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If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Shirley + +Author: Charlotte Brontë + +Release Date: November 16, 2009 [eBook #30486] +[Most recently updated: January 28, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Brenda Lewis, Fox in the Stars and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIRLEY *** + + + + +[Illustration: Moore placed his hand on his cousin's shoulder, stooped, +and left a kiss on her forehead.] + + + + +SHIRLEY + +BY CHARLOTTE BRONTË + +T. Nelson & Sons + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + I. LEVITICAL 3 + + II. THE WAGONS 16 + + III. MR. YORKE 31 + + IV. MR. YORKE (CONTINUED) 40 + + V. HOLLOW'S COTTAGE 51 + + VI. CORIOLANUS 66 + + VII. THE CURATES AT TEA 85 + + VIII. NOAH AND MOSES 110 + + IX. BRIARMAINS 125 + + X. OLD MAIDS 147 + + XI. FIELDHEAD 164 + + XII. SHIRLEY AND CAROLINE 181 + + XIII. FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS ON BUSINESS 201 + + XIV. SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS 226 + + XV. MR. DONNE'S EXODUS 239 + + XVI. WHITSUNTIDE 253 + + XVII. THE SCHOOL FEAST 264 + + XVIII. WHICH THE GENTEEL READER IS RECOMMENDED TO SKIP, LOW + PERSONS BEING HERE INTRODUCED 279 + + XIX. A SUMMER NIGHT 290 + + XX. TO-MORROW 306 + + XXI. MRS. PRYOR 319 + + XXII. TWO LIVES 336 + + XXIII. AN EVENING OUT 346 + + XXIV. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH 365 + + XXV. THE WEST WIND BLOWS 384 + + XXVI. OLD COPY-BOOKS 392 + + XXVII. THE FIRST BLUESTOCKING 410 + + XXVIII. PHŒBE 433 + + XXIX. LOUIS MOORE 453 + + XXX. RUSHEDGE--A CONFESSIONAL 461 + + XXXI. UNCLE AND NIECE 475 + + XXXII. THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE WOOD-NYMPH 491 + + XXXIII. MARTIN'S TACTICS 502 + + XXXIV. CASE OF DOMESTIC PERSECUTION--REMARKABLE INSTANCE + OF PIOUS PERSEVERANCE IN THE DISCHARGE OF RELIGIOUS + DUTIES 513 + + XXXV. WHEREIN MATTERS MAKE SOME PROGRESS, BUT NOT MUCH 521 + + XXXVI. WRITTEN IN THE SCHOOLROOM 534 + + XXXVII. THE WINDING-UP 555 + + + + +SHIRLEY. + + +CHAPTER I. + +LEVITICAL. + + +Of 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. + +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. + +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. 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. + +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. + +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 _ennui_, more cursed with monotony, than the toil of +the weaver at his loom, seems to yield them an unfailing supply of +enjoyment and occupation. + +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. + +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. + +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 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." + +"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. + +Mrs. Gale offered the loaf. + +"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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 (Malone's name was Peter--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. + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Gale went and opened. + +"Whom have you upstairs in the parlour?" asked a voice--a rather +remarkable voice, nasal in tone, abrupt in utterance. + +"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?" + +"I want to know first whether it is worth my while walking in. Whom have +you upstairs?" + +"The curates, sir." + +"What! all of them?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Been dining here?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"That will do." + +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. + +"Hey!" he ejaculated to himself; then turning to Mr. Gale--"Have you +often this sort of work?" + +Mr. Gale had been a churchwarden, and was indulgent to the clergy. + +"They're young, you know, sir--they're young," said he deprecatingly. + +"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----" + +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. + +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--_he_ folded +his arms on his chest and surveyed his young friends, if friends they +were, much at his leisure. + +"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, the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in +Judea, and 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." + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Helstone," began Mr. Donne; "take a seat, pray, +sir. Have a glass of wine?" + +His civilities received no answer. The falcon in the black coat +proceeded,-- + +"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. _You_, +apostles? What! you three? Certainly not; three presumptuous Babylonish +masons--neither more nor less!" + +"I assure you, sir, we were only having a little chat together over a +glass of wine after a friendly dinner--settling the Dissenters!" + +"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." + +"Mine, sir?" + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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 _you_, 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 _you_, 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!" + +"What is it?" inquired Malone discontentedly. "There can be no funeral +to take at this time of day." + +"Have you any arms about you?" + +"Arms, sir?--yes, and legs." And he advanced the mighty members. + +"Bah! weapons I mean." + +"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." + +"Very good. Will you go to Hollow's Mill?" + +"What is stirring at Hollow's Mill?" + +"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." + +"I am none of his well-wishers, sir. I don't care for him." + +"Soh! Malone, you are afraid." + +"You know me better than that. If I really thought 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." + +"But there _is_ 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." + +"They will bring them in safely and quietly enough, sir." + +"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." + +"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." + +"What did you hear, Davy?" + +"You know Mike Hartley, sir?" + +"The Antinomian weaver? Yes." + +"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." + +"Well, that has nothing to do with Moore." + +"Besides being an Antinomian, he is a violent Jacobin and leveller, +sir." + +"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 have already +heard it hinted that he seems to have a queer hankering after Moore. Is +that what you allude to, Sweeting?" + +"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 _hankering_ 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. + +"Can't tell, Davy. He may be crazed, or he may be only crafty, or +perhaps a little of both." + +"He talks of seeing visions, sir." + +"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." + +"Tell it, sir. What was it?" urged Sweeting. + +"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." + +"Saph! Who was Saph, sir?" + +"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." + +"But the vision, sir?" + +"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 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." + +"Where did they go, sir?" + +"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." + +"Do you credit it, sir?" asked Sweeting. + +"Do you, Davy?--But come, Malone; why are you not off?" + +"I am rather surprised, sir, you did not stay with Moore yourself. You +like this kind of thing." + +"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 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." + +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. + +"I never touch them. I never did touch anything of the kind," said Mr. +Donne. + +"I am almost a stranger to Mr. Moore," murmured Sweeting. + +"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." + +"No, sir; no, Mr. Helstone. My mother wouldn't like it," pleaded +Sweeting. + +"And I make it a rule never to get mixed up in affairs of the kind," +observed Donne. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE WAGONS. + + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Mr. Moore is at home, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir, but he is not in." + +"Not in! Where is he then?" + +"At the mill--in the counting-house." + +Here one of the crimson doors opened. + +"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. + +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, using for the purpose the thick end of his shillelah, with which +he beat a rousing tattoo. A key turned; the door unclosed. + +"Is it Joe Scott? What news of the wagons, Joe?" + +"No; it's myself. Mr. Helstone would send me." + +"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,-- + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Comfortable quarters you have here, Mr. Moore; and all snug to +yourself." + +"Yes, but my sister would be glad to see you, if you would prefer +stepping into the house." + +"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?" + +"Sweeting! Which of them is that? The gentleman in the chocolate +overcoat, or the little gentleman?" + +"The little one--he of Nunnely; the cavalier of the Misses Sykes, with +the whole six of whom he is in love, ha! ha!" + +"Better be generally in love with all than specially with one, I should +think, in that quarter." + +"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?" + +With a queer, quiet smile Mr. Moore replied, "Dora, of course, or +Harriet." + +"Ha! ha! you've an excellent guess. But what made you hit on those two?" + +"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." + +"You are right; Dora it is. But he has no chance, has he, Moore?" + +"What has Mr. Sweeting besides his curacy?" + +This question seemed to tickle Malone amazingly. He laughed for full +three minutes before he answered it. + +"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." + +"How would he propose to keep Miss Sykes in gowns only?" + +"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." + +"Sykes carries on an extensive concern." + +"Therefore he must be wealthy, eh?" + +"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." + +"Do you know what I heard, Moore, the other day?" + +"No. Perhaps that I _was_ about to effect some such change. Your +Briarfield gossips are capable of saying that or sillier things." + +"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! Now, which is it? Dora, I am sure. You said she was +the handsomest." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"Hark!" said he. "Did you hear wheels?" + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You came by the Redhouse?" + +"Yes." + +"There would be nothing on that road. It is in the direction of Stilbro' +the risk lies." + +"And you think there is risk?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But you are rich and thriving, Moore?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 +_ennui_--"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 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." + +"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. + +"Mr. Malone," said he, "you must require refreshment after your wet +walk. I forget hospitality." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Try me. I've done it hundreds of times at college." + +"There's a dishful, then, and there's the gridiron. Turn them quickly. +You know the secret of keeping the juices in?" + +"Never fear me; you shall see. Hand a knife and fork, please." + +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. + +"Is it you, Sarah?" + +"Yes, sir. Will you come to supper, please, sir?" + +"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." + +He returned. + +"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." + +"I don't know; I never think about it. If the gray mare is handsome and +tractable, why not?" + +"The chops are done. Is the punch brewed?" + +"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." + +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. + +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 a studied carelessness of pronunciation and diction, +grates on a British, and especially on a Yorkshire, ear. + +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, _his_ probably was impressed in no +golden characters. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +The period of which I write was an overshadowed one in British history, +and especially in the history of the northern 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. + +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. + +Misery generates hate. These sufferers hated the machines which they +believed took their bread from them; they hated 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Hey, Joe Scott! Is all right?" + +Probably Joe Scott was yet at too great a distance to hear the inquiry. +He did not answer it. + +"Is all right, I say?" again asked Moore, when the elephant-like +leader's nose almost touched his. + +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." + +And there was a run. The wagons stood still; they were now deserted. + +"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. + +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? + +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. + +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:-- + +"To the Divil of Hollow's Miln." + +We will not copy the rest of the orthography, which was very peculiar, +but translate it into legible English. It ran thus:-- + +"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!" + +"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." + +Having led the wagons within the gates, he hastened towards the cottage. +Opening the door, he spoke a few 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 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?" + +"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." + +"To Stilbro' Moor! What to do? To meet the wagons?" + +"The wagons are come home an hour ago." + +"Then all's right. What more would you have?" + +"They came home empty; and Joe Scott and company are left on the moor, +and so are the frames. Read that scrawl." + +Mr. Helstone received and perused the document of which the contents +have before been given. + +"Hum! They've only served you as they serve others. But, however, the +poor fellows in the ditch will be expecting help with some impatience. +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." + +"He has been eating a mutton chop." + +"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!" + +"Is anybody to stay with me?" + +"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?" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MR. YORKE. + + +Cheerfulness, 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. + +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 eyes and hands with a Supplehough, +or to inflate my lungs with a Barraclough, in horror and denunciation of +the diabolical rector of Briarfield. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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, and a respect for the consistency +of Moore's crabbed contumacy. + +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. + +"Does your Peninsular news please you still?" he asked. + +"What do you mean?" was the surly demand of the rector. + +"I mean, have you still faith in that Baal of a Lord Wellington?" + +"And what do you mean now?" + +"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?" + +"I believe Wellington will flog Bonaparte's marshals into the sea the +day it pleases him to lift his arm." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"God often defends the powerful." + +"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 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!" + +"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." + +"I scorn to answer you." + +Moore accordingly answered himself--at least, he subjoined to what he +had just said an additional observation in a lower voice. + +"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." + +"You don't mean to say that besotted imperial France is any worse than +bloody republican France?" demanded Helstone fiercely. + +"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----" + +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. + +"Nah, maister; did th' wagons hit home?" demanded a voice from the +vehicle. + +"Can that be Joe Scott?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Well, I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Yorke." + +"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." + +Mr. Helstone returned the salutation of the individual in the gig very +stiffly indeed. That individual proceeded,-- + +"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' _Stilbro' Courier_ ower this job, as it +is, I dare say. I'se expect no less." + +"And I'll promise you no less, Mr. Yorke, for I'll write the article +myself," returned the rector. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Let them alone, will ye, Moore? Do you promise that?" + +"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----" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke." + +"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters, +of a wet night, at your age?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill." + +"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to Mr. Moore), "to +keep his courage up?" + +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." + +"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" asked Moore, +lazily vacating the place in obedience to orders. + +"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." + +"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector. + +"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's +an ill lad, and wants correcting." + +"Why, sir? What have I done?" + +"Made thyself enemies on every hand." + +"What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether +your Yorkshire louts hate me or like me?" + +"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!" + +"Mauvaise tête vous-même; je ne fais que mon devoir; quant à vos +lourdauds de paysans, je m'en moque!" + +"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. + +"C'est bon! c'est bon! Et puisque cela m'est égal, que mes amis ne s'en +inquiètent pas." + +"Tes amis! Où sont-ils, tes amis?" + +"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." + +"Comme tu voudras." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +MR. YORKE (_continued_). + + +A Yorkshire gentleman he was, _par excellence_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +The want of veneration made him intolerant to those above him--kings and +nobles and priests, dynasties and 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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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, "was as much better than a cockney's lisp +as a bull's bellow than a raton's squeak." + +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. + +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 was young then, and when he +looked at and listened to the alien, he seemed young again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved Mary too--or, at +any rate, he fancied her. Several others 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. + +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. _His_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 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. + +"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?" + +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 maintained +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 the king was a +deadly sin, and that there was such a thing as 'judgment to come.'" + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"I am going, however, Mr. Moore," said the rector sternly. "Come with me +or not, as you please." + +"Nay, he shall not have the choice; he _shall_ 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." + +He rang the bell. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +HOLLOW'S COTTAGE. + + +Moore's 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. + +"Ye're not custen dahn, then, maister?" cried Joe. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I do." + +"Is there mony o' your mak' i' your country?" inquired Joe, as he folded +up his temporary bed, and put it away. + +"In my country! Which is my country?" + +"Why, France--isn't it?" + +"Not it, indeed! The circumstance of the French having seized Antwerp, +where I was born, does not make me a Frenchman." + +"Holland, then?" + +"I am not a Dutchman. Now you are confounding Antwerp with Amsterdam." + +"Flanders?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _brutally_, Joe, I mean _brutalement_--which, +perhaps, when properly translated, should be _roughly_." + +"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!'" + +"You _are_ savages, Joe. You don't suppose you're civilized, do you?" + +"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." + +"You think yourself a clever fellow, I know, Scott." + +"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." + +"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 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." + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Moore stood at the entrance to watch them pass. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And now at last Mr. Moore quitted the mill-yard, and 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. + +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,-- + +"Eh, bien! Tu ne déjeûnes pas ce matin?" + +The answer, and the rest of the conversation, was in French; but as this +is an English book, I shall translate it into English. + +"Is breakfast ready, Hortense?" + +"Certainly; it has been ready half an hour." + +"Then I am ready too. I have a canine hunger." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"She looks clean and industrious," Mr. Moore remarked. + +"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!" + +"I am afraid you are not very happy in England, Hortense." + +"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 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." + +"Hortense, in Antwerp we were known rich; in England we were never known +but poor." + +"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." + +"Well, well! don't put on the sabots again. I told you before I thought +they were not quite the thing for this country." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Caroline! _I_ ask Caroline? _I_ consult her about my dress? It is _she_ +who on all points should consult _me_. She is a child." + +"She is eighteen, or at least seventeen--old enough to know all about +gowns, petticoats, and chaussures." + +"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." + +"With all my heart. Is she coming this morning?" + +"She will come at ten, as usual, to take her French lesson." + +"You don't find that she sneers at you, do you?" + +"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." + +"Are you at all fond of her?" + +"For _fond_ 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." + +"She behaves pretty well at lessons?" + +"To _me_ 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." + +"Give me a last cup of coffee, and while I am drinking it amuse me with +an account of her faults." + +"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." + +"I don't understand your account in the least. What do you mean by +'unsettled hurries,' for instance?" + +"An example will, perhaps, be the most satisfactory explanation. I +sometimes, you are aware, make her read 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." + +"Be sure you do, Hortense. Here she comes. That was her shadow passed +the window, I believe." + +"Ah! truly. She is too early--half an hour before her time.--My child, +what brings you here before I have breakfasted?" + +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. + +"I came in haste to see how you were, Hortense, and 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." + +"Ah! it is unspeakable. You sympathize with us? Your uncle sympathizes +with us?" + +"My uncle is very angry--but he was with Robert, I believe, was he +not?--Did he not go with you to Stilbro' Moor?" + +"Yes, we set out in very martial style, Caroline; but the prisoners we +went to rescue met us half-way." + +"Of course nobody was hurt?" + +"Why, no; only Joe Scott's wrists were a little galled with being +pinioned too tightly behind his back." + +"You were not there? You were not with the wagons when they were +attacked?" + +"No. One seldom has the fortune to be present at occurrences at which +one would particularly wish to assist." + +"Where are you going this morning? I saw Murgatroyd saddling your horse +in the yard." + +"To Whinbury. It is market day." + +"Mr. Yorke is going too. I met him in his gig. Come home with him." + +"Why?" + +"Two are better than one, and nobody dislikes Mr. Yorke--at least, poor +people do not dislike him." + +"Therefore he would be a protection to me, who am hated?" + +"Who are _misunderstood_. That, probably, is the word. Shall you be +late?--Will he be late, Cousin Hortense?" + +"It is too probable. He has often much business to transact at Whinbury. +Have you brought your exercise-book, child?" + +"Yes.--What time will you return, Robert?" + +"I generally return at seven. Do you wish me to be at home earlier?" + +"Try rather to be back by six. It is not absolutely dark at six now, but +by seven daylight is quite gone." + +"And what danger is to be apprehended, Caroline, when daylight _is_ +gone? What peril do you conceive comes as the companion of darkness for +me?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +With this direction she left the room. + +"You suspect I have many enemies, then, Caroline," said Mr. Moore, "and +doubtless you know me to be destitute of friends?" + +"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." + +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?" + +"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. + +"Till what? Till he dies?" + +"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." + +"A remarkably vague prospect! Are you content with it?" + +"I used to be, formerly. Children, you know, have little reflection, or +rather their reflections run on ideal themes. There are moments _now_ +when I am not quite satisfied." + +"Why?" + +"I am making no money--earning nothing." + +"You come to the point, Lina. You too, then, wish to make money?" + +"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." + +"Go on. Let us hear what way." + +"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." + +"Help _me_? You should think of yourself." + +"I do think of myself; but must one for ever think only of oneself?" + +"Of whom else do I think? Of whom else _dare_ I think? The poor ought to +have no large sympathies; it is their duty to be narrow." + +"No, Robert----" + +"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." + +"No cottage would be happy then." + +"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." + +"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. + +"I am all ear, Caroline." + +"In (courage! let me speak the truth)--in your manner--mind, I say only +_manner_--to these Yorkshire workpeople." + +"You have often wanted to tell me that, have you not?" + +"Yes; often--very often." + +"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." + +"As if your living cloth-dressers were all machines like your frames and +shears. In your own house you seem different." + +"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 +_forte_. 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." + +"You don't expect them to love you, of course?" + +"Nor wish it." + +"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. + +"I suppose I am not an affectionate man, Caroline. The attachment of a +very few suffices me." + +"If you please, Robert, will you mend me a pen or two before you go?" + +"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?" + +"Such as you generally make for me and Hortense; not your own broad +points." + +"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." + +"You will be making money." + +"More likely losing it." + +As he finished mending the pens, a horse, saddled and bridled, was +brought up to the garden-gate. + +"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." + +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. 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. + +"Now, good-morning." + +"Thank you, Robert. It is pretty; it looks, as it lies there, like +sparkles of sunshine and blue sky. Good-morning." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I never have. Some children's socks, which Mrs. Ramsden has ordered, to +knit for the Jew's basket; but they will keep." + +"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?" + +She smiled. "No." + +"The old Cossack! I dare say not," muttered Moore. + +"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?" + +She nodded her head, and her eyes lit up. + +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. + +Hortense, coming in ten minutes after, found, to her surprise, that +Caroline had not yet commenced her exercise. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +CORIOLANUS. + + +Mademoiselle Moore 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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; 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I am tired. May I leave my work now, cousin?" + +"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." + +"But it has not yet struck six. He may still come." + +"He will not, I tell you. I can calculate his movements. I understand my +brother." + +Suspense is irksome, disappointment bitter. All the 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. + +"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. + +"How low you seem, miss! But it's all because your cousin keeps you so +close to work. It's a shame!" + +"Nothing of the kind, Sarah," was the brief reply. + +"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." + +"Sarah, does your master often come home early from market when it is +wet?" + +"Never, hardly; but just to-day, for some reason, he has made a +difference." + +"What do you mean?" + +"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." + +"You are mistaken." + +"What should I be mistaken for? I know his horse surely?" + +"But you did not see himself?" + +"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." + +"Sarah, are you making a gown?" + +"Yes. Is it a handsome one?" + +"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." + +"You're very kind, miss." + +"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." + +"Miss, you are cutting the stuff wrong." + +"So I am; but it is only a snip. There is no harm done." + +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. + +"We had ceased to expect you. They asserted you would not come," she +said. + +"But I promised to return soon. _You_ expected me, I suppose?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I think I do--to-night, at least." + +"Are you certain you are not fretting about your frames, and your +business, and the war?" + +"Not just now." + +"Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's Cottage too small for you, and +narrow, and dismal?" + +"At this moment, no." + +"Can you affirm that you are not bitter at heart because rich and great +people forget you?" + +"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." + +"Which your own talent and goodness shall win you. You were made to be +great; you _shall_ be great." + +"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!" + +"But you are what I think you." + +"I am not." + +"You are better, then?" + +"Far worse." + +"No; far better. I know you are good." + +"How do you know it?" + +"You look so, and I feel you _are_ so." + +"Where do you feel it?" + +"In my heart." + +"Ah! You judge me with your heart, Lina: you should judge me with your +head." + +"I do; and then I am quite proud of you. Robert, you cannot tell all my +thoughts about you." + +Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, and yet were +compressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he resolutely knit his brow. + +"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." + +"If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is because you are +modest that I have such confidence in your merit." + +"Are you flattering me?" he demanded, turning sharply upon her, and +searching her face with an eye of acute penetration. + +"No," she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. She seemed to +think it unnecessary to proffer any eager disavowal of the charge. + +"You don't care whether I think you flatter me or not?" + +"No." + +"You are so secure of your own intentions?" + +"I suppose so." + +"What are they, Caroline?" + +"Only to ease my mind by expressing for once part of what I think, and +then to make you better satisfied with yourself." + +"By assuring me that my kinswoman is my sincere friend?" + +"Just so. I am your sincere friend, Robert." + +"And I am--what chance and change shall make me, Lina." + +"Not my enemy, however?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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.) + +"Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?" asked Mr. Moore, who, stern +in public, was on the whole very kind in private. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +It is true a little lecture to Caroline followed, on the vanity of +_wishing_ and the duty of _trying_. "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 _wishing_ 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. + +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. + +"What shall we do now, Caroline?" asked Mr. Moore, returning to his seat +beside his cousin. + +"What shall we do, Robert?" repeated she playfully. "You decide." + +"Not play at chess?" + +"No." + +"Nor draughts, nor backgammon?" + +"No, no; we both hate silent games that only keep one's hands employed, +don't we?" + +"I believe we do. Then shall we talk scandal?" + +"About whom? Are we sufficiently interested in anybody to take a +pleasure in pulling their character to pieces?" + +"A question that comes to the point. For my part, unamiable as it +sounds, I must say no." + +"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." + +"Who shall be the speaker? What language shall he utter? French?" + +"Your French forefathers don't speak so sweetly, nor so solemnly, nor so +impressively as your English ancestors, Robert. To-night you shall be +entirely English. You shall read an English book." + +"An old English book?" + +"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." + +"I must read Shakespeare?" + +"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." + +"With a view to making me better? Is it to operate like a sermon?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +Caroline, who, mounted on a chair, had been rummaging the bookcase, +returned with a book. + +"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." + +"Come, then, sit near me, and correct when I mispronounce." + +"I am to be the teacher then, and you my pupil?" + +"Ainsi, soit-il!" + +"And Shakespeare is our science, since we are going to study?" + +"It appears so." + +"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?" + +"I don't know." + +"If you do, Robert, I'll take Shakespeare away; and I'll shrivel up +within myself, and put on my bonnet and go home." + +"Sit down. Here I begin." + +"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." + +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." + +"Fi, donc! Quel enfantillage!" began Hortense. Mr. Moore, as usual, +suavely interposed. + +"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." + +He placed it between them, reposed his arm on the back of Caroline's +chair, and thus began to read. + +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. + +"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. + +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 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. + +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." + +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. + +"Now, have you felt Shakespeare?" asked Caroline, some ten minutes after +her cousin had closed the book. + +"I think so." + +"And have you felt anything in Coriolanus like you?" + +"Perhaps I have." + +"Was he not faulty as well as great?" + +Moore nodded. + +"And what was his fault? What made him hated by the citizens? What +caused him to be banished by his countrymen?" + +"What do you think it was?" + +"I ask again-- + + 'Whether was it pride, + Which out of daily fortune ever taints + The happy man? whether defect of judgment, + To fail in the disposing of those chances + Which he was lord of? or whether nature, + Not to be other than one thing, not moving + From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace + Even with the same austerity and garb + As he controlled the war?'" + +"Well, answer yourself, Sphinx." + +"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." + +"That is the moral you tack to the play. What puts such notions into +your head?" + +"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." + +"Who tells you these things?" + +"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." + +"And would you have me truckle to them?" + +"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." + +"You are a little democrat, Caroline. If your uncle knew, what would he +say?" + +"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." + +"And do you fancy you comprehend the subjects on which you advise me?" + +"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 _are_ sometimes, can I venture to +be affectionate in return?" + +"Now, Lina, I've had my lesson both in languages and 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?" + +"I think so." + +"Repeat it, then. Take your time and mind your accent; especially let us +have no English _u_'s." + +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. + + "Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa fin! + Je pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin + J'ai passé le premiers à peine. + Au banquet de la vie à peine commencé, + Un instant seulement mes lèvres ont pressé + La coupe en mes mains encore pleine. + + "Je ne suis qu'au printemps--je veux voir la moisson; + Et comme le soleil, de saison en saison, + Je veux achever mon année, + Brillante sur ma tige, et l'honneur du jardin + Je n'ai vu luire encore que les feux du matin, + Je veux achever ma journée!" + +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. + +"Is that pretty well repeated?" she inquired, smiling like any happy, +docile child. + +"I really don't know." + +"Why don't you know? Have you not listened?" + +"Yes--and looked. You are fond of poetry, Lina?" + +"When I meet with _real_ poetry, I cannot rest till I have learned it by +heart, and so made it partly mine." + +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. + +"Then the evening is gone already," she observed, "and it will be long, +I suppose, before I pass another here." + +Hortense had been for some time nodding over her knitting; fallen into a +doze now, she made no response to the remark. + +"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. + +"I like to come here; but I have no desire to be intrusive. I am not +hinting to be asked; you must understand that." + +"Oh! I understand thee, child. You sometimes lecture me for wishing to +be rich, Lina; but if I _were_ rich, you should live here always--at any +rate, you should live with me wherever my habitation might be." + +"That would be pleasant; and if you were poor--ever so poor--it would +still be pleasant. Good-night, Robert." + +"I promised to walk with you up to the rectory." + +"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----" + +"Here is your muff; don't wake Hortense--come." + +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. + +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,-- + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +The Curates at Tea. + + +Caroline Helstone 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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! + +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. + +"Good-night, uncle." + +"Hey! You've been gadding abroad all day--visiting, dining out, and what +not!" + +"Only at the cottage." + +"And have you learned your lessons?" + +"Yes." + +"And made a shirt?" + +"Only part of one." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 _felt_ 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 _do_ 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." + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Uncle," said she, "whenever you speak of marriage you speak of it +scornfully. Do you think people shouldn't marry?" + +"It is decidedly the wisest plan to remain single, especially for +women." + +"Are all marriages unhappy?" + +"Millions of marriages are unhappy. If everybody confessed the truth, +perhaps all are more or less so." + +"You are always vexed when you are asked to come and marry a couple. +Why?" + +"Because one does not like to act as accessory to the commission of a +piece of pure folly." + +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. + +"But why," said she, "should it be pure folly? If two people like each +other, why shouldn't they consent to live together?" + +"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." + +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. + +"One would think you had never been married, uncle. One would think you +were an old bachelor." + +"Practically, I am so." + +"But you have been married. Why were you so inconsistent as to marry?" + +"Every man is mad once or twice in his life." + +"So you tired of my aunt, and my aunt of you, and you were miserable +together?" + +Mr. Helstone pushed out his cynical lip, wrinkled his brown forehead, +and gave an inarticulate grunt. + +"Did she not suit you? Was she not good-tempered? Did you not get used +to her? Were you not sorry when she died?" + +"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." + +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. + +She was reviewing his character, his disposition, repeating his +sentiments on marriage. Many a time had she 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. + +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. + +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 _their_ 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,-- + +"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." + +Mr. Helstone, thus addressed, wheeled about in his chair, and looked +over his spectacles at his niece. He was taken aback. + +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 any recollections or speculations about her parents, he could +not fancy. + +"Your father and mother? Who has been talking to you about them?" + +"Nobody; but I remember something of what papa was, and I pity mamma. +Where is she?" + +This "Where is she?" had been on Caroline's lips hundreds of times +before, but till now she had never uttered it. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +Who has read the ballad of "Puir Mary Lee"--that old Scotch ballad, +written I know not in what generation nor 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." + + "Oh, ance I lived happily by yon bonny burn-- + The warld was in love wi' me; + But now I maun sit 'neath the cauld drift and mourn, + And curse black Robin-a-Ree! + + "Then whudder awa, thou bitter biting blast, + And sough through the scrunty tree, + And smoor me up in the snaw fu' fast, + And n'er let the sun me see! + + "Oh, never melt awa, thou wreath o' snaw, + That's sae kind in graving me; + But hide me frae the scorn and guffaw + O' villains like Robin-a-Ree!" + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +She tried to read--her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew--every stitch +she put in was an _ennui_, the occupation was insufferably tedious; she +opened her desk and attempted to write a French composition--she wrote +nothing but mistakes. + +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 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. + +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. + +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,-- + +"Mrs. Sykes and the three Misses Sykes." + +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 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. + +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. + +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 _know_ 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." + +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. + +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 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." + +Pause second. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But such a dear man," interrupted Mary. + +"And such a good man, such a useful man," added her mother. + +"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." + +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. + +The sole means she found of reviving the flagging discourse was by +asking them if they would all stay to tea; 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. + +"The gentlemen will stay the evening, ma'am," was the message she +brought from Mr. Helstone. + +"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." + +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. + +It ought perhaps to be explained in passing, for the benefit of those +who are not _au fait_ to the mysteries of the "Jew-basket" and +"missionary-basket," that these _meubles_ 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 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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Are there any tea-cakes?" asked the young mistress. + +"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). + +"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." + +"And which tea-things are we to have?" + +"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. + +"And mun we have th' urn?" + +"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." + +She went in. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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:-- + +1stly. "Have you had a walk to-day, Miss Helstone?" + +2ndly. "Have you seen your cousin Moore lately?" + +3rdly. "Does your class at the Sunday school keep up its number?" + +These three questions being put and responded to, between Caroline and +Malone reigned silence. + +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 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. + +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 _vis-à-vis_, 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. + +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. + +Hannah, on the contrary, demanded no respect, only flattery. If her +admirers only _told_ her that she was an angel, she would let them +_treat_ 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 _ennuis_ 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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"For whom are we waiting?" he asked. + +"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. + +"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 _rôle_ which, he thought, +had given him such a felicitous distinction, drawing upon him such +flattering general notice. + +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. +_Con amore_ 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. + +The triumph began. Malone, much chagrined at hearing him pipe up in most +superior style, determined to earn 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. + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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 _the_ 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." + +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 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:-- + +"I only left the drawing-room a minute for a little quiet." + +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. + +"Shall I tell my uncle you are here?" asked she, still in the same +subdued voice. + +"No; I can say to you all I had to say to him. You will be my +messenger?" + +"Yes, Robert." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Doubtless." + +"No, Robert." + +"And why no, Caroline?" + +"Because it will set all the neighbourhood against you more than ever." + +"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." + +"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.'" + +Moore laughed. + +"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." + +"How can I help it? You are my cousin. If anything happened----" She +stopped. + +"Nothing will happen, Lina. To speak in your own language, there is a +Providence above all--is there not?" + +"Yes, dear Robert. May He guard you!" + +"And if prayers have efficacy, yours will benefit me. You pray for me +sometimes?" + +"Not _sometimes_, Robert. You, and Louis, and Hortense are _always_ +remembered." + +"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." + +"Annihilate that doubt. It is groundless." + +"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 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 _bourgeois_ scutcheon the foul stain of +bankruptcy." + +The hint, though conveyed thus tenderly and modestly (as Caroline +thought), was felt keenly and comprehended clearly. + +"Indeed, I only think--or I _will only_ 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?" + +"What made you think so?" + +"Your look--your manner." + +"But look at me now----" + +"Oh! you are different now. At present I dare speak to you." + +"Yet I am the same, except that I have left the tradesman behind me in +the Hollow. Your kinsman alone stands before you." + +"My cousin Robert--not Mr. Moore." + +"Not a bit of Mr. Moore. Caroline----" + +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. + +"I must go, Robert." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +NOAH AND MOSES. + + +The 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"You have what is necessary, I suppose?" said Mr. Moore. + +"Ay, ay! all's right." + +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,-- + +"Help yourself; there's water in that jar in the corner." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Ay!" + +"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." + +"Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?" inquired Moore. + +"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." + +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." + +Helstone came in marching nimbly and erect, looking browner, keener, and +livelier than usual. + +"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?" + +"Sugden has." + +"Then you are going to seek him now? I'll accompany you." + +"You will be spared that trouble, sir; he is coming to seek me. I'm just +now sitting in state waiting his arrival." + +"And who is it? One of my parishioners?" + +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,-- + +"It's a friend of yours, Mr. Helstone, a gentleman you often speak of." + +"Indeed! His name, Joe? You look well this morning." + +"Only the Rev. Moses Barraclough; t' tub orator you call him sometimes, +I think." + +"Ah!" said the rector, taking out his snuff-box, and 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." + +"And so much the worse grudge I owe him, for interfering and setting my +discarded men against me." + +"And Moses was actually present at the battle of Stilbro' Moor? He went +there, wooden leg and all?" + +"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." + +"And how was he found out?" + +"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." + +"Joe's a sensible fellow," interjected Helstone. + +"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." + +"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 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." + +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. + +"Have they been? Are they gone? Have you got him? Is it over?" he asked. + +"Not yet," returned Moore with phlegm. "We are waiting for them." + +"They'll not come; it's near noon. Better give it up. It will excite bad +feeling--make a stir--cause perhaps fatal consequences." + +"_You_ need not appear," said Moore. "I shall meet them in the yard when +they come; _you_ can stay here." + +"But my name must be seen in the law proceedings. A wife and family, Mr. +Moore--a wife and family make a man cautious." + +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." + +"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 _word_-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, but _he_--Christie Sykes--would spend his last penny in law +before he would be beaten; he'd settle them, or he'd see. + +"Take another glass," urged Moore. + +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. + +"Quite prudent, and take them by all means," urged the host. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 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? + +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, _not_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"He's within, ay," said Joe nonchalantly. + +"Would you then, if _you_ please" (emphasis on "you"), "have the +goodness to tell _him_ that twelve gentlemen wants to see him." + +"He'd happen ax what for," suggested Joe. "I mught as weel tell him that +at t' same time." + +"For a purpose," was the answer. Joe entered. + +"Please, sir, there's twelve gentlemen wants to see ye, 'for a +purpose.'" + +"Good, Joe; I'm their man.--Sugden, come when I whistle." + +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. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Barraclough," said Moore debonairly, for him. + +"Peace be unto you!" was the answer, Mr. Barraclough entirely closing +his naturally half-shut eyes as he delivered it. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"To the point, if you please, and let me hear what it is." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +With that he doffed his hat, and held it out as a begging-box, a brazen +grin at the same time crossing his countenance. + +"If I gave you sixpence you would drink it." + +Barraclough uplifted the palms of his hands and the whites of his eyes, +evincing in the gesture a mere burlesque of hypocrisy. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _you_ refuse, it is my duty to warn _you_, in +very decided terms, that measures will be had resort to" (he meant +recourse) "which will probably terminate in--in bringing _you_ 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?" turning round to the other members of the deputation, +who responded unanimously, "Hear, hear!" + +"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." + +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. + +"Or iver you set up the pole o' your tent amang us, Mr. 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." + +"What if I don't follow your advice, Mr. Barraclough?" + +"The Looard pardon you! The Looard soften your heart, sir!" + +"Are you in connection with the Wesleyans now, Mr. Barraclough?" + +"Praise God! Bless His name! I'm a joined Methody!" + +"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." + +Barraclough was going to speak. + +"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 _do_ +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 _can_ do--and this you will never _dare_ 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." + +He whistled shrill and loud. Sugden, his staff and warrant, came on the +scene. + +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!--Sugden, arrest him!" + +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. + +"Both barrels are loaded," said he. "I'm quite determined! Keep off!" + +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 +spoken; he was hard-favoured, but modest and manly-looking. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Am I the whole body of clothiers in Yorkshire? Answer me that." + +"Ye're yourseln." + +"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. _I'll never give in._" + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 an +abstracted and somewhat doleful air; but in approaching Farren he looked +up, and then a hearty expression illuminated the preoccupied, serious +face. + +"Is it you, William? How are you?" he asked. + +"Middling, Mr. Hall. How are _ye_? Will ye step in and rest ye?" + +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,-- + +"And how are you all? How do you get on?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Has Mr. Moore turned you off?" + +"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." + +"It is not like you to say so, William." + +"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----" + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +Again he reflected. + +"You've no money, William, and you've nothing you could sell to raise a +small sum?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"Could you, William?" + +"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." + +"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 _will_ say there's not a soberer, honester +man i' England nor he is." + +"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." + +"I understand, sir. I'm quite agreeable to that." + +"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?" + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +BRIARMAINS. + + +Messrs. Helstone 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." + +"And where is Sugden?" demanded Moore, looking up. + +"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." + +"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. + +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 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." + +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. + +"Joe, do you know those Farrens? They are not well off, I suppose?" + +"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." + +"He was not a bad workman?" + +"Ye never had a better, sir, sin' ye began trade." + +"And decent people--the whole family?" + +"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." + +"Now, then, you can go, Joe. You need not stand there staring at me." + +"Ye've no orders to give, sir?" + +"None, but for you to take yourself off." + +Which Joe did accordingly. + + * * * * * + +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 still bare boughs; and so did the leafless grove of +walnut-trees rising tall behind the house. + +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:-- + + "Oh! who can explain + This struggle for life, + This travail and pain, + This trembling and strife? + Plague, earthquake, and famine, + And tumult and war, + The wonderful coming + Of Jesus declare! + + "For every fight + Is dreadful and loud: + The warrior's delight + Is slaughter and blood, + His foes overturning, + Till all shall expire: + And this is with burning, + And fuel, and fire!" + +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. + + "What a mercy is this! + What a heaven of bliss! + How unspeakably happy am I! + Gathered into the fold, + With Thy people enrolled, + With Thy people to live and to die! + + "Oh, the goodness of God + In employing a clod + His tribute of glory to raise; + His standard to bear, + And with triumph declare + His unspeakable riches of grace! + + "Oh, the fathomless love + That has deigned to approve + And prosper the work of my hands. + With my pastoral crook + I went over the brook, + And behold I am spread into bands! + + "Who, I ask in amaze, + Hath begotten me these? + And inquire from what quarter they came. + My full heart it replies, + They are born from the skies, + And gives glory to God and the Lamb!" + +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. + + "Sleeping on the brink of sin, + Tophet gaped to take us in; + Mercy to our rescue flew, + Broke the snare, and brought us through. + + "Here, as in a lion's den, + Undevoured we still remain, + Pass secure the watery flood, + Hanging on the arm of God. + + "Here----" + +(Terrible, most distracting to the ear, was the strained shout in which +the last stanza was given.) + + "Here we raise our voices higher, + Shout in the refiner's fire, + Clap our hands amidst the flame, + Glory give to Jesus' name!" + +The roof of the chapel did _not_ fly off, which speaks volumes in praise +of its solid slating. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _will_ 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. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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! + +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. + +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 that hour alone in a foreign +country, and the soil of that country gave Jessy a grave. + +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? + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +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. + +Take Mr. Yorke's family in the aggregate: there is as 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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Can a single man be said to have a home, madam?" he asks. + +"Pooh!" says Mrs. Yorke, who despises conventional smoothness quite as +much as her husband does, and practises 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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I am not tempted now, at any rate. I think these are not times for +marrying or giving in marriage." + +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?" + +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. + +"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.") + +"Ay, my little lassie, he promised; I'll bear witness. But make him say +it over again now, Jessy. Such as he are only false loons." + +"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. + +"Bonny!" cried Mr. Yorke. "That's the reason that he should be, and +proof that he is, a scoundrel." + +"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." + +"Your sentimental buck is the greatest cheat of all, Rose," remarked Mr. +Yorke. + +"He's not sentimental," said Rose. + +Mr. Moore turned to her with a little surprise, smiling at the same +time. + +"How do you know I am not sentimental, Rose?" + +"Because I heard a lady say you were not." + +"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 +_him_ hear." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Firstly, because I say so; and secondly, because discretion and reserve +are a girl's best wisdom." + +"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." + +"Does it not?" asked Jessy. "More good than if the rough lads came round +you.--You call them rough, mother, yourself." + +"Yes, mignonne, a thousand times more good. I have rough lads enough +about me all day long, poulet." + +"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 _our_ friend, and we'll keep him.--But mind, Rose, he's not +so much your friend as he is mine. He is my _particular acquaintance_; +remember that!" And she held up her small hand with an admonitory +gesture. + +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 _was_ 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. + +"Now, Rose, tell me the name of this lady who denied that I was +sentimental," urged Mr. Moore. + +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." + +"Describe her to me. What was she like? Where did you see her?" + +"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 grown-up ladies were sitting in a corner of the +drawing-room talking about you." + +"Did you know none of them?" + +"Hannah, and Harriet, and Dora, and Mary Sykes." + +"Good. Were they abusing me, Rosy?" + +"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." + +"What besides?" + +"Hannah Sykes said you were a solemn puppy." + +"Better!" cried Mr. Yorke, laughing. "Oh, excellent! Hannah! that's the +one with the red hair--a fine girl, but half-witted." + +"She has wit enough for me, it appears," said Moore. "A solemn puppy, +indeed! Well, Rose, go on." + +"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." + +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 +_that_ Miss Pearson would like to catch you. She set her cap at you when +you first came into the country, old as she is." + +"And who contradicted her, Rosy?" inquired Moore. + +"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." + +"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, '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." + +"Let us hear." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Oh! you won't have me? You push me away." + +"Why, Jessy, you care nothing about me. You never come to see me now at +the Hollow." + +"Because you don't ask me." + +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,-- + +"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." + +"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." + +"I'll say the same then. I mean always to hate women. They're such +dolls; they do nothing but dress themselves finely, and go swimming +about to be admired. I'll never marry. I'll be a bachelor." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +And Mark stopped. He did not smile, he did not look round for +admiration. He had said his say, and was silent. + +"Ma foi! mon ami," observed Mr. Moore to Yorke, "ce sont vraiment des +enfants terribles, que les vôtres!" + +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." + +"That's my kind little advocate!" said Moore, taking Rose's hand. + +"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." + +"Ladies always do speak spitefully," observed Martin. "It is the nature +of womenites to be spiteful." + +Matthew now, for the first time, opened his lips. "What a fool Martin +is, to be always gabbling about what he does not understand!" + +"It is my privilege, as a freeman, to gabble on whatever subject I +like," responded Martin. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Mountebank!" said Matthew. + +"Lads, be silent!" exclaimed Mr. Yorke.--"Martin, you are a +mischief-maker. There would have been no disturbance but for you." + +"Indeed! Is that correct? Did I begin, or did Matthew? Had I spoken to +him when he accused me of gabbling like a fool?" + +"A presumptuous fool!" repeated Matthew. + +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. + +"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. + +"He has no right, my lad; but forgive your brother until +seventy-and-seven times," said Mr. Yorke soothingly. + +"Always alike, and theory and practice always adverse!" murmured Martin +as he turned to leave the room. + +"Where art thou going, my son?" asked the father. + +"Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult, if in this house I can +find any such place." + +Matthew laughed very insolently. Martin threw a strange look at him, and +trembled through all his slight lad's frame; but he restrained himself. + +"I suppose there is no objection to my withdrawing?" he inquired. + +"No. Go, my lad; but remember not to bear malice." + +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." + +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. + +"Have you employment for a good workman?" asked Moore. + +"A nonsense question in these times, when you know that every master has +many good workmen to whom he cannot give full employment." + +"You must oblige me by taking on this man, if possible." + +"My lad, I can take on no more hands to oblige all England." + +"It does not signify; I must find him a place somewhere." + +"Who is he?" + +"William Farren." + +"I know William. A right-down honest man is William." + +"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." + +"Not Moses Barraclough?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah! you've arrested him? Good! Then out of a scoundrel you're going to +make a martyr. You've done a wise thing." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Come, Mr. Yorke, what can you find for him to do?" + +"_I_ 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." + +Moore sat down on one of the hall chairs. + +"You can't give him work in your mill--good; but you have land. Find him +some occupation on your land, Mr. Yorke." + +"Bob, I thought you cared nothing about our _lourdauds de paysans_. I +don't understand this change." + +"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." + +"Let him have it yourself. If you are so very much in earnest, strain a +point." + +"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." + +"Come, let us take a turn on the front. It is a starlight night," said +Mr. Yorke. + +They passed out, closing the front door after them, and side by side +paced the frost-white pavement to and fro. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You want capital--that's all you want." + +"Yes; but you might as well say that breath is all a dead man wants to +live." + +"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?" + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"I wonder where?" + +"Would you try if you had a chance?" + +"I don't know. It depends on--in short, it depends on many things." + +"Would you take an old woman?" + +"I'd rather break stones on the road." + +"So would I. Would you take an ugly one?" + +"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." + +"Not if she were rich?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I'll never try, I tell you. Grace at least I _will_ have, and youth and +symmetry--yes, and what I call beauty." + +"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." + +"Let me alone, Yorke." + +"If you are romantic, Robert, and especially if you are already in love, +it is of no use talking." + +"I am not romantic. I am stripped of romance as bare as the white +tenters in that field are of cloth." + +"Always use such figures of speech, lad; I can understand them. And +there is no love affair to disturb your judgment?" + +"I thought I had said enough on that subject before. Love for me? +Stuff!" + +"Well, then, if you are sound both in heart and head, there is no +reason why you should not profit by a good chance if it offers; +therefore, wait and see." + +"You are quite oracular, Yorke." + +"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." + +"My namesake the physician's almanac could not speak more guardedly." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +OLD MAIDS. + + +Time 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. + +They held meetings, they made speeches, they got up petitions to extort +this boon; on what terms it was made they cared not. + +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, 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; _then_, 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! + +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 _could_ 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 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 _then_ 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 MAN 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. + +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. + +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, 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 +_brusquerie_--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. + +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 against flirtation and +love-making, and vowed he would have no such folly going on under his +roof. + +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. + +"Do you hear me?" he asked. + +"Yes, uncle." + +"Of course you mean to attend to what I say?" + +"Yes, certainly." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +At church only Caroline had the chance of seeing him, and there she +rarely looked at him. It was both too much 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. + +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 _chapeau_. 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. + +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. + +"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 +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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?" + +She reflected. + +"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?" + +She mused again. + +"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 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. + +"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?" + +Her fire was decayed to its last cinder; Malone had departed; and now +the study bell rang for prayers. + +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." + +"You are very diligent at that sewing, Miss Caroline," continued the +girl, approaching her little table. + +"I am tired of it, Fanny." + +"Then why do you go on with it? Put it down. Read, or do something to +amuse you." + +"It is solitary in this house, Fanny. Don't you think so?" + +"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 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." + +"But their houses are dismal: they are both old maids. I am certain old +maids are a very unhappy race." + +"Not they, miss. They can't be unhappy; they take such care of +themselves. They are all selfish." + +"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!" + +"They shouldn't, miss. I believe she is a good woman. But gentlemen +think only of ladies' looks." + +"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?" + +Fanny helped Miss Helstone to put away her work, and afterwards assisted +her to dress. + +"_You_'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." + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +"Miss Mann did not make herself, or tune her voice, Robert." + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and 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. + +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. + +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 on herself, and had only the +occasional assistance of a little girl who lived in a cottage near. + +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 _very_ 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. + +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. + +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, and commit impiety when they think they are achieving +wit. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +"I will bestir myself," was her resolution, "and try to be wise if I +cannot be good." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +FIELDHEAD. + + +Yet 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There were nights when it failed to appear. She knew then that Robert +was from home, and went away doubly 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. + +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. + +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 latticed 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. + +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 +looked solemnly and mildly down on Caroline from beneath that sombre +canopy. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _does_, he +_must_, 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!" + +Thus, in the utter sickness of longing and disappointment, she went +home. + +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?" + +Her uncle, ignorant as the table supporting his coffee-cup of all his +niece had undergone and was undergoing, scarcely believed his ears. + +"What whim now?" he asked. "Are you bewitched? What can you mean?" + +"I am not well, and need a change," she said. + +He examined her. He discovered she had _experienced_ a 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. + +"What on earth is the matter with you?" he asked. "What is wrong? How +are you ailing?" + +No answer; only the brown eyes filled, the faintly-tinted lips trembled. + +"Look out for a situation, indeed! For what situation are you fit? What +have you been doing with yourself? You are not well." + +"I should be well if I went from home." + +"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?" + +"No, uncle, I don't want one. A doctor could do me no good. I merely +want change of air and scene." + +"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." + +"But, uncle, some day I must do something for myself; I have no fortune. +I had better begin now." + +"While I live, you shall not turn out as a governess, Caroline. I will +not have it said that my niece is a governess." + +"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." + +"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; 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?" + +"No, uncle; but I long for a change." + +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." + +"But it is not fantasy and whim, uncle." + +"What is it then?" + +"Necessity, I think. I feel weaker than formerly. I believe I should +have more to do." + +"Admirable! She feels weak, and _therefore_ 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." + +"Uncle, I wish you were less generous and more----" + +"More what?" + +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." + +"Only to be a governess." + +"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." + +"What with? My doll?" asked Caroline to herself as she quitted the room. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +"Sometimes, uncle, when I forget." + +"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." + +"With _you_, uncle?" + +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. + +"Quick! quick! I am always busy, you know. I have no time to lose." + +She hurriedly gathered up her materials, asking, meantime, where they +were going. + +"To Fieldhead." + +"Fieldhead! What! to see old James Booth, the gardener? Is he ill?" + +"We are going to see Miss Shirley Keeldar." + +"Miss Keeldar! Is she coming to Yorkshire? Is she at Fieldhead?" + +"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." + +"She is now come of age, I suppose?" + +"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 _her_." + +"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?" + +"Pshaw! Put your bonnet on." + +"Is she proud, uncle?" + +"Don't know. You hardly imagine she would show her pride to me, I +suppose? A chit like that would scarcely presume to give herself airs +with the rector of her parish, however rich she might be." + +"No. But how did she behave to other people?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +This lady received the visitors with a mixture of ceremony and +diffidence quite English. No middle-aged matron who was not an +Englishwoman _could_ 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. + +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 _embonpoint_. 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 sarcastic, keen eye, that clearly expressed impatience of her +chilly ceremony, and annoyance at her want of _aplomb_. 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. + +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 _do_ think Mr. +Yorke has made me a Jacobin. Good-morning." + +"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." + +"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." + +The rector immediately bowed very low to Mrs. Pryor, and expressed +himself obliged to her. + +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. + +"Miss Keeldar thinks as you think, I hope, madam." + +"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." + +"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 us have a confession of faith on the +spot." + +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. + +"Say your creed," he ordered. + +"The Apostles' Creed?" + +"Yes." + +She said it like a child. + +"Now for St. Athanasius's. That's the test!" + +"Let me gather up my flowers. Here is Tartar coming; he will tread upon +them." + +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. + +"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. + +"My niece Caroline." + +Miss Keeldar shook hands with her, and then looked at her. Caroline also +looked at her hostess. + +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 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. + +"You see she is only a feeble chick," observed Mr. Helstone. + +"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. + +"Eighteen years and six months." + +"And I am twenty-one." + +She said no more. She had now placed her flowers on the table, and was +busied in arranging them. + +"And St. Athanasius's Creed?" urged the rector. "You believe it all, +don't you?" + +"I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nosegay, Mr. Helstone, +when I have given your niece one." + +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. + +"Are you tired with your walk?" she inquired. + +"No--not in the least. It is but a short distance--but a mile." + +"You look pale.--Is she always so pale?" she asked, turning to the +rector. + +"She used to be as rosy as the reddest of your flowers." + +"Why is she altered? What has made her pale? Has she been ill?" + +"She tells me she wants a change." + +"She ought to have one. You ought to give her one. You should send her +to the sea-coast." + +"I will, ere summer is over. Meantime, I intend her to make acquaintance +with you, if you have no objection." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +Mrs. Pryor here smiled. + +"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. + +"Ay! ay! Your tenant--so he is. You have seen a good deal of him, no +doubt, since you came?" + +"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 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?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Not at all, just now. His name is entirely blotted from my good books." + +"What is the matter? What has he done?" + +"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. + +"What are Moore's politics?" inquired Shirley. + +"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." + +"The war hurts his trade. I remember he remarked that only yesterday. +But what other objection have you to him?" + +"That is enough." + +"He looks the gentleman, in my sense of the term," pursued Shirley, "and +it pleases me to think he is such." + +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 an arch, searching glance +at the speaker from her deep, expressive eyes. + +"_You_ are his friend, at any rate," she said. "You defend him in his +absence." + +"I am both his friend and his relative," was the prompt reply. "Robert +Moore is my cousin." + +"Oh, then, you can tell me all about him. Just give me a sketch of his +character." + +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. + +"Be sure you wear it for my sake," said she. + +"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." + +"I like a descent," said Shirley; "I like to clear it rapidly; and +especially I like that romantic Hollow with all my heart." + +"Romantic, with a mill in it?" + +"Romantic with a mill in it. The old mill and the white cottage are each +admirable in its way." + +"And the counting-house, Mr. Keeldar?" + +"The counting-house is better than my bloom-coloured drawing-room. I +adore the counting-house." + +"And the trade? The cloth, the greasy wool, the polluting dyeing-vats?" + +"The trade is to be thoroughly respected." + +"And the tradesman is a hero? Good!" + +"I am glad to hear you say so. I thought the tradesman looked heroic." + +Mischief, spirit, and glee sparkled all over her face as she thus +bandied words with the old Cossack, who almost equally enjoyed the tilt. + +"Captain Keeldar, you have no mercantile blood in your veins. Why are +you so fond of trade?" + +"Because I am a mill-owner, of course. Half my income comes from the +works in that Hollow." + +"Don't enter into partnership--that's all." + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +SHIRLEY AND CAROLINE. + + +Shirley 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. + +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." + +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 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. + +"My dear!" expostulated Mrs. Pryor. + +"Was I whistling?" said Shirley. "I forgot. I beg your pardon, ma'am. I +had resolved to take care not to whistle before you." + +"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." + +"Oh! I learned to whistle a long while ago." + +"Who taught you?" + +"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." + +"What gentleman was it?" + +"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." + +Mrs. Pryor was silent. + +"You do not like Mr. Helstone, ma'am?" + +"My dear, Mr. Helstone's office secures him from criticism." + +"You generally contrive to leave the room when he is announced." + +"Do you walk out this morning, my dear?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"You shall be minutely obeyed, Mrs. Pryor. Meantime, will you not +accompany us yourself?" + +"No, my love; I should be a restraint upon you. I am stout, and cannot +walk so quickly as you would wish to do." + +Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with her, and when they were +fairly out on the quiet road, traversing 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Did it thunder?" + +"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." + +"Did you watch the clouds come down over the mountains?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunnely dale and +wood." + +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 +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. + +"Our England is a bonny island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of +her bonniest nooks." + +"You are a Yorkshire girl too?" + +"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." + +Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and +shaken. "We are compatriots," said she. + +"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod. + +"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is +Nunnwood?" + +"It is." + +"Were you ever there?" + +"Many a time." + +"In the heart of it?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it like?" + +"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." + +"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?" + +"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?" + +"Yes, distinctly." + +"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 the brink of this dell. In the bottom lie the +ruins of a nunnery." + +"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 housekeeper, might pack our provisions, and we could each carry +our own. It would not tire you too much to walk so far?" + +"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." + +"You would be dull with me alone?" + +"I should not. I think we should suit; and what third person is there +whose presence would not spoil our pleasure?" + +"Indeed, I know of none about our own ages--no lady at least; and as to +gentlemen----" + +"An excursion becomes quite a different thing when there are gentlemen +of the party," interrupted Caroline. + +"I agree with you--quite a different thing to what we were proposing." + +"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." + +"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." + +"We forget Nature, _imprimis_." + +"And then Nature forgets us, covers her vast calm brow with a dim veil, +conceals her face, and withdraws the peaceful joy with which, if we had +been content to worship her only, she would have filled our hearts." + +"What does she give us instead?" + +"More elation and more anxiety; an excitement that steals the hours away +fast, and a trouble that ruffles their course." + +"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." + +"Did you ever go with your cousin, Robert Moore?" + +"Yes; once." + +"What sort of a companion is he on these occasions?" + +"A cousin, you know, is different to a stranger." + +"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?" + +"No; but----" + +"Well?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 fond of him. I would rather be out of his +presence than in it." + +"Strange, when he has the art of making himself so agreeable." + +"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." + +"Is he tyrannical?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But you could not if you were married." + +"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 +independence round me like a mantle, and drop my pride like a veil, and +withdraw to solitude. If married, that could not be." + +"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." + +"But, Caroline, men are not all like your uncle. Surely not. I hope +not." + +She paused and mused. + +"I suppose we each find an exception in the one we love, till we _are_ +married," suggested Caroline. + +"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 _we_ 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?" + +"My uncle would affirm it unhesitatingly. 'He will be sick of you in a +month,' he would say." + +"Mrs. Pryor would seriously intimate the same." + +"Mrs. Yorke and Miss Mann would darkly suggest ditto." + +"If they are true oracles, it is good never to fall in love." + +"Very good, if you can avoid it." + +"I choose to doubt their truth." + +"I am afraid that proves you are already caught." + +"Not I. But if I were, do you know what soothsayers I would consult?" + +"Let me hear." + +"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." + +"Did you ever see any one who was kind to such things?" + +"Did you ever see any one whom such things seemed instinctively to +follow, like, rely on?" + +"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." + +"And what does that somebody do?" + +"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." + +"Does he? It is not Robert?" + +"But it is Robert." + +"Handsome fellow!" said Shirley, with enthusiasm. Her eyes sparkled. + +"Is he not handsome? Has he not fine eyes and well-cut features, and a +clear, princely forehead?" + +"He has all that, Caroline. Bless him! he is both graceful and good." + +"I was sure you would see that he was. When I first looked at your face +I knew you would." + +"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." + +"When mind is added, Shirley?" + +"Who can resist it?" + +"Remember my uncle, Mesdames Pryor, Yorke, and Mann." + +"Remember the croaking of the frogs of Egypt. He is a noble being. I +tell you when they _are_ 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." + +"Above us?" + +"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?" + +"Men and women, husbands and wives, quarrel horribly, Shirley." + +"Poor things! Poor, fallen, degenerate things! God made them for another +lot, for other feelings." + +"But are we men's equals, or are we not?" + +"Nothing ever charms me more than when I meet my superior--one who makes +me sincerely feel that he is my superior." + +"Did you ever meet him?" + +"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." + +"Miss Keeldar, will you come in? We are here at the rectory gates." + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"It is a portrait of Mrs. Helstone." + +"Of Mrs. Matthewson Helstone? Of your uncle's wife?" + +"It is, and is said to be a good likeness. Before her marriage she was +accounted the beauty of the district." + +"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.'" + +"I believe she was a remarkably still, silent person." + +"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?" + +"In company he is. But he always says he could never do with a talking +wife. He must have quiet at home. You go out to gossip, he affirms; you +come home to read and reflect." + +"Mrs. Matthewson lived but a few years after her marriage, I think I +have heard?" + +"About five years." + +"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." + +"I am inured to it. I have grown up by myself. May I arrange your shawl +for you?" + +Mrs. Pryor submitted to be assisted. + +"Should you chance to require help in your studies," she said, "you may +command me." + +Caroline expressed her sense of such kindness. + +"I hope to have frequent conversations with you. I should wish to be of +use to you." + +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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"It is much softer or finer featured than that of your uncle." + +"But where or what is the difference of character to which you alluded? +Tell me. I wish to see if you guess right." + +"My dear, your uncle is a man of principle. His forehead and his lips +are firm, and his eye is steady." + +"Well, and the other? Do not be afraid of offending me. I always like +the truth." + +"Do you like the truth? It is well for you. Adhere 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?" + +"I am sure no character can have true worth without it." + +"You feel what you say? You have considered the subject?" + +"Often. Circumstances early forced it upon my attention." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +One evening they chanced to be alone in the oak-parlour. They had passed +a long wet day together without _ennui_. 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 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:-- + + "Obscurest night involved the sky, + The Atlantic billows roared, + When such a destined wretch as I, + Washed headlong from on board, + Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, + His floating home for ever left." + +Here the fragment stopped, because Shirley's song, erewhile somewhat +full and thrilling, had become delicately faint. + +"Go on," said she. + +"Then you go on too. I was only repeating 'The Castaway.'" + +"I know. If you can remember it all, say it all." + +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,-- + + "No voice divine the storm allayed, + No light propitious shone, + When, snatched from all effectual aid, + We perished--each alone! + But I beneath a rougher sea, + And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he." + +"I hope William Cowper is safe and calm in heaven now," said Caroline. + +"Do you pity what he suffered on earth?" asked Miss Keeldar. + +"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 +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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"You never would have loved Cowper," rejoined Caroline promptly. "He was +not made to be loved by woman." + +"What do you mean?" + +"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.'" + +"You may be right. Who told you this?" + +"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." + +"Who told you this, I ask? Did Moore?" + +"Why should anybody have told me? Have I not an instinct? Can I not +divine by analogy? Moore never talked to me either about Cowper, or +Rousseau, or love. The voice we hear in solitude told me all I know on +these subjects." + +"Do you like characters of the Rousseau order, Caroline?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I do." + +"And he must miss you?" + +"That he does not." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Of course, then," observed Miss Keeldar, "you only just tolerated him +in return?" + +"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 +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." + +"Caroline," demanded Miss Keeldar abruptly, "don't you wish you had a +profession--a trade?" + +"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." + +"Can labour alone make a human being happy?" + +"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." + +"But hard labour and learned professions, they say, make women +masculine, coarse, unwomanly." + +"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." + +"You might be an old maid yourself, Caroline, you speak so earnestly." + +"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." + +Here fell a long pause. Shirley broke it. Again the name by which she +seemed bewitched was almost the first on her lips. + +"Lina--did not Moore call you Lina sometimes?" + +"Yes. It is sometimes used as the abbreviation of Caroline in his native +country." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"If he is, and always was, as indifferent to you as you say, why did he +steal your hair?" + +"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." + +"Caroline!" + +"I _do_ think myself a fool, Shirley, in some respects; I _do_ 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." + +"What a study of character you are--weak, certainly, but not in the +sense you think!--Come in!" + +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." + +"Bring candles," said Miss Keeldar. + +Caroline sat expectant. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS ON BUSINESS. + + +In 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. + +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. + +"Shirley, why do _you_ cry?" asked Caroline, involuntarily laying stress +on _you_. + +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." + +"Why should I weep gall?" + +"Mateless, solitary bird!" was the only answer. + +"And are not you too mateless, Shirley?" + +"At heart--no." + +"Oh! who nestles there, Shirley?" + +But Shirley only laughed gaily at this question, and alertly started up. + +"I have dreamed," she said, "a mere day-dream--certainly bright, +probably baseless!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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?" + +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 large bright gem glitters on the white hand +which confines it. Yes, that is Shirley. + +Her companion then is, of course, Mrs. Pryor? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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, how she shall at last +encounter, and by whom be sustained through death. + +"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." + +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. + +"I cannot conceive why nature did not give you a bulldog's head, for you +have all a bulldog's tenacity," said Shirley. + +"Not a flattering idea. Am I so ignoble?" + +"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." + +"This is guess-work. You have witnessed no such feat on my part. In your +presence I have been no bulldog." + +"Your very silence indicates your race. How little you talk in general, +yet how deeply you scheme! You are far-seeing; you are calculating." + +"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?" + +"I shall stand by you so long as you remain on the defensive. Yes." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I certainly feel it congenial." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I should be glad to have him; he is of true metal." + +"I think so also." + +"An old blade, and rusty somewhat, but the edge and temper still +excellent." + +"Well, you shall have him, Mr. Moore--that is, if I can win him." + +"Whom can you not win?" + +"Perhaps not the rector; but I will make the effort." + +"Effort! He will yield for a word--a smile." + +"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." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Yes; but Hortense and I have an understanding the most convenient in +the world, that we shall each do as we please." + +"How do you please to do?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I fear it is done," said Moore, in a low voice. + +"But there are worse things than fairies to be guarded against," pursued +Miss Keeldar. + +"Things more perilous," he subjoined. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Liked it? I admire your taste! Michael is not sane. Where did you meet +him?" + +"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." + +"On politics?" + +"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." + +"Excuse me, but I think you must have been nearly as mad as he, to sit +listening to him." + +"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.'" + +"Have you ever seen him since?" + +"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." + +"Do you make light of these things?" + +"The poor man had been drinking for weeks, and was in a state bordering +on delirium tremens." + +"What then? He is the more likely to attempt the fulfilment of his own +prophecies." + +"It would not do to permit incidents of this sort to affect one's +nerves." + +"Mr. Moore, go home!" + +"So soon?" + +"Pass straight down the fields, not round by the lade and plantations." + +"It is early yet." + +"It is late. For my part, I am going in. Will you promise me not to +wander in the Hollow to-night?" + +"If you wish it." + +"I do wish it. May I ask whether you consider life valueless?" + +"By no means. On the contrary, of late I regard my life as invaluable." + +"Of late?" + +"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." + +"Are you really rescued?" + +"For the time. Your assistance has given me another chance." + +"Live to make the best of it. Don't offer yourself as a target to +Michael Hartley; and good-night!" + + * * * * * + +Miss Helstone was under a promise to spend the evening 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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 churchyard, and that there +are graves under them. I rather long to leave the rectory." + +"My dear, you are surely not superstitious?" + +"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." + +"Strange!" cried Shirley. "I never feel so." Mrs. Pryor said nothing. + +"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." + +"You should take more exercise," said Mrs. Pryor. + +"Exercise! I exercise sufficiently. I exercise till I am ready to drop." + +"My dear, you should go from home." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And I believe I want severe duties to occupy me." + +"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?" + +"Indeed I do, Shirley; and I don't wish to leave you. I shall never find +another friend so dear." + +At which words Miss Keeldar put her hand into Caroline's with an +impulsively affectionate movement, which was well seconded by the +expression of her face. + +"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." + +"I _do_ like Shirley. I like her more and more every day. But that does +not make me strong or happy." + +"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." + +And Miss Keeldar paused, having uttered this prohibition very decidedly. +Soon she recommenced, still looking somewhat _courroucée_, "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." + +"I would write to you, Shirley." + +"And what are letters? Only a sort of _pis aller_. Drink some tea, +Caroline. Eat something--you eat nothing. Laugh and be cheerful, and +stay at home." + +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 eyes but her own, incomprehensible and fantastic, and +was opposed accordingly. + +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. + +"Now, is your mind quieted?" inquired Shirley. "Will you consent to stay +at home?" + +"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." + +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." + +"You are very good, Shirley." + +"I would be very good if you would let me. I have every disposition to +be good. It is my misfortune and 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." + +"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. + +"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. _I_ made her laugh; _I_ have +done her good." + +"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 _is_ a +delight." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And what will become of that inexpressible weight you said you had on +your mind?" + +"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,-- + + 'Strong against tides, the enormous whale + Emerges as he goes.'" + +"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." + +"I suppose you expect to see mermaids, Shirley?" + +"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 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?" + +"But, Shirley, she is not like us. We are neither temptresses, nor +terrors, nor monsters." + +"Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are men who ascribe +to 'woman,' in general, such attributes." + +"My dears," here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, "does it not strike you that +your conversation for the last ten minutes has been rather fanciful?" + +"But there is no harm in our fancies; is there, ma'am?" + +"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?" + +"I don't know," said Shirley. + +"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?" + +Shirley stepped to the window. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"You did right not to keep me in suspense," she said, "and your visit is +well timed. Sit down. We have not finished tea. Are you English enough +to relish tea, or do you faithfully adhere to coffee?" + +Moore accepted tea. + +"I am learning to be a naturalized Englishman," said he; "my foreign +habits are leaving me one by one." + +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 _seeming_ +but _real_ mastery of the feelings which had started into insurrection +at the first announcement of his name. + +He addressed his conversation to Miss Keeldar. + +"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." + +"And on their captain," interposed Shirley. + +"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. + +"No," returned Shirley, answering the smile; "Captain Gérard Moore, who +trusts much to the prowess of his own right arm, I believe." + +"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 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." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"How is Hortense?" asked Caroline softly. + +"Very well; but she complains of being unemployed. She misses you." + +"Tell her that I miss her, and that I write and read a portion of French +every day." + +"She will ask if you sent your love; she is always particular on that +point. You know she likes attention." + +"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." + +"What if I forget? I am not the surest messenger of compliments." + +"No, don't forget, Robert. It is no compliment; it is in good earnest." + +"And must, therefore, be delivered punctually." + +"If you please." + +"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." + +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 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. + +Miss Keeldar laid down the papers. + +"And are you glad or sad for all these menacing tidings?" she inquired +of her tenant. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +What I have just said are Caroline's ideas of the pair. She felt what +has just been described. In thus feeling she 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. + +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. + +"Good-night, Shirley!" + +Shirley started up. "What! so soon? Are you going already?" + +"It is past nine." + +"I never heard the clock. You will come again to-morrow, and you will be +happy to-night, will you not? Remember our plans." + +"Yes," said Caroline; "I have not forgotten." + +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. + +"Good-night!" she said, shaking like a leaf, offering her thin hand +hastily, anxious to part from him quickly. + +"You are going home?" he asked, not touching her hand. + +"Yes." + +"Is Fanny come for you?" + +"Yes." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +Caroline replied that she liked Shirley. + +"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?" + +"I suppose not, unless my uncle should change his mind." + +"Are you much alone now?" + +"Yes, a good deal. I have little pleasure in any society but Miss +Keeldar's." + +"Have you been quite well lately?" + +"Quite." + +"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?" + +"Yes; he is just as he always is." + +"Not too tender, that is to say--not too protective and attentive. And +what ails you, then? Tell me, Lina." + +"Nothing, Robert." But her voice faltered. + +"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?" + +"I do not know. Sometimes I almost fear it is." + +"But it ought not to have that effect. 'Should auld acquaintance be +forgot, and days o' lang syne?'" + +"Robert, I don't forget." + +"It is two months, I should think, Caroline, since you were at the +cottage." + +"Since I was _within_ it--yes." + +"Have you ever passed that way in your walk?" + +"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." + +"I wonder I never encountered you. I occasionally walk to the top of the +Hollow's fields after sunset." + +"I know you do. I had almost spoken to you one night, you passed so near +me." + +"Did I? I passed near you, and did not see you! Was I alone?" + +"I saw you twice, and neither time were you alone." + +"Who was my companion? Probably nothing but Joe Scott, or my own shadow +by moonlight." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You need fear no such infliction. I do not come near you; I only stand +afar off, watching what may become of you." + +"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." + +"I will never be where you would not wish me to be, nor see nor hear +what you would wish unseen and unheard." + +"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." + +"I shall not follow you into your mill, Robert, unless you call me +there." + +"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." + +"It was not my wraith, then? I almost thought it was." + +"No; only gauze, crockery, and pink blossom--a sample of earthly +illusions." + +"I wonder you have time for such illusions, occupied as your mind must +be." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Do you observe that? Certainly I am disentangled of some difficulties. +I have got clear of some shoals, and have more sea-room." + +"And, with a fair wind, you may now hope to make a prosperous voyage?" + +"I may _hope_ it--yes--but hope is deceptive. There is no controlling +wind or wave. Gusts and swells perpetually trouble the mariner's +course; he dare not dismiss from his mind the expectation of tempest." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But we cannot sit in the porch now, Robert." + +Caroline said this because Moore was turning her round towards it. + +"Perhaps not. But tell Fanny to go in. Say we are coming. A few minutes +will make no difference." + +The church clock struck ten. + +"My uncle will be coming out to take his usual sentinel round, and he +always surveys the church and churchyard." + +"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." + +"Robert, what good spirits you have! Go! go!" added Caroline hastily. "I +hear the front door----" + +"I don't want to go; on the contrary, I want to stay." + +"You know my uncle will be terribly angry. He forbade me to see you +because you are a Jacobin." + +"A queer Jacobin!" + +"Go, Robert, he is coming; I hear him cough." + +"Diable! It is strange--what a pertinacious wish I feel to stay!" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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 gaze, said "Good-night!" and went. + +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. + +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, 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." + +With returning silence, with the lull of the chime, and the retreat of +her small untamed and unknown _protégé_, 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS. + + +"Of 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 _are_ married," was +the cruel succeeding thought. "Oh! I shall be wholly forgotten! And +what--_what_ shall I do when Robert is taken quite from me? Where shall +I turn? _My_ 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 _will_ 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 _have_ loved, _do_ love, and _must___ 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." + +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 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." + +"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. + +"I was not in the humour," replied Miss Helstone, very truly. + +Shirley had already fixed on her a penetrating eye. + +"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?" + +"Do you mean to stay long, Shirley?" + +"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." + +And this she did, and then stood on the rug with her hands behind her. + +"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?" + +"I never do fear Shirley." + +"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?" + +"By ten." + +"Humph! You took three-quarters of an hour to walk a mile. Was it you, +or Moore, who lingered so?" + +"Shirley, you talk nonsense." + +"_He_ 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. I feel desperately irritated. I felt so last night, +and have felt it all day." + +"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." + +"Stuff, Shirley! Which would you have shot--me or Robert?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"You are mistaken," urged Caroline, in some anxiety. "Robert is no puppy +or male flirt; I can vouch for that." + +"_You_ 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"That is nothing. I am not a stranger, you know. I am an old +acquaintance, and his cousin." + +"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." + +"No, Shirley, no." + +"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." + +"Shirley, I can say anything you wish. Shirley, I like you." + +"You will wish me at Jericho to-morrow, Lina." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And unhappy people are rarely good. Is that what you mean?" + +"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." + +"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 is, _you only_--are near, Shirley. Do you +believe me now?" + +"I am always easy of belief when the creed pleases me. We really are +friends, then, Lina, in spite of the black eclipse?" + +"We really are," returned the other, drawing Shirley towards her, and +making her sit down, "chance what may." + +"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 _private_ 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." + +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 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." + +"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." + +"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 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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Some people say we shouldn't give alms to the poor, Shirley." + +"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." + +"But you do help others, Shirley. You give a great deal as it is." + +"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." + +"You talk like Robert." + +"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." + +"Shirley, how your eyes flash!" + +"Because my soul burns. Would you, any more than me, let Robert be borne +down by numbers?" + +"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." + +"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 _prevent_ 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." + +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. + +It was a bright day for Miss Ainley when she was summoned 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. + +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, _must_ 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. + +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. + +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, +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He generally sought Caroline in every party where she and he happened to +be. He was not in general a lady's 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 _tête-à-tête_. 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. + +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. + +Shirley opened the business and showed the plan. + +"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." + +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 _am_ led. Your +little female manœuvres don't blind me." + +"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." + +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 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. + +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 _bonne petite femme_ (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. + +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 _bon +vivant_--he was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; but +Boultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The _recherché_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MR. DONNE'S EXODUS. + + +The next day Shirley expressed to Caroline how delighted she felt that +the little party had gone off so well. + +"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 +_naïveté_ 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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +This question was a specimen of one of Shirley's sharp, 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. + +"Pique you? In what way does it pique you?" she said. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"O Malone, Malone!" + +"Down! down! down!" cried the high voice. + +"He really is worrying them!" exclaimed Shirley. "They have struck him. +A blow is what he is not used to, and will not take." + +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 +against his fellow--nothing so merciless as terror. But the other +fugitive struggled hard; the door was about to yield to his strength. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +Tartar seemed to think the visitor's descent effected with unwarranted +_éclat_, 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; 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. + +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 +_very_ 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. + +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 invited 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. 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. + +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." + +"Do you, Mr. Donne? Perhaps you will wonder more when I tell you I am +very fond of him." + +"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." + +"Hang what I am fond of!" + +"And purchase in his stead some sweetly pooty pug or poodle--something +appropriate to the fair sex. Ladies generally like lap-dogs." + +"Perhaps I am an exception." + +"Oh, you can't be, you know. All ladies are alike in those matters. That +is universally allowed." + +"Tartar frightened you terribly, Mr. Donne. I hope you won't take any +harm." + +"That I shall, no doubt. He gave me a turn I shall not soon forget. When +I _sor_ him" (such was Mr. Donne's pronunciation) "about to spring, I +thought I should have fainted." + +"Perhaps you did faint in the bedroom; you were a long time there." + +"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." + +"But what if your friend Mr. Malone had been worried?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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 _avec explosion_. 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. + +"What! Tartar, Tartar!" said a cheery, rather boyish voice, "don't you +know us? Good-morning, old boy!" + +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. + +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 Melanchthon. + +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. + +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 _was_ grateful for kindness and +attention--but he was glad of the safeguard. Miss Keeldar, desirous of +being impartial, offered the curates flowers. They accepted 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +"And," said Caroline, "you will promise to come to my table, and to sit +near me, Mr. Hall?" + +"I shall not fail, _Deo volente_," 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." + +"I was very grateful to you," interposed Caroline. + +"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." + +"And he has been my friend ever since," said Caroline. + +"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 me +hand in hand over Nunnely Common, I will not officiate. So take care." + +"The caution is useless. I am not going to be married. I shall live +single, like your sister Margaret, Mr. Hall." + +"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." + +"There are your flowers. Now," said Caroline, who had kept the nosegay +she had selected for him till this moment, "_you_ 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." + +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--." + +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." + +"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 +'_exaltation_' 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." + +"He is naturally rather sentimental," remarked Caroline. "Margaret told +me so, and I know what pleases him." + +"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 _comparative_ innocence; for in His +sight, I am well aware, _none_ are pure. What to our human perceptions +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." + +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." + +"Well," said Shirley nonchalantly, "what is it? I listen. All of me is +ear that is not eye." + +"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----" + +"You should have gone to Mrs. Gill; she is my almoner." + +"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." + +"But I have nothing to do with Ecclefigg. I possess no property there." + +"What does that signify? You're a churchwoman, ain't you?" + +"Admirable creature!" muttered Shirley, under her breath. "Exquisite +address! Fine style! What raptures he excites in me!" Then aloud, "I am +a churchwoman, certainly." + +"Then you can't refuse to contribute in this case. The population of +Ecclefigg are a parcel of brutes; we want to civilize them." + +"Who is to be the missionary?" + +"Myself, probably." + +"You won't fail through lack of sympathy with your flock." + +"I hope not--I expect success; but we must have money. There is the +paper. Pray give a handsome sum." + +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. + +"At present I shall give no more," said she. + +"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." + +She was silent. + +"In the south," went on Donne, "a lady with a thousand a year would be +ashamed to give five pounds for a public object." + +Shirley, so rarely haughty, looked so now. Her slight frame became +nerved; her distinguished face quickened with scorn. + +"Strange remarks?" said she--"most inconsiderate! Reproach in return for +bounty is misplaced." + +"Bounty! Do you call five pounds bounty?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Wretched place this Yorkshire," he went on. "I could never have formed +an idea_r_ of the country had I not seen it. And the people--rich and +poor--what a set! How _corse_ and uncultivated! They would be scouted in +the south." + +Shirley leaned forwards on the table, her nostrils dilating a little, +her taper fingers interlaced and compressing each other hard. + +"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!" + +"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 +_shall_ not, in my house." + +Up she rose--nobody could control her now, for she was +exasperated--straight she walked to her garden gates, wide she flung +them open. + +"Walk through," she said austerely, "and pretty quickly, and set foot on +this pavement no more." + +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"? + +"Rid me of you instantly--instantly!" reiterated Shirley, as he +lingered. + +"Madam--a clergyman! turn out a clergyman!" + +"Off! Were you an archbishop you have proved yourself no gentleman, and +must go. Quick!" + +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. 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. + +"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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +WHITSUNTIDE. + + +The 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! + +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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Do you? Pray, what vision?" + +"I see----" + +The maid came bustling in with the tea-things. + +The early part of that May, as we have seen, was fine; the middle was +wet; but in the last week, at change of 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. + +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. + +Why Briarfield was chosen for the point of rendezvous--the scene of the +_fête_--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 Nunnwood, 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 _could_ not, the +latter _would_ not, dispute a point of precedence with their resolute +and imperious brother. They let him lead and rule. + +This notable anniversary had always hitherto been a trying day to +Caroline Helstone, because it dragged her 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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 profiteers by her good-nature and vivacity. + +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. + +"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. I don't like him. He irritates me. There +is not even amusement to be had out of him. Malone is better sport." + +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 _grande tenue_, 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 _half_ 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. + +"Peter _is_ worth a scene, and shall have it, if he likes, one day," she +whispered to her friend. + +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 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 _voix +de poitrine_ 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. + +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. + +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 _en masse_. + +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 there was an interval, wherein Helstone posted the +teachers in pairs. To the van of the armies he summoned,-- + +"Grace Boultby and Mary Sykes lead out Whinbury. + +"Margaret Hall and Mary Ann Ainley conduct Nunnely. + +"Caroline Helstone and Shirley Keeldar head Briarfield." + +Then again he gave command,-- + +"Mr. Donne to Whinbury; Mr. Sweeting to Nunnely; Mr. Malone to +Briarfield." + +And these gentlemen stepped up before the lady-generals. + +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. + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE SCHOOL FEAST. + + +Not 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Miss Keeldar looked. "I see," she said; then added 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?" + +"Perhaps they are only exercising their horses." + +"Perhaps so. We see them no more now." + +Mr. Helstone here spoke. + +"We shall pass through Royd Lane, to reach Nunnely Common by a short +cut," said he. + +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. + +"What is the matter?" was the demand. + +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. + +"Is it our double?" asked Shirley, "our manifold wraith? Here is a card +turned up." + +"If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one--at least of looks," +whispered Caroline, laughing. + +"They shall not pass us!" cried the curates unanimously; "we'll not give +way!" + +"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?" + +"She asks what is it." + +"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." + +"Bad manners!" said Shirley, "and I hate bad manners. Of course, they +must have a lesson." + +"A lesson in politeness," suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace; +"not an example of rudeness." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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 +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _élite_ of the 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. + +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 _manège_ 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!" + +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 _contagious_--a malapropism which +rumour had not failed to repeat to Shirley. + +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 _chapeau en satin jaune_; +she knew the black hair, and the kindly though rather opinionated and +froward-looking face under it; she knew that _robe de soie noire_, she +knew even that _schall gris de lin_; 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." + +And when she _could_ 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. + +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 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. + +"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 _vis-à-vis_, and you will sit +with your back towards us." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _bonté_ (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 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. + +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. + +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 _on_ 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. + +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. + +"Let us go to the top of the fields," she said. "I know you don't like +crowds, Caroline." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Hush, Shirley! you flatter me." + +"I don't wonder that your scholars like you." + +"Nonsense, Shirley! Talk of something else." + +"We will talk of Moore, then, and we will watch him. I see him even +now." + +"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 irides, or rather, perhaps, she +only sought guidance by the direction of those discriminating and +brilliant spheres. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _he_ is summoned, +be sure a strong arm is needed." + +Shirley, as she watched, grew restless; her eyes flashed. + +"They won't trust me," she said. "That is always the way when it comes +to the point." + +"What about?" + +"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." + +"Hard to _you_, Shirley?" + +"Yes, to _me_. He often is hard to me. We seldom converse _tête-à-tête_ +but I am made to feel that the basis of his character is not of eider +down." + +"Yet he seemed to talk to you softly." + +"Did he not? Very gentle tones and quiet manner. Yet the man is +peremptory and secret: his secrecy vexes me." + +"Yes, Robert is secret." + +"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." + +"He fears, probably, to occasion you uneasiness." + +"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." + +"If we keep on the alert, Shirley, we shall perhaps find the clue to +their secret." + +"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." + +"I will. Robert is going; I saw him turn. I believe he noticed us. They +are shaking hands." + +"Shaking hands, with emphasis," added Shirley, "as if they were +ratifying some solemn league and covenant." + +They saw Robert quit the group, pass through a gate, and disappear. + +"And he has not bid us good-bye," murmured Caroline. + +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. + +"Oh, that is soon remedied!" exclaimed Shirley: "we'll _make_ him bid us +good-bye." + +"_Make_ him! That is not the same thing," was the answer. + +"It _shall_ be the same thing." + +"But he is gone; you can't overtake him." + +"I know a shorter way than that he has taken. We will intercept him." + +"But, Shirley, I would rather not go." + +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---- + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Come, don't moralize. Say good-night, and pass," urged Shirley. + +"Must I say good-night to you, Miss Keeldar?" + +"Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I hope. You have bid +us both good-night before." + +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. + +"Your debtor bids you good-night! May you rest safely and serenely till +morning." + +"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." + +"Who can resist you? I will be frank. To-morrow, if there is anything to +relate, you shall hear it." + +"Just now," pleaded Shirley; "don't procrastinate." + +"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." + +"But are you going home?" + +"Yes." + +"Not to leave it any more to-night?" + +"Certainly not. At present, farewell to both of you." + +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. + +"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." + +"I hope not," was the brief reply. + +"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?" + +"He perceives all of it that interests him. No need to make a display of +feeling." + +"You are laconic; you would be stoical if you could. Is love, in your +eyes, a crime, Caroline?" + +"Love a crime! No, Shirley; love is a divine virtue. But why drag that +word into the conversation? It is singularly irrelevant." + +"Good!" pronounced Shirley. + +The two girls paced the green lane in silence. Caroline first resumed. + +"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." + +"You describe three-fourths of the world, Caroline." + +"They are cold--they are cowardly--they are stupid on the subject, +Shirley! They never loved--they never were loved!" + +"Thou art right, Lina. And in their dense ignorance they blaspheme +living fire, seraph-brought from a divine altar." + +"They confound it with sparks mounting from Tophet." + +The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stopped the dialogue by +summoning all to the church. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +WHICH THE GENTEEL READER IS RECOMMENDED TO SKIP, LOW PERSONS BEING HERE +INTRODUCED. + + +The 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. + +"How pleasant and calm it is!" said Caroline. + +"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." + +"But my uncle will be angry if he observes our absence." + +"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." + +"And that is not Milton's Eve, Shirley." + +"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 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." + +"You are bold to say so, Shirley." + +"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.'" + +"All very well too, Shirley." + +"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----" + +"Pagan that you are! what does that signify?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I saw--I now see--a woman-Titan. Her robe of blue 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." + +"She is very vague and visionary. Come, Shirley, we ought to go into +church." + +"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." + +"I will humour your whim; but you will begin talking again ere ten +minutes are over." + +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. + +"Oh that the day would come when she would remember her child! Oh that I +might know her, and knowing, love her!" + +Such was her aspiration. + +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, 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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. + +"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 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. + +"Who was speaking, William, when you came out?" asked Shirley. + +"A gentleman ye set a deal of store on, Miss Shirley--Mr. Donne." + +"You look knowing, William. How did you find out my regard for Mr. +Donne?" + +"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." + +"Do you like him yourself, William?" + +"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." + +"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, 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!" + +"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 _my_ part, then, I think, to tak fro' +_ye_--to be under obligations (as they say) to _ye_. 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 +_ye_ 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." + +"I suppose you were angry with me, William?" + +"I almost was, in a way. But I forgave ye varry soon. Ye meant well. Ay, +_I am_ proud, and so are _ye_; 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." + +"What is the difference, William?" + +"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; _we_ 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; _we_ can hardly bide to tak an uncivil word fro' them that thinks +themseln aboon us." + +"Now, William, be humble enough to tell me truly how you are getting on +in the world. Are you well off?" + +"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 mine is content. But t' +neighbours is poor yet. I see a great deal of distress." + +"And, consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?" inquired Miss +Keeldar. + +"_Consequently_--ye say right--_consequently_. In course, starving folk +cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The country's not in a safe +condition--I'll say so mich!" + +"But what can be done? What more can I do, for instance?" + +"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." + +"William, for shame!" exclaimed Caroline warmly. "If folks _do_ 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." + +"I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart, yond' Moore." + +"But," interposed Shirley, "supposing Moore was driven from the country, +and his mill razed to the ground, would people have more work?" + +"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." + +"You won't tell us what overtures?" + +"I will not. It would do no good. It would mak no difference. Them they +concerned can look after theirseln." + +"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. + +"I'll warrant _ye_, Joe," observed William, smiling. + +"And I'll warrant my maister," was the answer.--"Young ladies," +continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, "ye'd better go into th' house." + +"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. + +"Because there is nought agate that fits women to be consarned in." + +"Indeed! There is prayer and preaching agate in that church. Are we not +concerned in that?" + +"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." + +"Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. Do you know I +see a newspaper every day, and two of a Sunday?" + +"I should think you'll read the marriages, probably, miss, and the +murders, and the accidents, and sich like?" + +"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." + +Joe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering of a pie. +He replied to it by a disdainful silence. + +"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?" + +"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 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." + +"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?" + +"The dews at this hour is unwholesome for females," observed Joe. + +"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." + +Joe Scott's chin was always rather prominent. He poked it out, at this +speech, some inches farther than usual. + +"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 _very +little_--selfish and short-sighted in our views, and rather _too_ +regardless of human suffering, rather heartless in our pursuit of gain. +Don't you agree with me, Joe?" + +"I cannot argue where I cannot be comprehended," was again the answer. + +"Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe. He is +not so stiff as you are." + +"Maybe not. We've all our own ways." + +"Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in +male skulls?" + +"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." + +"What doctrines, Joe?" + +"'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.'" + +"What has that to do with the business?" interjected Shirley. "That +smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll bring it up to Mr. Yorke the +first time he inveighs against those rights." + +"And," continued Joe Scott, "Adam was not deceived, but the woman being +deceived was in the transgression." + +"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." + +"It is very plain, miss. He that runs may read." + +"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?" + +"My certy, that I do! I allow and claim it for every line of the holy +Book." + +"Women may exercise it as well as men?" + +"Nay. Women is to take their husbands' opinion, both in politics and +religion. It's wholesomest for them." + +"Oh! oh!" exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline. + +"To be sure; no doubt on't," persisted the stubborn overlooker. + +"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." + +"And what is _your_ reading, Miss Helstone, o' these words o' St. +Paul's?" + +"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." + +"That willn't wash, miss." + +"I dare say it will. My notions are dyed in faster colours than yours, +Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly dogmatical person, and always +were. I like William better than you." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Nonsense, Joe!" + +"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." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A SUMMER NIGHT. + + +The hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favoured the kindling of the +stars. + +"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. + +"You must not go alone, Shirley; Fanny shall accompany you." + +"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." + +"But just wait till the crowd is cleared away." + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh, I want you!" he said. "I was afraid you were already +gone.--Caroline, come here." + +Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been +visible at church. Other subjects, however, occupied the rector's mind. + +"I shall not sleep at home to-night," he continued. "I have just met +with an old friend, and promised to accompany 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----" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"And what will Mrs. Pryor do? she expects me home." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _you_, 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?" + +"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?" + +"You could not wield a sword?" + +"No; I could manage the carving-knife better." + +"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." + +"It will suit Caroline. But you must give me a brace of pistols. I know +you have pistols." + +"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." + +"Loaded?" + +"Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying +you a great compliment, captain, to lend you these. Were you one of the +awkward squad you should not have them." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +She placed them on the table before her friend. + +"Why would you rather sit up longer?" asked Miss Keeldar, taking up the +firearms, examining them, and again laying them down. + +"Because I have a strange, excited feeling in my heart." + +"So have I." + +"Is this state of sleeplessness and restlessness caused by something +electrical in the air, I wonder?" + +"No; the sky is clear, the stars numberless. It is a fine night." + +"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." + +"I am glad it is so still a night. A moaning wind or rushing rain would +vex me to fever just now." + +"Why, Shirley?" + +"Because it would baffle my efforts to listen." + +"Do you listen towards the Hollow?" + +"Yes; it is the only quarter whence we can hear a sound just now." + +"The only one, Shirley." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I guess something." + +"All those gentlemen--your cousin Moore included--think that you and I +are now asleep in our beds, unconscious." + +"Caring nothing about them--hoping and fearing nothing for them," added +Caroline. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Halt!" + +A halt followed. The march was arrested. Then came a low conference, of +which no word was distinguishable from the dining-room. + +"We _must_ hear this," said Shirley. + +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. 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,-- + +"It looks a rambling old building. Who lives in it besides the damned +parson?" + +"Only three women--his niece and two servants." + +"Do you know where they sleep?" + +"The lasses behind; the niece in a front room." + +"And Helstone?" + +"Yonder is his chamber. He was burning a light, but I see none now." + +"Where would you get in?" + +"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." + +"How would you manage about the women folk?" + +"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." + +"Has he arms?" + +"Firearms, allus--and allus loadened." + +"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." + +"You might go on, I tell you. I'd engage Helstone alone." + +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. + +"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!" + +Forward they went--tramp, tramp--with mustering, manifold, slow-filing +tread. They were gone. + +Shirley stood erect, looked over the wall, along the road. + +"Not a soul remains," she said. + +She stood and mused. "Thank God!" was the next observation. + +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. + +"Thank God for us!" she reiterated. "But what will happen elsewhere? +They have passed us by that they may make sure of others." + +"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." + +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." + +"To the Hollow, Shirley?" + +"To the Hollow. Will you go with me?" + +"Where those men are gone?" + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Yes--no--because you wish it." + +"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." + +"To be sure! I am a blind, weak fool, and you are acute and sensible, +Shirley. I will go with you; I will gladly go with you!" + +"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." + +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." + +"But you cannot climb walls?" + +"To-night I can." + +"You are afraid of hedges, and the beck which we shall be forced to +cross?" + +"I can cross it." + +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. + +"I will carry you across," said Miss Keeldar. "You are light, and I am +not weak. Let me try." + +"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 +aglow with bonfires, would not have stopped them, nor would Calder or +Aire thundering in flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Surely he is prepared. Surely that is not Moore meeting them alone?" +whispered Shirley. + +"It is. We must go to him. I _will_ go to him." + +"_That_ you will not." + +"Why did I come, then? I came only for him. I shall join him." + +"Fortunately it is out of your power. There is no entrance to the yard." + +"There _is_ a small entrance at the back, besides the gates in front. It +opens by a secret method which I know. I will try it." + +"Not with my leave." + +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." + +"I would not trouble--I would help him," was the reply. + +"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." + +"It is natural that I should be at his side." + +"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." + +"I _could_ help him; I _will_ seek him." + +"Off then--I let you go--seek Moore. You'll not find him." + +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. + +But there _was_ a mistake. Miss Helstone paused, hesitated, gazed. The +figure had suddenly retreated from the gate, and was running back +hastily to the mill. + +"Make haste, Lina!" cried Shirley; "meet him before he enters." + +Caroline slowly returned. "It is not Robert," she said. "It has neither +his height, form, nor bearing." + +"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 _toute éperdue_, 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." + +"I wonder if there are many in the mill, Shirley!" + +"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." + +"What are they doing now, Shirley? What is that noise?" + +"Hatchets and crowbars against the yard gates. They are forcing them. +Are you afraid?" + +"No; but my heart throbs fast. I have a difficulty in standing. I will +sit down. Do you feel unmoved?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Forwards against Robert; and they hate him. Shirley, is there much +danger they will win the day?" + +"We shall see. Moore and Helstone are of 'earth's first blood'--no +bunglers--no cravens----" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What next?" was the question of the listeners. Nothing came yet. The +mill remained mute as a mausoleum. + +"He _cannot_ be alone!" whispered Caroline. + +"I would stake all I have that he is as little alone as he is alarmed," +responded Shirley. + +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. + +"Moore speaks at last!" said Shirley, "and he seems to have the gift of +tongues. That was not a single voice." + +"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." + +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." + +"To the counting-house!" was the order again. + +"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. + +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. + +Both the girls felt their faces glow and their pulses throb; both knew +they would do no good by rushing down into the _mêlée_. 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. + +"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. + +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. + +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 into the yard, they +quickly stepped aside into a shed, the deposit of old iron and timber, +whence they could see without being seen. + +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. + +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. + +"This is what I wished to prevent," she said, in a voice whose cadence +betrayed the altered impulse of her heart. + +"But you could not prevent it; you did your best--it was in vain," said +Caroline comfortingly. "Don't grieve, Shirley." + +"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?" + +"It is, and there is Mr. Malone; and, O Shirley, there is Robert!" + +"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." + +"He is coming here towards us, Shirley!" + +"Towards the pump, that is to say, for the purpose of washing his hands +and his forehead, which has got a scratch, I perceive." + +"He bleeds, Shirley. Don't hold me. I must go." + +"Not a step." + +"He is hurt, Shirley!" + +"Fiddlestick!" + +"But I _must_ go to him. I wish to go so much. I cannot bear to be +restrained." + +"What for?" + +"To speak to him, to ask how he is, and what I can do for him." + +"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?" + +"Am I always to be curbed and kept down?" demanded Caroline, a little +passionately. + +"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." + +"You think he would not like it, Shirley?" + +"Far less than he would like our stopping him to say good-night, which +you were so sore about." + +"But that was all play; there was no danger." + +"And this is serious work; he must be unmolested." + +"I only wish to go to him because he is my cousin--you understand?" + +"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." + +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. + +Caroline was not yet pacified. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"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 greatness and goodness; so do I, in one sense, +but in another I feel _so_ 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." + +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." + +"I did it with a good intention," returned Miss Keeldar. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +TO-MORROW. + + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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; calls on all +these gods for aid, calls vainly--is unheard, unhelped, and languishes. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. They +imagined we little knew where they were to-night. We _know_ they little +conjectured where we were. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds something +like those of children. Now, that is a mistake." + +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. + +"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." + +"Shirley, you chatter so, I can't fasten you. Be still. And, after all, +authors' heroines are almost as good as authoresses' heroes." + +"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." + +"To be sure. You could not write cleverly enough. You don't know enough. +You are not learned, Shirley." + +"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." + +They descended to breakfast. + +"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." + +"Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have contrived to get his sister +out of the way. She went home with Miss 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." + +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. + +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. + +"There are not two opinions on that head," said Shirley, as she tied on +her own bonnet, and then ran to fetch Caroline's. + +"But what will Fanny and Eliza do? And if my uncle returns?" + +"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' into +energetic measures. I only hope they will not be too severe--not pursue +the discomfited too relentlessly." + +"Robert will not be cruel. We saw that last night," said Caroline. + +"But he will be hard," retorted Shirley; "and so will your uncle." + +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 _is_, or _was_, 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." + +"We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been at your mill, +mistress," replied a man. + +"Talking a bit! Just like you!" said Shirley. "It is a queer thing all +the world is so fond of _talking_ over events. You _talk_ if anybody +dies suddenly; you _talk_ if a fire breaks out; you _talk_ if a +mill-owner fails; you _talk_ if he's murdered. What good does your +talking do?" + +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 thereof. The homely harshness of Miss Keeldar's +salutation won her the ear of the whole throng in a second. + +"We're no war nor some 'at is aboon us, are we?" asked a man, smiling. + +"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." + +"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday because we work +hard?" + +"_Never_," 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 _talk_ 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." + +Yorkshire people are as yielding to persuasion as they are stubborn +against compulsion. The yard was clear in five minutes. + +"Thank you, and good-bye to you, friends," said Shirley, as she closed +the gates on a quiet court. + +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. + +Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through the kitchen +(or _house_, 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. + +"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice, 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?" + +"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. + +"I think not, my dear." + +"And nothing for the wounded--no linen, no wine, no bedding?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +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 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. + +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. + +"How long is it since that message came from the mill?" + +"Not an hour yet, ma'am," answered the housekeeper soothingly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She moved off. + +"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." + +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. + +"This is a shame!" cried Shirley, running to her. "It will strain your +arm." + +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. + +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. + +"I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?" he said, examining with +rather significant scrutiny her still flushed face. + +She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment 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. + +"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 _strange_ just now, till we have time to characterize it by a +more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what brings him here?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits, +demanded what had become of the wounded. + +"There was not a single man hurt on our side," was the answer. + +"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. + +"Are you much hurt?" she inquired. + +"As you might scratch your finger with a needle in sewing." + +"Lift your hair and let us see." + +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. + +"How did she know I was hurt?" asked Moore. + +"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?" + +"One of the rioters, or victims as you call them, was killed, and six +were hurt." + +"What have you done with them?" + +"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'." + +"Straw! You must have beds and bedding. I will send my wagon directly, +properly furnished; and Mr. Yorke, I am sure, will send his." + +"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 _victims_ 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 _very_ +plain old maid, sent in a stock of lint and linen, something in the +proportion of another lady's allowance of beef and wine." + +"That will do. Where is your sister?" + +"Well cared for. I had her securely domiciled with Miss Mann. This very +morning the two set out for Wormwood Wells [a noted watering-place], +and will stay there some weeks." + +"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 +outmanoeuvring you would be unknown. Ah, friend, you may search my +countenance, but you cannot read it." + +Moore, indeed, looked as if he could not. + +"You think me a dangerous specimen of my sex. Don't you now?" + +"A peculiar one, at least." + +"But Caroline--is she peculiar?" + +"In her way--yes." + +"Her way! What is her way?" + +"You know her as well as I do." + +"And knowing her, I assert that she is neither eccentric nor difficult +of control. Is she?" + +"That depends----" + +"However, there is nothing masculine about _her_?" + +"Why lay such emphasis on _her_? Do you consider her a contrast, in that +respect, to yourself?" + +"You do, no doubt; but that does not signify. Caroline is neither +masculine, nor of what they call the spirited order of women." + +"I have seen her flash out." + +"So have I, but not with manly fire. It was a short, vivid, trembling +glow, that shot up, shone, vanished----" + +"And left her scared at her own daring. You describe others besides +Caroline." + +"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." + +"What have you and she been doing?" asked Moore suddenly. + +"Have you had any breakfast?" + +"What is your mutual mystery?" + +"If you are hungry, Mrs. Gill will give you something to eat here. Step +into the oak parlour, and ring the bell. You will be served as if at an +inn; or, if you like better, go back to the Hollow." + +"The alternative is not open to me; I _must_ go back. Good-morning. The +first leisure I have I will see you again." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +MRS. PRYOR. + + +While 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. + +"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." + +A gentle knock was here heard at the door. It was half opened. + +"Caroline, come here," said a low voice. + +Miss Helstone went out. There stood Shirley in the gallery, looking +contrite, ashamed, sorry as any repentant child. + +"How is Mrs. Pryor?" she asked. + +"Rather out of spirits," said Caroline. + +"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." + +Caroline discharged the errand with heartfelt pleasure. Mrs. Pryor rose, +came to the door. She did not like scenes; she dreaded them as all +timid people do. She said falteringly, "Come in, my dear." + +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 +_must_ forgive me, Mrs. Pryor. I could not get on at all if there was a +misunderstanding between you and me." + +"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." + +And that was the painful feeling which _would_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 perceives the public disposed to +acknowledge his merits, will show a more gracious mien than that with +which he has hitherto favoured us." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What would Moore have done if nobody had helped him?" asked Shirley. + +"Drunk as he'd brewed, eaten as he'd baked." + +"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." + +"He had the soldiers, those poor slaves who hire out their own blood and +spill other folk's for money." + +"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 parish should have looked on, and seen the +building razed and its owner slaughtered, and never stirred a finger to +save either." + +"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." + +"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 _you_ 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?" + +"Come, come now, be cool," said Mr. Yorke, smiling at the earnestness +with which Shirley multiplied her rapid questions. + +"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 _cant_ 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 tyrannies +disguised as liberties, I reject and wash my hands of. _You_ think you +are a philanthropist; _you_ 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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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 _can_ do. I have to say +that your views, and those of most extreme politicians, are such as none +but men in an irresponsible position _can_ 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 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 _you_ are of the number." + +"You have an ill opinion of me, Miss Shirley. You never told me so much +of your mind before." + +"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." + +"Not to the poor, lass, nor to the meek of the earth; only to the proud +and high-minded." + +"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." + +"And when is it to be?" said Mr. Yorke, now rising. + +"When is what to be?" + +"The wedding." + +"Whose wedding?" + +"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." + +Shirley gazed at the questioner with rising colour. But the light in her +eye was not faltering; it shone steadily--yes, it burned deeply. + +"That is your revenge," she said slowly; then added, "Would it be a bad +match, unworthy of the late Charles Cave Keeldar's representative?" + +"My lass, Moore is a gentleman; his blood is pure and ancient as mine or +thine." + +"And we two set store by ancient blood? We have family pride, though one +of us at least is a republican?" + +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. + +"Moore _is_ 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. _She_ enjoyed the moment, not _he_. + +"And if Moore _is_ a gentleman, you _can_ be only a lady; therefore----" + +"Therefore there would be no inequality in our union." + +"None." + +"Thank you for your approbation. Will you give me away when I relinquish +the name of Keeldar for that of Moore?" + +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. + +"I don't understand thee," he said, turning away. + +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?" + +"Moore may settle his own matters henceforward for me; I'll neither +meddle nor make with them further." + +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?" + +"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!" + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"That is--the evil of the day--that is--your uncle perhaps is not--you +find it difficult to understand--he does not appreciate----" + +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. + +"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 _living_ to measure time as I do at the rectory. The hours +pass, and I get them over somehow, but I do not _live_. 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. + +"How untrue? You are fond of Miss Keeldar, are you not, my dear?" + +"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." + +"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;' _why_, 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 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. + +"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. _She_' (Miss +H.) 'had neither view, hope, nor _wish_ 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.' + +"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.' + +"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." + +"I remember," continued Mrs. Pryor, after a pause, "another of Miss H.'s +observations, which she would utter with quite a grand air. 'WE,' she +would say--'WE need the imprudences, extravagances, mistakes, and crimes +of a certain number of fathers to sow the seed from which WE reap the +harvest of governesses. The daughters of trades-people, however well +educated, must necessarily be underbred, and as such unfit to be +inmates of OUR dwellings, or guardians of OUR children's minds and +persons. WE shall ever prefer to place those about OUR offspring who +have been born and bred with somewhat of the same refinement as +OURSELVES.'" + +"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." + +"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." + +They both rose, and slowly paced a green natural terrace bordering the +chasm. + +"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." + +And she stopped. Caroline came to her relief with promptitude, showing a +great deal more self-possession and courage than herself on the +formidable topic now broached. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"But not love! Love is real--the most real, the most lasting, the +sweetest and yet the bitterest thing we know." + +"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." + +"Yes, it tortures through time," agreed Caroline, "except when it is +mutual love." + +"Mutual love! My dear, romances are pernicious. You do not read them, I +hope?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"But it is not always slough," objected Caroline. "There are happy +marriages. Where affection is reciprocal and sincere, and minds are +harmonious, marriage _must_ be happy." + +"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." + +"You echo my uncle's words!" exclaimed Caroline, in a tone of dismay. +"You speak like Mrs. Yorke in her most gloomy moments, like Miss Mann +when she is most sourly and hypochondriacally disposed. This is +terrible!" + +"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!" + +"And, alas! my own mother and father----" exclaimed Caroline, struck by +a sombre recollection. + +"What of them?" + +"Did I never tell you that they were separated?" + +"I have heard it." + +"They must, then, have been very miserable." + +"You see all _facts_ go to prove what I say." + +"In this case there ought to be no such thing as marriage." + +"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." + +"But your own marriage, Mrs. Pryor?" + +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. + +"My marriage was unhappy," said the lady, summoning courage at last; +"but yet----" She hesitated. + +"But yet," suggested Caroline, "not immitigably wretched?" + +"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----" + +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. + +"And then, my dear, Mr.--that is, the gentleman I married--was, perhaps, +rather an exceptional than an 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." + +"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." + +"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 _will_ 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?" + +And with these two abrupt questions she stopped. + +"Indeed, I _do_ love you," was the reply. "I should like to live with +you. But you are too kind." + +"All I have," went on Mrs. Pryor, "I would leave to you. You should be +provided for. But never again say I am _too kind_. You pierce my heart, +child!" + +"But, my dear madam--this generosity--I have no claim----" + +"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 past, but perhaps a brief space in the future may +yet be mine." + +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." + +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. + +"Poor thing!" she murmured, returning Caroline's kiss, "poor lonely +lamb! But come," she added abruptly--"come; we must go home." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +TWO LIVES. + + +Only 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +While the summer thus passed with Moore, how did it lapse with Shirley +and Caroline? Let us first visit the 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? + +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. + +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. 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. + +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. + +"My dear, you had better not have that great dog so near you; he is +crushing the border of your dress." + +"Oh, it is only muslin. I can put a clean one on to-morrow." + +"My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting to a table when +you read." + +"I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable to do as one has +always been accustomed to do." + +"My dear, let me beg of you to put that book down. You are trying your +eyes by the doubtful firelight." + +"No, ma'am, not at all; my eyes are never tired." + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +"How did she like her relatives?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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 _her_ solitude. + +"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, +blank, pale, slow-trailing thing it often becomes to many, and is +becoming to me among the rest. + +"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 _impotent_, 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 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 _she_ 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. _That_ 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 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +AN EVENING OUT. + + +One 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!" + +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. + +"Joe Scott's son, Harry, brought it," said Fanny. + +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. + +"Harry Scott! who sent him?" + +"He came from the Hollow." + +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 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. + +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." + +"Silence!" was her austere response; but she loved the comforter and the +consolation. + +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 _her_ 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 young ladies to fall in love with their brothers. +It seems, if not presumptuous, silly, weak, a delusion, an absurd +mistake. _They_ 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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +There was no mistake, however; Miss Moore _was_ 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 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Jessie, curb that tongue of yours, and repress your forwardness!" said +Mrs. Yorke. + +"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." + +"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, and then +again casting down her gray, remarkable eyes on the book and returning +to the study of its pages. + +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." + +Caroline read on with her, making no remark. Presently Rose showed her +the attention of asking, ere she turned the leaf, "Are you ready?" + +Caroline only nodded. + +"Do you like it?" inquired Rose ere long. + +"Long since, when I read it as a child, I was wonderfully taken with +it." + +"Why?" + +"It seemed to open with such promise--such foreboding of a most strange +tale to be unfolded." + +"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." + +"You are sensible of that, Rose?" + +"It makes me long to travel, Miss Helstone." + +"When you are a woman, perhaps, you may be able to gratify your wish." + +"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." + +"How much of its outside?" + +"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." + +"Like mine! what can you mean, child?" + +"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?" + +"I sew, I read, I learn lessons." + +"Are you happy?" + +"Should I be happy wandering alone in strange countries as you wish to +do?" + +"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." + +"Is change necessary to happiness?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it synonymous with it?" + +"I don't know; but I feel monotony and death to be almost the same." + +Here Jessie spoke. + +"Isn't she mad?" she asked. + +"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." + +"Does 'The Italian' so end?" + +"I thought so when I read it." + +"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!" + +"Rose," observed Mrs. Yorke, "solid satisfaction is only to be realized +by doing one's duty." + +"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 _not_ deposit it in +a broken-spouted teapot, and shut it up in a china closet among +tea-things. I will _not_ commit it to your work-table to be smothered in +piles of woollen hose. I will _not_ 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." + +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." + +"Rose, did you bring your sampler with you, as I told you?" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Sit down, and do a line of marking." + +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?" + +"No, mother." + +"Yet, as far as I understood your tirade, it was a protest against all +womanly and domestic employment." + +"You misunderstood it, mother. I should be sorry not to learn to sew. +You do right to teach me, and to make me work." + +"Even to the mending of your brothers' stockings and the making of +sheets?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is the use of ranting and spouting about it, then?" + +"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." + +"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 _will_, and I will _not_!'" + +"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." + +"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 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." + +"But with love it need not be so very difficult," interposed Caroline. +"Mothers love their children most dearly--almost better than they love +themselves." + +"Fine talk! very sentimental! There is the rough, practical part of life +yet to come for you, young miss." + +"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." + +"You _feel_! Yes, yes! I dare say, now. You are led a great deal by your +_feelings_, 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?" + +"No; I am not at all aware of that, Mrs. Yorke." + +"Look in the glass just behind you. Compare the face you see there with +that of any early-rising, hard-working milkmaid." + +"My face is a pale one, but it is _not_ 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." + +"Oh no! you would be influenced by your feelings; you would be guided by +impulse." + +"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 _must_ and _shall_ +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." + +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 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?" + +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. + +"Straightforward Miss Moore!" said she patronizingly. "It is like you to +understand my question so literally and answer it so simply. _Your_ 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." + +These equivocal compliments did not seem to please Hortense. She drew +herself up, puckered her black eyebrows, but still looked puzzled. + +"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. + +"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." + +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 of the herd." Lowering her large head she made a new charge. + +"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?" + +"Of which cousin's?" + +"Oh, of the lady's, _of course_." + +"Hortense is, and always has been, most kind to me." + +"Every sister with an eligible single brother is considered most kind by +her spinster friends." + +"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?" + +"To give you a lesson on the cultivation of rectitude, to disgust you +with craft and false sentiment." + +"Do I need this lesson?" + +"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." + +"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 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." + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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, 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. + +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." + +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. + +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 comments +on the theme--genuine as uttered by his Yorkshire lips. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 the fire-tinged blue +of an August sky at eight o'clock p.m. + +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. + +"So must I," thought Caroline, as she half rose and sighed. + +"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." + +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 _cortége_ of relatives. + +"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 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." + +"How to oblige Robert and you?" inquired Caroline. + +"Why, my child, you are dull. Don't you know--you must often have +heard----" + +"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." + +"Les confitures! Elles sont brûlées? Ah, quelle négligence coupable! +Coquine de cuisinière, fille insupportable!" + +And mademoiselle, hastily taking from a drawer a large linen apron, and +tying it over her black apron, rushed _éperdue_ into the kitchen, +whence, to speak truth, exhaled an odour of calcined sweets rather +strong than savoury. + +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. + +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?" + +None answered. + +"And," he continued pragmatically, "as t' maister's comed, and as he'll +enter through this hoyle, I _con_sidered it desirable to step in and let +ye know. A household o' 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." + +Another person, it was now audible, entered. Joe Scott proceeded with +his rebukes. + +"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." + +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. + +"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Est-ce que je m'y attendais?" were the words +chiefly to be distinguished. + +"Et tu te portes toujours bien, bonne sœur?" inquired another +voice--Robert's, certainly. + +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. + +"Caroline! Caroline!" called Hortense, a moment afterwards, "venez voir +mon frère!" + +"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?" + +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. + +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, 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. + +"What is the matter?" said Caroline. "Is my sight wrong? Is it my +cousin?" + +"Certainly it is your cousin," asserted Hortense. + +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. + +"Well," said he, smiling at her questioning, astonished face, "which is +which?" + +"Ah, this is _you_!" was the answer. + +He laughed. "I believe it is _me_. And do you know who _he_ is? You +never saw him before, but you have heard of him." + +She had gathered her senses now. + +"It _can_ be only one person--your brother, since it is so like you; my +other cousin, Louis." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And I am Robert, am I not?" asked the newcomer, making a first effort +to overcome what seemed his natural shyness. + +Caroline shook her head gently. A soft, expressive ray from her eye +beamed on the real Robert. It said much. + +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 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 _had_ 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. + +"How could I think them alike?" she asked herself. "I see now it is +Hortense Louis resembles, not Robert." + +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. + +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 _only_, 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. + +But her enjoyment was not long to shine full-orbed; a cloud soon crossed +it. + +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. + +"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." + +It was a wonder to hear Hortense jest--a sign that her spirits were at +high-water mark indeed. + +"We are to understand, then, that Robert is the favourite?" observed +Louis. + +"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. + +Caroline was obliged to reply, "Yes," and her beacon was quenched. Her +star withdrew as she spoke. + +"Et toi, Robert?" inquired Louis. + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. + + +The 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"I think I am almost happy." + +"You wish to drink? Your lips are parched." + +She held a glass filled with some cooling beverage to her mouth. + +"Have you eaten anything to-day, Caroline?" + +"I cannot eat." + +"But soon your appetite will return; it _must_ return--that is, I pray +God it may." + +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. + +"I shall hardly wish to get well, that I may keep you always," said +Caroline. + +Mrs. Pryor did not smile at this speech. Over her features ran a tremor, +which for some minutes she was absorbed in repressing. + +"You are more used to Fanny than to me," she remarked ere long. "I +should think my attendance must seem strange, officious?" + +"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." + +"I am dexterous in nothing, my dear. You will often find me awkward, but +never negligent." + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to 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. + +"May I lie down again?" asked Caroline. + +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. + +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. + +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 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." + +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. + +"Oh, I _should_ see him once more before all is over! Heaven _might_ +favour me thus far!" she cried. "God grant me a little comfort before I +die!" was her humble petition. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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? + +"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. + +"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? + +"_Where is_ the other world? In _what_ 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, _give me_ FAITH!" + +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. + +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. + +"How is Mr. Robert?" asked Mrs. Pryor, as Hortense was preparing to take +leave. + +"He was very well when he left." + +"Left! Is he gone from home?" + +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. + +"He is not aware that Miss Helstone is very ill?" + +"Oh no! He thought, like me, that she had only a bad cold." + +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. + +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. + +"I smelt the honeysuckles in the glen this summer morning," she said, +"as I stood at the counting-house window." + +Strange words like these from pallid lips pierce a loving listener's +heart more poignantly than steel. They sound romantic, perhaps, in +books; in real life they are harrowing. + +"My darling, do you know me?" said Mrs. Pryor. + +"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." + +"My darling! my darling!" again and again repeated the nurse. + +"I thought it was daylight--long after sunrise. It looks dark. Is the +moon now set?" + +That moon, lately risen, was gazing full and mild upon her. Floating in +deep blue space, it watched her unclouded. + +"Then it is not morning? I am not at the cottage? Who is this? I see a +shape at my bedside." + +"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 +_her_ life, and _me_ strength! Send me courage! Teach me words!" + +Some minutes passed in silence. The patient lay mute and passive in the +trembling arms, on the throbbing bosom of the nurse. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I am thirsty. Let me drink." + +She drank eagerly. + +"What o'clock is it, ma'am?" she asked. + +"Past nine." + +"Not later? Oh! I have yet a long night before me. But the tea has made +me strong. I will sit up." + +Mrs. Pryor raised her, and arranged her pillows. + +"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." + +"Very fine--a perfect summer night. The old church-tower gleams white +almost as silver." + +"And does the churchyard look peaceful?" + +"Yes, and the garden also. Dew glistens on the foliage." + +"Can you see many long weeds and nettles amongst the graves? or do they +look turfy and flowery?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"For what, Caroline?" + +"You know I always delight to hear you sing. Sing me a hymn just now. +Sing that hymn which begins,-- + + 'Our God, our help in ages past, + Our hope for years to come, + Our shelter from the stormy blast, + Our refuge, haven, home!'" + +Mrs. Pryor at once complied. + +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. + +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 +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. + + "Thy word commands our flesh to dust,-- + 'Return, ye sons of men;' + All nations rose from earth at first, + And turn to earth again. + + "A thousand ages in Thy sight + Are like an evening gone-- + Short as the watch that ends the night + Before the rising sun. + + "Time, like an ever-rolling stream, + Bears all its sons away; + They fly, forgotten, as a dream + Dies at the opening day. + + "Like flowery fields, the nations stand, + Fresh in the morning light; + The flowers beneath the mower's hand + Lie withering ere 'tis night. + + "Our God, our help in ages past, + Our hope for years to come, + Be Thou our guard while troubles last-- + O Father, be our home!" + +"Now sing a song--a Scottish song," suggested Caroline, when the hymn +was over--"'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.'" + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +No answer followed. + +"Do you think I shall not get better? I do not feel _very_ ill--only +weak." + +"But your mind, Caroline--your mind is crushed. Your heart is almost +broken; you have been so neglected, so repulsed, left so desolate." + +"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." + +"Do you wish to live?" + +"I have no object in life." + +"You love me, Caroline?" + +"Very much--very truly--inexpressibly sometimes. Just now I feel as if I +could almost grow to your heart." + +"I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor, as she laid +Caroline down. + +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. + +"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 _that_ +heart is the source whence yours was filled; that from _my_ veins issued +the tide which flows in _yours_; that you are _mine_--my daughter--my +own child." + +"Mrs. Pryor----" + +"My own child!" + +"That is--that means--you have adopted me?" + +"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 _mine_." + +"But Mrs. James Helstone--but my father's wife, whom I do not remember +ever to have seen, she is my mother?" + +"She _is_ your mother. James Helstone was _my_ husband. I say you are +_mine_. I have proved it. I thought perhaps you were all his, which +would have been a cruel dispensation for me. I find it is _not_ so. God +permitted me to be the parent of my child's mind. It belongs to me; it +is my property--my _right_. 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 hair; he gave you the oval of +your face and the regularity of your lineaments--the outside _he_ +conferred; but the heart and the brain are _mine_. The germs are from +_me_, and they are improved, they are developed to excellence. I esteem +and approve my child as highly as I do most fondly love her." + +"Is what I hear true? Is it no dream?" + +"I wish it were as true that the substance and colour of health were +restored to your cheek." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"But if you _are_ my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely I +can live. I should like to recover----" + +"You _must_ 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." + +She held her to her bosom; she cradled her in her arms; she rocked her +softly, as if lulling a young child to sleep. + +"My mother--my own mother!" + +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. + +There was silence in the room for a long while. + + * * * * * + +"Does my uncle know?" + +"Your uncle knows. I told him when I first came to stay with you here." + +"Did you recognize me when we first met at Fieldhead?" + +"How could it be otherwise? Mr. and Miss Helstone being announced, I was +prepared to see my child." + +"It was that, then, which moved you. I saw you disturbed." + +"You saw nothing, Caroline; I can cover my feelings. 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." + +"Why? Were you disappointed?" + +"What will she be like? I had asked myself; and when I saw what you were +like, I could have dropped." + +"Mamma, why?" + +"I trembled in your presence. I said, I will never own her; she shall +never know me." + +"But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little diffident at the +thought of an introduction to strangers--that was all." + +"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." + +"You puzzle me." + +"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 +_have_ suffered!" + +She sank on the pillow. + +"I _have_ suffered! None saw--none knew. There was no sympathy, no +redemption, no redress!" + +"Take comfort, mother. It is over now." + +"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----" + +Thus she invoked her daughter after a pause. + +"Mother!" + +"I charge you, when you next look on your father's monument, to respect +the name chiselled there. To you he did only good. On you he conferred +his whole treasure of beauties, nor added to them one dark defect. All +_you_ 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!'" + +"Dearest mother, that is right! Can papa's spirit hear us? Is he +comforted to know that we still love him?" + +"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." + +"O mother, you must have suffered!" + +"O child, the human heart _can_ 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." + +"Mother, forget." + +"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." + +"Hush, mother! Rest! Be at peace!" + +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. + +"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, mamma, take your supper here. Don't leave me for one +minute to-night." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"How, mamma?" + +"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 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." + +"Mamma, why did you call yourself Mrs. Pryor?" + +"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 +occupation 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!" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +The rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs, and Mrs. Pryor +summoned him to his niece's apartment. + +"She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired hastily. + +"I think her better. She is disposed to converse; she seems stronger." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?" + +"Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?" + +Mrs. Pryor smiled. + +"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." + +"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." + +"No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my only physician. Now, do +you understand, uncle?" + +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?" + +"And is it _true_?" demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. "Is she +_really_ my mother?" + +"You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?" + +"Cry! I'd cry if you said _No_. It would be terrible to be disappointed +now. But give her a name. How do you call her?" + +"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." + +"And my mother?" + +"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." + +"If _wishing_ to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. This +morning I had no reason and no strength to wish it." + +Fanny here tapped at the door, and said that supper was ready. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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 her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, rugged +accent, "Good-night, bairnie! God bless thee!" + +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. + +As to the mother, she spent the night like Jacob at Peniel. Till break +of day she wrestled with God in earnest prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE WEST WIND BLOWS. + + +Not 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." + +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. + +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. + +"Mamma, I have slept _so_ well. I only dreamed and woke twice." + +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. + +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. + +There was always a touching endeavour to _appear_ 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. + +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 +_amour propre_. As for Robert, from Birmingham he had gone on to London, +where he still sojourned. + +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 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. + +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. + +Now, too, she was not always petitioning to drink. The words, "I am _so_ +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! + +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. + +William and she found plenty to talk about. They had a dozen topics in +common--interesting to them, unimportant 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. + +Had _Chambers's Journal_ 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. + +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. + +Mrs. Pryor, walking near, wondered how her daughter could be so much at +ease with a "man of the people." _She_ 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." + +"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." + +And Mrs. Pryor smiled sceptically at the naïve notion of that +rough-handed, rough-headed, fustian-clad clown having "fine feelings." + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +She liked to hear her daughter say, "Mamma, do this;" "Please, mamma, +fetch me that;" "Mamma, read to me;" "Sing a little, mamma." + +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. + +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 _dared_ lecture her, +that she was so much at home with her. + +"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, not a +satinet or any of the shams. And, mamma, when you get the new one, mind +you must wear it." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Does it annoy you, Caroline?" + +"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." + +And Caroline, sitting near her mother, rearranged her muslin +handkerchief and resmoothed her hair. + +"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." + +Mrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers and near approach, +allowed the license complacently. + +"Did papa give you this, mamma?" + +"My sister gave it me--my only sister, Cary. Would that your Aunt +Caroline had lived to see her niece!" + +"Have you nothing of papa's--no trinket, no gift of his?" + +"I have one thing." + +"That you prize?" + +"That I prize." + +"Valuable and pretty?" + +"Invaluable and sweet to me." + +"Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?" + +"It is talking to me now, leaning on me. Its arms are round me." + +"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." + +"Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half +fear your fair looks yet, child." + +"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?" + +"And if we could not trust each other, Cary?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Could you understand me, mamma? Did I seem to speak roughly?" + +"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." + +"Poor papa! When he was so agreeable, why was he not good?" + +"Why he was _as_ he was--and happily of that you, child, 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." + +"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." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +OLD COPY-BOOKS. + + +By 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. + +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." + +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!" + +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. + +"She may be better," it said, "but how weak she still is! What peril she +has come through!" + +Suddenly her glance reverted to Mrs. Pryor. It pierced her through. + +"When will my governess return to me?" she asked. + +"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. + +"Very good," was the cool comment--"very good! But it is no news to me." + +"What! did you know?" + +"I guessed long since the whole business. I have heard 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, 'Shirley, 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But papa is dead; they should let him alone now." + +"They should; and we _will_ 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." + +"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." + +"And you said nothing?" observed Caroline, who soon regained the quiet +control of her feelings. + +"Nothing. I had no warrant to breathe a word on the subject. _My_ +business it was not; I abstained from making it such." + +"You guessed so deep a secret, and did not hint that you guessed it?" + +"Is that so difficult?" + +"It is not like you." + +"How do you know?" + +"You are not reserved; you are frankly communicative." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +In the midst of this family circle, or rather outside it, moved the +tutor--the satellite. + +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. + +I should have said nothing could have equalled it; but I remember a fact +which strangely astonished Caroline Helstone. It was--to discover that +her cousin had absolutely _no_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +"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?" + +Shirley's reply was not so prompt as her responses usually were, but at +last she answered, "Yes--of course; I knew it well." + +"I thought you must have been aware of the circumstance." + +"Well! what then?" + +"It puzzles me to guess how it chanced that you never mentioned it to +me." + +"Why should it puzzle you?" + +"It seems odd. I cannot account for it. You talk a great deal--you talk +freely. How was that circumstance never touched on?" + +"Because it never was," and Shirley laughed. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 +_servile_ position? Do you wish that Robert's brother were more highly +placed?" + +"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. + +"Yes," repeated Caroline, with mild firmness, "Robert's brother. He _is_ +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." + +"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 +in the clustering creepers; and by that aperture Louis Moore was +visible, coming slowly down the walk. + +"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." + +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!--_id +est_, 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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +He put his hand in his pocket and drew it out empty. + +"A want easily supplied," whispered the listening Miss Keeldar. + +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. + +"There," said she--"there is a providence for the improvident." + +"This September afternoon is pleasant," observed Louis Moore, as, not at +all discomposed, he calmly cast the crumbs on to the grass. + +"Even for you?" + +"As pleasant for me as for any monarch." + +"You take a sort of harsh, solitary triumph in drawing pleasure out of +the elements and the inanimate and lower animate creation." + +"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." + +"And my roses smell sweet to you, and my trees give you shade." + +"And," continued Louis, "no caprice can withdraw these pleasures from +me; they are _mine_." + +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. + +"You see," remarked Caroline apologetically, "his feelings are so often +hurt it makes him morose." + +"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." + +"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." + + * * * * * + +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 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." + +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. + +"But he is so grave," objected Caroline. + +"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." + +"At Fieldhead he looks gloomy, and, I believe, has the character of +being misanthropical." + +"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." + +"I don't think Miss Keeldar likes him." + +"She doesn't know him--she doesn't know him; otherwise she has sense +enough to do justice to his merits." + +"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. + +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. "What rubbish Mr. Moore stores up in his desk!" he +said. "I hope he won't keep my old exercises so carefully." + +"What is it?" + +"Old copy-books." + +He threw the bundle to Caroline. The packet looked so neat externally +her curiosity was excited to see its contents. + +"If they are only copy-books, I suppose I may open them?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"They are Shirley's, you see," said Henry carelessly. + +"Did _you_ give them to Mr. Moore? She wrote them with Mrs. Pryor, I +suppose?" + +"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." + +"I know. Was she a good pupil, Henry?" + +"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." + +"Was she obedient? Did she give trouble?" + +"She gave plenty of trouble, in a way. She was giddy, but I liked her. +I'm desperately fond of Shirley." + +"_Desperately_ fond--you small simpleton! You don't know what you say." + +"I _am desperately_ fond of her. She is the light of my eyes. I said so +to Mr. Moore last night." + +"He would reprove you for speaking with exaggeration." + +"He didn't. He never reproves and reproves, as girls' governesses do. He +was reading, and he only smiled into 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." + +"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." + +"I shall be despised. I sometimes think both Shirley and you despise +me." + +"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." + +"I _am_ fond of reading. I know I have sense, and I know I have +feeling." + +Miss Keeldar here entered. + +"Henry," she said, "I have brought your lunch here. I shall prepare it +for you myself." + +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. + +"What are you two about," she continued, "ransacking Mr. Moore's desk?" + +"Looking at your old copy-books," returned Caroline. + +"My old copy-books?" + +"French exercise-books. Look here! They must be held precious; they are +kept carefully." + +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?" + +"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." + +"C'est cela. He forgot them, no doubt," echoed Shirley. "They are +extremely well written," she observed complacently. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +"You have not forgotten, then, Hal?" + +"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." + +"Where are his drawings, Harry? Caroline should see them." + +"In his portfolio. But it is padlocked; he has the key." + +"Ask him for it when he comes in." + +"You should ask him, Shirley. You are shy of him now. You are grown a +proud lady to him; I notice that." + +"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." + +"I have forgotten 'auld lang syne,' you see, Harry," said Miss Keeldar, +answering young Sympson, and not heeding Caroline. + +"Which you never should have done. You don't deserve to be a man's +morning star if you have so short a memory." + +"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." + +The young cripple rose and limped towards the fire; he had left his +crutch near the mantelpiece. + +"My poor lame darling!" murmured Shirley, in her softest voice, aiding +him. + +"Whether do you like me or Mr. Sam Wynne best, Shirley?" inquired the +boy, as she settled him in an arm-chair. + +"O Harry, Sam Wynne is my aversion; you are my pet." + +"Me or Mr. Malone?" + +"You again, a thousand times." + +"Yet they are great whiskered fellows, six feet high each." + +"Whereas, as long as you live, Harry, you will never be anything more +than a little pale lameter." + +"Yes, I know." + +"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?" + +"Admiral Horatio?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"An author! It is a flash--a flash of light to me! I will--I _will_! +I'll write a book that I may dedicate it to you." + +"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!" + +"Willingly!" here cried a voice outside the open window. "I know that +fragrance of meal bread. Miss Keeldar, may I come in and partake?" + +"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 +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." + +"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. + +"Burglars!" said he.--"Henry, you merit the ferule." + +"Give it to Shirley and Caroline; they did it," was alleged, with more +attention to effect than truth. + +"Traitor and false witness!" cried both the girls. "We never laid hands +on a thing, except in the spirit of laudable inquiry!" + +"Exactly so," said Moore, with his rare smile. "And what have you +ferreted out, in your 'spirit of laudable inquiry'?" + +He perceived the inner drawer open. + +"This is empty," said he. "Who has taken----" + +"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. + +"I thought you would have scolded much more, sir," said Henry. "The +girls deserve reprimand." + +"I leave them to their own consciences." + +"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." + +"And will you have lunch with us?" here interposed Shirley, addressing +Moore, and desirous, as it seemed, to turn the conversation. + +"Certainly, if I may." + +"You will be restricted to new milk and Yorkshire oatcake." + +"Va--pour le lait frais!" said Louis. "But for your oatcake!" and he +made a grimace. + +"He cannot eat it," said Henry. "He thinks it is like bran, raised with +sour yeast." + +"Come, then; by special dispensation we will allow him a few cracknels, +but nothing less homely." + +The hostess rang the bell and gave her frugal orders, which were +presently executed. She herself measured out 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. + +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. + +"You are overheated now," he said, when she had retained the fork for +some time; "let me relieve you." + +And he took it from her with a sort of quiet authority, to which she +submitted passively, neither resisting him nor thanking him. + +"I should like to see your pictures, Louis," said Caroline, when the +sumptuous luncheon was discussed.--"Would not you, Mr. Hall?" + +"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." + +"Here is the portfolio," said Henry, bringing it in one hand and leaning +on his crutch with the other. + +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. + +"He makes us wait to whet our curiosity," she said. + +"You understand opening it," observed Louis, giving her the key. "You +spoiled the lock for me once; try now." + +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. + +A carriage was heard in the lane--the gate-bell rang. Shirley started. + +"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." + +Louis Moore laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"I thought you alone, Miss Keeldar," he said. "I find quite a party." + +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. + +"I merely wished to announce," he proceeded coldly, "that the family +from De Walden Hall, Mr., Mrs., the Misses, and Mr. Sam Wynne, are in +the drawing-room." And he bowed and withdrew. + +"The family from De Walden Hall! Couldn't be a worse set," murmured +Shirley. + +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. + +"Shirley, Shirley, you ought to go," whispered Caroline. + +"I wonder why?" + +She lifted her eyes, and saw in the glass over the fireplace both Mr. +Hall and Louis Moore gazing at her gravely. + +"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." + +Again consulting the mirror, it reflected an unanimous vote against her. + +"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." + +Louis Moore assented with a low "Hear, hear!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Henry, get your books; it is lesson-time," said Moore, sitting down to +his desk. + +"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. + +"Of whom are you speaking, sir?" + +"Of my cousin Shirley." + +"No irrelevant questions; study in silence." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE FIRST BLUESTOCKING. + + +Miss Keeldar 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. + +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. + +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. + +The trial soon came. + +Mr. Wynne proposed in form for his son, Samuel Fawthrop Wynne. + +"Decidedly suitable! most proper!" pronounced Mr. Sympson. "A fine +unencumbered estate, real substance, good connections. _It must be +done!_" + +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. + +It was withheld. + +"No; I shall not marry Samuel Fawthrop Wynne." + +"I ask why. I must have a reason. In all respects he is more than worthy +of you." + +She stood on the hearth. She was pale as the white marble slab and +cornice behind her; her eyes flashed large, dilated, unsmiling. + +"And _I_ ask in what sense that young man is worthy of _me_?" + +"He has twice your money, twice your common sense, equal connections, +equal respectability." + +"Had he my money counted fivescore times I would take no vow to love +him." + +"Please to state your objections." + +"He has run a course of despicable, commonplace profligacy. Accept that +as the first reason why I spurn him." + +"Miss Keeldar, you shock me!" + +"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." + +"The man is a respectable, wealthy man! To refuse him is presumption on +your part." + +"I refuse point-blank! Cease to annoy me with the subject; I forbid it!" + +"Is it your intention ever to marry; or do you prefer celibacy?" + +"I deny your right to claim an answer to that question." + +"May I ask if you expect some man of title--some peer of the realm--to +demand your hand?" + +"I doubt if the peer breathes on whom I would confer it." + +"Were there insanity in the family, I should believe you mad. Your +eccentricity and conceit touch the verge of frenzy." + +"Perhaps, ere I have finished, you will see me over-leap it." + +"I anticipate no less. Frantic and impracticable girl! Take warning! I +dare you to sully our name by a _mésalliance_!" + +"_Our_ name! Am _I_ called Sympson?" + +"God be thanked that you are not! But be on your guard; I will not be +trifled with!" + +"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?" + +"Take care! take care!" warning her with voice and hand that trembled +alike. + +"Why? What shadow of power have _you_ over me? Why should I fear you?" + +"Take care, madam!" + +"Scrupulous care I will take, Mr. Sympson. Before I marry I am resolved +to esteem--to admire--to _love_." + +"Preposterous stuff! indecorous, unwomanly!" + +"To love with my whole heart. I know I speak in an unknown tongue; but I +feel indifferent whether I am comprehended or not." + +"And if this love of yours should fall on a beggar?" + +"On a beggar it will never fall. Mendicancy is not estimable." + +"On a low clerk, a play-actor, a play-writer, or--or----" + +"Take courage, Mr. Sympson! Or what?" + +"Any literary scrub, or shabby, whining artist." + +"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!" + +"Unladylike language! Great God! to what will she come?" He lifted hands +and eyes. + +"Never to the altar of Hymen with Sam Wynne." + +"To what will she come? Why are not the laws more stringent, that I +might compel her to hear reason?" + +"Console yourself, uncle. Were Britain a serfdom and you the Czar, you +could not _compel_ me to this step. _I_ will write to Mr. Wynne. Give +yourself no further trouble on the subject." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +Fieldhead had of late been fast growing too hot to hold them both. The +suave aunt could not reconcile them; the 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. + +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. + +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 _condescend_ +to their society; he seemed _glad_ of it. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +Somewhat to her surprise, Sir Philip followed her advice to the letter, +and actually, towards the close of September, arrived at the priory. + +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. + +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. _Tête-à-tête_ 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. + +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." 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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Robert had views on Miss Keeldar?" inquired Louis, as if the idea was +new to him. + +"Views I suggested to him myself, and views he might have realized, for +she liked him." + +"As a neighbour?" + +"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." + +"Does it not strike you, Mr. Yorke, that for a mere penniless adventurer +to aspire to a rich woman's hand is presumptuous--contemptible?" + +"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 _his_ age, in _his_ place, with +_his_ 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." + + * * * * * + +Flattered and fawned upon as Shirley was just now, it 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 _quite_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +"How is Mr. Moore to-night?" asked a low voice from the dark gallery. + +"Come in and see him yourself." + +"Is he asleep?" + +"I wish he could sleep. Come and speak to him, Shirley." + +"He would not like it." + +But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate on the +threshold, took her hand and drew her to the couch. + +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, glistened strangely +amid the obscurity of the sickroom. Her mien was chastened and pensive. +She spoke gently. + +"Mr. Moore, how are you to-night?" + +"I have not been very ill, and am now better." + +"I heard that you complained of thirst. I have brought you some grapes; +can you taste one?" + +"No; but I thank you for remembering me." + +"Just one." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Mrs. Gill supplies me with toast-and-water. I like it best." + +Silence fell for some minutes. + +"Do you suffer?--have you pain?" + +"Very little." + +"What made you ill?" + +Silence. + +"I wonder what caused this fever? To what do you attribute it?" + +"Miasma, perhaps--malaria. This is autumn, a season fertile in fevers." + +"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." + +"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--"_you_ will take it; +but why should you run even the shadow of a risk? Leave me." + +"Patience, I will go soon; but I should like to do something for you +before I depart--any little service----" + +"They will miss you below." + +"No; the gentlemen are still at table." + +"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." + +"It is a servant." + +"It is Sir Philip; I know his step." + +"Your hearing is acute." + +"It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at 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." + +"You must be nervously sensitive." + +"I heard him kiss your hand." + +"Impossible!" + +"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." + +"Let me give it him." + +But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, and declined her +attendance. + +"And can I do nothing?" + +"Nothing; for you cannot guarantee me a night's peaceful rest, and it is +all I at present want." + +"You do not sleep well?" + +"Sleep has left me." + +"Yet you said you were not very ill?" + +"I am often sleepless when in high health." + +"If I had power, I would lap you in the most placid slumber--quite deep +and hushed, without a dream." + +"Blank annihilation! I do not ask that." + +"With dreams of all you most desire." + +"Monstrous delusions! The sleep would be delirium, the waking death." + +"Your wishes are not so chimerical; you are no visionary." + +"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." + +"That is possible. But this sleep--I _should_ 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." + +"Thank you, but I will not detain you." + +"I would read softly." + +"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." + +"Well, I will go." + +"And no good-night?" + +"Yes, sir, yes. Mr. Moore, good-night." (Exit Shirley.) + +"Henry, my boy, go to bed now; it is time you had some repose." + +"Sir, it would please me to watch at your bedside all night." + +"Nothing less called for. I am getting better. There, go." + +"Give me your blessing, sir." + +"God bless you, my best pupil!" + +"You never call me your dearest pupil!" + +"No, nor ever shall." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 of +apples enriched the trees. Only a blossom here and there expanded pale +and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves. + +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. + +"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." + +The messenger delivered his commission very simply, as if it were a mere +matter of course. + +"Did Mr. Moore tell you to say that?" + +"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." + +Miss Keeldar perhaps thought that circumstances were changed since then; +however, she made no remark, but after a little reflection quietly +followed Henry. + +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. + +"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." + +"What book shall I take?" + +"Here are the posthumous works of St. Pierre. Read a few pages of the +'Fragments de l'Amazone.'" + +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. + +"Put back your hair," he said. + +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 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. + +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. + +"I can't do it. Read me a paragraph, if you please, Mr. Moore." + +What _he_ read _she_ repeated. She caught his accent in three minutes. + +"Très bien," was the approving comment at the close of the piece. + +"C'est presque le Français rattrapé, n'est-ce pas?" + +"You could not write French as you once could, I dare say?" + +"Oh no! I should make strange work of my concords now." + +"You could not compose the _devoir_ of 'La Première Femme Savante'?" + +"Do you still remember that rubbish?" + +"Every line." + +"I doubt you." + +"I will engage to repeat it word for word." + +"You would stop short at the first line." + +"Challenge me to the experiment." + +"I challenge you." + +He proceeded to recite the following. He gave it in French, but we must +translate, on pain of being unintelligible to some readers. + + * * * * * + + "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." + +This was in the dawn of time, before the morning stars were set, and +while they yet sang together. + +The epoch is so remote, the mists and dewy gray of 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. + +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? + +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. + +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 grandeur of these forests +there is repose; in all their freshness there is tenderness. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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? + +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. + +"Guidance--help--comfort--come!" was her cry. + +There was no voice, nor any that answered. + +She waited, kneeling, steadfastly looking up. Yonder sky was sealed; the +solemn stars shone alien and remote. + +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. + +Again--a fine, full, lofty tone, a deep, soft sound, like a storm +whispering, made twilight undulate. + +Once more, profounder, nearer, clearer, it rolled harmonious. + +Yet again--a distinct voice passed between Heaven and Earth. + +"Eva!" + +If Eva were not this woman's name, she had none. She rose. "Here am I." + +"Eva!" + +"O Night (it can be but Night that speaks), I am here!" + +The voice, descending, reached Earth. + +"Eva!" + +"Lord," she cried, "behold thine handmaid!" + +She had her religion--all tribes held some creed. + +"I come--a Comforter!" + +"Lord, come quickly!" + +The Evening flushed full of hope; the Air panted; the Moon--rising +before--ascended large, but her light showed no shape. + +"Lean towards me, Eva. Enter my arms; repose thus." + +"Thus I lean, O Invisible but felt! And what art thou?" + +"Eva, I have brought a living draught from heaven. Daughter of Man, +drink of my cup!" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"O take me! O claim me! This is a god." + +"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." + +"A son of God! Am I indeed chosen?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +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. + +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 +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? + +Who shall of these things write the chronicle? + + * * * * * + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Shirley dropped her crayon as if it burned her fingers. + +"Tell me what were the faults of that _devoir_?" she asked. "Were they +grammatical errors, or did you object to the substance?" + +"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." + +"What else did they denote?" + +"No matter now." + +"Mr. Moore," cried Henry, "make Shirley repeat some of the pieces she +used to say so well by heart." + +"If I ask for any, it will be 'Le Cheval Dompté,'" said Moore, trimming +with his penknife the pencil Miss Keeldar had worn to a stump. + +She turned aside her head; the neck, the clear cheek, forsaken by their +natural veil, were seen to flush warm. + +"Ah! she has not forgotten, you see, sir," said Henry, exultant. "She +knows how naughty she was." + +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. + +"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----" + +"He _had_ insulted me," interposed Shirley. + +"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 _your_ 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." + +"Enough, Henry." + +"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 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You talk of me as if I were not present," observed Miss Keeldar, who +had not yet lifted her face. + +"Are you sure you _are_ 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." + +"She is here now." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"You mean," he said at last, "that some men inspire repugnance, and so +chill the kind heart." + +"Ingenious!" responded Shirley. "If the interpretation pleases you, you +are welcome to hold it valid. _I_ don't care." + +And with that she raised her head, lofty in look and statue-like in hue, +as Louis had described it. + +"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 of his recitation, and Olympia will deign to +oblige him. Let us begin." + +"I have forgotten the very first line." + +"Which I have not. _My_ 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." + +Miss Keeldar did consent to make the effort; but she soon stopped. + +"Unless I heard the whole repeated I cannot continue it," she said. + +"Yet it was quickly learned--'soon gained, soon gone,'" moralized the +tutor. He recited the passage deliberately, accurately, with slow, +impressive emphasis. + +Shirley, by degrees, inclined her ear as he went on. Her face, before +turned from him, _re_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. + +It was now her turn to petition. + +"Recall 'Le Songe d'Athalie,'" she entreated, "and say it." + +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. + +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, +"And these are our best pieces! And we have nothing more dramatic, +nervous, natural!" + +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. + +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. + +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-- + + "Pleasures are like poppies spread; + You seize the flower--its bloom is shed." + +The dull, rumbling sound of wheels was heard on the pavement in the +yard. + +"It is the carriage returned," said Shirley; "and dinner must be just +ready, and I am not dressed." + +A servant came in with Mr. Moore's candle and tea; for the tutor and his +pupil usually dined at luncheon time. + +"Mr. Sympson and the ladies are returned," she said, "and Sir Philip +Nunnely is with them." + +"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." + +Moore was locking up his desk and putting away his St. Pierre. "That was +_your_ plan, was it, my boy?" + +"Don't you approve it, sir?" + +"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." + +He left the room; so did Shirley, by another door. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +PHŒBE. + + +Shirley probably got on pleasantly with Sir Philip that evening, for the +next morning she came down in one of her best moods. + +"Who will take a walk with me?" she asked, after breakfast. "Isabella +and Gertrude, will you?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 gate. A summons to +luncheon called her in. She excused herself from the meal, and went +upstairs. + +"Is not Shirley coming to luncheon?" asked Isabella. "She said she was +hungry." + +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. + +"You are not ill?" was the question put. + +"A little sick," replied Miss Keeldar. + +Certainly she was not a little changed from what she had been two hours +before. + +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. + +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 _was_ 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 +_hauteur_, repelled it. "Was she ill?" The reply came with decision. + +"I _am not_." + +"Did anything weigh on her mind? Had anything happened to affect her +spirits?" + +She scornfully ridiculed the idea. "What did they mean by spirits? She +had no spirits, black or white, blue or gray, to affect." + +"Something must be the matter--she was so altered." + +"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?" + +"There must be a cause for the change. What was it?" + +She peremptorily requested to be let alone. + +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!" + +"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." + +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. + +To all comparative strangers who, unconscious of the alterations in her +spirits, commented on the alteration in her looks, she had one reply,-- + +"I am perfectly well; I have not an ailment." + +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. + +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, and was constrained to mortgage her land. Others +conjectured that she was going to be married, and that the settlements +were preparing. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Moore and Henry Sympson were together in the schoolroom. The tutor +was waiting for a lesson which the pupil seemed busy in preparing. + +"Henry, make haste. The afternoon is getting on." + +"Is it, sir?" + +"Certainly. Are you nearly ready with that lesson?" + +"No." + +"Not _nearly_ ready?" + +"I have not construed a line." + +Mr. Moore looked up. The boy's tone was rather peculiar. + +"The task presents no difficulties, Henry; or, if it does, bring them to +me. We will work together." + +"Mr. Moore, I can do no work." + +"My boy, you are ill." + +"Sir, I am not worse in bodily health than usual, but my heart is full." + +"Shut the book. Come hither, Harry. Come to the fireside." + +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. + +"This distress is not occasioned by physical pain, you say, Harry? You +have a grief; tell it me." + +"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." + +"Who knows but, if we talk it over, we may relieve it? What is the +cause? Whom does it concern?" + +"The cause, sir, is Shirley; it concerns Shirley." + +"Does it? You think her changed?" + +"All who know her think her changed--you too, Mr. Moore." + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Well, Harry, now. Has she said anything to you? You and she were +together in the garden two hours this 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." + +"_She_ say she is ill! I believe, sir, if she were dying, she would +smile, and aver, 'Nothing ails me.'" + +"What have you learned then? What new circumstance?" + +"I have learned that she has just made her will." + +"Made her will?" + +The tutor and pupil were silent. + +"She told you that?" asked Moore, when some minutes had elapsed. + +"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." + +"Go on, Harry." + +"'Because,' she said, looking down on me with her beautiful eyes--oh! +they _are_ 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." + +"Henry Sympson, go on, when I tell you." + +"'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 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." + +Mr. Moore allowed his pupil a moment to contend with and master his +emotion. He then demanded, "What else did she say?" + +"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 _did_ 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 +_may_ go to heaven before me--if God commands it, she _must_; 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." + +Moore answered him with a weighty calm, that offered a strange contrast +to the boy's perturbed enthusiasm. + +"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?" + +"We settled one or two family points between ourselves." + +"I should rather like to know what----" + +"But, Mr. Moore, you smile. _I_ could not smile to see Shirley in such a +mood." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"That Shirley thinks she is going to die." + +"She referred to her health?" + +"Not once; but I assure you she is wasting. Her hands are grown quite +thin, and so is her cheek." + +"Does she ever complain to your mother or sisters?" + +"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." + +"Do you know where she is now, Henry? Is she in the house, or riding +out?" + +"Surely not out, sir. It rains fast." + +"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." + +"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 so pass off like other Christians.' She is reckless, you see, sir." + +"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." + +"Yes, sir." + +He snatched his crutch, and started up to go. + +"Harry!" + +He returned. + +"Do not deliver the message formally. Word it as, in former days, you +would have worded an ordinary summons to the schoolroom." + +"I see, sir. She will be more likely to obey." + +"And, Harry----" + +"Sir?" + +"I will call you when I want you. Till then, you are dispensed from +lessons." + +He departed. Mr. Moore, left alone, rose from his desk. + +"I can be very cool and very supercilious with Henry," he said. "I can +seem to make light of his apprehensions, and look down _du haut de ma +grandeur_ on his youthful ardour. To _him_ 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? 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.'" + +He paused, listening. + +"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. + +"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 _must_ keep up the +professor, otherwise---- I hear a door." + +He waited. Many minutes passed. + +"She will refuse me. Henry is entreating her to come; she declines. My +petition is presumption in her eyes. Let her _only_ 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." + +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 _crânerie_. A soft kind of youthful +shyness depressed her eyelid and mantled on her cheek. The tutor stood +silent. + +She made a full stop between the door and his desk. + +"Did you want me, sir?" she asked. + +"I ventured, Miss Keeldar, to send for you--that is, to ask an interview +of a few minutes." + +She waited; she plied her needle. + +"Well, sir" (not lifting her eyes), "what about?" + +"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." + +"I am quite well," she said briefly. + +"Yet changed." + +"That matters to none but myself. We all change." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"No, no. It is time there were discussions." + +"Discuss away, then, but do not choose me for your text. I am a healthy +subject." + +"Do you not think it wrong to affirm and reaffirm what is substantially +untrue?" + +"I say I am well. I have neither cough, pain, nor fever." + +"Is there no equivocation in that assertion? Is it the direct truth?" + +"The direct truth." + +Louis Moore looked at her earnestly. + +"I can myself," he said, "trace no indications of actual disease. But +why, then, are you altered?" + +"_Am_ I altered?" + +"We will try. We will seek a proof." + +"How?" + +"I ask, in the first place, do you sleep as you used to?" + +"I do not; but it is not because I am ill." + +"Have you the appetite you once had?" + +"No; but it is not because I am ill." + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"_You_ 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." + +"Not at all. It is nothing so dignified--merely nervous. Oh! dismiss the +topic." + +"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." + +"No," said Shirley abruptly. "I wish that were at all probable; but I am +afraid it is not." + +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 _nothing_ ailed her. + +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. + +"I had better tell _you_ 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 _éclat_. In short, I never +liked to be the centre of a small domestic whirlpool. You can bear a +little shock--eh?" + +"A great one, if necessary." + +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? + +"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." + +"Why was it not right to come to me?" + +"It might be _right_--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!" + +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. + +"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." + +She showed a mark in her white arm--rather a deep though healed-up +indentation--something between a burn and a cut. + +"I would not show that to any one in Briarfield but you, because you can +take it quietly." + +"Certainly there is nothing in the little mark to shock. Its history +will explain." + +"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." + +The sleeve was readjusted, the bracelet replaced. + +"Do you know that you try me?" he said, smiling. "I am a patient sort of +man, but my pulse is quickening." + +"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?" + +"I make no promise now. Tell me the tale, and then exact what pledge you +will." + +"It is a very short tale. I took a walk with Isabella 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----" + +"Ah! Nunnely had been with her the evening before!" thought Moore +parenthetically. + +"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. + +"'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.'" + +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. + +"And you told no one, sought no help, no cure? You would not come to +me?" + +"I got as far as the schoolroom door; there my courage failed. I +preferred to cushion the matter." + +"Why? What can I demand better in this world than to be of use to you?" + +"I had no claim." + +"Monstrous! And you did nothing?" + +"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 the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm. I bored it well +in. It cauterized the little wound. Then I went upstairs." + +"I dare say you never once groaned?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"I was sitting at the foot of the bed, wishing Phœbe had not bitten +me." + +"And alone. You like solitude." + +"Pardon me." + +"You disdain sympathy." + +"Do I, Mr. Moore?" + +"With your powerful mind you must feel independent of help, of advice, +of society." + +"So be it, since it pleases you." + +She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly, but her +eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell. + +Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, altered his +attitude. + +"If it is not so," he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his +voice, "how is it, then?" + +"I don't know." + +"You do know, but you won't speak. All must be locked up in yourself." + +"Because it is not worth sharing." + +"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." + +"I _can_ 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." + +"You apprehend the effects of the virus? You anticipate an indefinitely +threatening, dreadful doom?" + +She bowed. + +"You are very nervous and womanish." + +"You complimented me two minutes since on my powerful mind." + +"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." + +"Amen! I am very willing to live, if it please God. I have felt life +sweet." + +"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?" + +"I _expect_ it, and have _feared_ it. Just now I fear nothing." + +"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." + +"Tell nobody that she bit me." + +"Why should I, when I believe the bite innocuous as a cut of this +penknife? Make yourself easy. _I_ am easy, though I value your life as +much as I do my own chance of happiness in eternity. Look up." + +"Why, Mr. Moore?" + +"I wish to see if you are cheered. Put your work down; raise your head." + +"There----" + +"Look at me. Thank you. And is the cloud broken?" + +"I fear nothing." + +"Is your mind restored to its own natural sunny clime?" + +"I am very content; but I want your promise." + +"Dictate." + +"You know, in case the worst I _have_ 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--_mind_ 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 administer to me a strong +narcotic--such a sure dose of laudanum as shall leave no mistake. +_Promise to do this._" + +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." + +"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." + +"I promise." + +"That is good in you," she said, looking up at him as he bent over her, +and smiling. + +"Is it good? Does it comfort?" + +"Very much." + +"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." + +"Yet you think me childish?" + +"I do." + +"Ah! you despise me." + +"Do we despise children?" + +"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." + +"We all want a friend, do we not?" + +"All of us that have anything good in our natures." + +"Well, you have Caroline Helstone." + +"Yes. And you have Mr. Hall." + +"Yes. Mrs. Pryor is a wise, good woman. She can counsel you when you +need counsel." + +"For your part, you have your brother Robert." + +"For any right-hand defections, there is the Rev. Matthewson Helstone, +M.A., to lean upon; for any left-hand fallings-off there is Hiram Yorke, +Esq. Both elders pay you homage." + +"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." + +"It appears we are both well provided." + +"It appears so." + +"How thankful we ought to be!" + +"Yes." + +"How contented!" + +"Yes." + +"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." + +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 +_quite_ gone?" + +"Wholly. As I _was_ two hours since, and as I _am_ now, are two +different states of existence. I believe, Mr. Moore, griefs and fears +nursed in silence grow like Titan infants." + +"You will cherish such feelings no more in silence?" + +"Not if I dare speak." + +"In using the word '_dare_,' to whom do you allude?" + +"To you." + +"How is it applicable to me?" + +"On account of your austerity and shyness." + +"Why am I austere and shy?" + +"Because you are proud." + +"Why am I proud?" + +"I should like to know. Will you be good enough to tell me?" + +"Perhaps, because I am poor, for one reason. Poverty and pride often go +together." + +"That is such a nice reason. I should be charmed to discover another +that would pair with it. Mate that turtle, Mr. Moore." + +"Immediately. What do you think of marrying to sober Poverty many-tinted +Caprice?" + +"Are you capricious?" + +"_You_ are." + +"A libel. I am steady as a rock, fixed as the polar star." + +"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." + +"Well, Mr. Moore, you should contend against these changeful humours. +They are your besetting sin. One never knows where to have you." + +"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----" + +"She was never with you above three hours, or at the most six at a +time." + +"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)----" + +"I know you do. I can tell what sort of dinners you like best--perfectly +well. I know precisely the dishes you prefer----" + +"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." + +"Mr. Moore----" + +"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?" + +"Like one who had profited well by lessons learned from yourself." + +"She received me haughtily. She meted out a wide space between us, and +kept me aloof by the reserved gesture, the rare and alienated glance, +the word calmly civil." + +"She was an excellent pupil! Having seen you distant, she at once +learned to withdraw. Pray, sir, admire in her _hauteur_ a careful +improvement on your own coolness." + +"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." + +"Never free to compromise her self-respect, to seek where she had been +shunned." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But she should not be changeful. If she came at all, she should come +oftener." + +"There is such a thing as intrusion." + +"To-morrow you will not be as you are to-day." + +"I don't know. Will you?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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 of my heavy traits? There!" (he started), "I have been +expecting that wire to vibrate this last half-hour." + +The dinner-bell rang, and Shirley rose. + +"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?" + +"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." + +A crimson shadow passed across Miss Keeldar's cheek. + +"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." + +"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 _tried_ 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." + +"Do not say _I_ advise his return, but that his return is advisable." + +The second bell rang, and Miss Keeldar obeyed its call. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +LOUIS MOORE. + + +Louis Moore 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. + +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. + +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. + +Moore, sitting in the schoolroom, heard the storm roar round the other +gable and along the hall-front. This end was sheltered. He wanted no +shelter; he desired no subdued sounds or screened position. + +"All the parlours are empty," said he. "I am sick at heart of this +cell." + +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. + +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 _salon_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +Moore spoke. + +"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." + +He did stop it. He stood thinking, and then he made an arrangement for +his evening's comfort. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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 _think_ aloud. + +"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--_her_ 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 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 _her_ glance from _my_ glance, and softly +averted her head to hide the suffusion of her cheek. + +"I know this is the talk of a dreamer--of a rapt, romantic lunatic. I +_do_ dream. I _will_ dream now and then; and if she has inspired romance +into my prosaic composition, how can I help it? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 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 _now_ 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. + +"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 +_minois mutin_ 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 _crâne, malin, taquin_ 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 +_amour propre_. 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 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? + +"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. + +"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 _I_ do with anything so nearly faultless? _She_ 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? _My_ sweetheart, if I ever have one, must +bear nearer affinity to the rose--a sweet, lively delight guarded with +prickly peril. _My_ 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 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 +_bête fauve_ my powers would revel. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. 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! + +"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. + + * * * * * + +"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?' + +"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 _do_ +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." + +He locked the desk, pocketed all the property, and went. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +RUSHEDGE--A CONFESSIONAL. + + +Everybody 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. + +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--_that_ 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. + +This was known at Briarfield. The newspapers had reported it. The +_Stilbro' Courier_ 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. + +One report affirmed that Moore _dared_ not come to Yorkshire; he knew +his life was not worth an hour's purchase if he did. + +"I'll tell him that," said Mr. Yorke, when his foreman mentioned the +rumour; "and if _that_ does not bring him home full gallop, nothing +will." + +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. + +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. + +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--_incapable_, I say. +Disdain would but have incensed; it was indifference that appeased his +rough spirit. + +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. + +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 _that_ 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." + +Moore soon forsook the wine, broke from the party, and took the road. +In less than five minutes Mr. Yorke followed him. They rode out of +Stilbro' together. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"And who is to have this prize you talk so much about?" + +"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." + +"Hem! Quite probable." + +"But she need not to have been. Fool of a lad! I swear you might have +had her." + +"By what token, Mr. Yorke?" + +"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." + +"My chance is quite over, I suppose?" + +"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. _You_ +are above that, Bob, at all events." + +"Would you advise me to propose, late as it is, Mr. Yorke--at the +eleventh hour?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Is it so with you, Robert? I find that spicy. I like a man to speak his +mind. What has gone wrong?" + +"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." + +"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]." + +"Hideous, abhorrent, base blunder! You may commit in a moment what you +will rue for years--what life cannot cancel." + +"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." + +"I _will_ 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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Wi' all the pleasure in life, if there were no such thing as a +coroner's inquest." + +"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?' + +"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. + +"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 _naïveté_ and +simplicity in being the first to love, and to show it. That whip of +yours seems to have a good heavy 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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"A very sensible resolve. What mischief came of it, Bob?" + +"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. + +"She received me without embarrassment, for she thought I came on +business. _I_ 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. + +"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.' + +"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 _she_ only does, and no other +woman, and ejaculated, 'God bless me!' + +"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. + +"'God bless me!' she piteously repeated, in that shocked, indignant, yet +saddened accent. 'You have made a strange proposal--strange from _you_; +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.' + +"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. + +"I looked at her, dumb and wolfish. She at once enraged and shamed me. + +"'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. + +"What next happened? you will say, Mr. Yorke. + +"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.' + +"She added words soon to looks. + +"'I _did_ respect--I _did_ admire--I _did_ like you,' she said--'yes, as +much as if you were my brother; and _you--you_ want to make a +speculation of me. You would immolate me to that mill, your Moloch!' + +"I had the common sense to abstain from any word of excuse, any attempt +at palliation. I stood to be scorned. + +"Sold to the devil for the time being, I was certainly infatuated. When +I did speak, what do you think I said? + +"'Whatever my own feelings were, I was persuaded _you_ loved _me_, Miss +Keeldar.' + +"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?' + +"'Do you mean,' she asked aloud--'do you mean you thought I loved you as +we love those we wish to marry?' + +"It _was_ my meaning, and I said so. + +"'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.' + +"I hope I was answered, Yorke? + +"'I seem to be a blind, besotted sort of person,' was my remark. + +"'_Loved_ 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.' + +"I alleged that often, when she spoke to me, she blushed, and that the +sound of my name moved her. + +"'Not for _your_ sake!' she declared briefly. I urged explanation, but +could get none. + +"'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?' + +"So she questioned me; and I said I did. + +"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. + +"'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!' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'O Moore!' said she. It was worse than 'Et tu, Brute!' + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"I was obliged to turn back of my own accord when I reached the door, to +approach her, and to say, 'Forgive me.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"At last she extended her hand. For the first time I wished to take her +in my arms and kiss her. I _did_ kiss her hand many times. + +"'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.' + +"Farewell drops rolled slow down her cheeks. She wiped them away. + +"'I am sorry for what has happened--deeply sorry,' she sobbed. So was I, +God knows! Thus were we severed." + +"A queer tale!" commented Mr. Yorke. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"We never _have_ been, never _could_ be _at home_ 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. 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." + +"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." + +"But you loved _her_, Yorke; you worshipped Mary Cave. Your conduct, +after all, was that of a man--never of a fortune-hunter." + +"Ay, I _did_ love her; but then she was beautiful as the moon we do +_not_ see to-night. There is naught like her in these days. Miss +Helstone, maybe, has a look of her, but nobody else." + +"Who has a look of her?" + +"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." + +"Was Mary Cave in that style?" + +"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." + +"And you could not persuade her to love you?" + +"Not with all I could do, though I prayed Heaven many a time, on my +bended knees, to help me." + +"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----" + +"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 to my regard as +she showed herself; she must have preferred me to that copper-faced +despot." + +"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?" + +Mr. Yorke raised his hat, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Robert!"--he lifted his arm, he held it suspended, and paused--"Robert! +this is a queer world, and men 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"What art thou going to do now, Robert? What are thy plans?" + +"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 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. + +"Yorke," pursued Moore, "ride on; I must let him drink." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +A fierce flash and sharp crack violated the calm of night. Yorke, ere he +turned, knew the four convicts of Birmingham were avenged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +UNCLE AND NIECE. + + +The 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_well_ sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well. She breathed +into the feeling softness; she poured round the passion force. Her voice +was fine that evening, its expression dramatic. She impressed all, and +charmed one. + +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? _They_ never sang so. Was it _proper_ to +sing with such expression, with such originality--so unlike a +school-girl? Decidedly not. It was strange, it was unusual. What was +_strange_ must be _wrong_; what was _unusual_ must be _improper_. +Shirley was judged. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. +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. + +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. + +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. + +"In Sir Philip Nunnely?" Louis Moore conjectured. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 "_strictly_ private interview." + +She rose, asking no questions and professing no surprise. + +"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. + +Shut into the drawing-room, the pair took seats, each in an arm-chair, +placed opposite, a few yards between them. + +"I have been to De Walden Hall," said Mr. Sympson. He paused. Miss +Keeldar's eyes were on the pretty white-and-green carpet. _That_ +information required no response. She gave none. + +"I have learned," he went on slowly--"I have learned a circumstance +which surprises me." + +Resting her cheek on her forefinger, she waited to be told _what_ +circumstance. + +"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." + +"Indeed!" said Shirley. + +"May I ask if you share the amazement with which I received this news?" + +"No, sir." + +"_Is_ it news to you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"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 _thorough_ explanation. I will _not_ be put off. I--I--shall +_insist_ on being heard, and on--on having my own way. My questions +_must_ be answered. I will have clear, satisfactory replies. I am not to +be trifled with. (Silence.) + +"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!" + +"I suppose, sir, they had a right to go." + +"_Sir Philip is gone!_" (with emphasis). + +Shirley raised her brows. "_Bon voyage!_" said she. + +"This will not do; this must be altered, ma'am." + +He drew his chair forward; he pushed it back; he looked perfectly +incensed, and perfectly helpless. + +"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." + +"I want--I demand to know, Miss Keeldar, whether Sir Philip has made you +an offer?" + +"He has." + +"You avow it?" + +"I avow it. But now, go on. Consider that point settled." + +"He made you an offer that night we dined at the priory?" + +"It is enough to say that he made it. Go on." + +"He proposed in the recess--in the room that used to be a +picture-gallery--that Sir Monckton converted into it saloon?" + +No answer. + +"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?" + +"No matter." + +"Ma'am, is that the way in which you speak to me?" + +Shirley's foot tapped quick on the carpet. + +"There you sit, silent and sullen--_you_ who promised truthful replies." + +"Sir, I have answered you thus far. Proceed." + +"I should like to see that letter." + +"You _cannot_ see it." + +"I _must_ and _shall_, ma'am; I am your guardian." + +"Having ceased to be a ward, I have no guardian." + +"Ungrateful being! Reared by me as my own daughter----" + +"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?" + +"I desire to know whether you accepted or refused him, and know it I +will." + +"Certainly, you ought to know it. I refused him." + +"Refused him! You--_you_, Shirley Keeldar, _refused_ Sir Philip +Nunnely?" + +"I did." + +The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first rushed and then +trotted through the room. + +"There it is! There it is! There it is!" + +"Sincerely speaking, I am sorry, uncle, you are so disappointed." + +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. + +"_I_ disappointed? What is it to me? Have _I_ an interest in it? You +would insinuate, perhaps, that I have motives?" + +"Most people have motives of some sort for their actions." + +"She accuses me to my face! I, that have been a parent to her, she +charges with bad motives!" + +"_Bad_ motives I did not say." + +"And now you prevaricate; you have no principles!" + +"Uncle, you tire me. I want to go away." + +"Go you shall not! I will be answered. What are your intentions, Miss +Keeldar?" + +"In what respect?" + +"In respect of matrimony?" + +"To be quiet, and to do just as I please." + +"Just as you please! The words are to the last degree indecorous." + +"Mr. Sympson, I advise you not to become insulting. You know I will not +bear that." + +"You read French. Your mind is poisoned with French novels. You have +imbibed French principles." + +"The ground you are treading now returns a mighty hollow sound under +your feet. Beware!" + +"It will end in infamy, sooner or later. I have foreseen it all along." + +"Do you assert, sir, that something in which _I_ am concerned will end +in infamy?" + +"That it will--that it will. You said just now you would act as you +please. You acknowledge no rules--no limitations." + +"Silly stuff, and vulgar as silly!" + +"Regardless of decorum, you are prepared to fly in the face of +propriety." + +"You tire me, uncle." + +"What, madam--_what_ could be your reasons for refusing Sir Philip?" + +"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." + +"Is that all?" + +"Our dispositions are not compatible." + +"Why, a more amiable gentleman never breathed." + +"He is very amiable--very excellent--truly estimable; but _not my +master_--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." + +"I thought you liked to do as you please. You are vastly inconsistent." + +"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." + +"_You_ no taste for swaggering, and subduing, and ordering, and ruling?" + +"Not my husband; only my uncle." + +"Where is the difference?" + +"There _is_ 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." + +"I wish you had a real tyrant." + +"A tyrant would not hold me for a day, not for an hour. I would +rebel--break from him--defy him." + +"Are you not enough to bewilder one's brain with your +self-contradiction?" + +"It is evident I bewilder your brain." + +"You talk of Sir Philip being young. He is two-and-twenty." + +"My husband must be thirty, with the sense of forty." + +"You had better pick out some old man--some white-headed or bald-headed +swain." + +"No, thank you." + +"You could lead some doting fool; you might pin him to your apron." + +"I might do that with a boy; but it is not my vocation. Did I not say I +prefer a _master_--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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"You and Henry rave about poetry! You used to catch fire like tinder on +the subject when you were a girl." + +"O uncle, there is nothing really valuable in this world, there is +nothing glorious in the world to come that is not poetry!" + +"Marry a poet, then, in God's name!" + +"Show him me, and I will." + +"Sir Philip." + +"Not at all. You are almost as good a poet as he." + +"Madam, you are wandering from the point." + +"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." + +"Out of temper, Miss Keeldar! I should be glad to know who is out of +temper." + +"_I_ am not, yet." + +"If you mean to insinuate that _I_ am, I consider that you are guilty of +impertinence." + +"You will be soon, if you go on at that rate." + +"There it is! With your pert tongue you would try the patience of a +Job." + +"I know I should." + +"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?" + +Shirley opened her lips, but instead of speaking she only glowed +rose-red. + +"I shall have an answer to that question," affirmed Mr. Sympson, +assuming vast courage and consequence on the strength of this symptom of +confusion. + +"It was an historical picture, uncle, from several originals." + +"Several originals! Bless my heart!" + +"I have been in love several times." + +"This is cynical." + +"With heroes of many nations." + +"What next----" + +"And philosophers." + +"She is mad----" + +"Don't ring the bell, uncle; you will alarm my aunt." + +"Your poor dear aunt, what a niece has she!" + +"Once I loved Socrates." + +"Pooh! no trifling, ma'am." + +"I admired Themistocles, Leonidas, Epaminondas." + +"Miss Keeldar----" + +"To pass over a few centuries, Washington was a plain man, but I liked +him; but to speak of the actual present----" + +"Ah! the actual present." + +"To quit crude schoolgirl fancies, and come to realities." + +"Realities! That is the test to which you shall be brought, ma'am." + +"To avow before what altar I now kneel--to reveal the present idol of my +soul----" + +"You will make haste about it, if you please. It is near luncheon time, +and confess _you shall_." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Not precisely, but as near as may be; they are rather alike." + +"I will know the name; I will have particulars." + +"They positively _are_ 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." + +"Rant and fustian!" + +"I dare say he can be harsh as a saw-edge and gruff as a hungry raven." + +"Miss Keeldar, does the person reside in Briarfield? Answer me that." + +"Uncle, I am going to tell you; his name is trembling on my tongue." + +"Speak, girl!" + +"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." + +"I said she was mad. She is." + +"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." + +"You shall tell me, or----" + +"Listen! Arthur Wellesley, Lord Wellington." + +Mr. Sympson rose up furious. He bounced out of the room, but immediately +bounced back again, shut the door, and resumed his seat. + +"Ma'am, you _shall_ tell me _this_. Will your principles permit you to +marry a man without money--a man below you?" + +"Never a man below me." + +(In a high voice.) "Will you, Miss Keeldar, marry a poor man?" + +"What right have you, Mr. Sympson, to ask me?" + +"I insist upon knowing." + +"You don't go the way to know." + +"My family respectability shall not be compromised." + +"A good resolution; keep it." + +"Madam, it is _you_ who shall keep it." + +"Impossible, sir, since I form no part of your family." + +"Do you disown us?" + +"I disdain your dictatorship." + +"Whom _will_ you marry, Miss Keeldar?" + +"Not Mr. Sam Wynne, because I scorn him; not Sir Philip Nunnely, because +I _only_ esteem him." + +"Whom have you in your eye?" + +"Four rejected candidates." + +"Such obstinacy could not be unless you were under improper influence." + +"What do you mean? There are certain phrases potent to make my blood +boil. Improper influence! What old woman's cackle is that?" + +"Are you a young lady?" + +"I am a thousand times better: I am an honest woman, and as such I will +be treated." + +"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?" + +"Does it?" + +"It does. Your name is in every mouth." + +"It honours the lips it crosses, and I wish to the gods it may purify +them." + +"Is it _that_ person who has power to influence you?" + +"Beyond any whose cause you have advocated." + +"Is it he you will marry?" + +"He is handsome, and manly, and commanding." + +"You declare it to my face! The Flemish knave! the low trader!" + +"He is talented, and venturous, and resolute. Prince is on his brow, and +ruler in his bearing." + +"She glories in it! She conceals nothing! No shame, no fear!" + +"When we speak the name of Moore, shame should be forgotten and fear +discarded. The Moores know only honour and courage." + +"I say she is mad." + +"You have taunted me till my blood is up; you have worried me till I +turn again." + +"That Moore is the brother of my son's tutor. Would you let the usher +call you sister?" + +Bright and broad shone Shirley's eye as she fixed it on her questioner +now. + +"No, no; not for a province of possession, not for a century of life." + +"You cannot separate the husband from his family." + +"What then?" + +"Mr. Louis Moore's sister you will be." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Another creed! I believe she is an infidel." + +"An infidel to _your_ religion, an atheist to _your_ god." + +"_An--atheist!!!_" + +"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 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. _Your_ god is a masked +Death." + +"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----" + +"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--_they only_. Know this at last." + +Mr. Sympson was becoming a little bewildered. + +"Never heard such language!" he muttered again and again; "never was so +addressed in my life--never was so used!" + +"You are quite confused, sir. You had better withdraw, or I will." + +He rose hastily. "We must leave this place; they must pack up at once." + +"Do not hurry my aunt and cousins; give them time." + +"No more intercourse; she's not proper." + +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. + +"Poor Mr. Sympson! he is both feeble and vulgar," said Shirley to +herself. "My head aches, and I am tired," 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. + +The intruder paused in her unconscious presence, and said, "Miss +Keeldar." + +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. + +"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. + +"O Mr. Moore!" she said. "I was afraid it was my uncle again: he and I +have quarrelled." + +"Mr. Sympson should let you alone," was the reply. "Can he not see that +you are as yet far from strong?" + +"I assure you he did not find me weak. I did not cry when he was here." + +"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." + +"Are you and Henry to go?" + +"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 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. + +"I shall be glad to hear news of him. Is he coming home?" + +"He is come. He is in Yorkshire. Mr. Yorke went yesterday to Stilbro' to +meet him." + +"Mr. Moore, something is wrong----" + +"Did my voice tremble? He is now at Briarmains, and I am going to see +him." + +"What has occurred?" + +"If you turn so pale I shall be sorry I have spoken. It might have been +worse. Robert is not dead, but much hurt." + +"O sir, it is you who are pale. Sit down near me." + +"Read the note. Let me open it." + +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." + +"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." + +"Be comforted; be hopeful. He will get better--I know he will." + +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. + +"Well, give me your hand," he said. "It will be for the first time; it +is in a moment of calamity. Give it me." + +Awaiting neither consent nor refusal, he took what he asked. + +"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." + +"Immediately," said Shirley, with docile promptitude. "Ought I to say +that there is no danger?" + +"Say so." + +"You will come back soon, and let me know more?" + +"I will either come or write." + +"Trust me for watching over Caroline. I will communicate with your +sister too; but doubtless she is already with Robert?" + +"Doubtless, or will be soon. Good-morning now." + +"You will bear up, come what may." + +"We shall see that." + +Shirley's fingers were obliged to withdraw from the tutor's. Louis was +obliged to relinquish that hand folded, clasped, hidden in his own. + +"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 _have_ possessed +it; for five minutes I held it. Her fingers and mine can never be +strangers more. Having met once they must meet again." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE WOOD-NYMPH. + + +Briarmains 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. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Yorke was just the woman who, while rendering miserable the +drudging life of a simple maid-servant, would 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. + +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. + +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 opprobrium. + +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 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. + +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. + +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 _corbeille_ of blushing bloom +fell to the lot of meddling womankind, _en masse_. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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." + +"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 _me_." + + * * * * * + +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. + +A calm day had settled into a crystalline evening. The world wore a +North Pole colouring; all its lights and tints looked like the +_reflets_[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. + + [A] Find me an English word as good, reader, and I will gladly + dispense with the French word. "Reflections" won't do. + +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? + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"I am," he said bluntly, and encouraged himself to wonder, +superciliously, what would come next. + +"You are Martin, I think?" was the observation that followed. + +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. + +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. + +"I am Martin," he said. + +"Are your father and mother well?" (it was lucky she did not say _papa_ +and _mamma_; that would have undone all); "and Rose and Jessie?" + +"I suppose so." + +"My cousin Hortense is still at Briarmains?" + +"Oh yes." + +Martin gave a comic half-smile and demi-groan. The 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. + +"Does your mother like her?" + +"They suit so well about the servants they can't help liking each +other." + +"It is cold to-night." + +"Why are you out so late?" + +"I lost my way in this wood." + +Now, indeed, Martin allowed himself a refreshing laugh of scorn. + +"Lost your way in the mighty forest of Briarmains! You deserve never +more to find it." + +"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." + +"I should think I knew that. But since you are so simple as to lose your +way, I will guide you out." + +"You need not. I have got into the track now. I shall be right. Martin" +(a little quickly), "how is Mr. Moore?" + +Martin had heard certain rumours; it struck him that it might be amusing +to make an experiment. + +"Going to die. Nothing can save him. All hope flung overboard!" + +She put her veil aside. She looked into his eyes, and said, "To die!" + +"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." + +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!" + +She did not hear or turn. He hastened after and overtook her. + +"Come; are you uneasy about what I said?" + +"You know nothing about death, Martin; you are too young for me to talk +to concerning such a thing." + +"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." + +"Martin! Martin!" Here her voice trembled, and she stopped. + +"It is exceedingly wrong of you, Martin. You have almost killed me." + +Again she stopped. She leaned against a tree, trembling, shuddering, and +as pale as death. + +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 _say_ in order to comfort her, he +began to cast about in his mind what he could _do_. He smiled. The lad's +smile gave wondrous transparency to his physiognomy. + +"Eureka!" he cried. "I'll set all straight by-and-by. You are better +now, Miss Caroline. Walk forward," he urged. + +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. + +"Martin, before we separate, assure me seriously, and on your word of +honour, that Mr. Moore is better." + +"How very much you think of that Moore!" + +"No--but--many of his friends may ask me, and I wish to be able to give +an authentic answer." + +"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." + +"And who waits on him, Martin? who nurses him?" + +"Nurses him? The great baby! Why, a woman as round and big as our +largest water-butt--a rough, hard-favoured 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." + +Profound silence and meditation on Caroline's part, and a sly +watchfulness on Martin's. + +"You never see him, I suppose, Martin?" + +"I? No. I don't care to see him, for my own part." + +Silence again. + +"Did not you come to our house once with Mrs. Pryor, about five weeks +since, to ask after him?" again inquired Martin. + +"Yes." + +"I dare say you wished to be shown upstairs?" + +"We _did_ wish it. We entreated it; but your mother declined." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Very well, what of that? I shall walk home with you." + +"They will miss you, and wonder where you are." + +"Let them. I can take care of myself, I suppose." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She looked like _that_," he said, gazing on the latter sketch, "when +she sobbed, turned white, and leaned against the tree." + +"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 '_in love_'--yes, +_in love_ 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." + +He turned into bed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +MARTIN'S TACTICS. + + +It 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _recherché_. 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 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. + +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. + +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. + +Martin paused _interdit_ one minute, one instant; the next he knew his +ground, and pronounced all well. With the true perspicacity _des âmes +élites_, 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. + +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. + +"Sons," said he, "one of you must leave my roof if this occurs again. I +will have no Cain and Abel strife here." + +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. + +Once he seemed to flag in the course of the morning. + +"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. + +"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." + +Directly after dinner Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation by +withdrawing to her chamber. Now for Hortense. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He watched her down; he watched her in; himself shut the door. He knew +she was safe. + +The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He snatched his cap, and +away for the wood. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He continued his walk. + +"Now," he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, "if she fails to +come, I shall hate and scorn her." + +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. + +"Well, Martin," she said eagerly, "how is he?" + +"It is queer how she thinks of _him_," 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." + +Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone. + +"You have seen him?" + +"No." + +"Oh! you promised you would." + +"I mean to do better by you than that. Didn't I say _I_ don't care to +see him?" + +"But now it will be so long before I get to know any thing certain about +him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, _do_ 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." + +"I won't." + +"You are changed. You were so friendly last night." + +"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold." + +"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow with news." + +"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." + +"Are you really delicate, Martin?" + +"Don't I look so?" + +"You have rosy cheeks." + +"That's hectic. Will you come--or you won't?" + +"Where?" + +"With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would have made you +cosy." + +"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction." + +"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you." + +"But the wall--the hedge--it is such hard work climbing, and you are too +slender and young to help me without hurting yourself." + +"You shall go through the gate." + +"But----" + +"But, but--will you trust me or not?" + +She looked into his face. + +"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came." + +"I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me, +and you shall see Moore yourself." + +"See him myself?" + +"Yourself." + +"But, dear Martin, does he know?" + +"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know." + +"And your mother and the others?" + +"All is right." + +Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked on +with her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains. + +"Have you made up your mind?" he asked. + +She was silent. + +"Decide; we are just on the spot. I _won't_ see him--that I tell +you--except to announce your arrival." + +"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all I +feel _is_ and _has_ been, for a long time, strange. I will see him." + +"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?" + +"No." + +"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." + +"Martin, I trust you." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"Follow me." + +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." + +The boy entered briskly. + +"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." + +"Up here, sir?" + +"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again." + +"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?" + +"No; so I'll take her off." + +"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?" + +"Your grandmother from that château on the Scheldt Miss Moore talks +about." + +"Martin," said the softest whisper at the door, "don't be foolish." + +"Is she there?" inquired Moore hastily. He had caught an imperfect +sound. + +"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, shocked at your +want of filial affection." + +"Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a page. What is she +like?" + +"More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful." + +"You are to show her forward. Do you hear?" + +"Come, Miss Caroline." + +"Miss Caroline!" repeated Moore. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You are come at last," said the meagre man, gazing on his visitress +with hollow eyes. + +"Did you expect me before?" + +"For a month, near two months, we have been very near; and I have been +in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary." + +"I could not come." + +"Couldn't you? But the rectory and Briarmains are very near--not two +miles apart." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again." + +"Did you? Come, that is worth hearing. Since you came again, we will sit +down and talk about it." + +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. + +"So mamma and you came again?" + +"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." + +Moore smiled. "What did she say?" + +"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." + +"I _have_ wished for you, Caroline." + +"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----" + +"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you." + +"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." + +"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again. Weakness has +wrought terrible depression in me--terrible depression." + +"And you sit alone?" + +"Worse than alone." + +"But you must be getting better, since you can leave your bed?" + +"I doubt whether I shall live. I see nothing for it, after such +exhaustion, but decline." + +"You--you shall go home to the Hollow." + +"Dreariness would accompany, nothing cheerful come near me." + +"I _will_ alter this. This _shall_ be altered, were there ten Mrs. +Yorkes to do battle with." + +"Cary, you make me smile." + +"Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should like?" + +"Tell me anything--only keep talking. I am Saul; but for music I should +perish." + +"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and given to me and +mamma." + +"A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot me till now." + +"Do you suffer pain, Robert?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"_Very_ ill?" + +"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." + +"You speak my experience." + +"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." + +"Comforter--sad as sweet. I am too feeble to say what I feel; but while +you speak I _do_ feel." + +"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." + +Moore sighed--a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan. He covered his eyes +with his hand. + +"May I be spared to make some atonement." + +Such was his prayer. + +"And for what?" + +"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?" + +"Yes"--Caroline smiled brightly--"you know she is mamma?" + +"I have heard--Hortense told me; but that tale too I will receive from +yourself. Does she add to your happiness?" + +"What! mamma? She is _dear_ to me; _how_ dear I cannot say. I was +altogether weary, and she held me up." + +"I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to my +head. I deserve it." + +"It is no reproach against you." + +"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." + +She took those thin fingers between her two little hands; she bent her +head _et les effleura de ses lèvres_. (I put that in French because the +word _effleurer_ is an exquisite word.) Moore was much moved. A large +tear or two coursed down his hollow cheek. + +"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, and +you shall hear of it again one day." + +"Come out!" cried Martin, opening the door--"come away; you have had +twenty minutes instead of a quarter of an hour." + +"She will not stir yet, you hempseed." + +"I dare not stay longer, Robert." + +"Can you promise to return?" + +"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." + +"_You_'ll not have it repeated." + +"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." + +"It _is_ my wish--my _one_ wish--almost the only wish I can feel." + +"Come this minute. My mother has coughed, got up, set her feet on the +floor. Let her only catch you on the stairs, Miss Caroline. You're not +to bid him good-bye"--stepping between her and Moore--"you are to +march." + +"My shawl, Martin." + +"I have it. I'll put it on for you when you are in the hall." + +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. + +"She is my debtor, and I _will_ be paid." + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +CASE OF DOMESTIC PERSECUTION--REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF PIOUS PERSEVERANCE +IN THE DISCHARGE OF RELIGIOUS DUTIES. + + +Martin, 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. + +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. + +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. + +Martin, I say, disliked Sunday, because the morning service was long, +and the sermon usually little to his taste. This Saturday afternoon, +however, his woodland musings disclosed to him a new-found charm in the +coming day. + +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. + +"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. + +"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," observed the mother. + +"I am going to church." + +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. + +"It is not fit weather," said the father. + +No answer. The youth read studiously; he slowly broke his bread and +sipped his milk. + +"Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more to obey," said +Mrs. Yorke. + +"I suppose I am influenced by pure perverseness?" + +"Yes, you are." + +"Mother, _I am not_." + +"By what, then, are you influenced?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 stubborn the humour, the softer, the sadder the tone. He +rang the bell, and gently asked for his walking-shoes. + +"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." + +Martin quietly assumed his cloak, comforter, and cap, and deliberately +went out. + +"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." + +He reached church early. + +"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 +_ought_ to come, and if she has a mind worthy of her eyes and features +she _will_ 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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Worthless thing! vapid thing! commonplace humbug! Like all other +girls--weakly, selfish, shallow!" + +Such was Martin's liturgy. + +"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 _girl_, in +short." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 scholars, and not for my sake or that long skeleton Moore's." + +The sermon found an end; the benediction was pronounced; the +congregation dispersed. She had not been near him. + +Now, indeed, as Martin set his face homeward, he felt that the sleet was +sharp and the east wind cold. + +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. + +"I think you had better strike a bargain. Exchange me for Mrs. Pryor." + +"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." + +"Will you agree?--make over Mrs. Pryor to my mother, and put me in her +skirts?" + +"As if I could understand you! What puts Mrs. Pryor into your head?" + +"You call her 'mamma,' don't you?" + +"She _is_ my mamma." + +"Not possible--or so inefficient, so careless a mamma; I should make a +five times better one. You _may_ 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." + +"Martin, what now? I thought the Yorkes never paid compliments?" + +"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 +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." + +"You are not handsome, Martin." + +"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." + +"You are a very strange, a very unaccountable boy, Martin. But don't +imagine you ever will be handsome; you cannot." + +"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." + +"Mamma was very much concerned about me; but I am afraid I was +obstinate. I _would_ go." + +"To see me?" + +"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." + +"_I_ 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." + +"I can't stay two minutes; our dinner will be ready." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 snow; and my mother repenting her of her +many misdeeds towards me, now I am gone." + +"Martin, how is Mr. Moore?" + +"_That_ is what you came for, just to say that word." + +"Come, tell me quickly." + +"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." + +"You were very good the other day, Martin." + +"What day? I am always good--a model." + +"When will you be so good again?" + +"I see what you are after; but you'll not wheedle me--I am no +cat's-paw." + +"But it must be done. It is quite a right thing, and a necessary thing." + +"How you encroach! Remember, I managed the matter of my own free will +before." + +"And you will again." + +"I won't. The business gave me far too much trouble. I like my ease." + +"Mr. Moore wishes to see me, Martin, and I wish to see him." + +"I dare say" (coolly). + +"It is too bad of your mother to exclude his friends." + +"Tell her so." + +"His own relations." + +"Come and blow her up." + +"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." + +"Do; there is nothing like self-reliance, self-dependence." + +"I have no time to reason with you now; but I consider you provoking. +Good-morning." + +Away she went, the umbrella shut, for she could not carry it against the +wind. + +"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 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +WHEREIN MATTERS MAKE SOME PROGRESS, BUT NOT MUCH. + + +Martin 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. + +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. 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Good-bye!" he again said; and added, "You have been a mother to me; +give your wilful son one embrace." + +Like a foreigner, as he was, he offered her first one cheek, then the +other. She kissed him. + +"What a trouble--what a burden I have been to you!" he muttered. + +"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." + +"Thank God! for I have had nursing enough to last me my life." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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 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 _is_ +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." + +He entered the house. + +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. + +"Hortense," said Moore, as his sister bustled up to help him off with +his cloak, "I am pleased to come home." + +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. + +He sat down, but soon rose again. He went to the window; he came back to +the fire. + +"Hortense!" + +"Mon frère?" + +"This little parlour looks very clean and pleasant--unusually bright, +somehow." + +"It is true, brother; I have had the whole house thoroughly and +scrupulously cleaned in your absence." + +"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." + +"True, brother. If it were not late I might send for Miss Mann." + +"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." + +"How thoughtful in you, dear Gérard! We must put it off till another +day." + +"I want some one to-day, dear sister--some quiet guest, who would tire +neither of us." + +"Miss Ainley?" + +"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." + +"Would it not be better to-morrow, dear brother?" + +"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." + +"It might benefit her in the way of example." + +"It might and must; she ought to come." + +He went into the kitchen. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I am pleased to come home," repeated Mr. Moore. + +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. + +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. + +"Caroline, you look as if you had heard good tidings," said Moore, after +earnestly gazing at her for some minutes. + +"Do I?" + +"I sent for you this evening that I might be cheered; but you cheer me +more than I had calculated." + +"I am glad of that. And I _really_ cheer you?" + +"You look brightly, move buoyantly, speak musically." + +"It is pleasant to be here again." + +"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?" + +"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 _do_ 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. +Every day that I live with her I like her better, I esteem her more +highly, I love her more tenderly." + +"_That_ for one thing, then, Cary. You talk in such a way about 'mamma' +it is enough to make one jealous of the old lady." + +"She is not old, Robert." + +"Of the young lady, then." + +"She does not pretend to be young." + +"Well, of the matron. But you said 'mamma's' affection was _one_ thing +that made you happy; now for the other thing." + +"I am glad you are better." + +"What besides?" + +"I am glad we are friends." + +"You and I?" + +"Yes. I once thought we never should be." + +"Cary, some day I mean to tell you a thing about myself that is not to +my credit, and consequently will not please you." + +"Ah, don't! I cannot bear to think ill of you." + +"And I cannot bear that you should think better of me than I deserve." + +"Well, but I half know your 'thing;' indeed, I believe I know all about +it." + +"You do not." + +"I believe I do." + +"Whom does it concern besides me?" + +She coloured; she hesitated; she was silent. + +"Speak, Cary! Whom does it concern?" + +She tried to utter a name, and could not. + +"Tell me; there is none present but ourselves. Be frank." + +"But if I guess wrong?" + +"I will forgive. Whisper, Cary." + +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." + +"And you and she curled your hair together?" + +"How do you know that?" + +"And then you chattered, and she told you----" + +"It was not at curling-hair time, so you are not as wise as you think; +and, besides, she didn't tell me." + +"You slept together afterwards?" + +"We occupied the same room and bed. We did not sleep much; we talked the +whole night through." + +"I'll be sworn you did! And then it all came out--_tant pis_. I would +rather you had heard it from myself." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"About things we never thoroughly discussed before, intimate friends as +we have been; but you hardly expect I should tell you?" + +"Yes, yes, Cary; you will tell me. You said we were friends, and friends +should always confide in each other." + +"But you are sure you won't repeat it?" + +"Quite sure." + +"Not to Louis?" + +"Not even to Louis. What does Louis care for young ladies' secrets?" + +"Robert, Shirley is a curious, magnanimous being." + +"I dare say. I can imagine there are both odd points and grand points +about her." + +"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." + +"You saw this spectacle?" + +"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." + +"Her heart's core? Do you think she showed you that?" + +"Her heart's core." + +"And how was it?" + +"Like a shrine, for it was holy; like snow, for it was pure; like +flame, for it was warm; like death, for it was strong." + +"Can she love? tell me that." + +"What think you?" + +"She has loved none that have loved her yet." + +"Who are those that have loved her?" + +He named a list of gentlemen, closing with Sir Philip Nunnely. + +"She has loved none of these." + +"Yet some of them were worthy of a woman's affection." + +"Of some women's, but not of Shirley's." + +"Is she better than others of her sex?" + +"She is peculiar, and more dangerous to take as a wife--rashly." + +"I can imagine that." + +"She spoke of you----" + +"Oh, she did! I thought you denied it." + +"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." + +"So had I; but let us hear. She thinks meanly, she feels contemptuously, +doubtless?" + +"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." + +"But how does she feel?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Shirley incapable of love!" + +"That she will never marry. I imagine her jealous of compromising her +pride, of relinquishing her power, of sharing her property." + +"Shirley has hurt your _amour propre_." + +"She did hurt it; though I had not an emotion of tenderness, nor a spark +of passion for her." + +"Then, Robert, it was very wicked in you to want to marry her." + +"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." + +"I doubt, now, whether you are speaking the truth. The grapes or the +cherries are sour--'hung too high.'" + +"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!" + +"But not perfect. He made a great blunder once, and we will hear no more +about it." + +"And shall we think no more about it, Cary? Shall we not despise him in +our heart--gentle but just, compassionate but upright?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +Caroline was moved, much moved. + +"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." + +She looked shyly. "There is something formidable still, pale as you +are," she said, as her eye fell under his. + +"To return to Shirley," pursued Moore: "is it your opinion that she is +ever likely to marry?" + +"She loves." + +"Platonically--theoretically--all humbug!" + +"She loves what I call sincerely." + +"Did she say so?" + +"I cannot affirm that she said so. No such confession as 'I love this +man or that' passed her lips." + +"I thought not." + +"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 _make_ 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." + +"Who is it?" + +"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." + +"What right had _you_ to triumph? Do you mean to say _you_ are fancy +free?" + +"Whatever _I_ 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." + +"So you exulted at recognizing a fellow-slave in one so fair and +imperial?" + +"I did; Robert, you say right, in one so fair and imperial." + +"You confess it--a _fellow_-slave?" + +"I confess nothing; but I say that haughty Shirley is no more free than +was Hagar." + +"And who, pray, is the Abraham, the hero of a patriarch who has achieved +such a conquest?" + +"You still speak scornfully, and cynically, and sorely; but I will make +you change your note before I have done with you." + +"We will see that. Can she marry this Cupidon?" + +"Cupidon! he is just about as much a Cupidon as you are a Cyclops." + +"Can she marry him?" + +"You will see." + +"I want to know his name, Cary." + +"Guess it." + +"Is it any one in this neighbourhood?" + +"Yes, in Briarfield parish." + +"Then it is some person unworthy of her. I don't know a soul in +Briarfield parish her equal." + +"Guess." + +"Impossible. I suppose she is under a delusion, and will plunge into +some absurdity, after all." + +Caroline smiled. + +"Do _you_ approve the choice?" asked Moore. + +"Quite, _quite_." + +"Then I _am_ 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." + +"And I _quite_ approve, and mamma was charmed." + +"'Mamma' charmed--Mrs. Pryor! It can't be romantic, then?" + +"It _is_ romantic, but it is also right." + +"Tell me, Cary--tell me out of pity; I am too weak to be tantalized." + +"You shall be tantalized--it will do you no harm; you are not so weak as +you pretend." + +"I have twice this evening had some thoughts of falling on the floor at +your feet." + +"You had better not. I shall decline to help you up." + +"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." + +"Robert, Robert, sit still; don't be absurd. I will go to Hortense if +you commit extravagances." + +"You have stolen my senses. Just now nothing will come into my mind but +_les litanies de la sainte Vièrge. Rose céleste, reine des anges_!" + +"_Tour d'ivoire, maison d'or_--is not that the jargon? Well, sit down +quietly, and guess your riddle." + +"But 'mamma' charmed--there's the puzzle." + +"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.'" + +"I'll guess once, and no more. It is old Helstone. She is going to be +your aunt." + +"I'll tell my uncle; I'll tell Shirley!" cried Caroline, laughing +gleefully. "Guess again, Robert; your blunders are charming." + +"It is the parson--Hall." + +"Indeed, no; he is mine, if you please." + +"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." + +"Fanny will be here to fetch me before you have solved the riddle, if +you don't make haste." + +"I'll guess no more--I am tired; and then I don't care. Miss Keeldar may +marry _le grand Turc_ for me." + +"Must I whisper?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Must I call Shirley a noble creature now?" he asked. + +"If you wish to speak the truth, certainly." + +"Must I forgive her?" + +"Forgive her? Naughty Robert! Was she in the wrong, or were you?" + +"Must I at length love her downright, Cary?" + +Caroline looked keenly up, and made a movement towards him, something +between the loving and the petulant. + +"Only give the word, and I'll try to obey you." + +"Indeed, you must not love her; the bare idea is perverse." + +"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." + +"It is not you who are to say these things. Now, Robert, be good." + +"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." + +"So much the better; you are a great deal safer without. Good-night." + +"Why must you always go, Lina, at the very instant when I most want you +to stay?" + +"Because you most wish to retain when you are most certain to lose." + +"Listen; one other word. Take care of your own heart--do you hear me?" + +"There is no danger." + +"I am not convinced of that. The Platonic parson, for instance." + +"Who--Malone?" + +"Cyril Hall. I owe more than one twinge of jealousy to that quarter." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +WRITTEN IN THE SCHOOLROOM. + + +Louis Moore's 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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:-- + + * * * * * + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A fine 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 _saw_ her beauty, now I _feel_ it. + +"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. + +"I saw her eyelid flitter when I came in, but she did not look up; _now_ +she hardly ever gives me a glance. She seems to grow silent too; to _me_ +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? + +"This morning I dared at least contrive an hour's communion for her and +me; I dared not only _wish_ but _will_ 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.' + +"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 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. + +"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 _seem_ 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 _what_ I was leaving. + +"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. + +"'This day week you will be alone at Fieldhead, Miss Keeldar.' + +"'Yes: I rather think my uncle's intention to go is a settled one now.' + +"'He leaves you dissatisfied.' + +"'He is not pleased with me.' + +"'He departs as he came--no better for his journey. This is mortifying.' + +"'I trust the failure of his plans will take from him all inclination to +lay new ones.' + +"'In his way Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. All he has done or +intended to do he believed to be for the best.' + +"'You are kind to undertake the defence of a man who has permitted +himself to treat you with so much insolence.' + +"'I never feel shocked at, or bear malice for, what is spoken in +character; and most perfectly in character was that vulgar and violent +onset against me, when he had quitted you worsted.' + +"'You cease now to be Henry's tutor?' + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"'And any Indian tribe of Blackfeet or Flatheads would afford us a +bride, perhaps?' + +"'No' (hesitating), 'I think not. The savage is sordid. I think--that +is, I _hope_--you would neither of you share your hearth with that to +which you could not give your heart.' + +"'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?' + +"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. + +"'How did you learn what you seem to know about my intentions?' + +"'I know nothing. I am only discovering them now. I spoke at hazard.' + +"'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 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.' + +"She could not hear me speak so unmoved, and she _was_ 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. + +"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! + +"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.' + +"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. + +"'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 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.' + +"'Juno could not cook a buffalo steak as you like it,' said she. + +"'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.' + +"'_Reward_ her, lord of the creation--_reward_ her!'" ejaculated she, +with a curled lip. + +"'And be repaid a thousandfold.' + +"'If she willed it, monseigneur.' + +"'And she _should_ will it.' + +"'You have stipulated for any temper Fate wills. Compulsion is flint and +a blow to the metal of some souls.' + +"'And love the spark it elicits.' + +"'Who cares for the love that is but a spark--seen, flown upward, and +gone?' + +"'I must find my orphan girl. Tell me how, Miss Keeldar.' + +"'Advertise; and be sure you add, when you describe the qualifications, +she must be a good plain cook.' + +"'I must find her; and when I do find her I shall marry her.' + +"'Not you!' and her voice took a sudden accent of peculiar scorn. + +"I liked this. I had roused her from the pensive mood in which I had +first found her. I would stir her further. + +"'Why doubt it?' + +"'_You_ marry!' + +"'Yes, of course; nothing more evident than that I can and shall.' + +"'The contrary is evident, Mr. Moore.' + +"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. + +"'Favour me with your reasons for such an opinion, Miss Keeldar.' + +"'How will _you_ manage to marry, I wonder?' + +"'I shall manage it with ease and speed when I find the proper person.' + +"'Accept celibacy!' (and she made a gesture with her hand as if she gave +me something) 'take it as your doom!' + +"'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.' + +"'Take worse, then!' + +"'How--what?' + +"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. + +"'Take a wife that has paid you court to save your modesty, and thrust +herself upon you to spare your scruples.' + +"'Only show me where.' + +"'Any stout widow that has had a few husbands already, and can manage +these things.' + +"'She must not be rich, then. Oh these riches!' + +"'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.' + +"'You look hot and haughty.' + +"'And you far haughtier. Yours is the monstrous pride which counterfeits +humility.' + +"'I am a dependant; I know my place.' + +"'I am a woman; I know mine.' + +"'I am poor; I must be proud.' + +"'I have received ordinances, and own obligations stringent as yours.' + +"We had reached a critical point now, and we halted and looked at each +other. _She_ 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?' + +"I put this question suddenly and promptly. + +"'Did you think I should take him?' + +"'I thought you might.' + +"'On what grounds, may I ask?' + +"'Conformity of rank, age, pleasing contrast of temper--for _he_ is mild +and amiable--harmony of intellectual tastes.' + +"'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.' + +"'Sister of the spotted, bright, quick, fiery leopard.' + +"'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----' + +"'Do you? That is news.' + +"'I absolutely shudder at the sight of metre or at the sound of rhyme +whenever I am at the priory or Sir Philip 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?' + +"'You might have the satisfaction of leading him to a higher standard, +of improving his tastes.' + +"'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 _you_ +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.' + +"'God knows it is needed!' + +"'What do you mean by that, Mr. Moore?' + +"'What I say. Improvement is imperatively needed.' + +"'If you were a woman you would school _monsieur, votre mari_, +charmingly. It would just suit you; schooling is your vocation.' + +"'May I ask whether, in your present just and gentle mood, you mean to +taunt me with being a tutor?' + +"'Yes, bitterly; and with anything else you please--any defect of which +you are painfully conscious.' + +"'With being poor, for instance?' + +"'Of course; that will sting you. You are sore about your poverty; you +brood over that.' + +"'With having nothing but a very plain person to offer the woman who may +master my heart?' + +"'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.' + +"'Compare it with your own.' + +"'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.' + +"'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when 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.' + +"'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless and +friendless young orphan girl, when you find her.' + +"'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.' + +"Her eyes emitted an eager flash, her lips opened; but she reclosed +them, and impetuously turned away. + +"'Tell me, tell me where she is, Miss Keeldar!' + +"Another movement, all haughtiness and fire and impulse. + +"'I must know. You _can_ tell me; you _shall_ tell me.' + +"'I _never will_.' + +"She turned to leave me. Could I now let her part 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. + +"'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.' + +"'May I pass?' + +"'No; I guard the door. I would almost rather die than let you leave me +just now, without speaking the word I demand.' + +"'What dare you expect me to say?' + +"'What I am dying and perishing to hear; what I _must_ and _will_ hear; +what you dare not now suppress.' + +"'Mr. Moore, I hardly know what you mean. You are not like yourself.' + +"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. + +"'You _do_ know what I mean, and for the first time I stand before you +_myself_. I have flung off the tutor, and beg to introduce you to the +man. And remember, he is a gentleman.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'My pupil,' I said. + +"'My master,' was the low answer. + +"'I have a thing to tell you.' + +"She waited with declined brow and ringlets drooped. + +"'I have to tell you that for four years you have been 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.' + +"She sought what to say, but could not find a word. She tried to rally, +but vainly. I passionately repeated that I loved her. + +"'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer I got, uttered in a tone +that would have been petulant if it had not faltered. + +"'Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no love for me?' + +"'A little bit.' + +"'I am not to be tortured. I will not even play at present.' + +"'I don't want to play; I want to go.' + +"'I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. _You_ 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.' + +"'The thing you want is mislaid--lost some time since. Let me go and +seek it.' + +"'Declare that it is where your keys often are--in my possession.' + +"'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.' + +"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?' + +"'Do as you please. Far be it from me to dictate your choice.' + +"'You shall tell me with your own lips whether you doom me to exile or +call me to hope.' + +"'Go; I can bear to be left.' + +"'Perhaps I too _can_ bear to leave you. But reply, Shirley, my pupil, +my sovereign--reply.' + +"'Die without me if you will; live for me if you dare.' + +"'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I _dare_ 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.' + +"'And are we equal, then, sir? are we equal at last?' + +"'You are younger, frailer, feebler, more ignorant than I.' + +"'Will you be good to me, and never tyrannize?' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'You name me leopardess. Remember, the leopardess is tameless,' said +she. + +"'Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are _mine_.' + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'How much do you love me?' I asked. + +"'Ah! you know. I will not gratify you--I will not flatter.' + +"'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.' + +"'Poor Tartar!' said she, touching and patting my hand--'poor fellow, +stalwart friend, Shirley's pet and favourite, lie down!' + +"'But I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet word.' + +"And at last she gave it. + +"'Dear Louis, be faithful to me; never leave me. I don't care for life +unless I may pass it at your side.' + +"'Something more.' + +"She gave me a change; it was not her way to offer the same dish twice. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'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!' + +"'So help me God, I will!'" + + * * * * * + +Yet again a passage from the blank book if you like, reader; if you +don't like it, pass it over:-- + +"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 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.' + +"I asked, 'Do you mean him to understand how matters are?' + +"'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 +_commun, plat, bas--vilain et un peu méchant_. 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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"I believe, if I had just then started from her, she would have +despised me. Thanks to the phlegm of my nature, I rarely start. When I +am well-off, _bien_, comfortable, I am not soon stirred. _Bien_ I +was--_très bien_--consequently immutable. No muscle moved. I hardly +looked to the door. + +"'Good-morning, uncle,' said she, addressing that personage, who paused +on the threshold in a state of petrifaction. + +"'Have you been long downstairs, Miss Keeldar, and alone with Mr. +Moore?' + +"'Yes, a very long time. We both came down early; it was scarcely +light.' + +"'The proceeding is improper----' + +"'It was at first, I was rather cross, and not civil; but you will +perceive that we are now friends.' + +"'I perceive more than you would wish me to perceive.' + +"'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.' + +"'_You!_ What have _you_ to do with Miss Keeldar?' + +"'To protect, watch over, serve her.' + +"'You, sir--you, the tutor?' + +"'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she; 'not one syllable of +disrespect to Mr. Moore in this house.' + +"'Do you take his part?' + +"'_His_ part? oh yes!' + +"She turned to me with a sudden fond movement, which I met by circling +her with my arm. She and I both rose. + +"'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morning-gown standing quivering at the +door. _Ged_, I think, must be the cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares. When +hard pressed he always invokes this idol. + +"'Come forward, uncle; you shall hear all.--Tell him all, Louis.' + +"'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!' + +"She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future husband,' she said. +'Who dares touch him or me?' + +"'Her husband!' He raised and spread his hands. He dropped into a seat. + +"'A while ago you wanted much to know whom I meant 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!' + +"'But' (savagely) 'you _shall not_ have him; he _shall not_ have you.' + +"'I would die before I would have another. I would die if I might not +have him.' + +"He uttered words with which this page shall never be polluted. + +"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. + +"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 _shall_ go, by fair means or foul.' + +"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 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." + +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---- + +"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. 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! + +"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. + +"'Miss Keeldar, stay one instant,' said I, meeting her. + +"'Why? the hall is too cold.' + +"'It is not cold for me; at my side it should not be cold for you.' + +"'But I shiver.' + +"'With fear, I believe. What makes you fear me? You are quiet and +distant. Why?' + +"'I may well fear what looks like a great dark goblin meeting me in the +moonlight.' + +"'_Do not--do not_ 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.' + +"'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. + +"'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.' + +"'No, Louis, no. It is an easy, liquid name--not soon forgotten.' + +"'Be cordial to Louis, then; approach him--let him approach.' + +"'I _am_ cordial,' said she, hovering aloof like a white shadow. + +"'Your voice is very sweet and very low,' I answered, quietly advancing. +'You seem subdued, but still startled.' + +"'No--quite calm, and afraid of nothing,' she assured me. + +"'Of nothing but your votary.' + +"I bent a knee to the flags at her feet. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far from happy in my +present uncertain, unsettled state.' + +"'Oh yes, you _are_ happy!' she cried hastily. 'You don't know how happy +you are. Any change will be for the worse.' + +"'Happy or not, I cannot bear to go on so much longer. You are too +generous to require it.' + +"'Be reasonable, Louis; be patient! I like you because you are patient.' + +"'Like me no longer, then; love me instead. Fix our marriage day; think +of it to-night, and decide.' + +"She breathed a murmur, inarticulate yet expressive; darted, or melted, +from my arms--and I lost her." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE WINDING-UP. + + +Yes, 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. + +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. + +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. + +Make way for Mr. Sweeting. + +Here he comes, with his lady on his arm--the most 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. + +There! I think the varnish has been put on very nicely. + +Advance, Mr. Donne. + +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 good with the cash. He was +useful in his day and generation. + +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, _with +truth_, 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. + +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 _I_ +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 indispensable forms, +prudently resolved to let the matter quietly drop, which they did. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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." + +"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? + +"Go your ways. Pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the earth." + +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. + +In this year, Lord Wellington assumed the reins in Spain. 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. + +Men of Manchester, I beg your pardon for this slight _résumé_ 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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +It had been intended that Miss Helstone should act as bridesmaid at the +approaching nuptials, but Fortune had destined her another part. + +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. + +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. + +"I am looking at Venus, mamma. See, she is beautiful. How white her +lustre is, compared with the deep red of the bonfires!" + +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. + +"I have been sitting with 'mamma' an hour," said the intruder. "I have +had a long conversation with her. Where, meantime, have you been?" + +"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." + +"Never mind them. They were cut out for each other. 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?" + +"For the repeal of your terrible law--the Orders you hate so much. You +are pleased, are you not?" + +"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." + +"To leave me? To leave _me_?" + +Her little fingers fastened on his arm; she spoke and looked affrighted. + +"Not now--not now. Examine my face--yes, look at me well. Is the despair +of parting legible thereon?" + +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. + +"Will the repeal do you good--_much_ good, _immediate_ good?" she +inquired. + +"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." + +Caroline devoured his words; she held his hand in hers; she drew a long +breath. + +"You are saved? Your heavy difficulties are lifted?" + +"They are lifted. I breathe. I can act." + +"At last! Oh, Providence is kind! Thank Him, Robert." + +"I do thank Providence." + +"And I also, for your sake!" She looked up devoutly. + +"Now I can take more workmen, give better wages, lay wiser and more +liberal plans, do some good, be less selfish. _Now_, Caroline, I can +have a house--a home which I can truly call mine--and _now_----" + +He paused, for his deep voice was checked. + +"And _now_," he resumed--"now I can think of marriage, _now_ I can seek +a wife." + +This was no moment for her to speak. She did not speak. + +"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?" + +His hand was in Caroline's still; a gentle pressure answered him. + +"Is Caroline mine?" + +"Caroline is yours." + +"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." + +"I love you, too, Robert, and will take faithful care of you." + +"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 +_will_ 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." + +Suddenly Caroline was troubled; her lip quivered. + +"What flutters my dove?" asked Moore, as she nestled to and then +uneasily shrank from him. + +"Poor mamma! I am all mamma has. Must I leave her?" + +"Do you know, I thought of that difficulty. I and 'mamma' have discussed +it." + +"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." + +"She was faithful when I was false--was she not? I never came near your +sick-bed, and she watched it ceaselessly." + +"What must I do? Anything but leave her." + +"At my wish you never shall leave her." + +"She may live very near us?" + +"With us--only she will have her own rooms and servant. For this she +stipulates herself." + +"You know she has an income, that, with her habits, makes her quite +independent?" + +"She told me that, with a gentle pride that reminded me of somebody +else." + +"She is not at all interfering, and incapable of gossip." + +"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." + +"Yet she will be your mother-in-law?" The speaker gave an arch little +nod. Moore smiled. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, implicitly! Jesting apart, I feel that she and I will suit--_on ne +peut mieux_. 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." + +"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." + +"A eulogium I like; it is very sweet. I am well pleased my Caroline +should view me in this light." + +"Mamma just thinks of you as I do." + +"Not quite, I hope?" + +"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.'" + +"'Mamma' is rather a misanthropist, is she not? Not the best opinion of +the sterner sex?" + +"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----" + +"Well, what now? What is the new thought?" + +"You have not seen my uncle yet?" + +"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 _can_ keep her +better than he thinks--better than I choose to boast." + +"If you get rich you will do good with your money, Robert?" + +"I _will_ 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 _must_ 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 _pâte_ +generally approved, _bon comme le pain_--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 for him. She will one day +see him as universally beloved as even _she_ 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----" + +"Robert! And root up the copse?" + +"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." + +"Horrible! You will change our blue hill-country air into the Stilbro' +smoke atmosphere." + +"I will pour the waters of Pactolus through the valley of Briarfield." + +"I like the beck a thousand times better." + +"I will get an Act for enclosing Nunnely Common, and parcelling it out +into farms." + +"Stilbro' Moor, however, defies you, thank Heaven! What can you grow in +Bilberry Moss? What will flourish on Rushedge?" + +"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." + +She smiled up in his face. + +"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." + +She mutely offered a kiss--an offer taken unfair advantage of, to the +extortion of about a hundred kisses. + +"Extravagant day-dreams," said Moore, with a sigh and smile, "yet +perhaps we may realize some of them. Meantime, the dew is falling. Mrs. +Moore, I shall take you in." + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What was the Hollow like then, Martha?" + +"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." + +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! + + +THE END. + + + + +ESTABLISHED 1798 + +[Illustration] + +T. NELSON AND SONS + +PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS + + + + +THE NELSON CLASSICS. + +_Uniform with this Volume and Same Price._ + + +=Jack Sheppard.= HARRISON AINSWORTH. + + +=Masterman Ready.= CAPTAIN MARRYAT. + + +=Michael Strogoff.= JULES VERNE. + + +=The Wide Wide World.= ELIZ. WETHERELL. + +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. + + +=Hereward the Wake.= CHARLES KINGSLEY. + +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. + + +=David Copperfield--I.= CHARLES DICKENS. + + +=David Copperfield--II.= CHARLES DICKENS. + +"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. + + +=Jane Eyre.= CHARLOTTE BRONTË. + +"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. + + +=Verdant Green.= CUTHBERT BEDE. + +This is the humorous classic of Oxford life. Published more than half a +century ago, its humour is as fresh to-day as ever. + + +=Pickwick Papers--I.= CHARLES DICKENS. + + +=Pickwick Papers--II.= CHARLES DICKENS. + +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. + + +=Windsor Castle.= HARRISON AINSWORTH. + +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. + + +=Peg Woffington.= CHARLES READE. + +"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. + + +=Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character.= Dean RAMSAY. + +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." + + +=Parables from Nature.= Mrs. GATTY. + +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. + + +=Lavengro.= GEORGE BORROW. + +The greatest romance of the road in English literature, telling of all +the byways and humours of that older England which is fast disappearing. + + +=Little Women.= LOUISA M. ALCOTT. + +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. + + +=Pride and Prejudice.= JANE AUSTEN. + +=Sense and Sensibility.= JANE AUSTEN. + +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." + + +=Toilers of the Sea.= VICTOR HUGO. + +=The Laughing Man.= VICTOR HUGO. + +=Les Misérables--I.= VICTOR HUGO. + +=Les Misérables--II.= VICTOR HUGO. + + +='Ninety-Three.= VICTOR HUGO. + +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. + + +=The Heir of Redclyffe.= C. M. YONGE. + +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. + + +=Wild Wales.= GEORGE BORROW. + +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. + + +=The Cloister and the Hearth.= CHARLES READE. + +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. + + +=Romola.= GEORGE ELIOT. + +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. + + +=Silas Marner.= GEORGE ELIOT. + +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. + + +=The Abbot.= Sir WALTER SCOTT. + +One of the Waverley novels which has always been deservedly popular. + + +=Bride of Lammermoor.= Sir WALTER SCOTT. + +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. + + +=The Black Tulip.= ALEXANDRE DUMAS. + +This was the last of Dumas' great stories. It is a veritable _tour de +force_, 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. + + +=Tom Cringle's Log.= MICHAEL SCOTT. + +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. + + +=Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare.= + +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. + + +=The Scarlet Letter.= NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. + +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. + + + + +THE NELSON CLASSICS. + + +_Uniform with this Volume and Same Price_. + +CONDENSED LIST. + + 1. A Tale of Two Cities. + 2. Tom Brown's Schooldays. + 3. The Deerslayer. + 4. Henry Esmond. + 5. Hypatia. + 6. The Mill on the Floss. + 7. Uncle Tom's Cabin. + 8. The Last of the Mohicans. + 9. Adam Bede. + 10. The Old Curiosity Shop. + 11. Oliver Twist. + 12. Kenilworth. + 13. Robinson Crusoe. + 14. The Last Days of Pompeii. + 15. Cloister and the Hearth. + 16. Ivanhoe. + 17. East Lynne. + 18. Cranford. + 19. John Halifax, Gentleman. + 20. The Pathfinder. + 21. Westward Ho! + 22. The Three Musketeers. + 23. The Channings. + 24. The Pilgrim's Progress. + 25. Pride and Prejudice. + 26. Quentin Durward. + 27. Villette. + 28. Hard Times. + 29. Child's History of England. + 30. The Bible in Spain. + 31. Gulliver's Travels. + 32. Sense and Sensibility. + 33. Kate Coventry. + 34. Silas Marner. + 35. Notre Dame. + 36. Old St. Paul's. + 37. Waverley. + 38. 'Ninety-Three. + 39. Eothen. + 40. Toilers of the Sea. + 41. Children of the New Forest. + 42. The Laughing Man. + 43. A Book of Golden Deeds. + 44. Great Expectations. + 45. Guy Mannering. + 46. Modern Painters (Selections) + 47. Les Misérables--I. + 48. Les Misérables--II. + 49. The Monastery. + 50. Romola. + 51. The Vicar of Wakefield. + 52. Emma. + 53. Lavengro. + 54. Emerson's Essays. + 55. The Bride of Lammermoor. + 56. The Abbot. + 57. Tom Cringle's Log. + 58. Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare. + 59. The Scarlet Letter. + 60. Old Mortality. + 61. The Romany Rye. + 62. Hans Andersen. + 63. The Black Tulip. + 64. Little Women. + 65. The Talisman. + 66. Scottish Life and Character. + 67. The Woman in White. + 68. Tales of Mystery. + 69. Fair Maid of Perth. + 70. Parables from Nature. + 71. Peg Woffington. + 72. Windsor Castle. + 73. Edmund Burke. + 74. Ingoldsby Legends. + 75. Pickwick Papers.--I. + 76. Pickwick Papers.--II. + 77. Verdant Green. + 78. The Heir of Redclyffe. + 79. Wild Wales. + 80. Two Years Before the Mast. + 81. Jane Eyre. + 82. David Copperfield.--I. + 83. David Copperfield.--II. + 84. Hereward the Wake. + 85. Wide Wide World. + 86. Michael Strogoff. + +THOMAS NELSON AND SONS. + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + Variations in hyphenated words have been retained as + they appear in the original publication. + + Changes have been made as follows: + + Page 30 + with some inpatience _changed to_ + with some impatience + + Page 48 + very bravely mantained _changed to_ + very bravely maintained + + Page 120 + Sudgen, his staff; and Sudgen arrest him _changed to_ + Sugden, his staff; and Sugden arrest him + + Page 166 + The old atticed _changed to_ + The old latticed + + Page 175 + Let as have _changed to_ + Let us have + + Page 185 + Mrs. Gill, my houskeeper _changed to_ + Mrs. Gill, my housekeeper + + Page 224 + by a downward gave _changed to_ + by a downward gaze + + Page 242 + gently invired him _changed to_ + gently invited him + + Page 245 + a smiling Melancthon _changed to_ + a smiling Melanchthon + + Page 255 + Sentinels of Nunwood _changed to_ + Sentinels of Nunnwood + + Page 260 + only the profiters _changed to_ + only the profiteers + + Page 274 + dark gray irids _changed to_ + dark gray irides + + Page 297 + alight and alow _changed to_ + alight and aglow + + Page 380 + my old accupation _changed to_ + my old occupation + + Page 492 + not without approbrium _changed to_ + not without opprobrium + + Punctuation has been changed as follows: + + Page 119 + Mr Moore, we lived _changed to_ + Mr. Moore, we lived + + Page 145 + stones on the road? _changed to_ + stones on the road. + + Page 393 + "Shirley, my woman _changed to_ + 'Shirley, my woman + + Page 540 + _reward_ her!" _changed to_ + _reward_ her!'" + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIRLEY *** + +***** This file should be named 30486-0.txt or 30486-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/8/30486/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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