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<div class="box"> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_VIII" id="Page_VIII"><span class="hidden">[Pg </span>VIII<span class="hidden">]</span></a></span> +THE NELSON CLASSICS.</h2> + +<hr class="hr3" /> + +<p class="center"><em>Uniform with this Volume and Same Price</em>.</p> + +<hr class="hr4" /> + +<h3>CONDENSED LIST.</h3> + +<table summary="List of books"> +<tr> +<td class="llist">1. A Tale of Two Cities.</td> +<td class="rlist">44. Great Expectations.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">2. Tom Brown's Schooldays.</td> +<td class="rlist">45. Guy Mannering. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">3. The Deerslayer.</td> +<td class="rlist">46. Modern Painters (Selections. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">4. Henry Esmond.</td> +<td class="rlist">47. Les Misérables—I. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">5. Hypatia.</td> +<td class="rlist">48. Les Misérables—II. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">6. The Mill on the Floss.</td> +<td class="rlist">49. The Monastery. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">7. Uncle Tom's Cabin.</td> +<td class="rlist">50. Romola. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">8. The Last of the Mohicans.</td> +<td class="rlist">51. The Vicar of Wakefield. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">9. Adam Bede.</td> +<td class="rlist">52. Emma. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">10. The Old Curiosity Shop.</td> +<td class="rlist">53. Lavengro. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">11. Oliver Twist.</td> +<td class="rlist">54. Emerson's Essays. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">12. Kenilworth.</td> +<td class="rlist">55. The Bride of Lammermoor. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">13. Robinson Crusoe.</td> +<td class="rlist">56. The Abbot. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">14. The Last Days of Pompeii.</td> +<td class="rlist">57. Tom Cringle's Log. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">15. Cloister and the Hearth.</td> +<td class="rlist">58. Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">16. Ivanhoe.</td> +<td class="rlist">59. The Scarlet Letter. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">17. East Lynne.</td> +<td class="rlist">60. Old Mortality. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">18. Cranford.</td> +<td class="rlist">61. The Romany Rye. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">19. John Halifax, Gentleman.</td> +<td class="rlist">62. Hans Andersen. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">20. The Pathfinder.</td> +<td class="rlist">63. The Black Tulip. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">21. Westward Ho.</td> +<td class="rlist">64. Little Women. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">22. The Three Musketeers.</td> +<td class="rlist">65. The Talisman. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">23. The Channings.</td> +<td class="rlist">66. Scottish Life and Character. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">24. The Pilgrim's Progress.</td> +<td class="rlist">67. The Woman in White. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">25. Pride and Prejudice.</td> +<td class="rlist">68. Tales of Mystery. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">26. Quentin Durward.</td> +<td class="rlist">69. Fair Maid of Perth. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">27. Villette.</td> +<td class="rlist">70. Parables from Nature. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">28. Hard Times.</td> +<td class="rlist">71. Peg Woffington. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">29. Child's History of England.</td> +<td class="rlist">72. Windsor Castle. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">30. The Bible in Spain.</td> +<td class="rlist">73. Edmund Burke. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">31. Gulliver's Travels.</td> +<td class="rlist">74. Ingoldsby Legends. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">32. Sense and Sensibility.</td> +<td class="rlist">75. Pickwick Papers.—I. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">33. Kate Coventry.</td> +<td class="rlist">76. Pickwick Papers.—II. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">34. Silas Marner.</td> +<td class="rlist">77. Verdant Green. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">35. Notre Dame.</td> +<td class="rlist">78. The Heir of Redclyffe. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">36. Old St. Paul's.</td> +<td class="rlist">79. Wild Wales. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">37. Waverley.</td> +<td class="rlist">80. Two Years Before the Mast. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">38. 'Ninety-Three.</td> +<td class="rlist">81. Jane Eyre. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">39. Eothen.</td> +<td class="rlist">82. David Copperfield.—I. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">40. Toilers of the Sea.</td> +<td class="rlist">83. David Copperfield.—II. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">41. Children of the New Forest.</td> +<td class="rlist">84. Hereward the Wake. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">42. The Laughing Man.</td> +<td class="rlist">85. Wide Wide World. </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="llist">43. A Book of Golden Deeds.</td> +<td class="rlist">86. Michael Strogoff. </td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="hr3" /> +<h3>THOMAS NELSON AND SONS.</h3> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="tn"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> + +<p class="tntext">Variations in hyphenated words have been retained as +they appear in the original publication. Changes to the original have +been made as follows:</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 30 with some <a href="#impatience">inpatience</a> <em>changed to</em> +with some impatience</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 48 very bravely <a href="#maintained">mantained</a> <em>changed to</em> +very bravely maintained</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 120 <a href="#Sugden1">Sudgen</a>, his staff; and <a href="#Sugden2">Sudgen</a> arrest him <em>changed to</em> +Sugden, his staff; and Sugden arrest him</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 166 The old <a href="#latticed">atticed</a> <em>changed to</em> +The old latticed</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 175 Let <a href="#us">as</a> have <em>changed to</em> +Let us have</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 185 Mrs. Gill, my <a href="#housekeeper">houskeeper</a> <em>changed to</em> +Mrs. Gill, my housekeeper</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 224 by a downward <a href="#gaze">gave</a> <em>changed to</em> +by a downward gaze</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 242 gently <a href="#invited">invired</a> him <em>changed to</em> +gently invited him</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 245 a smiling <a href="#Melanchthon">Melancthon</a> <em>changed to</em> +a smiling Melanchthon</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 255 Sentinels of <a href="#Nunnwood">Nunwood</a> <em>changed to</em> +Sentinels of Nunnwood</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 260 only the <a href="#profiteers">profiters</a> <em>changed to</em> +only the profiteers</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 274 dark gray <a href="#irides">irids</a> <em>changed to</em> +dark gray irides</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 297 alight and <a href="#aglow">alow</a> <em>changed to</em> +alight and aglow</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 380 my old <a href="#occupation">accupation</a> <em>changed to</em> +my old occupation</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 492 not without <a href="#opprobrium">approbrium</a> <em>changed to</em> +not without opprobrium</p> + +<p class="tntext">Punctuation has been changed as follows:</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 119 <a href="#Mr">Mr</a> Moore, we lived <em>changed to</em> +Mr. Moore, we lived</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 145 stones on the <a href="#road">road?</a> <em>changed to</em> +stones on the road.</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 393 <a href="#quote">"Shirley</a>, my woman <em>changed to</em> +'Shirley, my woman</p> + +<p class="tnhang">Page 540 <em>reward</em> <a href="#quote2">her!"</a> <em>changed to</em> +<em>reward</em> her!'"</p> +</div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30486 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30486-h/images/front.jpg b/30486-h/images/front.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de84b45 --- /dev/null +++ b/30486-h/images/front.jpg diff --git a/30486-h/images/i001.jpg b/30486-h/images/i001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2762d34 --- /dev/null +++ b/30486-h/images/i001.jpg diff --git a/30486-h/images/logo.jpg b/30486-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca61e9e --- /dev/null +++ b/30486-h/images/logo.jpg |
