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diff --git a/4434-h/4434-h.htm b/4434-h/4434-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..31efdc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/4434-h/4434-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,29497 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Evan Harrington, by George Meredith</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Evan Harrington, Complete, by George Meredith</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Evan Harrington, Complete</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George Meredith</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 17, 2002 [eBook #4434]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 20, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVAN HARRINGTON ***</div> + +<h1>EVAN HARRINGTON</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By George Meredith</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I. ABOVE BUTTONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II. THE HERITAGE OF THE SON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III. THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII. MOTHER AND SON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII. INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX. THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI. DOINGS AT AN INN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII. THE MATCH OF FALLOW FIELD AGAINST BECKLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV. A CAPTURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI. LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX. SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX. BREAK-NECK LEAP</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII. IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO DIGEST HIM AT DINNER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII. TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV. IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI. MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII. EXHIBITS ROSE’S GENERALSHIP; EVAN’S PERFORMANCE ON THE SECOND FIDDLE; AND THE WRETCHEDNESS OF THE COUNTESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII. TOM COGGLESEY’S PROPOSITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX. PRELUDE TO AN ENGAGEMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII. IN WHICH EVAN’S LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0033">CHAPTER XXXIII. THE HERO TAKES HIS RANK IN THE ORCHESTRA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0034">CHAPTER XXXIV. A PAGAN SACRIFICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0035">CHAPTER XXXV. ROSE WOUNDED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0036">CHAPTER XXXVI. BEFORE BREAKFAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0037">CHAPTER XXXVII. THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0038">CHAPTER XXXVIII. IN WHICH WE HAVE TO SEE IN THE DARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0039">CHAPTER XXXIX. IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0040">CHAPTER XL. IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0041">CHAPTER XLI. REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0042">CHAPTER XLII. JULIANA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0043">CHAPTER XLIII. ROSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0044">CHAPTER XLIV. CONTAINS A WARNING TO ALL CONSPIRATORS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0045">CHAPTER XLV. IN WHICH THE SHOP BECOMES THE CENTRE OF ATTRACTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0046">CHAPTER XLVI. A LOVERS’ PARTING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0047">CHAPTER XLVII. A YEAR LATER, THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER SISTER CAROLINE</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br /> +ABOVE BUTTONS</h2> + +<p> +Long after the hours when tradesmen are in the habit of commencing business, +the shutters of a certain shop in the town of Lymport-on-the-Sea remained +significantly closed, and it became known that death had taken Mr. Melchisedec +Harrington, and struck one off the list of living tailors. The demise of a +respectable member of this class does not ordinarily create a profound +sensation. He dies, and his equals debate who is to be his successor: while the +rest of them who have come in contact with him, very probably hear nothing of +his great launch and final adieu till the winding up of cash-accounts; on which +occasions we may augur that he is not often blessed by one or other of the two +great parties who subdivide this universe. In the case of Mr. Melchisedec it +was otherwise. This had been a grand man, despite his calling, and in the teeth +of opprobrious epithets against his craft. To be both generally blamed, and +generally liked, evinces a peculiar construction of mortal. Mr. Melchisedec, +whom people in private called the great Mel, had been at once the sad dog of +Lymport, and the pride of the town. He was a tailor, and he kept horses; he was +a tailor, and he had gallant adventures; he was a tailor, and he shook hands +with his customers. Finally, he was a tradesman, and he never was known to have +sent in a bill. Such a personage comes but once in a generation, and, when he +goes, men miss the man as well as their money. +</p> + +<p> +That he was dead, there could be no doubt. Kilne, the publican opposite, had +seen Sally, one of the domestic servants, come out of the house in the early +morning and rush up the street to the doctor’s, tossing her hands; and +she, not disinclined to dilute her grief, had, on her return, related that her +master was then at his last gasp, and had refused, in so many words, to swallow +the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I won’t swallow the doctor!’ he says, ‘I +won’t swallow the doctor!’” Sally moaned. “‘I +never touched him,’ he says, ‘and I never will.’” +</p> + +<p> +Kilne angrily declared, that in his opinion, a man who rejected medicine in +extremity, ought to have it forced down his throat: and considering that the +invalid was pretty deeply in Kilne’s debt, it naturally assumed the form +of a dishonest act on his part; but Sally scornfully dared any one to lay hand +on her master, even for his own good. “For,” said she, +“he’s got his eyes awake, though he do lie so helpless. He marks +ye!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! ah!” Kilne sniffed the air. Sally then rushed back to her +duties. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, there’s a man!” Kilne stuck his hands in his pockets +and began his meditation: which, however, was cut short by the approach of his +neighbour Barnes, the butcher, to whom he confided what he had heard, and who +ejaculated professionally, “Obstinate as a pig!” As they stood +together they beheld Sally, a figure of telegraph, at one of the windows, +implying that all was just over. +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” said Barnes, as to a matter-of-fact affair. +</p> + +<p> +Some minutes after, the two were joined by Grossby, the confectioner, who +listened to the news, and observed: +</p> + +<p> +“Just like him! I’d have sworn he’d never take doctor’s +stuff”; and, nodding at Kilne, “liked his medicine best, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Had a-hem!—good lot of it,” muttered Kilne, with a suddenly +serious brow. +</p> + +<p> +“How does he stand on your books?” asked Barnes. +</p> + +<p> +Kilne shouldered round, crying: “Who the deuce is to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” Grossby sighed. “In he comes with his +‘Good morning, Grossby, fine day for the hunt, Grossby,’ and a +ten-pound note. ‘Have the kindness to put that down in my favour, +Grossby.’ And just as I am going to say, ‘Look here,—this +won’t do,’ he has me by the collar, and there’s one of the +regiments going to give a supper party, which he’s to order; or the +Admiral’s wife wants the receipt for that pie; or in comes my wife, and +there’s no talking of business then, though she may have been bothering +about his account all the night beforehand. Something or other! and so we run +on.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I want to know,” said Barnes, the butcher, “is where he +got his tenners from?” +</p> + +<p> +Kilne shook a sagacious head: “No knowing!” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we shall get something out of the fire?” Barnes +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“That depends!” answered the emphatic Kilne. +</p> + +<p> +“But, you know, if the widow carries on the business,” said +Grossby, “there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get it all, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t two that can make clothes for nothing, and make a +profit out of it,” said Kilne. +</p> + +<p> +“That young chap in Portugal,” added Barnes, “he won’t +take to tailoring when he comes home. D’ye think he will?” +</p> + +<p> +Kilne muttered: “Can’t say!” and Grossby, a kindly creature +in his way, albeit a creditor, reverting to the first subject of their +discourse, ejaculated, “But what a one he was!—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine!—to look on,” Kilne assented. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was like a Marquis,” said Barnes. +</p> + +<p> +Here the three regarded each other, and laughed, though not loudly. They +instantly checked that unseemliness, and Kilne, as one who rises from the +depths of a calculation with the sum in his head, spoke quite in a different +voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what do you say, gentlemen? shall we adjourn? No use standing +here.” +</p> + +<p> +By the invitation to adjourn, it was well understood by the committee Kilne +addressed, that they were invited to pass his threshold, and partake of a +morning draught. Barnes, the butcher, had no objection whatever, and if +Grossby, a man of milder make, entertained any, the occasion and common +interests to be discussed, advised him to waive them. In single file these +mourners entered the publican’s house, where Kilne, after summoning them +from behind the bar, on the important question, what it should be? and +receiving, first, perfect acquiescence in his views as to what it should be, +and then feeble suggestions of the drink best befitting that early hour and the +speaker’s particular constitution, poured out a toothful to each, and one +to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s to him, poor fellow!” said Kilne; and was +deliberately echoed twice. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, it wasn’t that,” Kilne pursued, pointing to the bottle +in the midst of a smacking of lips, “that wasn’t what got him into +difficulties. It was expensive luckshries. It was being above his condition. +Horses! What’s a tradesman got to do with horses? Unless he’s +retired! Then he’s a gentleman, and can do as he likes. It’s no use +trying to be a gentleman if you can’t pay for it. It always ends bad. +Why, there was he, consorting with gentlefolks—gay as a lark! Who has to +pay for it?” +</p> + +<p> +Kilne’s fellow-victims maintained a rather doleful tributary silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not saying anything against him now,” the publican +further observed. “It’s too late. And there! I’m sorry +he’s gone, for one. He was as kind a hearted a man as ever breathed. And +there! perhaps it was just as much my fault; I couldn’t say +‘No’ to him,—dash me, if I could!” +</p> + +<p> +Lymport was a prosperous town, and in prosperity the much-despised British +tradesman is not a harsh, he is really a well-disposed, easy soul, and requires +but management, manner, occasional instalments—just to freshen the +account—and a surety that he who debits is on the spot, to be a right +royal king of credit. Only the account must never drivel. “Stare aut +crescere” appears to be his feeling on that point, and the departed Mr. +Melchisedec undoubtedly understood him there; for the running on of the account +looked deplorable and extraordinary now that Mr. Melchisedec was no longer in a +position to run on with it, and it was precisely his doing so which had +prevented it from being brought to a summary close long before. +</p> + +<p> +Both Barnes, the butcher, and Grossby, the confectioner, confessed that they, +too, found it hard ever to say “No” to him, and, speaking broadly, +never could. +</p> + +<p> +“Except once,” said Barnes, “when he wanted me to let him +have a ox to roast whole out on the common, for the Battle of Waterloo. I stood +out against him on that. ‘No, no,’ says I, ‘I’ll joint +him for ye, Mr. Harrington. You shall have him in joints, and eat him at +home’;—ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just like him!” said Grossby, with true enjoyment of the princely +disposition that had dictated the patriotic order. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!—there!” Kilne emphasized, pushing out his arm across the +bar, as much as to say, that in anything of such a kind, the great Mel never +had a rival. +</p> + +<p> +“That ‘Marquis’ affair changed him a bit,” said Barnes. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it did, for a time,” said Kilne. “What’s in +the grain, you know. He couldn’t change. He would be a gentleman, and +nothing’d stop him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I shouldn’t wonder but what that young chap out in +Portugal’ll want to be one, too; though he didn’t bid fair to be so +fine a man as his father.” +</p> + +<p> +“More of a scholar,” remarked Kilne. “That I call his worst +fault—shilly-shallying about that young chap. I mean his.” Kilne +stretched a finger toward the dead man’s house. “First, the young +chap’s to be sent into the Navy; then it’s the Army; then +he’s to be a judge, and sit on criminals; then he goes out to his sister +in Portugal; and now there’s nothing but a tailor open to him, as I see, +if we’re to get our money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! and he hasn’t got too much spirit to work to pay his +father’s debts,” added Barnes. “There’s a business +there to make any man’s fortune—properly <i>di</i>rected, <i>I</i> +say. But, I suppose, like father like son, he’ll becoming the Marquis, +too. He went to a gentleman’s school, and he’s had foreign +training. I don’t know what to think about it. His sisters over +there—they were fine women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! a fine family, every one of ’em! and married well!” +exclaimed the publican. +</p> + +<p> +“I never had the exact rights of that ‘Marquis’ +affair,” said Grossby; and, remembering that he had previously laughed +knowingly when it was alluded to, pursued: “Of course I heard of it at +the time, but how did he behave when he was blown upon?” +</p> + +<p> +Barnes undertook to explain; but Kilne, who relished the narrative quite as +well, and was readier, said: “Look here! I’ll tell you. I had it +from his own mouth one night when he wasn’t—not quite himself. He +was coming down King William Street, where he stabled his horse, you know, and +I met him. He’d been dining out-somewhere out over Fallowfield, I think +it was; and he sings out to me, ‘Ah! Kilne, my good fellow!’ and I, +wishing to be equal with him, says, ‘A fine night, my lord!’ and he +draws himself up—he smelt of good company—says he, ‘Kilne! +I’m not a lord, as you know, and you have no excuse for mistaking me for +one, sir!’ So I pretended I had mistaken him, and then he tucked his arm +under mine, and said, ‘You’re no worse than your betters, Kilne. +They took me for one at Squire Uplift’s to-night, but a man who wishes to +pass off for more than he is, Kilne, and impose upon people, he says, +‘he’s contemptible, Kilne! contemptible!’ So that, you know, +set me thinking about ‘Bath’ and the ‘Marquis,’ and I +couldn’t help smiling to myself, and just let slip a question whether he +had enlightened them a bit. ‘Kilne,’ said he, ‘you’re +an honest man, and a neighbour, and I’ll tell you what happened. The +Squire,’ he says, ‘likes my company, and I like his table. Now the +Squire’d never do a dirty action, but the Squire’s nephew, Mr. +George Uplift, he can’t forget that I earn my money, and once or twice I +have had to correct him.’ And I’ll wager Mel did it, too! Well, he +goes on: ‘There was Admiral Sir Jackson Racial and his lady, at dinner, +Squire Falco of Bursted, Lady Barrington, Admiral Combleman—our admiral, +that was; “Mr. This and That”, I forget their names—and other +ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance I was not honoured with.’ You +know his way of talking. ‘And there was a goose on the table,’ he +says; and, looking stern at me, ‘Don’t laugh yet!’ says he, +like thunder. ‘Well, he goes on: Mr. George caught my eye across the +table, and said, so as not to be heard by his uncle, “If that bird was +rampant, you would see your own arms, Marquis.”’ And Mel replied, +quietly for him to hear, “And as that bird is couchant, Mr. George, you +had better look to your sauce.” Couchant means squatting, you know. +That’s heraldry! Well, that wasn’t bad sparring of Mel’s. +But, bless you! he was never taken aback, and the gentlefolks was glad enough +to get him to sit down amongst ’em. So, says Mr. George, ‘I know +you’re a fire-eater, Marquis,’ and his dander was up, for he began +marquising Mel, and doing the mock polite at such a rate, that, by-and-by, one +of the ladies who didn’t know Mel called him ‘my lord’ and +‘his lordship.’ ‘And,’ says Mel, ‘I merely bowed +to her, and took no notice.’ So that passed off: and there sits Mel +telling his anecdotes, as grand as a king. And, by-and-by, young Mr. George, +who hadn’t forgiven Mel, and had been pulling at the bottle pretty well, +he sings out, ‘It’s Michaelmas! the death of the goose! and I +should like to drink the Marquis’s health!’ and he drank it solemn. +But, as far as I can make out, the women part of the company was a little in +the dark. So Mel waited till there was a sort of a pause, and then speaks +rather loud to the Admiral, ‘By the way, Sir Jackson, may I ask you, has +the title of Marquis anything to do with tailoring?’ Now Mel was a great +favourite with the Admiral, and with his lady, too, they say—and the +Admiral played into his hands, you see, and, says he, ‘I’m not +aware that it has, Mr. Harrington.’ And he begged for to know why he +asked the question—called him, ‘Mister,’ you understand. So +Mel said, and I can see him now, right out from his chest he spoke, with his +head up—‘When I was a younger man, I had the good taste to be fond +of good society, and the bad taste to wish to appear different from what I was +in it’: that’s Mel speaking; everybody was listening; so he goes +on: ‘I was in the habit of going to Bath in the season, and consorting +with the gentlemen I met there on terms of equality; and for some reason that I +am quite guiltless of,’ says Mel, ‘the hotel people gave out that I +was a Marquis in disguise; and, upon my honour, ladies and gentlemen—I +was young then, and a fool—I could not help imagining I looked the thing. +At all events, I took upon myself to act the part, and with some success, and +considerable gratification; for, in my opinion,’ says Mel, ‘no real +Marquis ever enjoyed his title so much as I did. One day I was in my +shop—No. 193, Main Street, Lymport—and a gentleman came in to order +his outfit. I received his directions, when suddenly he started back, stared at +me, and exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Marquis! I trust you will pardon me for having addressed you +with so much familiarity.” I recognized in him one of my Bath +acquaintances. That circumstance, ladies and gentlemen, has been a lesson to +me. Since that time I have never allowed a false impression with regard to my +position to exist. I desire,’ says Mel, smiling, ‘to have my exact +measure taken everywhere; and if the Michaelmas bird is to be associated with +me, I am sure I have no objection; all I can say is, that I cannot justify it +by letters patent of nobility.’ That’s how Mel put it. Do you think +they thought worse of him? I warrant you he came out of it in flying colours. +Gentlefolks like straight-forwardness in their inferiors—that’s +what they do. Ah!” said Kilne, meditatively, “I see him now, +walking across the street in the moonlight, after he’d told me that. A +fine figure of a man! and there ain’t many Marquises to match him.” +</p> + +<p> +To this Barnes and Grossby, not insensible to the merits of the recital they +had just given ear to, agreed. And with a common voice of praise in the mouths +of his creditors, the dead man’s requiem was sounded. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br /> +THE HERITAGE OF THE SON</h2> + +<p> +Toward evening, a carriage drove up to the door of the muted house, and the +card of Lady Racial, bearing a hurried line in pencil, was handed to the widow. +</p> + +<p> +It was when you looked upon her that you began to comprehend how great was the +personal splendour of the husband who could eclipse such a woman. Mrs. +Harrington was a tall and a stately dame. Dressed in the high waists of the +matrons of that period, with a light shawl drawn close over her shoulders and +bosom, she carried her head well; and her pale firm features, with the cast of +immediate affliction on them, had much dignity: dignity of an unrelenting +physical order, which need not express any remarkable pride of spirit. The +family gossips who, on both sides, were vain of this rare couple, and would +always descant on their beauty, even when they had occasion to slander their +characters, said, to distinguish them, that Henrietta Maria had a Port, and +Melchisedec a Presence: and that the union of a Port and a Presence, and such a +Port and such a Presence, was so uncommon, that you might search England +through and you would not find another, not even in the highest ranks of +society. There lies some subtle distinction here; due to the minute perceptions +which compel the gossips of a family to coin phrases that shall express the +nicest shades of a domestic difference. By a Port, one may understand them to +indicate something unsympathetically impressive; whereas a Presence would seem +to be a thing that directs the most affable appeal to our poor human +weaknesses. His Majesty King George IV., for instance, possessed a Port: Beau +Brummel wielded a Presence. Many, it is true, take a Presence to mean no more +than a shirt-frill, and interpret a Port as the art of walking erect. But this +is to look upon language too narrowly. +</p> + +<p> +On a more intimate acquaintance with the couple, you acknowledge the aptness of +the fine distinction. By birth Mrs. Harrington had claims to rank as a +gentlewoman. That is, her father was a lawyer of Lymport. The lawyer, however, +since we must descend the genealogical tree, was known to have married his +cook, who was the lady’s mother. Now Mr. Melchisedec was mysterious +concerning his origin; and, in his cups, talked largely and wisely of a great +Welsh family, issuing from a line of princes; and it is certain that he knew +enough of their history to have instructed them on particular points of it. He +never could think that his wife had done him any honour in espousing him; nor +was she the woman to tell him so. She had married him for love, rejecting +various suitors, Squire Uplift among them, in his favour. Subsequently she had +committed the profound connubial error of transferring her affections, or her +thoughts, from him to his business, which, indeed, was much in want of a mate; +and while he squandered the guineas, she patiently picked up the pence. They +had not lived unhappily. He was constantly courteous to her. But to see the +Port at that sordid work considerably ruffled the Presence—put, as it +were, the peculiar division between them; and to behave toward her as the same +woman who had attracted his youthful ardours was a task for his magnificent +mind, and may have ranked with him as an indemnity for his general conduct, if +his reflections ever stretched so far. The townspeople of Lymport were correct +in saying that his wife, and his wife alone, had, as they termed it, kept him +together. Nevertheless, now that he was dead, and could no longer be kept +together, they entirely forgot their respect for her, in the outburst of their +secret admiration for the popular man. Such is the constitution of the +inhabitants of this dear Island of Britain, so falsely accused by the Great +Napoleon of being a nation of shopkeepers. Here let any one proclaim himself +Above Buttons, and act on the assumption, his fellows with one accord hoist him +on their heads, and bear him aloft, sweating, and groaning, and cursing, but +proud of him! And if he can contrive, or has any good wife at home to help him, +to die without going to the dogs, they are, one may say, unanimous in crying +out the same eulogistic funeral oration as that commenced by Kilne, the +publican, when he was interrupted by Barnes, the butcher, “Now, +there’s a man!—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Harrington was sitting in her parlour with one of her married nieces, Mrs. +Fiske, and on reading Lady Racial’s card she gave word for her to be +shown up into the drawing-room. It was customary among Mrs. Harrington’s +female relatives, who one and all abused and adored the great Mel, to attribute +his shortcomings pointedly to the ladies; which was as much as if their jealous +generous hearts had said that he was sinful, but that it was not his fault. +Mrs. Fiske caught the card from her aunt, read the superscription, and +exclaimed: “The idea! At least she might have had the decency! She never +set her foot in the house before—and right enough too! What can she want +now? I decidedly would refuse to see her, aunt!” +</p> + +<p> +The widow’s reply was simply, “Don’t be a fool, Ann!” +</p> + +<p> +Rising, she said: “Here, take poor Jacko, and comfort him till I come +back.” +</p> + +<p> +Jacko was a middle-sized South American monkey, and had been a pet of her +husband’s. He was supposed to be mourning now with the rest of the +family. Mrs. Fiske received him on a shrinking lap, and had found time to +correct one of his indiscretions before she could sigh and say, in the rear of +her aunt’s retreating figure, “I certainly never would let myself +down so”; but Mrs. Harrington took her own counsel, and Jacko was of her +persuasion, for he quickly released himself from Mrs. Fiske’s +dispassionate embrace, and was slinging his body up the balusters after his +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Harrington,” said Lady Racial, very sweetly swimming to meet +her as she entered the room, “I have intruded upon you, I fear, in +venturing to call upon you at such a time?” +</p> + +<p> +The widow bowed to her, and begged her to be seated. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Racial was an exquisitely silken dame, in whose face a winning smile was +cut, and she was still sufficiently youthful not to be accused of wearing a +flower too artificial. +</p> + +<p> +“It was so sudden! so sad!” she continued. “We esteemed him +so much. I thought you might be in need of sympathy, and hoped I +might—Dear Mrs. Harrington! can you bear to speak of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell you anything you wish to hear, my lady,” the widow +replied. Lady Racial had expected to meet a woman much more like what she +conceived a tradesman’s wife would be: and the grave reception of her +proffer of sympathy slightly confused her. She said: +</p> + +<p> +“I should not have come, at least not so early, but Sir Jackson, my +husband, thought, and indeed I imagined—You have a son, Mrs. Harrington? +I think his name is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Evan, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Evan. It was of him we have been speaking. I imagined that is, we +thought, Sir Jackson might—you will be writing to him, and will let him +know we will use our best efforts to assist him in obtaining some position +worthy of his—superior to—something that will secure him from the +harassing embarrassments of an uncongenial employment.” +</p> + +<p> +The widow listened to this tender allusion to the shears without a smile of +gratitude. She replied: “I hope my son will return in time to bury his +father, and he will thank you himself, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has no taste for—a—for anything in the shape of trade, +has he, Mrs. Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid not, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any position—a situation—that of a clerk even—would be +so much better for him!” +</p> + +<p> +The widow remained impassive. +</p> + +<p> +“And many young gentlemen I know, who are clerks, and are enabled to live +comfortably, and make a modest appearance in society; and your son, Mrs. +Harrington, he would find it surely an improvement upon—many would think +it a step for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am bound to thank you for the interest you take in my son, my +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does it not quite suit your views, Mrs. Harrington?” Lady Racial +was surprised at the widow’s manner. +</p> + +<p> +“If my son had only to think of himself, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! but of course,”—the lady understood her +now—“of course! You cannot suppose, Mrs. Harrington, but that I +should anticipate he would have you to live with him, and behave to you in +every way as a dutiful son, surely? +</p> + +<p> +“A clerk’s income is not very large, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; but enough, as I have said, and with the management you would bring, +Mrs. Harrington, to produce a modest, respectable maintenance. My respect for +your husband, Mrs. Harrington, makes me anxious to press my services upon +you.” Lady Racial could not avoid feeling hurt at the widow’s want +of common gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“A clerk’s income would not be more than £100 a year, my +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“To begin with—no; certainly not more.” The lady was growing +brief. +</p> + +<p> +“If my son puts by the half of that yearly, he can hardly support himself +and his mother, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Half of that yearly, Mrs. Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“He would have to do so, and be saddled till he dies, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really cannot see why.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Racial had a notion of some excessive niggardly thrift in the widow, which +was arousing symptoms of disgust. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Harrington quietly said: “There are his father’s debts to pay, +my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“His father’s debts!” +</p> + +<p> +“Under £5000, but above £4000, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Five thousand pounds! Mrs. Harrington!” The lady’s +delicately gloved hand gently rose and fell. “And this poor young +man”—she pursued. +</p> + +<p> +“My son will have to pay it, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the lady had not a word to instance. Presently she remarked: +“But, Mrs. Harrington, he is surely under no legal obligation?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is only under the obligation not to cast disrespect on his +father’s memory, my lady; and to be honest, while he can.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mrs. Harrington! surely! what can the poor young man do?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will pay it, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how, Mrs. Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is his father’s business, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +His father’s business! Then must the young man become a tradesman in +order to show respect for his father? Preposterous! That was the lady’s +natural inward exclamation. She said, rather shrewdly, for one who knew nothing +of such things: “But a business which produces debts so enormous, Mrs. +Harrington!” +</p> + +<p> +The widow replied: “My son will have to conduct it in a different way. It +would be a very good business, conducted properly, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if he has no taste for it, Mrs. Harrington? If he is altogether +superior to it?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time during the interview, the widow’s inflexible +countenance was mildly moved, though not to any mild expression. +</p> + +<p> +“My son will have not to consult his tastes,” she observed: and +seeing the lady, after a short silence, quit her seat, she rose likewise, and +touched the fingers of the hand held forth to her, bowing. +</p> + +<p> +“You will pardon the interest I take in your son,” said Lady +Racial. “I hope, indeed, that his relatives and friends will procure him +the means of satisfying the demands made upon him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would still have to pay them, my lady,” was the widow’s +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor young man! indeed I pity him!” sighed her visitor. “You +have hitherto used no efforts to persuade him to take such a step,—Mrs. +Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have written to Mr. Goren, who was my husband’s +fellow-apprentice in London, my lady; and he is willing to instruct him in +cutting, and measuring, and keeping accounts.” +</p> + +<p> +Certain words in this speech were obnoxious to the fine ear of Lady Racial, and +she relinquished the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Your husband, Mrs. Harrington—I should so much have +wished!—he did not pass away in—in pain!” +</p> + +<p> +“He died very calmly, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so terrible, so disfiguring, sometimes. One dreads to +see!—one can hardly distinguish! I have known cases where death was +dreadful! But a peaceful death is very beautiful! There is nothing shocking to +the mind. It suggests heaven! It seems a fulfilment of our prayers!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would your ladyship like to look upon him?” said the widow. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Racial betrayed a sudden gleam at having her desire thus intuitively +fathomed. +</p> + +<p> +“For one moment, Mrs. Harrington! We esteemed him so much! May I?” +</p> + +<p> +The widow responded by opening the door, and leading her into the chamber where +the dead man lay. +</p> + +<p> +At that period, when threats of invasion had formerly stirred up the military +fire of us Islanders, the great Mel, as if to show the great Napoleon what +character of being a British shopkeeper really was, had, by remarkable favour, +obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons: in the uniform of which he had +revelled, and perhaps, for the only time in his life, felt that circumstances +had suited him with a perfect fit. However that may be, his solemn final +commands to his wife, Henrietta Maria, on whom he could count for absolute +obedience in such matters, had been, that as soon as the breath had left his +body, he should be taken from his bed, washed, perfumed, powdered, and in that +uniform dressed and laid out; with directions that he should be so buried at +the expiration of three days, that havoc in his features might be hidden from +men. In this array Lady Racial beheld him. The curtains of the bed were drawn +aside. The beams of evening fell soft through the blinds of the room, and cast +a subdued light on the figure of the vanquished warrior. The Presence, dumb now +for evermore, was sadly illumined for its last exhibition. But one who looked +closely might have seen that Time had somewhat spoiled that perfect fit which +had aforetime been his pride; and now that the lofty spirit had departed, there +had been extreme difficulty in persuading the sullen excess of clay to conform +to the dimensions of those garments. The upper part of the chest alone would +bear its buttons, and across one portion of the lower limbs an ancient seam had +started; recalling an incident to them who had known him in his brief hour of +glory. For one night, as he was riding home from Fallowfield, and just +entering the gates of the town, a mounted trooper spurred furiously past, and +slashing out at him, gashed his thigh. Mrs. Melchisedec found him lying at his +door in a not unwonted way; carried him up-stairs in her arms, as she had done +many a time before, and did not perceive his condition till she saw the blood +on her gown. The cowardly assailant was never discovered; but Mel was both +gallant and had, in his military career, the reputation of being a martinet. +Hence, divers causes were suspected. The wound failed not to mend, the trousers +were repaired: Peace about the same time was made, and the affair passed over. +</p> + +<p> +Looking on the fine head and face, Lady Racial saw nothing of this. She had not +looked long before she found covert employment for her handkerchief. The widow +standing beside her did not weep, or reply to her whispered excuses at emotion; +gazing down on his mortal length with a sort of benignant friendliness; aloof, +as one whose duties to that form of flesh were well-nigh done. At the feet of +his master, Jacko, the monkey, had jumped up, and was there squatted, with his +legs crossed, very like a tailor! The imitative wretch had got a towel, and as +often as Lady Racial’s handkerchief travelled to her eyes, Jacko’s +peery face was hidden, and you saw his lithe skinny body doing grief’s +convulsions till, tired of this amusement, he obtained possession of the +warrior’s helmet, from a small round table on one side of the bed; a +calque of the barbarous military-Georgian form, with a huge knob of horse-hair +projecting over the peak; and under this, trying to adapt it to his +rogue’s head, the tricksy image of Death extinguished himself. +</p> + +<p> +All was very silent in the room. Then the widow quietly disengaged Jacko, and +taking him up, went to the door, and deposited him outside. During her +momentary absence, Lady Racial had time to touch the dead man’s forehead +with her lips, unseen. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br /> +THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS</h2> + +<p> +Three daughters and a son were left to the world by Mr. Melchisedec. Love, well +endowed, had already claimed to provide for the daughters: first in the shape +of a lean Marine subaltern, whose days of obscuration had now passed, and who +had come to be a major of that corps: secondly, presenting his addresses as a +brewer of distinction: thirdly, and for a climax, as a Portuguese Count: no +other than the Senor Silva Diaz, Conde de Saldar: and this match did seem a far +more resplendent one than that of the two elder sisters with Major Strike and +Mr. Andrew Cogglesby. But the rays of neither fell visibly on Lymport. These +escaped Eurydices never reappeared, after being once fairly caught away from +the gloomy realms of Dis, otherwise Trade. All three persons of singular +beauty, a certain refinement, some Port, and some Presence, hereditarily +combined, they feared the clutch of that fell king, and performed the widest +possible circles around him. Not one of them ever approached the house of her +parents. They were dutiful and loving children, and wrote frequently; but of +course they had to consider their new position, and their husbands, and their +husbands’ families, and the world, and what it would say, if to it the +dreaded rumour should penetrate! Lymport gossips, as numerous as in other +parts, declared that the foreign nobleman would rave in an extraordinary +manner, and do things after the outlandish fashion of his country: for from +him, there was no doubt, the shop had been most successfully veiled, and he +knew not of Pluto’s close relationship to his lovely spouse. +</p> + +<p> +The marriages had happened in this way. Balls are given in country towns, where +the graces of tradesmen’s daughters may be witnessed and admired at +leisure by other than tradesmen: by occasional country gentlemen of the +neighbourhood, with light minds: and also by small officers: subalterns wishing +to do tender execution upon man’s fair enemy, and to find a distraction +for their legs. The classes of our social fabric have, here and there, slight +connecting links, and provincial public balls are one of these. They are +dangerous, for Cupid is no respecter of class-prejudice; and if you are the son +of a retired tea-merchant, or of a village doctor, or of a half-pay captain, or +of anything superior, and visit one of them, you are as likely to receive his +shot as any shopboy. Even masquerading lords at such places, have been known to +be slain outright; and although Society allows to its highest and dearest to +save the honour of their families, and heal their anguish, by indecorous +compromise, you, if you are a trifle below that mark, must not expect it. You +must absolutely give yourself for what you hope to get. Dreadful as it sounds +to philosophic ears, you must marry. This, having danced with Caroline +Harrington, the gallant Lieutenant Strike determined to do. Nor, when he became +aware of her father’s occupation, did he shrink from his resolve. After a +month’s hard courtship, he married her straight out of her father’s +house. That he may have all the credit due to him, it must be admitted that he +did not once compare, or possibly permit himself to reflect on, the +dissimilarity in their respective ranks, and the step he had taken downward, +till they were man and wife: and then not in any great degree, before Fortune +had given him his majority; an advance the good soldier frankly told his wife +he did not owe to her. If we may be permitted to suppose the colonel of a +regiment on friendly terms with one of his corporals, we have an estimate of +the domestic life of Major and Mrs. Strike. Among the garrison males, his +comrades, he passed for a disgustingly jealous brute. +</p> + +<p> +The ladies, in their pretty language, signalized him as a “finick.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, having achieved so capital a marriage, Caroline, worthy creature, was +anxious that her sisters should not be less happy, and would have them to visit +her, in spite of her husband’s protests. +</p> + +<p> +“There can be no danger,” she said, for she was in fresh quarters, +far from the nest of contagion. The lieutenant himself ungrudgingly declared +that, looking on the ladies, no one for an instant could suspect; and he saw +many young fellows ready to be as great fools as he had been: another voluntary +confession he made to his wife; for the candour of which she thanked him, and +pointed out that it seemed to run in the family; inasmuch as Mr. Andrew +Cogglesby, his rich relative, had seen and had proposed for Harriet. The +lieutenant flatly said he would never allow it. In fact he had hitherto +concealed the non-presentable portion of his folly very satisfactorily from all +save the mess-room, and Mr. Andrew’s passion was a severe dilemma to him. +It need scarcely be told that his wife, fortified by the fervid brewer, +defeated him utterly. What was more, she induced him to be an accomplice in +deception. For though the lieutenant protested that he washed his hands of it, +and that it was a fraud and a snare, he certainly did not avow the condition of +his wife’s parents to Mr. Andrew, but alluded to them in passing as +“the country people.” He supposed “the country people” +must be asked, he said. The brewer offered to go down to them. But the +lieutenant drew an unpleasant picture of the country people, and his wife +became so grave at the proposal, that Mr. Andrew said he wanted to marry the +lady and not the “country people,” and if she would have him, there +he was. There he was, behaving with a particular and sagacious kindness to the +raw lieutenant since Harriet’s arrival. If the lieutenant sent her away, +Mr. Andrew would infallibly pursue her, and light on a discovery. Twice cursed +by Love, twice the victim of tailordom, our excellent Marine gave away Harriet +Harrington in marriage to Mr. Andrew Cogglesby. +</p> + +<p> +Thus Joy clapped hands a second time, and Horror deepened its shadows. +</p> + +<p> +From higher ground it was natural that the remaining sister should take a +bolder flight. Of the loves of the fair Louisa Harrington and the foreign +Count, and how she first encountered him in the brewer’s saloons, and how +she, being a humorous person, laughed at his “loaf” for her, and +wore the colours that pleased him, and kindled and soothed his jealousy, little +is known beyond the fact that she espoused the Count, under the auspices of the +affluent brewer, and engaged that her children should be brought up in the +faith of the Catholic Church: which Lymport gossips called, paying the Devil +for her pride. +</p> + +<p> +The three sisters, gloriously rescued by their own charms, had now to think of +their one young brother. How to make him a gentleman! That was their problem. +</p> + +<p> +Preserve him from tailordom—from all contact with trade—they must; +otherwise they would be perpetually linked to the horrid thing they hoped to +outlive and bury. A cousin of Mr. Melchisedec’s had risen to be an +Admiral and a knight for valiant action in the old war, when men could rise. +Him they besought to take charge of the youth, and make a distinguished seaman +of him. He courteously declined. They then attacked the married +Marine—Navy or Army being quite indifferent to them as long as they could +win for their brother the badge of one Service, “When he is a gentleman +at once!” they said, like those who see the end of their labours. Strike +basely pretended to second them. It would have been delightful to him, of +course, to have the tailor’s son messing at the same table, and claiming +him when he pleased with a familiar “Ah, brother!” and prating of +their relationship everywhere. Strike had been a fool: in revenge for it he +laid out for himself a masterly career of consequent wisdom. The +brewer—uxorious Andrew Cogglesby—might and would have bought the +commission. Strike laughed at the idea of giving money for what could be got +for nothing. He told them to wait. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Evan, a lad of seventeen, spent the hours not devoted to his +positive profession—that of gentleman—in the offices of the +brewery, toying with big books and balances, which he despised with the +combined zeal of the sucking soldier and emancipated tailor. +</p> + +<p> +Two years passed in attendance on the astute brother-in-law, to whom Fortune +now beckoned to come to her and gather his laurels from the pig-tails. About +the same time the Countess sailed over from Lisbon on a visit to her sister +Harriet (in reality, it was whispered in the Cogglesby saloons, on a diplomatic +mission from the Court of Lisbon; but that could not be made ostensible). The +Countess narrowly examined Evan, whose steady advance in his profession both +her sisters praised. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Countess, in a languid alien accent. “He has +something of his father’s carriage—something. Something of his +delivery—his readiness.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a remarkable thing that these ladies thought no man on earth like their +father, and always cited him as the example of a perfect gentleman, and yet +they buried him with one mind, and each mounted guard over his sepulchre, to +secure his ghost from an airing. +</p> + +<p> +“He can walk, my dears, certainly, and talk—a little. Tête-à-tête, +I do not say. I should think there he would be—a stick! All you English +are. But what sort of a bow has he got, I ask you? How does he enter a room? +And, then his smile! his laugh! He laughs like a horse—absolutely! +There’s no music in his smile. Oh! you should see a Portuguese nobleman +smile. Oh! Dios! honeyed, my dears! But Evan has it not. None of you English +have. You go so.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess pressed a thumb and finger to the sides of her mouth, and set her +sisters laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you, no better! not a bit! I faint in your society. I ask +myself—Where am I? Among what boors have I fallen? But Evan is no worse +than the rest of you; I acknowledge that. If he knew how to dress his shoulders +properly, and to direct his eyes—Oh! the eyes! you should see how a +Portuguese nobleman can use his eyes! Soul! my dears, soul! Can any of you look +the unutterable without being absurd! You look so.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Countess hung her jaw under heavily vacuous orbits, something as a +sheep might yawn. +</p> + +<p> +“But I acknowledge that Evan is no worse than the rest of you,” she +repeated. “If he understood at all the management of his eyes and mouth! +But that’s what he cannot possibly learn in England—not possibly! +As for your poor husband, Harriet! one really has to remember his excellent +qualities to forgive him, poor man! And that stiff bandbox of a man of yours, +Caroline!” addressing the wife of the Marine, “he looks as if he +were all angles and sections, and were taken to pieces every night and put +together in the morning. He may be a good soldier—good anything you +will—but, Dios! to be married to that! He is not civilized. None of you +English are. You have no place in the drawing-room. You are like so many +intrusive oxen—absolutely! One of your men trod on my toe the other +night, and what do you think the creature did? Jerks back, then the half of him +forward—I thought he was going to break in two—then grins, and +grunts, ‘Oh! ’m sure, beg pardon, ’m sure!’ I +don’t know whether he didn’t say, +<small>MA</small>’<small>AM</small>!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess lifted her hands, and fell away in laughing horror. When her +humour, or her feelings generally, were a little excited, she spoke her +vernacular as her sisters did, but immediately subsided into the deliberate +delicately-syllabled drawl. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that happened to me once at one of our great Balls,” she +pursued. “I had on one side of me the Duchesse Eugenia de Formosa de +Fontandigua; on the other sat the Countess de Pel, a widow. And we were talking +of the ices that evening. Eugenia, you must know, my dears, was in love with +the Count Belmaraña. I was her sole confidante. The Countess de Pel—a +horrible creature! Oh! she was the Duchess’s determined enemy—would +have stabbed her for Belmaraña, one of the most beautiful men! Adored by every +woman! So we talked ices, Eugenic and myself, quite comfortably, and that +horrible De Pel had no idea in life! Eugenia had just said, ‘This ice +sickens me! I do not taste the flavour of the vanille.’ I answered, +‘It is here! It must—it cannot but be here! You love the flavour of +the vanille?’ With her exquisite smile, I see her now saying, ‘Too +well! it is necessary to me! I live on it!’—when up he came. In his +eagerness, his foot just effleured my robe. Oh! I never shall forget! In an +instant he was down on one knee it was so momentary that none saw it but we +three, and done with ineffable grace. ‘Pardon!’ he said, in his +sweet Portuguese; ‘Pardon!’ looking up—the handsomest man I +ever beheld; and when I think of that odious wretch the other night, with his +‘Oh! ’m sure, beg pardon, ’m sure! ’pon my +honour!’ I could have kicked him—I could, indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Countess laughed out, but relapsed into: +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! that Belmaraña should have betrayed that beautiful trusting +creature to De Pel. Such scandal! a duel!—the Duke was wounded. For a +whole year Eugenia did not dare to appear at Court, but had to remain immured +in her country-house, where she heard that Belmaraña had married De Pel! It was +for her money, of course. Rich as Croesus, and as wicked as the black man +below! as dear papa used to say. By the way, weren’t we talking of Evan? +Ah,—yes!” +</p> + +<p> +And so forth. The Countess was immensely admired, and though her sisters said +that she was “foreignized” overmuch, they clung to her desperately. +She seemed so entirely to have eclipsed tailordom, or “Demogorgon,” +as the Countess was pleased to call it. Who could suppose this grand-mannered +lady, with her coroneted anecdotes and delicious breeding, the daughter of that +thing? It was not possible to suppose it. It seemed to defy the fact itself. +</p> + +<p> +They congratulated her on her complete escape from Demogorgon. The Countess +smiled on them with a lovely sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Safe from the whisper, my dears; the ceaseless dread? If you knew what I +have to endure! I sometimes envy you. ’Pon my honour, I sometimes wish I +had married a fishmonger! Silva, indeed, is a most excellent husband. Polished! +such polish as you know not of in England. He has a way—a wriggle with +his shoulders in company—I cannot describe it to you; so slight! so +elegant! and he is all that a woman could desire. But who could be safe in any +part of the earth, my dears, while papa will go about so, and behave so +extraordinarily? I was at dinner at your English embassy a month ago, and there +was Admiral Combleman, then on the station off Lisbon, Sir Jackson +Racial’s friend, who was the Admiral at Lymport formerly. I knew him at +once, and thought, oh! what shall I do! My heart was like a lump of lead. I +would have given worlds that we might one of us have smothered the other! I had +to sit beside him—it always happens! Thank heaven! he did not identify +me. And then he told an anecdote of Papa. It was the dreadful old +‘Bath’ story. I thought I should have died. I could not but fancy +the Admiral suspected. Was it not natural? And what do you think I had the +audacity to do? I asked him coolly, whether the Mr. Harrington he mentioned was +not the son of Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay,—the gentleman who lost +his yacht in the Lisbon waters last year? I brought it on myself. +“Gentleman, +ma’am,—<small>MA</small>’<small>AM</small>!” says the +horrid old creature, laughing, “gentleman! he’s a —— I +cannot speak it: I choke!” And then he began praising Papa. Dios! what I +suffered. But, you know, I can keep my countenance, if I perish. I am a +Harrington as much as any of us!” +</p> + +<p> +And the Countess looked superb in the pride with which she said she was what +she would have given her hand not to be. But few feelings are single on this +globe, and junction of sentiments need not imply unity in our yeasty +compositions. +</p> + +<p> +“After it was over—my supplice,” continued the Countess, +“I was questioned by all the ladies—I mean our ladies—not +your English. They wanted to know how I could be so civil to that intolerable +man. I gained a deal of credit, my dears. I laid it all +on—Diplomacy.” The Countess laughed bitterly. “Diplomacy +bears the burden of it all. I pretended that Combleman could be useful to +Silva! Oh! what hypocrites we all are!” +</p> + +<p> +The ladies listening could not gainsay this favourite claim of universal +brotherhood among the select who wear masks instead of faces. +</p> + +<p> +With regard to Evan, the Countess had far outstripped her sisters in her views. +A gentleman she had discovered must have one of two things—a title or +money. He might have all the breeding in the world; he might be as good as an +angel; but without a title or money he was under eclipse almost total. On a +gentleman the sun must shine. Now, Evan had no title, no money. The clouds were +thick above the youth. To gain a title he would have to scale aged mountains. +There was one break in his firmament through which the radiant luminary might +be assisted to cast its beams on him still young. That divine portal was +matrimony. If he could but make a rich marriage he would blaze transfigured; +all would be well! And why should not Evan marry an heiress, as well as +another? +</p> + +<p> +“I know a young creature who would exactly suit him,” said the +Countess. “She is related to the embassy, and is in Lisbon now. A +charming child—just sixteen! Dios! how the men rave about her! and she +isn’t a beauty,—there’s the wonder; and she is a little too +gauche—too English in her habits and ways of thinking; likes to be +admired, of course, but doesn’t know yet how to set about getting it. She +rather scandalizes our ladies, but when you know her!—She will have, they +say, a hundred thousand pounds in her own right! Rose Jocelyn, the daughter of +Sir Franks, and that eccentric Lady Jocelyn. She is with her uncle, Melville, +the celebrated diplomate though, to tell you the truth, we turn him round our +fingers, and spin him as the boys used to do the cockchafers. I cannot forget +our old Fallowfield school-life, you see, my dears. Well, Rose Jocelyn would +just suit Evan. She is just of an age to receive an impression. And I would +take care she did. Instance me a case where I have failed? +</p> + +<p> +“Or there is the Portuguese widow, the Rostral. She’s thirty, +certainly; but she possesses millions! Estates all over the kingdom, and the +sweetest creature. But, no. Evan would be out of the way there, certainly. +But—our women are very nice: they have the dearest, sweetest ways: but I +would rather Evan did not marry one of them. And then there’s the +religion!” +</p> + +<p> +This was a sore of the Countess’s own, and she dropped a tear in coming +across it. +</p> + +<p> +“No, my dears, it shall be Rose Jocelyn!” she concluded: “I +will take Evan over with me, and see that he has opportunities. It shall be +Rose, and then I can call her mine; for in verity I love the child.” +</p> + +<p> +It is not my part to dispute the Countess’s love for Miss Jocelyn; and I +have only to add that Evan, unaware of the soft training he was to undergo, and +the brilliant chance in store for him, offered no impediment to the proposition +that he should journey to Portugal with his sister (whose subtlest flattery was +to tell him that she should not be ashamed to own him there); and ultimately, +furnished with cash for the trip by the remonstrating brewer, went. +</p> + +<p> +So these Parcae, daughters of the shears, arranged and settled the young +man’s fate. His task was to learn the management of his mouth, how to +dress his shoulders properly, and to direct his eyes—rare qualities in +man or woman, I assure you; the management of the mouth being especially +admirable, and correspondingly difficult. These achieved, he was to place his +battery in position, and win the heart and hand of an heiress. +</p> + +<p> +Our comedy opens with his return from Portugal, in company with Miss Rose, the +heiress; the Honourable Melville Jocelyn, the diplomate; and the Count and +Countess de Saldar, refugees out of that explosive little kingdom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br /> +ON BOARD THE JOCASTA</h2> + +<p> +From the Tagus to the Thames the Government sloop-of-war, Jocasta, had made a +prosperous voyage, bearing that precious freight, a removed diplomatist and his +family; for whose uses let a sufficient vindication be found in the exercise he +affords our crews in the science of seamanship. She entered our noble river +somewhat early on a fine July morning. Early as it was, two young people, who +had nothing to do with the trimming or guiding of the vessel, stood on deck, +and watched the double-shore, beginning to embrace them more and more closely +as they sailed onward. One, a young lady, very young in manner, wore a black +felt hat with a floating scarlet feather, and was clad about the shoulders in a +mantle of foreign style and pattern. The other you might have taken for a +wandering Don, were such an object ever known; so simply he assumed the dusky +sombrero and dangling cloak, of which one fold was flung across his breast and +drooped behind him. The line of an adolescent dark moustache ran along his lip, +and only at intervals could you see that his eyes were blue and of the land he +was nearing. For the youth was meditative, and held his head much down. The +young lady, on the contrary, permitted an open inspection of her countenance, +and seemed, for the moment at least, to be neither caring nor thinking of what +kind of judgement would be passed on her. Her pretty nose was up, sniffing the +still salt breeze with vivacious delight. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried, clapping her hands, “there goes a dear old +English gull! How I have wished to see him! I haven’t seen one for two +years and seven months. When I’m at home, I’ll leave my window open +all night, just to hear the rooks, when they wake in the morning. There goes +another!” +</p> + +<p> +She tossed up her nose again, exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I smell England nearer and nearer! I smell the fields, +and the cows in them. I’d have given anything to be a dairy-maid for half +an hour! I used to lie and pant in that stifling air among those stupid people, +and wonder why anybody ever left England. Aren’t you glad to come +back?” +</p> + +<p> +This time the fair speaker lent her eyes to the question, and shut her lips; +sweet, cold, chaste lips she had: a mouth that had not yet dreamed of kisses, +and most honest eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The young man felt that they were not to be satisfied by his own, and after +seeking to fill them with a doleful look, which was immediately succeeded by +one of superhuman indifference, he answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! We shall soon have to part!” and commenced tapping with his +foot the cheerful martyr’s march. +</p> + +<p> +Speech that has to be hauled from the depths usually betrays the effort. +Listening an instant to catch the import of this cavernous gasp upon the brink +of sound, the girl said: +</p> + +<p> +“Part? what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Apparently it required a yet vaster effort to pronounce an explanation. The +doleful look, the superhuman indifference, were repeated in due order: sound, a +little more distinct, uttered the words: +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot be as we have been, in England!” and then the cheerful +martyr took a few steps farther. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you don’t mean to say you’re going to give me up, and +not be friends with me, because we’ve come back to England?” cried +the girl in a rapid breath, eyeing him seriously. +</p> + +<p> +Most conscientiously he did not mean it! but he replied with the quietest +negative. +</p> + +<p> +“No?” she mimicked him. “Why do you say ‘No’ like +that? Why are you so mysterious, Evan? Won’t you promise me to come and +stop with us for weeks? Haven’t you said we would ride, and hunt, and +fish together, and read books, and do all sorts of things?” +</p> + +<p> +He replied with the quietest affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes? What does ‘Yes!’ mean?” She lifted her chest to +shake out the dead-alive monosyllable, as he had done. “Why are you so +singular this morning, Evan? Have I offended you? You are so touchy!” +</p> + +<p> +The slur on his reputation for sensitiveness induced the young man to attempt +being more explicit. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” he said, hesitating; “why, we must part. We shall +not see each other every day. Nothing more than that.” And away went the +cheerful martyr in sublimest mood. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! and that makes you, sorry?” A shade of archness was in her +voice. +</p> + +<p> +The girl waited as if to collect something in her mind, and was now a +patronizing woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you dear sentimental boy! You don’t suppose we could see each +other every day for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +It was perhaps the cruelest question that could have been addressed to the +sentimental boy from her mouth. But he was a cheerful martyr! +</p> + +<p> +“You dear Don Doloroso!” she resumed. “I declare if you are +not just like those young Portugals this morning; and over there you were such +a dear English fellow; and that’s why I liked you so much! Do change! Do, +please, be lively, and yourself again. Or mind; I’ll call you Don +Doloroso, and that shall be your name in England. See +there!—that’s—that’s? what’s the name of that +place? Hoy! Mr. Skerne!” She hailed the boatswain, passing, “Do +tell me the name of that place.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Skerne righted about to satisfy her minutely, and then coming up to Evan, +he touched his hat, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I mayn’t have another opportunity—we shall be busy up +there—of thankin’ you again, sir, for what you did for my poor +drunken brother Bill, and you may take my word I won’t forget it, sir, if +he does; and I suppose he’ll be drowning his memory just as he was near +drowning himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan muttered something, grimaced civilly, and turned away. The girl’s +observant brows were moved to a faintly critical frown, and nodding +intelligently to the boatswain’s remark, that the young gentleman did not +seem quite himself, now that he was nearing home, she went up to Evan, and +said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to give you a lesson in manners, to be quits with you. +Listen, sir. Why did you turn away so ungraciously from Mr. Skerne, while he +was thanking you for having saved his brother’s life? Now there’s +where you’re too English. Can’t you bear to be thanked?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be thanked because I can swim,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not that. Oh, how you trifle!” she cried. +“There’s nothing vexes me so much as that way you have. +Wouldn’t my eyes have sparkled if anybody had come up to me to thank me +for such a thing? I would let them know how glad I was to have done such a +thing! Doesn’t it make them happier, dear Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Jocelyn!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +The honest grey eyes fixed on him, narrowed their enlarged lids. She gazed +before her on the deck, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure I can’t understand you. I suppose it’s +because I’m a girl, and I never shall till I’m a woman. +Heigho!” +</p> + +<p> +A youth who is engaged in the occupation of eating his heart, cannot shine to +advantage, and is as much a burden to himself as he is an enigma to others. +Evan felt this; but he could do nothing and say nothing; so he retired deeper +into the folds of the Don, and remained picturesque and scarcely pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +They were relieved by a summons to breakfast from below. +</p> + +<p> +She brightened and laughed. “Now, what will you wager me, Evan, that the +Countess doesn’t begin: +</p> + +<p> +‘Sweet child! how does she this morning? blooming?’ when she kisses +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Her capital imitation of his sister’s manner constrained him to join in +her laugh, and he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll back against that, I get three fingers from your uncle, and +‘Morrow, young sir!’” +</p> + +<p> +Down they ran together, laughing; and, sure enough, the identical words of the +respective greetings were employed, which they had to enjoy with all the +discretion they could muster. +</p> + +<p> +Rose went round the table to her little cousin Alec, aged seven, kissed his +reluctant cheek, and sat beside him, announcing a sea appetite and great +capabilities, while Evan silently broke bread. The Count de Saldar, a +diminutive tawny man, just a head and neck above the tablecloth, sat sipping +chocolate and fingering dry toast, which he would now and then dip in jelly, +and suck with placidity, in the intervals of a curt exchange of French with the +wife of the Hon. Melville, a ringleted English lady, or of Portuguese with the +Countess; who likewise sipped chocolate and fingered dry toast, and was +mournfully melodious. The Hon. Melville, as became a tall islander, carved +beef, and ate of it, like a ruler of men. Beautiful to see was the +compassionate sympathy of the Countess’s face when Rose offered her plate +for a portion of the world-subjugating viand, as who should say: “Sweet +child! thou knowest not yet of sorrows, thou canst ballast thy stomach with +beef!” In any other than an heiress, she would probably have thought: +“This is indeed a disgusting little animal, and most unfeminine +conduct!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose, unconscious of praise or blame, rivalled her uncle in enjoyment of the +fare, and talked of her delight in seeing England again, and anything that +belonged to her native land. Mrs. Melville perceived that it pained the refugee +Countess, and gave her the glance intelligible; but the Countess never missed +glances, or failed to interpret them. She said: +</p> + +<p> +“Let her. I love to hear the sweet child’s prattle.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was fortunate” (she addressed the diplomatist) “that we +touched at Southampton and procured fresh provision!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very lucky for US!” said he, glaring shrewdly between a mouthful. +</p> + +<p> +The Count heard the word “Southampton,” and wished to know how it +was comprised. A passage of Portuguese ensued, and then the Countess said: +</p> + +<p> +“Silva, you know, desired to relinquish the vessel at Southampton. He +does not comprehend the word ‘expense,’ but” (she shook a +dumb Alas!) “I must think of that for him now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! always avoid expense,” said the Hon. Melville, accustomed to +be paid for by his country. +</p> + +<p> +“At what time shall we arrive, may I ask, do you think?” the +Countess gently inquired. +</p> + +<p> +The watch of a man who had his eye on Time was pulled out, and she was told it +might be two hours before dark. Another reckoning, keenly balanced, informed +the company that the day’s papers could be expected on board somewhere +about three o’clock in the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” said the Hon. Melville, nodding general gratulation, +“we shall know how the world wags.” +</p> + +<p> +How it had been wagging the Countess’s straining eyes under closed +eyelids were eloquent of. +</p> + +<p> +“Too late, I fear me, to wait upon Lord Livelyston to-night?” she +suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“To-night?” The Hon. Melville gazed blank astonishment at the +notion. “Oh! certainly, too late tonight. A-hum! I think, madam, you had +better not be in too great a hurry to see him. Repose a little. Recover your +fatigue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed the Countess, with a beam of utter confidence in +him, “I shall be too happy to place myself in your hands—believe +me.” +</p> + +<p> +This was scarcely more to the taste of the diplomatist. He put up his mouth, +and said, blandly: +</p> + +<p> +“I fear—you know, madam, I must warn you beforehand—I, +personally, am but an insignificant unit over here, you know; I, personally, +can’t guarantee much assistance to you—not positive. What I can +do—of course, very happy!” And he fell to again upon the beef. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so very insignificant!” said the Countess, smiling, as at a +softly radiant conception of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Have to bob and bow like the rest of them over here,” he added, +proof against the flattery. +</p> + +<p> +“But that you will not forsake Silva, I am convinced,” said the +Countess; and, paying little heed to his brief “Oh! what I can do,” +continued: “For over here, in England, we are almost friendless. My +relations—such as are left of them—are not in high place.” +She turned to Mrs. Melville, and renewed the confession with a proud humility. +“Truly, I have not a distant cousin in the Cabinet!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Melville met her sad smile, and returned it, as one who understood its +entire import. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother-in-law—my sister, I think, you know—married +a—a brewer! He is rich; but, well! such was her taste! My brother-in-law +is indeed in Parliament, and he—” +</p> + +<p> +“Very little use, seeing he votes with the opposite party,” the +diplomatist interrupted her. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but he will not,” said the Countess, serenely. “I can +trust with confidence that, if it is for Silva’s interest, he will +assuredly so dispose of his influence as to suit the desiderations of his +family, and not in any way oppose his opinions to the powers that would +willingly stoop to serve us!” +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for the Hon. Melville to withhold a slight grimace at his +beef, when he heard this extremely alienized idea of the nature of a member of +the Parliament of Great Britain. He allowed her to enjoy her delusion, as she +pursued: +</p> + +<p> +“No. So much we could offer in repayment. It is little! But this, in +verity, is a case. Silva’s wrongs have only to be known in England, and I +am most assured that the English people will not permit it. In the days of his +prosperity, Silva was a friend to England, and England should not—should +not—forget it now. Had we money! But of that arm our enemies have +deprived us: and, I fear, without it we cannot hope to have the justice of our +cause pleaded in the English papers. Mr. Redner, you know, the correspondent in +Lisbon, is a sworn foe to Silva. And why but because I would not procure him an +invitation to Court! The man was so horridly vulgar; his gloves were never +clean; I had to hold a bouquet to my nose when I talked to him. That, you say, +was my fault! Truly so. But what woman can be civil to a low-bred, pretentious, +offensive man?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Melville, again appealed to, smiled perfect sympathy, and said, to account +for his character: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He is the son of a small shopkeeper of some kind, in Southampton, I +hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very good fellow in his way,” said her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I can’t bear that class of people,” Rose exclaimed. +“I always keep out of their way. You can always tell them.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess smiled considerate approbation of her exclusiveness and +discernment. So sweet a smile! +</p> + +<p> +“You were on deck early, my dear?” she asked Evan, rather abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Master Alec answered for him: “Yes, he was, and so was Rose. They made an +appointment, just as they used to do under the oranges.” +</p> + +<p> +“Children!” the Countess smiled to Mrs. Melville. +</p> + +<p> +“They always whisper when I’m by,” Alec appended. +</p> + +<p> +“Children!” the Countess’s sweetened visage entreated Mrs. +Melville to re-echo; but that lady thought it best for the moment to direct +Rose to look to her packing, now that she had done breakfast. +</p> + +<p> +“And I will take a walk with my brother on deck,” said the +Countess. “Silva is too harassed for converse.” +</p> + +<p> +The parties were thus divided. The silent Count was left to meditate on his +wrongs in the saloon; and the diplomatist, alone with his lady, thought fit to +say to her, shortly: “Perhaps it would be as well to draw away from these +people a little. We’ve done as much as we could for them, in bringing +them over here. They may be trying to compromise us. That woman’s absurd. +She’s ashamed of the brewer, and yet she wants to sell him—or wants +us to buy him. Ha! I think she wants us to send a couple of frigates, and +threaten bombardment of the capital, if they don’t take her husband back, +and receive him with honours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it would be as well,” said Mrs. Melville. +“Rose’s invitation to him goes for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose? inviting the Count? down to Hampshire?” The +diplomatist’s brows were lifted. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I mean the other,” said the diplomatist’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the young fellow! very good young fellow. Gentlemanly. No harm in +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” said the diplomatist’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t suppose he expects us to keep him on, or provide for him +over here—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist’s wife informed him that such was not her thought, that +he did not understand, and that it did not matter; and as soon as the Hon. +Melville saw that she was brooding something essentially feminine, and which +had no relationship to the great game of public life, curiosity was +extinguished in him. +</p> + +<p> +On deck the Countess paced with Evan, and was for a time pleasantly diverted by +the admiration she could, without looking, perceive that her sorrow-subdued +graces had aroused in the breast of a susceptible naval lieutenant. At last she +spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear! remember this. Your last word to Mr. Jocelyn will be: ‘I +will do myself the honour to call upon my benefactor early.’ To Rose you +will say: ‘Be assured, Miss Jocelyn “Miss Jocelyn—” I +shall not fail in hastening to pay my respects to your family in +Hampshire.’ You will remember to do it, in the exact form I speak +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan laughed: “What! call him benefactor to his face? I couldn’t do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides, he isn’t a benefactor at all. His private secretary died, +and I stepped in to fill the post, because nobody else was handy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And tell me of her who pushed you forward, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sister, I’m sure I’m not ungrateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; but headstrong: opinionated. Now these people will +endeavour—Oh! I have seen it in a thousand little things—they wish +to shake us off. Now, if you will but do as I indicate! Put your faith in an +older head, Evan. It is your only chance of society in England. For your +brother-in-law—I ask you, what sort of people will you meet at the +Cogglesbys? Now and then a nobleman, very much out of his element. In short, +you have fed upon a diet which will make you to distinguish, and painfully to +know the difference! Indeed! Yes, you are looking about for Rose. It depends +upon your behaviour now, whether you are to see her at all in England. Do you +forget? You wished once to inform her of your origin. Think of her words at the +breakfast this morning!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess imagined she had produced an impression. Evan said: “Yes, +and I should have liked to have told her this morning that I’m myself +nothing more than the son of a—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop! cried his sister, glancing about in horror. The admiring +lieutenant met her eye. Blandishingly she smiled on him: “Most beautiful +weather for a welcome to dear England?” and passed with majesty. +</p> + +<p> +“Boy!” she resumed, “are you mad?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate being such a hypocrite, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you do not love her, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +This may have been dubious logic, but it resulted from a clear sequence of +ideas in the lady’s head. Evan did not contest it. +</p> + +<p> +“And assuredly you will lose her, Evan. Think of my troubles! I have to +intrigue for Silva; I look to your future; I smile, Oh heaven! how do I not +smile when things are spoken that pierce my heart! This morning at the +breakfast!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan took her hand, and patted it. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your pity?” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“If it had not been for you, my dear sister, I should never have held my +tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not a Harrington! You are a Dawley!” she exclaimed, +indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +Evan received the accusation of possessing more of his mother’s spirit +than his father’s in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“You would not have held your tongue,” she said, with fervid +severity: “and you would have betrayed yourself! and you would have said +you were that! and you in that costume! Why, goodness gracious! could you bear +to appear so ridiculous?” +</p> + +<p> +The poor young man involuntarily surveyed his person. The pains of an impostor +seized him. The deplorable image of the Don making confession became present to +his mind. It was a clever stroke of this female intriguer. She saw him redden +grievously, and blink his eyes; and not wishing to probe him so that he would +feel intolerable disgust at his imprisonment in the Don, she continued: +</p> + +<p> +“But you have the sense to see your duties, Evan. You have an excellent +sense, in the main. No one would dream—to see you. You did not, I must +say, you did not make enough of your gallantry. A Portuguese who had saved a +man’s life, Evan, would he have been so boorish? You behaved as if it was +a matter of course that you should go overboard after anybody, in your clothes, +on a dark night. So, then, the Jocelyns took it. I barely heard one compliment +to you. And Rose—what an effect it should have had on her! But, owing to +your manner, I do believe the girl thinks it nothing but your ordinary business +to go overboard after anybody, in your clothes, on a dark night. ’Pon my +honour, I believe she expects to see you always dripping!” The Countess +uttered a burst of hysterical humour. “So you miss your credit. That +inebriated sailor should really have been gold to you. Be not so young and +thoughtless.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess then proceeded to tell him how foolishly he had let slip his great +opportunity. A Portuguese would have fixed the young lady long before. By +tender moonlight, in captivating language, beneath the umbrageous +orange-groves, a Portuguese would have accurately calculated the effect of the +perfume of the blossom on her sensitive nostrils, and know the exact moment +when to kneel, and declare his passion sonorously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Evan, “one of them did. She told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She told you? And you—what did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Laughed at him with her, to be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Laughed at him! She told you, and you helped her to laugh at love! Have +you no perceptions? Why did she tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because she thought him such a fool, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never will know a woman,” said the Countess, with contempt. +</p> + +<p> +Much of his worldly sister at a time was more than Evan could bear. Accustomed +to the symptoms of restiveness, she finished her discourse, enjoyed a quiet +parade up and down under the gaze of the lieutenant, and could find leisure to +note whether she at all struck the inferior seamen, even while her mind was +absorbed by the multiform troubles and anxieties for which she took such +innocent indemnification. +</p> + +<p> +The appearance of the Hon. Melville Jocelyn on deck, and without his wife, +recalled her to business. It is a peculiarity of female diplomatists that they +fear none save their own sex. Men they regard as their natural prey: in women +they see rival hunters using their own weapons. The Countess smiled a +slowly-kindling smile up to him, set her brother adrift, and delicately linked +herself to Evan’s benefactor. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been thinking,” she said, “knowing your kind and most +considerate attentions, that we may compromise you in England.” +</p> + +<p> +He at once assured her he hoped not, he thought not at all. +</p> + +<p> +“The idea is due to my brother,” she went on; “for +I—women know so little!—and most guiltlessly should we have done +so. My brother perhaps does not think of us foremost; but his argument I can +distinguish. I can see, that were you openly to plead Silva’s cause, you +might bring yourself into odium, Mr. Jocelyn; and heaven knows I would not +that! May I then ask, that in England we may be simply upon the same footing of +private friendship?” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist looked into her uplifted visage, that had all the sugary +sparkles of a crystallized preserved fruit of the Portugal clime, and observed, +confidentially, that, with every willingness in the world to serve her, he did +think it would possibly be better, for a time, to be upon that footing, apart +from political considerations. +</p> + +<p> +“I was very sure my brother would apprehend your views,” said the +Countess. “He, poor boy! his career is closed. He must sink into a +different sphere. He will greatly miss the intercourse with you and your sweet +family.” +</p> + +<p> +Further relieved, the diplomatist delivered a high opinion of the young +gentleman, his abilities, and his conduct, and trusted he should see him +frequently. +</p> + +<p> +By an apparent sacrifice, the lady thus obtained what she wanted. +</p> + +<p> +Near the hour speculated on by the diplomatist, the papers came on board, and +he, unaware how he had been manoeuvred for lack of a wife at his elbow, was +quickly engaged in appeasing the great British hunger for news; second only to +that for beef, it seems, and equally acceptable salted when it cannot be had +fresh. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving the devotee of statecraft with his legs crossed, and his face wearing +the cognizant air of one whose head is above the waters of events, to enjoy the +mighty meal of fresh and salted at discretion, the Countess dived below. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the Jocasta, as smoothly as before she was ignorant of how the world +wagged, slipped up the river with the tide; and the sun hung red behind the +forest of masts, burnishing a broad length of the serpentine haven of the +nations of the earth. A young Englishman returning home can hardly look on this +scene without some pride of kinship. Evan stood at the fore part of the vessel. +Rose, in quiet English attire, had escaped from her aunt to join him, singing +in his ears, to spur his senses: “Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t +it beautiful? Dear old England!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you find so beautiful?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you dull fellow! Why the ships, and the houses, and the smoke, to be +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“The ships? Why, I thought you despised trade, mademoiselle?” +</p> + +<p> +“And so I do. That is, not trade, but tradesmen. Of course, I mean +shopkeepers.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s they who send the ships to and fro, and make the picture that +pleases you, nevertheless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do they?” said she, indifferently, and then with a sort of +fervour, “Why do you always grow so cold to me whenever we get on this +subject?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cold?” Evan responded. The incessant fears of his diplomatic +sister had succeeded in making him painfully jealous of this subject. He turned +it off. “Why, our feelings are just the same. Do you know what I was +thinking when you came up? I was thinking that I hoped I might never disgrace +the name of an Englishman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, that’s noble!” cried the girl. “And I’m +sure you never will. Of an English gentleman, Evan. I like that better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you rather be called a true English lady than a true English +woman, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think I would, my dear,” she answered, pertly; +“but ‘gentleman’ always means more than ‘man’ to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s a gentleman, mademoiselle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t tell you, Don Doloroso. Something you are, sir,” she +added, surveying him. +</p> + +<p> +Evan sucked the bitter and the sweet of her explanation. His sister in her +anxiety to put him on his guard, had not beguiled him to forget his real state. +</p> + +<p> +His sister, the diplomatist and his lady, the refugee Count, with ladies’ +maids, servants, and luggage, were now on the main-deck, and Master Alec, who +was as good as a newspaper correspondent for private conversations, put an end +to the colloquy of the young people. They were all assembled in a circle when +the vessel came to her moorings. The diplomatist glutted with news, and +thirsting for confirmations; the Count dumb, courteous, and quick-eyed; the +honourable lady complacent in the consciousness of boxes well packed; the +Countess breathing mellifluous long-drawn adieux that should provoke +invitations. Evan and Rose regarded each other. +</p> + +<p> +The boat to convey them on shore was being lowered, and they were preparing to +move forward. Just then the vessel was boarded by a stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that one of the creatures of your Customs? I did imagine we were safe +from them,” exclaimed the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist laughingly requested her to save herself anxiety on that score, +while under his wing. But she had drawn attention to the intruder, who was seen +addressing one of the midshipmen. He was a man in a long brown coat and loose +white neckcloth, spectacles on nose, which he wore considerably below the +bridge and peered over, as if their main use were to sight his eye; a beaver +hat, with broadish brim, on his head. A man of no station, it was evident to +the ladies at once, and they would have taken no further notice of him had he +not been seen stepping toward them in the rear of the young midshipman. +</p> + +<p> +The latter came to Evan, and said: “A fellow of the name of Goren wants +you. Says there’s something the matter at home.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan advanced, and bowed stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Goren held out his hand. “You don’t remember me, young man? I +cut out your first suit for you when you were breeched, though! Yes-ah! Your +poor father wouldn’t put his hand to it. Goren!” +</p> + +<p> +Embarrassed, and not quite alive to the chapter of facts this name should have +opened to him, Evan bowed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Goren!” continued the possessor of the name. He had a cracked +voice, that when he spoke a word of two syllables, commenced with a lugubrious +crow, and ended in what one might have taken for a curious question. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a bad business brings me, young man. I’m not the best +messenger for such tidings. It’s a black suit, young man! It’s your +father!” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist and his lady gradually edged back but Rose remained beside the +Countess, who breathed quick, and seemed to have lost her self-command. +</p> + +<p> +Thinking he was apprehended, Mr. Goren said: “I’m going down +to-night to take care of the shop. He’s to be buried in his old uniform. +You had better come with me by the night-coach, if you would see the last of +him, young man.” +</p> + +<p> +Breaking an odd pause that had fallen, the Countess cried aloud, suddenly: +</p> + +<p> +“In his uniform!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Goren felt his arm seized and his legs hurrying him some paces into +isolation. “Thanks! thanks!” was murmured in his ear. “Not a +word more. Evan cannot bear it. Oh! you are good to have come, and we are +grateful. My father! my father!” +</p> + +<p> +She had to tighten her hand and wrist against her bosom to keep herself up. She +had to reckon in a glance how much Rose had heard, or divined. She had to mark +whether the Count had understood a syllable. She had to whisper to Evan to +hasten away with the horrible man. +</p> + +<p> +She had to enliven his stunned senses, and calm her own. And with mournful +images of her father in her brain, the female Spartan had to turn to Rose, and +speculate on the girl’s reflective brows, while she said, as over a +distant relative, sadly, but without distraction: “A death in the +family!” and preserved herself from weeping her heart out, that none +might guess the thing who did not positively know it. Evan touched the hand of +Rose without meeting her eyes. He was soon cast off in Mr. Goren’s boat. +Then the Countess murmured final adieux; twilight under her lids, but yet a +smile, stately, affectionate, almost genial. Rose, her sweet Rose, she must +kiss. She could have slapped Rose for appearing so reserved and cold. She +hugged Rose, as to hug oblivion of the last few minutes into her. The girl +leant her cheek, and bore the embrace, looking on her with a kind of wonder. +</p> + +<p> +Only when alone with the Count, in the brewer’s carriage awaiting her on +shore, did the lady give a natural course to her grief; well knowing that her +Silva would attribute it to the darkness of their common exile. She wept: but +in the excess of her misery, two words of strangely opposite signification, +pronounced by Mr. Goren; two words that were at once poison and antidote, sang +in her brain; two words that painted her dead father from head to foot, his +nature and his fortune: these were the Shop, and the Uniform. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! what would she not have given to have seen and bestowed on her beloved +father one last kiss! Oh! how she hoped that her inspired echo of Uniform, on +board the Jocasta, had drowned the memory, eclipsed the meaning, of that fatal +utterance of Shop! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL</h2> + +<p> +It was the evening of the second day since the arrival of the black letter in +London from Lymport, and the wife of the brewer and the wife of the Major sat +dropping tears into one another’s laps, in expectation of their sister +the Countess. Mr. Andrew Cogglesby had not yet returned from his office. The +gallant Major had gone forth to dine with General Sir George Frebuter, the head +of the Marines of his time. It would have been difficult for the Major, he +informed his wife, to send in an excuse to the General for non-attendance, +without entering into particulars; and that he should tell the General he could +not dine with him, because of the sudden decease of a tailor, was, as he let +his wife understand, and requested her to perceive, quite out of the question. +So he dressed himself carefully, and though peremptory with his wife concerning +his linen, and requiring natural services from her in the button department, +and a casual expression of contentment as to his ultimate make-up, he left her +that day without any final injunctions to occupy her mind, and she was at +liberty to weep if she pleased, a privilege she did not enjoy undisturbed when +he was present; for the warrior hated that weakness, and did not care to hide +his contempt for it. +</p> + +<p> +Of the three sisters, the wife of the Major was, oddly enough, the one who was +least inveterately solicitous of concealing the fact of her parentage. +Reticence, of course, she had to study with the rest; the Major was a walking +book of reticence and the observances; he professed, also, in company with +herself alone, to have had much trouble in drilling her to mark and properly +preserve them. She had no desire to speak of her birthplace. But, for some +reason or other, she did not share her hero’s rather petulant anxiety to +keep the curtain nailed down on that part of her life which preceded her entry +into the ranks of the Royal Marines. Some might have thought that those fair +large blue eyes of hers wandered now and then in pleasant unambitious walks +behind the curtain, and toyed with little flowers of palest memory. Utterly +tasteless, totally wanting in discernment, not to say gratitude, the Major +could not presume her to be; and yet his wits perceived that her answers and +the conduct she shaped in accordance with his repeated protests and +long-reaching apprehensions of what he called danger, betrayed acquiescent +obedience more than the connubial sympathy due to him. Danger on the field the +Major knew not of; he did not scruple to name the word in relation to his wife. +For, as he told her, should he, some day, as in the chapter of accidents might +occur, sally into the street a Knight Companion of the Bath and become known to +men as Sir Maxwell Strike, it would be decidedly disagreeable for him to be +blown upon by a wind from Lymport. Moreover she was the mother of a son. The +Major pointed out to her the duty she owed her offspring. Certainly the +protecting aegis of his rank and title would be over the lad, but she might +depend upon it any indiscretion of hers would damage him in his future career, +the Major assured her. Young Maxwell must be considered. +</p> + +<p> +For all this, the mother and wife, when the black letter found them in the +morning at breakfast, had burst into a fit of grief, and faltered that she wept +for a father. Mrs. Andrew, to whom the letter was addressed, had simply held +the letter to her in a trembling hand. The Major compared their behaviour, with +marked encomiums of Mrs. Andrew. Now this lady and her husband were in obverse +relative positions. The brewer had no will but his Harriet’s. His esteem +for her combined the constitutional feelings of an insignificantly-built little +man for a majestic woman, and those of a worthy soul for the wife of his bosom. +Possessing, or possessed by her, the good brewer was perfectly happy. She, it +might be thought, under these circumstances, would not have minded much his +hearing what he might hear. It happened, however, that she was as jealous of +the winds of Lymport as the Major himself; as vigilant in debarring them from +access to the brewery as now the Countess could have been. We are not +dissecting human nature suffice it, therefore, from a mere glance at the +surface, to say, that just as moneyed men are careful of their coin, women who +have all the advantages in a conjunction, are miserly in keeping them, and +shudder to think that one thing remains hidden, which the world they move in +might put down pityingly in favour of their spouse, even though to the little +man ’twere naught. She assumed that a revelation would diminish her moral +stature; and certainly it would not increase that of her husband. So no good +could come of it. Besides, Andrew knew, his whole conduct was a tacit +admission, that she had condescended in giving him her hand. The features of +their union might not be changed altogether by a revelation, but it would be a +shock to her. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently, Harriet tenderly rebuked Caroline, for her outcry at the +breakfast-table; and Caroline, the elder sister, who had not since marriage +grown in so free an air, excused herself humbly, and the two were weeping when +the Countess joined them and related what she had just undergone. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing of Caroline’s misdemeanour, however, Louisa’s eyes rolled +aloft in a paroxysm of tribulation. It was nothing to Caroline; it was +comparatively nothing to Harriet; but the Count knew not Louisa had a father: +believed that her parents had long ago been wiped out. And the Count was by +nature inquisitive: and if he once cherished a suspicion he was restless; he +was pointed in his inquiries: he was pertinacious in following out a clue: +there never would be peace with him! And then, as they were secure in their +privacy, Louisa cried aloud for her father, her beloved father! Harriet wept +silently. Caroline alone expressed regret that she had not set eyes on him from +the day she became a wife. +</p> + +<p> +“How could we, dear?” the Countess pathetically asked, under +drowning lids. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa did not wish it,” sobbed Mrs. Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“I never shall forgive myself!” said the wife of the Major, drying +her cheeks. Perhaps it was not herself whom she felt she never could forgive. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! the man their father was! Incomparable Melchisedec! he might well be +called. So generous! so lordly! When the rain of tears would subside for a +moment, one would relate an anecdote or childish reminiscence of him, and +provoke a more violent outburst. +</p> + +<p> +“Never, among the nobles of any land, never have I seen one like +him!” exclaimed the Countess, and immediately requested Harriet to tell +her how it would be possible to stop Andrew’s tongue in Silva’s +presence. +</p> + +<p> +“At present, you know, my dear, they may talk as much as they +like—they can’t understand one another one bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cogglesby comforted her by the assurance that Andrew had received an +intimation of her wish for silence everywhere and toward everybody; and that he +might be reckoned upon to respect it, without demanding a reason for the +restriction. In other days Caroline and Louisa had a little looked down on +Harriet’s alliance with a dumpy man—a brewer—and had always +kind Christian compassion for him if his name were mentioned. They seemed now, +by their silence, to have a happier estimate of Andrew’s qualities. +</p> + +<p> +While the three sisters sat mingling their sorrows and alarms, their young +brother was making his way to the house. As he knocked at the door he heard his +name pronounced behind him, and had no difficulty in recognizing the worthy +brewer. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Van, my boy! how are you? Quite a foreigner! By George, what a +hat!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew bounced back two or three steps to regard the dusky sombrero. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, sir?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir to you!” Mr. Andrew briskly replied. “Don’t they +teach you to give your fist in Portugal, eh? I’ll ‘sir’ you. +Wait till I’m Sir Andrew, and then ‘sir’ away. You do speak +English still, Van, eh? Quite jolly, my boy?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew rubbed his hands to express that state in himself. Suddenly he +stopped, blinked queerly at Evan, grew pensive, and said, “Bless my soul! +I forgot.” +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, Mr. Andrew took Evan’s arm, murmured a +“hush!” and trod gently along the passage to his library. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re safe here,” he said. “There—there’s +something the matter up-stairs. The women are upset about something. +Harriet—” Mr. Andrew hesitated, and branched off: +“You’ve heard we’ve got a new baby?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan congratulated him; but another inquiry was in Mr. Andrew’s aspect, +and Evan’s calm, sad manner answered it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,”—Mr. Andrew shook his head dolefully—“a +splendid little chap! a rare little chap! a we can’t help these things, +Van! They will happen. Sit down, my boy.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew again interrogated Evan with his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“My father is dead,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” Mr. Andrew nodded, and glanced quickly at the ceiling, as if +to make sure that none listened overhead. “My parliamentary duties will +soon be over for the season,” he added, aloud; pursuing, in an +under-breath: +</p> + +<p> +“Going down to-night, Van?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is to be buried to-morrow,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, of course, you go. Yes: quite right. Love your father and mother! +always love your father and mother! Old Tom and I never knew ours. Tom’s +quite well-same as ever. I’ll,” he rang the bell, “have my +chop in here with you. You must try and eat a bit, Van. Here we are, and there +we go. Old Tom’s wandering for one of his weeks. You’ll see him +some day. He ain’t like me. No dinner to-day, I suppose, Charles?” +</p> + +<p> +This was addressed to the footman. He announced: +</p> + +<p> +“Dinner to-day at half-past six, as usual, sir,” bowed, and +retired. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew pored on the floor, and rubbed his hair back on his head. “An +odd world!” was his remark. +</p> + +<p> +Evan lifted up his face to sigh: “I’m almost sick of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn appearances!” cried Mr. Andrew, jumping on his legs. +</p> + +<p> +The action cooled him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I swore,” he said. “Bad habit! The +Major’s here—you know that?” and he assumed the Major’s +voice, and strutted in imitation of the stalwart marine. +“Major—a—Strike! of the Royal Marines! returned from China! +covered with glory!—a hero, Van! We can’t expect him to be much of +a mourner. And we shan’t have him to dine with us +to-day—that’s something.” He sank his voice: “I hope +the widow’ll bear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope to God my mother is well!” Evan groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do,” said Mr. Andrew. “Don’t say any +more.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he clapped Evan kindly on the back. +</p> + +<p> +A message was brought from the ladies, requiring Evan to wait on them. He +returned after some minutes. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you think Harriet’s looking?” asked Mr. Andrew. And, +not waiting for an answer, whispered, +</p> + +<p> +“Are they going down to the funeral, my boy?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s brow was dark, as he replied: “They are not decided.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t Harriet go?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is not going—she thinks not.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Countess—Louisa’s upstairs, eh?—will she +go?” +</p> + +<p> +“She cannot leave the Count—she thinks not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t Caroline go? Caroline can go. She—he—I +mean—Caroline can go?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Major objects. She wishes to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew struck out his arm, and uttered, “the Major!”—a +compromise for a loud anathema. But the compromise was vain, for he sinned +again in an explosion against appearances. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a brewer, Van. Do you think I’m ashamed of it? Not while +I brew good beer, my boy!—not while I brew good beer! They don’t +think worse of me in the House for it. It isn’t ungentlemanly to brew +good beer, Van. But what’s the use of talking?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew sat down, and murmured, “Poor girl! poor girl!” +</p> + +<p> +The allusion was to his wife; for presently he said: “I can’t see +why Harriet can’t go. What’s to prevent her?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan gazed at him steadily. Death’s levelling influence was in +Evan’s mind. He was ready to say why, and fully. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew arrested him with a sharp “Never mind! Harriet does as she +likes. I’m accustomed to—hem! what she does is best, after all. She +doesn’t interfere with my business, nor I with hers. Man and wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Pausing a moment or so, Mr. Andrew intimated that they had better be dressing +for dinner. With his hand on the door, which he kept closed, he said, in a +businesslike way, “You know, Van, as for me, I should be very +willing—only too happy—to go down and pay all the respect I +could.” He became confused, and shot his head from side to side, looking +anywhere but at Evan. “Happy now and to-morrow, to do anything in my +power, if Harriet—follow the funeral—one of the +family—anything I could do: but—a—we’d better be +dressing for dinner.” And out the enigmatic little man went. +</p> + +<p> +Evan partly divined him then. But at dinner his behaviour was perplexing. He +was too cheerful. He pledged the Count. He would have the Portuguese for this +and that, and make Anglican efforts to repeat it, and laugh at his failures. He +would not see that there was a father dead. At a table of actors, Mr. Andrew +overdid his part, and was the worst. His wife could not help thinking him a +heartless little man. +</p> + +<p> +The poor show had its term. The ladies fled to the boudoir sacred to grief. +Evan was whispered that he was to join them when he might, without seeming +mysterious to the Count. Before he reached them, they had talked tearfully over +the clothes he should wear at Lymport, agreeing that his present foreign +apparel, being black, would be suitable, and would serve almost as disguise, to +the inhabitants at large; and as Evan had no English wear, and there was no +time to procure any for him, that was well. They arranged exactly how long he +should stay at Lymport, whom he should visit, the manner he should adopt toward +the different inhabitants. By all means he was to avoid the approach of the +gentry. For hours Evan, in a trance, half stupefied, had to listen to the +Countess’s directions how he was to comport himself in Lymport. +</p> + +<p> +“Show that you have descended among them, dear Van, but are not of them. +Our beautiful noble English poet expresses it so. You have come to pay the last +mortal duties, which they will respect, if they are not brutes, and attempt no +familiarities. Allow none: gently, but firmly. Imitate Silva. You remember, at +Dona Risbonda’s ball? When he met the Comte de Dartigues, and knew he was +to be in disgrace with his Court on the morrow? Oh! the exquisite shade of +difference in Silva’s behaviour towards the Comte. So finely, delicately +perceptible to the Comte, and not a soul saw it but that wretched Frenchman! He +came to me: ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘is a question +permitted?’ I replied, ‘As many as you please, M. le Comte, but no +answers promised.’ He said: ‘May I ask if the Courier has yet come +in?’—‘Nay, M. le Comte,’ I replied, ‘this is +diplomacy. Inquire of me, or better, give me an opinion on the new glacé silk +from Paris.’—‘Madame,’ said he, bowing, ‘I hope +Paris may send me aught so good, or that I shall grace half so well.’ I +smiled, ‘You shall not be single in your hopes, M. le Comte. The gift +would be base that you did not embellish.’ He lifted his hands, +French-fashion: ‘Madame, it is that I have received the +gift.’—‘Indeed! M. le Comte.’—‘Even now +from the Count de Saldar, your husband.’ I looked most innocently, +‘From my husband, M. le Comte?’—‘From him, Madame. A +portrait. An Ambassador without his coat! The portrait was a finished +performance.’ I said: ‘And may one beg the permission to inspect +it?’—‘Mais,’ said he, laughing: ‘were it you +alone, it would be a privilege to me.’ I had to check him. ‘Believe +me, M. le Comte, that when I look upon it, my praise of the artist will be +extinguished by my pity for the subject.’ He should have stopped there; +but you cannot have the last word with a Frenchman—not even a woman. +Fortunately the Queen just then made her entry into the saloon, and his mot on +the charity of our sex was lost. We bowed mutually, and were separated.” +(The Countess employed her handkerchief.) “Yes, dear Van! that is how you +should behave. Imply things. With dearest Mama, of course, you are the dutiful +son. Alas! you must stand for son and daughters. Mama has so much sense! She +will understand how sadly we are placed. But in a week I will come to her for a +day, and bring you back.” +</p> + +<p> +So much his sister Louisa. His sister Harriet offered him her house for a home +in London, thence to project his new career. His sister Caroline sought a word +with him in private, but only to weep bitterly in his arms, and utter a faint +moan of regret at marriages in general. He loved this beautiful creature the +best of his three sisters (partly, it may be, because he despised her superior +officer), and tried with a few smothered words to induce her to accompany him: +but she only shook her fair locks and moaned afresh. Mr. Andrew, in the +farewell squeeze of the hand at the street-door, asked him if he wanted +anything. He negatived the requirement of anything whatever, with an air of +careless decision, though he was aware that his purse barely contained more +than would take him the distance, but the instincts of this amateur gentleman +were very fine and sensitive on questions of money. His family had never known +him beg for a shilling, or admit his necessity for a penny: nor could he be +made to accept money unless it was thrust into his pocket. Somehow his sisters +had forgotten this peculiarity of his. Harriet only remembered it when too +late. +</p> + +<p> +“But I dare say Andrew has supplied him,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew being interrogated, informed her what had passed between them. +</p> + +<p> +“And you think a Harrington would confess he wanted money!” was her +scornful exclamation. “Evan would walk—he would die rather. It was +treating him like a mendicant.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew had to shrink in his brewer’s skin. +</p> + +<p> +By some fatality all who were doomed to sit and listen to the Countess de +Saldar, were sure to be behindhand in an appointment. +</p> + +<p> +When the young man arrived at the coach-office, he was politely informed that +the vehicle, in which a seat had been secured for him, was in close alliance +with time and tide, and being under the same rigid laws, could not possibly +have waited for him, albeit it had stretched a point to the extent of a pair of +minutes, at the urgent solicitation of a passenger. +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman who speaks so, sir,” said a volunteer mimic of the +office, crowing and questioning from his throat in Goren’s manner. +“Yok! yok! That was how he spoke, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan reddened, for it brought the scene on board the Jocasta vividly to his +mind. The heavier business obliterated it. He took counsel with the clerks of +the office, and eventually the volunteer mimic conducted him to certain livery +stables, where Evan, like one accustomed to command, ordered a chariot to +pursue the coach, received a touch of the hat for a lordly fee, and was soon +rolling out of London. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI.<br /> +MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD</h2> + +<p> +The postillion had every reason to believe that he carried a real gentleman +behind him; in other words, a purse long and liberal. He judged by all the +points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief commanding style, an apparent +indifference to expense, and the inexplicable minor characteristics, such as +polished boots, and a striking wristband, and so forth, which will show a +creature accustomed to step over the heads of men. He had, therefore, no +particular anxiety to part company, and jogged easily on the white highway, +beneath a moon that walked high and small over marble clouds. +</p> + +<p> +Evan reclined in the chariot, revolving his sensations. In another mood he +would have called, them thoughts, perhaps, and marvelled at their immensity. +The theme was Love and Death. One might have supposed, from his occasional +mutterings at the pace regulated by the postillion, that he was burning with +anxiety to catch the flying coach. He had forgotten it: forgotten that he was +giving chase to anything. A pair of wondering feminine eyes pursued him, and +made him fret for the miles to throw a thicker veil between him and them. The +serious level brows of Rose haunted the poor youth; and reflecting whither he +was tending, and to what sight, he had shadowy touches of the holiness there is +in death, from which came a conflict between the imaged phantoms of his father +and of Rose, and he sided against his love with some bitterness. His sisters, +weeping for their father and holding aloof from his ashes, Evan swept from his +mind. He called up the man his father was: the kindliness, the readiness, the +gallant gaiety of the great Mel. Youths are fascinated by the barbarian +virtues; and to Evan, under present influences, his father was a pattern of +manhood. He asked himself: Was it infamous to earn one’s bread? and +answered it very strongly in his father’s favour. The great Mel’s +creditors were not by to show him another feature of the case. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto, in passive obedience to the indoctrination of the Countess, Evan had +looked on tailors as the proscribed race of modern society. He had pitied his +father as a man superior to his fate; but despite the fitfully honest +promptings with Rose (tempting to him because of the wondrous chivalry they +argued, and at bottom false probably as the hypocrisy they affected to combat), +he had been by no means sorry that the world saw not the spot on himself. Other +sensations beset him now. Since such a man was banned by the world, which was +to be despised? +</p> + +<p> +The clear result of Evan’s solitary musing was to cast a sort of halo +over Tailordom. Death stood over the pale dead man, his father, and dared the +world to sneer at him. By a singular caprice of fancy, Evan had no sooner +grasped this image, than it was suggested that he might as well inspect his +purse, and see how much money he was master of. +</p> + +<p> +Are you impatient with this young man? He has little character for the moment. +Most youths are like Pope’s women; they have no character at all. And +indeed a character that does not wait for circumstances to shape it, is of +small worth in the race that must be run. To be set too early, is to take the +work out of the hands of the Sculptor who fashions men. Happily a youth is +always at school, and if he was shut up and without mark two or three hours +ago, he will have something to show you now: as I have seen blooming seaflowers +and other graduated organisms, when left undisturbed to their own action. Where +the Fates have designed that he shall present his figure in a story, this is +sure to happen. +</p> + +<p> +To the postillion Evan was indebted for one of his first lessons. +</p> + +<p> +About an hour after midnight pastoral stillness and the moon begat in the +postillion desire for a pipe. Daylight prohibits the dream of it to mounted +postillions. At night the question is more human, and allows appeal. The moon +smiles assentingly, and smokers know that she really lends herself to the +enjoyment of tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +The postillion could remember gentlemen who did not object: who had even given +him cigars. Turning round to see if haply the present inmate of the chariot +might be smoking, he observed a head extended from the window. +</p> + +<p> +“How far are we?” was inquired. +</p> + +<p> +The postillion numbered the milestones passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see anything of the coach?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t say as I do, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +He was commanded to stop. Evan jumped out. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I’ll take you any farther,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The postillion laughed to scorn the notion of his caring how far he went. With +a pipe in his mouth, he insinuatingly remarked, he could jog on all night, and +throw sleep to the dogs. Fresh horses at Hillford; fresh at Fallowfield: and +the gentleman himself would reach Lymport fresh in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; I won’t take you any farther,” Evan repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“But what do it matter, sir?” urged the postillion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go on as I am. I—a—made no arrangement to +take you the whole way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the postillion, “don’t you go +troublin’ yourself about that, sir. Master knows it’s touch-and-go +about catchin’ the coach. I’m all right.” +</p> + +<p> +So infatuated was the fellow in the belief that he was dealing with a perfect +gentleman—an easy pocket! +</p> + +<p> +Now you would not suppose that one who presumes he has sufficient, would find a +difficulty in asking how much he has to pay. With an effort, indifferently +masked, Evan blurted: +</p> + +<p> +“By the way, tell me—how much—what is the charge for the +distance we’ve come?” +</p> + +<p> +There are gentlemen-screws: there are conscientious gentlemen. They calculate, +and remonstrating or not, they pay. The postillion would rather have had to do +with the gentleman royal, who is above base computation; but he knew the +humanity in the class he served, and with his conception of Evan only partially +dimmed, he remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh-h-h! that won’t hurt you, sir. Jump along in,—settle that +by-and-by.” +</p> + +<p> +But when my gentleman stood fast, and renewed the demand to know the exact +charge for the distance already traversed, the postillion dismounted, glanced +him over, and speculated with his fingers tipping up his hat. Meantime Evan +drew out his purse, a long one, certainly, but limp. Out of this +drowned-looking wretch the last spark of life was taken by the sum the +postillion ventured to name; and if paying your utmost farthing without +examination of the charge, and cheerfully stepping out to walk fifty miles, +penniless, constituted a postillion’s gentleman, Evan would have passed +the test. The sight of poverty, however, provokes familiar feelings in poor +men, if you have not had occasion to show them you possess particular +qualities. The postillion’s eye was more on the purse than on the sum it +surrendered. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Evan, “I shall walk. Good night.” And he +flung his cloak to step forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop a bit, sir!” arrested him. +</p> + +<p> +The postillion rallied up sideways, with an assumption of genial respect. +“I didn’t calc’late myself in that there amount.” +</p> + +<p> +Were these words, think you, of a character to strike a young man hard on the +breast, send the blood to his head, and set up in his heart a derisive chorus? +My gentleman could pay his money, and keep his footing gallantly; but to be +asked for a penny beyond what he possessed; to be seen beggared, and to be +claimed a debtor-aleck! Pride was the one developed faculty of Evan’s +nature. The Fates who mould us, always work from the main-spring. I will not +say that the postillion stripped off the mask for him, at that instant +completely; but he gave him the first true glimpse of his condition. From the +vague sense of being an impostor, Evan awoke to the clear fact that he was +likewise a fool. +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for him to deny the man’s claim, and he would not have +done it, if he could. Acceding tacitly, he squeezed the ends of his purse in +his pocket, and with a “Let me see,” tried his waistcoat. Not too +impetuously; for he was careful of betraying the horrid emptiness till he was +certain that the powers who wait on gentlemen had utterly forsaken him. They +had not. He discovered a small coin, under ordinary circumstances not +contemptible; but he did not stay to reflect, and was guilty of the error of +offering it to the postillion. +</p> + +<p> +The latter peered at it in the centre of his palm; gazed queerly in the +gentleman’s face, and then lifting the spit of silver for the disdain of +his mistress, the moon, he drew a long breath of regret at the original mistake +he had committed, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what you’re goin’ to give me for my +night’s work?” +</p> + +<p> +The powers who wait on gentlemen had only helped the pretending youth to try +him. A rejection of the demand would have been infinitely wiser and better than +this paltry compromise. The postillion would have fought it: he would not have +despised his fare. +</p> + +<p> +How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, “It’s the last +farthing I have, my man,” the postillion could not know. +</p> + +<p> +“A scabby sixpence?” The postillion continued his question. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard what I said,” Evan remarked. +</p> + +<p> +The postillion drew another deep breath, and holding out the coin at +arm’s length: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir!” he observed, as one whom mental conflict has brought +to the philosophy of the case, “now, was we to change places, I +couldn’t a’ done it! I couldn’t a’ done it!” he +reiterated, pausing emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it, sir!” he magnanimously resumed; “take it! You rides +when you can, and you walks when you must. Lord forbid I should rob such a +gentleman as you!” +</p> + +<p> +One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted above the satire of postillions. +A good genius prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabble that might have ensued +and made him ridiculous. He took the money, quietly saying, “Thank +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though a little staggered by the move, +rejoined: “Don’t mention it.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan then said: “Good night, my man. I won’t wish, for your sake, +that we changed places. You would have to walk fifty miles to be in time for +your father’s funeral. Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are it to look at!” was the postillion’s comment, seeing +my gentleman depart with great strides. He did not speak offensively; rather, +it seemed, to appease his conscience for the original mistake he had committed, +for subsequently came, “My oath on it, I don’t get took in again by +a squash hat in a hurry!” +</p> + +<p> +Unaware of the ban he had, by a sixpenny stamp, put upon an unoffending class, +Evan went ahead, hearing the wheels of the chariot still dragging the road in +his rear. The postillion was in a dissatisfied state of mind. He had asked and +received more than his due. But in the matter of his sweet self, he had been +choused, as he termed it. And my gentleman had baffled him, he could not quite +tell how; but he had been got the better of; his sarcasms had not stuck, and +returned to rankle in the bosom of their author. As a Jew, therefore, may eye +an erewhile bondsman who has paid the bill, but stands out against excess of +interest on legal grounds, the postillion regarded Evan, of whom he was now +abreast, eager for a controversy. +</p> + +<p> +“Fine night,” said the postillion, to begin, and was answered by a +short assent. “Lateish for a poor man to be out—don’t you +think sir, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to think so,” said Evan, mastering the shrewd +unpleasantness he felt in the colloquy forced on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you! you’re a gentleman!” the postillion ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +“You see I have no money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Feel it, too, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry you should be the victim.” +</p> + +<p> +“Victim!” the postillion seized on an objectionable word. “I +ain’t no victim, unless you was up to a joke with me, sir, just now. Was +that the game?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan informed him that he never played jokes with money, or on men. +</p> + +<p> +“Cause it looks like it, sir, to go to offer a poor chap sixpence.” +The postillion laughed hollow from the end of his lungs. “Sixpence for a +night’s work! It is a joke, if you don’t mean it for one. Why, do +you know, sir, I could go—there, I don’t care where it is!—I +could go before any magistrate livin’, and he’d make ye pay. +It’s a charge, as custom is, and he’d make ye pay. Or p’rhaps +you’re a goin’ on my generosity, and’ll say, he gev back that +sixpence! Well! I shouldn’t a’ thought a gentleman’d make +that his defence before a magistrate. But there, my man! if it makes ye happy, +keep it. But you take my advice, sir. When you hires a chariot, see +you’ve got the shiners. And don’t you go never again offerin’ +a sixpence to a poor man for a night’s work. They don’t like it. It +hurts their feelin’s. Don’t you forget that, sir. Lay that up in +your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the postillion having thus relieved himself, jeeringly asked permission to +smoke a pipe. To which Evan said, “Pray, smoke, if it pleases you.” +And the postillion, hardly mollified, added, “The baccy’s paid +for,” and smoked. +</p> + +<p> +As will sometimes happen, the feelings of the man who had spoken out and +behaved doubtfully, grew gentle and Christian, whereas those of the man whose +bearing under the trial had been irreproachable were much the reverse. The +postillion smoked—he was a lord on his horse; he beheld my gentleman +trudging in the dust. Awhile he enjoyed the contrast, dividing his attention +between the footfarer and moon. To have had the last word is always a great +thing; and to have given my gentleman a lecture, because he shunned a dispute, +also counts. And then there was the poor young fellow trudging to his +father’s funeral! The postillion chose to remember that now. In reality, +he allowed, he had not very much to complain of, and my gentleman’s +courteous avoidance of provocation (the apparent fact that he, the postillion, +had humbled him and got the better of him, equally, it may be), acted on his +fine English spirit. I should not like to leave out the tobacco in this good +change that was wrought in him. However, he presently astonished Evan by +pulling up his horses, and crying that he was on his way to Hillford to bait, +and saw no reason why he should not take a lift that part of the road, at all +events. Evan thanked him briefly, but declined, and paced on with his head +bent. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t cost you nothing—not a sixpence!” the +postillion sang out, pursuing him. “Come, sir! be a man! I ain’t a +hintin’ at anything—jump in.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan again declined, and looked out for a side path to escape the fellow, whose +bounty was worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention of the sixpence was +unlucky. +</p> + +<p> +“Dash it!” cried the postillion, “you’re going down to +a funeral—I think you said your father’s, sir—you may as well +try and get there respectable—as far as I go. It’s one to me +whether you’re in or out; the horses won’t feel it, and I do wish +you’d take a lift and welcome. It’s because you’re too much +of a gentleman to be beholden to a poor man, I suppose!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s young pride may have had a little of that base mixture in it, and +certainly he would have preferred that the invitation had not been made to him; +but he was capable of appreciating what the rejection of a piece of +friendliness involved, and as he saw that the man was sincere, he did violence +to himself, and said: “Very well; then I’ll jump in.” +</p> + +<p> +The postillion was off his horse in a twinkling, and trotted his bandy legs to +undo the door, as to a gentleman who paid. This act of service Evan valued. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose I were to ask you to take the sixpence now?” he said, +turning round, with one foot on the step. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” the postillion sent his hat aside to answer. “I +don’t want it—I’d rather not have it; but there! I’ll +take it—dash the sixpence! and we’ll cry quits.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan, surprised and pleased with him, dropped the bit of money in his hand, +saying: “It will fill a pipe for you. While you’re smoking it, +think of me as in your debt. You’re the only man I ever owed a penny +to.” +</p> + +<p> +The postillion put it in a side pocket apart, and observed: “A sixpence +kindly meant is worth any crown-piece that’s grudged—that it is! In +you jump, sir. It’s a jolly night!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus may one, not a conscious sage, play the right tune on this human nature of +ours: by forbearance, put it in the wrong; and then, by not refusing the burden +of an obligation, confer something better. The instrument is simpler than we +are taught to fancy. But it was doubtless owing to a strong emotion in his +soul, as well as to the stuff he was made of, that the youth behaved as he did. +We are now and then above our own actions; seldom on a level with them. Evan, I +dare say, was long in learning to draw any gratification from the fact that he +had achieved without money the unparalleled conquest of a man. Perhaps he never +knew what immediate influence on his fortune this episode effected. +</p> + +<p> +At Hillford they went their different ways. The postillion wished him good +speed, and Evan shook his hand. He did so rather abruptly, for the postillion +was fumbling at his pocket, and evidently rounding about a proposal in his +mind. +</p> + +<p> +My gentleman has now the road to himself. Money is the clothing of a gentleman: +he may wear it well or ill. Some, you will mark, carry great quantities of it +gracefully: some, with a stinted supply, present a decent appearance: very few, +I imagine, will bear inspection, who are absolutely stripped of it. All, save +the shameless, are toiling to escape that trial. My gentleman, treading the +white highway across the solitary heaths, that swell far and wide to the moon, +is, by the postillion, who has seen him, pronounced no sham. Nor do I think the +opinion of any man worthless, who has had the postillion’s authority for +speaking. But it is, I am told, a finer test to embellish much +gentleman-apparel, than to walk with dignity totally unadorned. This simply +tries the soundness of our faculties: that tempts them in erratic directions. +It is the difference between active and passive excellence. As there is hardly +any situation, however, so interesting to reflect upon as that of a man without +a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of pride, we will leave Mr. Evan +Harrington to what fresh adventures may befall him, walking toward the funeral +plumes of the firs, under the soft midsummer flush, westward, where his father +lies. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br /> +MOTHER AND SON</h2> + +<p> +Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he does. And happily so; +for in life he subjugates us, and he makes us bondsmen to his ashes. It was in +the order of things that the great Mel should be borne to his final +resting-place by a troop of creditors. You have seen (since the occasion +demands a pompous simile) clouds that all day cling about the sun, and, in +seeking to obscure him, are compelled to blaze in his livery at fall of night +they break from him illumined, hang mournfully above him, and wear his natural +glories long after he is gone. Thus, then, these worthy fellows, faithful to +him to the dust, fulfilled Mel’s triumphant passage amongst them, and +closed his career. +</p> + +<p> +To regale them when they returned, Mrs. Mel, whose mind was not intent on +greatness, was occupied in spreading meat and wine. Mrs. Fiske assisted her, as +well as she could, seeing that one hand was entirely engaged by her +handkerchief. She had already stumbled, and dropped a glass, which had brought +on her sharp condemnation from her aunt, who bade her sit down, or go upstairs +to have her cry out, and then return to be serviceable. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I can’t help it!” sobbed Mrs. Fiske. “That he +should be carried away, and none of his children to see him the last time! I +can understand Louisa—and Harriet, too, perhaps? But why could not +Caroline? And that they should be too fine ladies to let their brother come and +bury his father. Oh! it does seem——” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske fell into a chair, and surrendered to grief. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the cold tongue?” said Mrs. Mel to Sally, the maid, in a +brief under-voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Please mum, Jacko——!” +</p> + +<p> +“He must be whipped. You are a careless slut.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please, I can’t think of everybody and everything, and poor +master——” +</p> + +<p> +Sally plumped on a seat, and took sanctuary under her apron. Mrs. Mel glanced +at the pair, continuing her labour. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, aunt, aunt!” cried Mrs. Fiske, “why didn’t you put +it off for another day, to give Evan a chance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Master’d have kept another two days, he would!” whimpered +Sally. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, aunt! to think!” cried Mrs. Fiske. +</p> + +<p> +“And his coffin not bearin’ of his spurs!” whimpered Sally. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel interrupted them by commanding Sally to go to the drawing-room, and +ask a lady there, of the name of Mrs. Wishaw, whether she would like to have +some lunch sent up to her. Mrs. Fiske was requested to put towels in +Evan’s bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, aunt, if you’re not infatuated!” said Mrs. Fiske, as +she prepared to obey; while Sally, seeing that her public exhibition of sorrow +and sympathy could be indulged but an instant longer, unwound herself for a +violent paroxysm, blurting between stops: +</p> + +<p> +“If he’d ony’ve gone to his last bed comfortable!... If +he’d ony’ve been that decent as not for to go to his last bed with +his clothes on! ... If he’d ony’ve had a comfortable sheet!... It +makes a woman feel cold to think of him full dressed there, as if he was +goin’ to be a soldier on the Day o’ Judgement!” +</p> + +<p> +To let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. Mel’s, and a wise one for any +form of society when emotions are very much on the surface. She continued her +arrangements quietly, and, having counted the number of plates and glasses, and +told off the guests on her fingers, she, sat down to await them. +</p> + +<p> +The first one who entered the room was her son. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come,” said Mrs. Mel, flushing slightly, but otherwise +outwardly calm. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t suppose I should stay away from you, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan kissed her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would not.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel examined him with those eyes of hers that compassed objects in a +single glance. She drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, and half +smiled, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t do here.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” asked Evan, and proceeded immediately to make inquiries +about her health, which she satisfied with a nod. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw him lowered, Van?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then go and wash yourself, for you are dirty, and then come and take +your place at the head of the table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must I sit here, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Without a doubt—you must. You know your room. Quick!” +</p> + +<p> +In this manner their first interview passed. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske rushed in to exclaim: +</p> + +<p> +“So, you were right, aunt—he has come. I met him on the stairs. Oh! +how like dear uncle Mel he looks, in the militia, with that moustache. I just +remember him as a child; and, oh, what a gentleman he is!” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the sentence Mrs. Mel’s face suddenly darkened: she said, +in a deep voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t dare to talk that nonsense before him, Ann.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske looked astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“What have I done, aunt?” +</p> + +<p> +“He shan’t be ruined by a parcel of fools,” said Mrs. Mel. +“There, go! Women have no place here.” +</p> + +<p> +“How the wretches can force themselves to touch a morsel, after this +morning!” Mrs. Fiske exclaimed, glancing at the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Men must eat,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +The mourners were heard gathering outside the door. Mrs. Fiske escaped into the +kitchen. Mrs. Mel admitted them into the parlour, bowing much above the level +of many of the heads that passed her. +</p> + +<p> +Assembled were Messrs. Barnes, Kilne, and Grossby, whom we know; Mr. Doubleday, +the ironmonger; Mr. Joyce, the grocer; Mr. Perkins, commonly called Lawyer +Perkins; Mr. Welbeck, the pier-master of Lymport; Bartholomew Fiske; Mr. +Coxwell, a Fallowfield maltster, brewer, and farmer; creditors of various +dimensions, all of them. Mr. Goren coming last, behind his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“My son will be with you directly, to preside,” said Mrs. Mel. +“Accept my thanks for the respect you have shown my husband. I wish you +good morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Morning, ma’am,” answered several voices, and Mrs. Mel +retired. +</p> + +<p> +The mourners then set to work to relieve their hats of the appendages of crape. +An undertaker’s man took possession of the long black cloaks. The gloves +were generally pocketed. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my second black pair this year,” said Joyce. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll last a time to come. I don’t need to buy gloves +while neighbours pop off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Undertakers’ gloves seem to me as if they’re made for mutton +fists,” remarked Welbeck; upon which Kilne nudged Barnes, the butcher, +with a sharp “Aha!” and Barnes observed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I never wear ’em—they does for my boys on Sundays. I +smoke a pipe at home.” +</p> + +<p> +The Fallowfield farmer held his length of crape aloft and inquired: +“What shall do with this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you keep it,” said one or two. +</p> + +<p> +Coxwell rubbed his chin. “Don’t like to rob the widder.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s left goes to the undertaker?” asked Grossby. +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” said Barnes; and Kilne added: “It’s a +job”: Lawyer Perkins ejaculating confidently, “Perquisites of +office, gentlemen; perquisites of office!” which settled the dispute and +appeased every conscience. +</p> + +<p> +A survey of the table ensued. The mourners felt hunger, or else thirst; but had +not, it appeared, amalgamated the two appetites as yet. Thirst was the +predominant declaration; and Grossby, after an examination of the decanters, +unctuously deduced the fact, which he announced, that port and sherry were +present. +</p> + +<p> +“Try the port,” said Kilne. +</p> + +<p> +“Good?” Barnes inquired. +</p> + +<p> +A very intelligent “I ought to know,” with a reserve of regret at +the extension of his intimacy with the particular vintage under that roof, was +winked by Kilne. +</p> + +<p> +Lawyer Perkins touched the arm of a mourner about to be experimental on +Kilne’s port— +</p> + +<p> +“I think we had better wait till young Mr. Harrington takes the table, +don’t you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,-ah!” croaked Goren. “The head of the family, as the +saying goes!” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we shan’t go into business to-day?” Joyce +carelessly observed. +</p> + +<p> +Lawyer Perkins answered: +</p> + +<p> +“No. You can’t expect it. Mr. Harrington has led me to anticipate +that he will appoint a day. Don’t you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I see,” returned Joyce. “I ain’t in such a hurry. +What’s he doing?” +</p> + +<p> +Doubleday, whose propensities were waggish, suggested “shaving,” +but half ashamed of it, since the joke missed, fell to as if he were soaping +his face, and had some trouble to contract his jaw. +</p> + +<p> +The delay in Evan’s attendance on the guests of the house was caused by +the fact that Mrs. Mel had lain in wait for him descending, to warn him that he +must treat them with no supercilious civility, and to tell him partly the +reason why. On hearing the potential relations in which they stood toward the +estate of his father, Evan hastily and with the assurance of a son of fortune, +said they should be paid. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what they would like to hear,” said Mrs. Mel. +“You may just mention it when they’re going to leave. Say you will +fix a day to meet them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every farthing!” pursued Evan, on whom the tidings were beginning +to operate. “What! debts? my poor father!” +</p> + +<p> +“And a thumping sum, Van. You will open your eyes wider.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it shall be paid, mother,—it shall be paid. Debts? I hate +them. I’d slave night and day to pay them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel spoke in a more positive tense: “And so will I, Van. Now, +go.” +</p> + +<p> +It mattered little to her what sort of effect on his demeanour her revelation +produced, so long as the resolve she sought to bring him to was nailed in his +mind; and she was a woman to knock and knock again, till it was firmly fixed +there. With a strong purpose, and no plans, there were few who could resist +what, in her circle, she willed; not even a youth who would gaily have marched +to the scaffold rather than stand behind a counter. A purpose wedded to plans +may easily suffer shipwreck; but an unfettered purpose that moulds +circumstances as they arise, masters us, and is terrible. Character melts to +it, like metal in the steady furnace. The projector of plots is but a miserable +gambler and votary of chances. Of a far higher quality is the will that can +subdue itself to wait, and lay no petty traps for opportunity. Poets may fable +of such a will, that it makes the very heavens conform to it; or, I may add, +what is almost equal thereto, one who would be a gentleman, to consent to be a +tailor. The only person who ever held in his course against Mrs. Mel, was +Mel,—her husband; but, with him, she was under the physical fascination +of her youth, and it never left her. In her heart she barely blamed him. What +he did, she took among other inevitable matters. +</p> + +<p> +The door closed upon Evan, and waiting at the foot, of the stairs a minute to +hear how he was received, Mrs. Mel went to the kitchen and called the name of +Dandy, which brought out an ill-built, low-browed, small man, in a baggy suit +of black, who hopped up to her with a surly salute. Dandy was a bird Mrs. Mel +had herself brought down, and she had for him something of a sportsman’s +regard for his victim. Dandy was the cleaner of boots and runner of errands in +the household of Melchisedec, having originally entered it on a dark night by +the cellar. Mrs. Mel, on that occasion, was sleeping in her dressing-gown, to +be ready to give the gallant night-hawk, her husband, the service he might +require on his return to the nest. Hearing a suspicious noise below, she rose, +and deliberately loaded a pair of horse-pistols, weapons Mel had worn in his +holsters in the heroic days gone; and with these she stepped downstairs +straight to the cellar, carrying a lantern at her girdle. She could not only +load, but present and fire. Dandy was foremost in stating that she called him +forth steadily, three times, before the pistol was discharged. He admitted that +he was frightened, and incapable of speech, at the apparition of the tall, +terrific woman. After the third time of asking he had the ball lodged in his +leg and fell. Mrs. Mel was in the habit of bearing heavier weights than Dandy. +She made no ado about lugging him to a chamber, where, with her own hands (for +this woman had some slight knowledge of surgery, and was great in herbs and +drugs) she dressed his wound, and put him to bed; crying contempt (ever present +in Dandy’s memory) at such a poor creature undertaking the work of +housebreaker. Taught that he really was a poor creature for the work, Dandy, +his nursing over, begged to be allowed to stop and wait on Mrs. Mel; and she +who had, like many strong natures, a share of pity for the objects she +despised, did not cast him out. A jerk in his gait, owing to the bit of lead +Mrs. Mel had dropped into him, and a little, perhaps, to her self-satisfied +essay in surgical science on his person, earned him the name he went by. +</p> + +<p> +When her neighbours remonstrated with her for housing a reprobate, Mrs. Mel +would say: “Dandy is well-fed and well-physicked: there’s no harm +in Dandy”; by which she may have meant that the food won his gratitude, +and the physic reduced his humours. She had observed human nature. At any rate, +Dandy was her creature; and the great Mel himself rallied her about her squire. +</p> + +<p> +“When were you drunk last?” was Mrs. Mel’s address to Dandy, +as he stood waiting for orders. +</p> + +<p> +He replied to it in an altogether injured way: +</p> + +<p> +“There, now; you’ve been and called me away from my dinner to ask +me that. Why, when I had the last chance, to be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you were at dinner in your new black suit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” growled Dandy, “I borrowed Sally’s apron. Seems +I can’t please ye.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel neither enjoined nor cared for outward forms of respect, where she was +sure of complete subserviency. If Dandy went beyond the limits, she gave him an +extra dose. Up to the limits he might talk as he pleased, in accordance with +Mrs. Mel’s maxim, that it was a necessary relief to all talking +creatures. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, take off your apron,” she said, “and wash your hands, +dirty pig, and go and wait at table in there”; she pointed to the +parlour-door: “Come straight to me when everybody has left.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there I am with the bottles again,” returned Dandy. +“It’s your fault this time, mind! I’ll come as straight as I +can.” +</p> + +<p> +Dandy turned away to perform her bidding, and Mrs. Mel ascended to the +drawing-room to sit with Mrs. Wishaw, who was, as she told all who chose to +hear, an old flame of Mel’s, and was besides, what Mrs. Mel thought more +of, the wife of Mel’s principal creditor, a wholesale dealer in cloth, +resident in London. +</p> + +<p> +The conviviality of the mourners did not disturb the house. Still, men who are +not accustomed to see the colour of wine every day, will sit and enjoy it, even +upon solemn occasions, and the longer they sit the more they forget the matter +that has brought them together. Pleading their wives and shops, however, they +released Evan from his miserable office late in the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +His mother came down to him,—and saying, “I see how you did the +journey—you walked it,” told him to follow her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, mother,” Evan yawned, “I walked part of the way. I met +a fellow in a gig about ten miles out of Fallowfield, and he gave me a lift to +Flatsham. I just reached Lymport in time, thank Heaven! I wouldn’t have +missed that! By the way, I’ve satisfied these men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“They wanted—one or two of them—what a penance it is to have +to sit among those people an hour!—they wanted to ask me about the +business, but I silenced them. I told them to meet me here this day +week.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel again said “Oh!” and, pushing into one of the upper rooms, +“Here’s your bedroom, Van, just as you left it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, so it is,” muttered Evan, eyeing a print. “The Douglas +and the Percy: ‘he took the dead man by the hand.’ What an age it +seems since I last saw that. There’s Sir Hugh Montgomery on +horseback—he hasn’t moved. Don’t you remember my father +calling it the Battle of Tit-for-Tat? Gallant Percy! I know he wished he had +lived in those days of knights and battles.” +</p> + +<p> +“It does not much signify whom one has to make clothes for,” +observed Mrs. Mel. Her son happily did not mark her. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we neither of us were made for the days of pence and +pounds,” he continued. “Now, mother, sit down, and talk to me about +him. Did he mention me? Did he give me his blessing? I hope he did not suffer. +I’d have given anything to press his hand,” and looking wistfully +at the Percy lifting the hand of Douglas dead, Evan’s eyes filled with +big tears. +</p> + +<p> +“He suffered very little,” returned Mrs. Mel, “and his last +words were about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were they?” Evan burst out. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you another time. Now undress, and go to bed. When I talk to +you, Van, I want a cool head to listen. You do nothing but yawn +yard-measures.” +</p> + +<p> +The mouth of the weary youth instinctively snapped short the abhorred emblem. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, I will help you, Van.” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of his remonstrances and petitions for talk, she took off his coat and +waistcoat, contemptuously criticizing the cloth of foreign tailors and their +absurd cut. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you heard from Louisa?” asked Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes—about your sisters by-and-by. Now, be good, and go to +bed.” +</p> + +<p> +She still treated him like a boy, whom she was going to force to the resolution +of a man. +</p> + +<p> +Dandy’s sleeping-room was on the same floor as Evan’s. Thither, +when she had quitted her son, she directed her steps. She had heard Dandy +tumble up-stairs the moment his duties were over, and knew what to expect when +the bottles had been in his way; for drink made Dandy savage, and a terror to +himself. It was her command to him that, when he happened to come across +liquor, he should immediately seek his bedroom and bolt the door, and Dandy had +got the habit of obeying her. On this occasion he was vindictive against her, +seeing that she had delivered him over to his enemy with malice prepense. A +good deal of knocking, and summoning of Dandy by name, was required before she +was admitted, and the sight of her did not delight him, as he testified. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m drunk!” he bawled. “Will that do for ye?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel stood with her two hands crossed above her apron-string, noting his +sullen lurking eye with the calm of a tamer of beasts. +</p> + +<p> +“You go out of the room; I’m drunk!” Dandy repeated, and +pitched forward on the bed-post, in the middle of an oath. +</p> + +<p> +She understood that it was pure kindness on Dandy’s part to bid her go +and be out of his reach; and therefore, on his becoming so abusive as to be +menacing, she, without a shade of anger, and in the most unruffled manner, +administered to him the remedy she had reserved, in the shape of a smart box on +the ear, which sent him flat to the floor. He rose, after two or three efforts, +quite subdued. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Dandy, sit on the edge of the bed.” +</p> + +<p> +Dandy sat on the extreme edge, and Mrs. Mel pursued: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Dandy, tell me what your master said at the table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talked at ’em like a lord, he did,” said Dandy, stupidly +consoling the boxed ear. +</p> + +<p> +“What were his words?” +</p> + +<p> +Dandy’s peculiarity was, that he never remembered anything save when +drunk, and Mrs. Mel’s dose had rather sobered him. By degrees, scratching +at his head haltingly, he gave the context. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Gentlemen, I hear for the first time, you’ve claims against +my poor father. Nobody shall ever say he died, and any man was the worse for +it. I’ll meet you next week, and I’ll bind myself by law. +Here’s Lawyer Perkins. No; Mr. Perkins. I’ll pay off every penny. +Gentlemen, look upon me as your debtor, and not my father.’” +</p> + +<p> +Delivering this with tolerable steadiness, Dandy asked, “Will that +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“That will do,” said Mrs. Mel. “I’ll send you up some +tea presently. Lie down, Dandy.” +</p> + +<p> +The house was dark and silent when Evan, refreshed by his rest, descended to +seek his mother. She was sitting alone in the parlour. With a tenderness which +Mrs. Mel permitted rather than encouraged, Evan put his arm round her neck, and +kissed her many times. One of the symptoms of heavy sorrow, a longing for the +signs of love, made Evan fondle his mother, and bend over her yearningly. Mrs. +Mel said once: “Dear Van; good boy!” and quietly sat through his +caresses. +</p> + +<p> +“Sitting up for me, mother?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Van; we may as well have our talk out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he took a chair close by her side, “tell me my +father’s last words.” +</p> + +<p> +“He said he hoped you would never be a tailor.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s forehead wrinkled up. “There’s not much fear of that, +then!” +</p> + +<p> +His mother turned her face on him, and examined him with a rigorous placidity; +all her features seeming to bear down on him. Evan did not like the look. +</p> + +<p> +“You object to trade, Van?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, decidedly, mother—hate it; but that’s not what I want +to talk to you about. Didn’t my father speak of me much?” +</p> + +<p> +“He desired that you should wear his militia sword, if you got a +commission.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have rather given up hope of the Army,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel requested him to tell her what a colonel’s full pay amounted to; +and again, the number of years it required, on a rough calculation, to attain +that grade. In reply to his statement she observed: “A tailor might +realize twice the sum in a quarter of the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“What if he does—double, or treble?” cried Evan, impetuously; +and to avoid the theme, and cast off the bad impression it produced on him, he +rubbed his hands, and said: “I want to talk to you about my prospects, +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they?” Mrs. Mel inquired. +</p> + +<p> +The severity of her mien and sceptical coldness of her speech caused him to +inspect them suddenly, as if she had lent him her eyes. He put them by, till +the gold should recover its natural shine, saying: “By the way, mother, +I’ve written the half of a History of Portugal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you?” said Mrs. Mel. “For Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, mother, of course not: to sell it. Albuquerque! what a splendid +fellow he was!” +</p> + +<p> +Informing him that he knew she abominated foreign names, she said: “And +your prospects are, writing Histories of Portugal?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, mother. I was going to tell you, I expect a Government appointment. +Mr. Jocelyn likes my work—I think he likes me. You know, I was his +private secretary for ten months.” +</p> + +<p> +“You write a good hand,” his mother interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m certain I was born for diplomacy.” +</p> + +<p> +“For an easy chair, and an ink-dish before you, and lacqueys behind. +What’s to be your income, Van?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan carelessly remarked that he must wait and see. +</p> + +<p> +“A very proper thing to do,” said Mrs. Mel; for now that she had +fixed him to some explanation of his prospects, she could condescend in her +stiff way to banter. +</p> + +<p> +Slightly touched by it, Evan pursued, half laughing, as men do who wish to +propitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurd: +“It’s not the immediate income, you know, mother: one thinks of +one’s future. In the diplomatic service, as Louisa says, you come to be +known to Ministers gradually, I mean. That is, they hear of you; and if you +show you have some capacity—Louisa wants me to throw it up in time, and +stand for Parliament. Andrew, she thinks, would be glad to help me to his seat. +Once in Parliament, and known to Ministers, you—your career is open to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +In justice to Mr. Evan Harrington, it must be said, he built up this +extraordinary card-castle to dazzle his mother’s mind: he had lost his +right grasp of her character for the moment, because of an undefined suspicion +of something she intended, and which sent him himself to take refuge in those +flimsy structures; while the very altitude he reached beguiled his imagination, +and made him hope to impress hers. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel dealt it one fillip. “And in the meantime how are you to live, +and pay the creditors?” +</p> + +<p> +Though Evan answered cheerfully, “Oh, they will wait, and I can live on +anything,” he was nevertheless floundering on the ground amid the ruins +of the superb edifice; and his mother, upright and rigid, continuing, +“You can live on anything, and they will wait, and call your father a +rogue,” he started, grievously bitten by one of the serpents of earth. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heaven, mother! what are you saying?” +</p> + +<p> +“That they will call your father a rogue, and will have a right +to,” said the relentless woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Not while I live!” Evan exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“You may stop one mouth with your fist, but you won’t stop a dozen, +Van.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan jumped up and walked the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to do?” he cried. “I will pay everything. I will +bind myself to pay every farthing. What more can I possibly do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Make the money,” said Mrs. Mel’s deep voice. +</p> + +<p> +Evan faced her: “My dear mother, you are very unjust and inconsiderate. I +have been working and doing my best. I promise—what do the debts amount +to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something like £5000 in all, Van.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well.” Youth is not alarmed by the sound of big sums. +“Very well—I will pay it.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan looked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amount on the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“Out of the History of Portugal, half written, and the prospect of a +Government appointment?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel raised her eyelids to him. +</p> + +<p> +“In time—in time, mother!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mention your proposal to the creditors when you meet them this day +week,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then Evan came close to her, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“What is it you want of me, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want nothing, Van—I can support myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what would you have me do, mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be honest; do your duty, and don’t be a fool about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try,” he rejoined. “You tell me to make the money. +Where and how can I make it? I am perfectly willing to work.” +</p> + +<p> +“In this house,” said Mrs. Mel; and, as this was pretty clear +speaking, she stood up to lend her figure to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Here?” faltered Evan. “What! be a ——” +</p> + +<p> +“Tailor!” The word did not sting her tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“I? Oh, that’s quite impossible!” said Evan. And visions of +leprosy, and Rose shrinking her skirts from contact with him, shadowed out and +away in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Understand your choice!” Mrs. Mel imperiously spoke. “What +are brains given you for? To be played the fool with by idiots and women? You +have £5000 to pay to save your father from being called a rogue. You can only +make the money in one way, which is open to you. This business might produce a +thousand pounds a-year and more. In seven or eight years you may clear your +father’s name, and live better all the time than many of your bankrupt +gentlemen. You have told the creditors you will pay them. Do you think +they’re gaping fools, to be satisfied by a History of Portugal? If you +refuse to take the business at once, they will sell me up, and quite right too. +Understand your choice. There’s Mr. Goren has promised to have you in +London a couple of months, and teach you what he can. He is a kind friend. +Would any of your gentlemen acquaintance do the like for you? Understand your +choice. You will be a beggar—the son of a rogue—or an honest man +who has cleared his father’s name!” +</p> + +<p> +During this strenuously uttered allocution, Mrs. Mel, though her chest heaved +but faintly against her crossed hands, showed by the dilatation of her eyes, +and the light in them, that she felt her words. There is that in the aspect of +a fine frame breathing hard facts, which, to a youth who has been tumbled +headlong from his card-castles and airy fabrics, is masterful, and like the +pressure of a Fate. Evan drooped his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Mrs. Mel, “you shall have some supper.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan told her he could not eat. +</p> + +<p> +“I insist upon your eating,” said Mrs. Mel; “empty stomachs +are foul counsellors.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother! do you want to drive me mad?” cried Evan. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him to see whether the string she held him by would bear the +slight additional strain: decided not to press a small point. +</p> + +<p> +“Then go to bed and sleep on it,” she said—sure of +him—and gave her cheek for his kiss, for she never performed the +operation, but kept her mouth, as she remarked, for food and speech, and not +for slobbering mummeries. +</p> + +<p> +Evan returned to his solitary room. He sat on the bed and tried to think, +oppressed by horrible sensations of self-contempt, that caused whatever he +touched to sicken him. +</p> + +<p> +There were the Douglas and the Percy on the wall. It was a happy and a glorious +time, was it not, when men lent each other blows that killed outright; when to +be brave and cherish noble feelings brought honour; when strength of arm and +steadiness of heart won fortune; when the fair stars of earth—sweet +women—wakened and warmed the love of squires of low degree. This legacy +of the dead man’s hand! Evan would have paid it with his blood; but to be +in bondage all his days to it; through it to lose all that was dear to him; to +wear the length of a loathed existence!—we should pardon a young +man’s wretchedness at the prospect, for it was in a time before our +joyful era of universal equality. Yet he never cast a shade of blame upon his +father. +</p> + +<p> +The hours moved on, and he found himself staring at his small candle, which +struggled more and more faintly with the morning light, like his own flickering +ambition against the facts of life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC</h2> + +<p> +At the Aurora—one of those rare antiquated taverns, smelling of +comfortable time and solid English fare, that had sprung up in the great coffee +days, when taverns were clubs, and had since subsisted on the attachment of +steady bachelor Templars there had been dismay, and even sorrow, for a month. +The most constant patron of the establishment—an old gentleman who had +dined there for seven-and-twenty years, four days in the week, off dishes +dedicated to the particular days, and had grown grey with the landlady, the +cook, and the head-waiter—this old gentleman had abruptly withheld his +presence. Though his name, his residence, his occupation, were things only to +be speculated on at the Aurora, he was very well known there, and as men are +best to be known: that is to say, by their habits. Some affection for him also +was felt. The landlady looked on him as a part of the house. The cook and the +waiter were accustomed to receive acceptable compliments from him monthly. His +precise words, his regular ancient jokes, his pint of Madeira and after-pint of +Port, his antique bow to the landlady, passing out and in, his method of +spreading his table-napkin on his lap and looking up at the ceiling ere he fell +to, and how he talked to himself during the repast, and indulged in short +chuckles, and the one look of perfect felicity that played over his features +when he had taken his first sip of Port—these were matters it pained them +at the Aurora to have to remember. +</p> + +<p> +For three weeks the resolution not to regard him as of the past was general. +The Aurora was the old gentleman’s home. Men do not play truant from home +at sixty years of age. He must, therefore, be seriously indisposed. The kind +heart of the landlady fretted to think he might have no soul to nurse and care +for him; but she kept his corner near the fire-place vacant, and took care that +his pint of Madeira was there. The belief was gaining ground that he had gone, +and that nothing but his ghost would ever sit there again. Still the melancholy +ceremony continued: for the landlady was not without a secret hope, that in +spite of his reserve and the mystery surrounding him, he would have sent her a +last word. The cook and head-waiter, interrogated as to their dealings with the +old gentleman, testified solemnly to the fact of their having performed their +duty by him. They would not go against their interests so much as to forget one +of his ways, they said—taking oath, as it were, by their lower nature, in +order to be credited: an instinct men have of one another. The landlady could +not contradict them, for the old gentleman had made no complaint; but then she +called to memory that fifteen years back, in such and such a year, +Wednesday’s dish had been, by shameful oversight, furnished him for +Tuesday’s, and he had eaten it quietly, but refused his Port; which +pathetic event had caused alarm and inquiry, when the error was discovered, and +apologized for, the old gentleman merely saying, “Don’t let it +happen again.” Next day he drank his Port, as usual, and the wheels of +the Aurora went smoothly. The landlady was thus justified in averring that +something had been done by somebody, albeit unable to point to anything +specific. Women, who are almost as deeply bound to habit as old gentlemen, +possess more of its spiritual element, and are warned by dreams, omens, +creepings of the flesh, unwonted chills, suicide of china, and other shadowing +signs, when a break is to be anticipated, or, has occurred. The landlady of the +Aurora tavern was visited by none of these, and with that beautiful trust which +habit gives, and which boastful love or vainer earthly qualities would fail in +effecting, she ordered that the pint of Madeira should stand from six +o’clock in the evening till seven—a small monument of confidence in +him who was at one instant the “poor old dear”; at another, the +“naughty old gad-about”; further, the “faithless +old-good-for-nothing”; and again, the “blessed pet” of the +landlady’s parlour, alternately and indiscriminately apostrophized by +herself, her sister, and daughter. +</p> + +<p> +On the last day of the month a step was heard coming up the long alley which +led from the riotous scrambling street to the plentiful cheerful heart of the +Aurora. The landlady knew the step. She checked the natural flutterings of her +ribbons, toned down the strong simper that was on her lips, rose, pushed aside +her daughter, and, as the step approached, curtsied composedly. Old Habit +lifted his hat, and passed. With the same touching confidence in the Aurora +that the Aurora had in him, he went straight to his corner, expressed no +surprise at his welcome by the Madeira, and thereby apparently indicated that +his appearance should enjoy a similar immunity. +</p> + +<p> +As of old, he called “Jonathan!” and was not to be disturbed till +he did so. Seeing that Jonathan smirked and twiddled his napkin, the old +gentleman added, “Thursday!” +</p> + +<p> +But Jonathan, a man, had not his mistress’s keen intuition of the +deportment necessitated by the case, or was incapable of putting the screw upon +weak excited nature, for he continued to smirk, and was remarking how glad he +was, he was sure, and something he had dared to think and almost to fear, when +the old gentleman called to him, as if he were at the other end of the room, +“Will you order Thursday, or not, sir?” Whereat Jonathan flew, and +two or three cosy diners glanced up from their plates, or the paper, smiled, +and pursued their capital occupation. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see me!” the old gentleman muttered, querulously. +“Of course, glad to see a customer! Why do you tell me that? Talk! +tattle! might as well have a woman to wait—just!” +</p> + +<p> +He wiped his forehead largely with his handkerchief; as one whom Calamity +hunted a little too hard in summer weather. +</p> + +<p> +“No tumbling-room for the wine, too!” +</p> + +<p> +That was his next grievance. He changed the pint of Madeira from his left side +to his right, and went under his handkerchief again, feverishly. The world was +severe with this old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! clock wrong now!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned back like a man who can no longer carry his burdens, informing +Jonathan, on his coming up to place the roll of bread and firm butter, that he +was forty seconds too fast, as if it were a capital offence, and he deserved to +step into Eternity for outstripping Time. +</p> + +<p> +“But, I daresay, you don’t understand the importance of a +minute,” said the old gentleman, bitterly. “Not you, or any of you. +Better if we had run a little ahead of your minute, perhaps—and the rest +of you! Do you think you can cancel the mischief that’s done in the world +in that minute, sir, by hurrying ahead like that? Tell me!” +</p> + +<p> +Rather at a loss, Jonathan scanned the clock seriously, and observed that it +was not quite a minute too fast. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman pulled out his watch. He grunted that a lying clock was +hateful to him; subsequently sinking into contemplation of his thumbs,—a +sign known to Jonathan as indicative of the old gentleman’s system having +resolved, in spite of external outrages, to be fortified with calm to meet the +repast. +</p> + +<p> +It is not fair to go behind an eccentric; but the fact was, this old gentleman +was slightly ashamed of his month’s vagrancy and cruel conduct, and +cloaked his behaviour toward the Aurora, in all the charges he could muster +against it. He was very human, albeit an odd form of the race. +</p> + +<p> +Happily for his digestion of Thursday, the cook, warned by Jonathan, kept the +old gentleman’s time, not the Aurora’s: and the dinner was correct; +the dinner was eaten in peace; he began to address his plate vigorously, poured +out his Madeira, and chuckled, as the familiar ideas engendered by good wine +were revived in him. Jonathan reported at the bar that the old gentleman was +all right again. +</p> + +<p> +One would like here to pause, while our worthy ancient feeds, and indulge in a +short essay on Habit, to show what a sacred and admirable thing it is that +makes flimsy Time substantial, and consolidates his triple life. It is proof +that we have come to the end of dreams and Time’s delusions, and are +determined to sit down at Life’s feast and carve for ourselves. Its day +is the child of yesterday, and has a claim on to-morrow. Whereas those who have +no such plan of existence and sum of their wisdom to show, the winds blow them +as they list. Consider, then, mercifully the wrath of him on whom carelessness +or forgetfulness has brought a snap in the links of Habit. You incline to scorn +him because, his slippers misplaced, or asparagus not on his table the first +day of a particular Spring month, he gazes blankly and sighs as one who saw the +End. To you it may appear small. You call to him to be a man. He is: but he is +also an immortal, and his confidence in unceasing orderly progression is rudely +dashed. +</p> + +<p> +But the old gentleman has finished his dinner and his Madeira, and says: +“Now, Jonathan, ‘thock’ the Port!”—his joke when +matters have gone well: meant to express the sound of the uncorking, probably. +The habit of making good jokes is rare, as you know: old gentlemen have not yet +attained to it: nevertheless Jonathan enjoys this one, which has seen a +generation in and out, for he knows its purport to be, “My heart is +open.” +</p> + +<p> +And now is a great time with this old gentleman. He sips, and in his eyes the +world grows rosy, and he exchanges mute or monosyllable salutes here and there. +His habit is to avoid converse; but he will let a light remark season +meditation. +</p> + +<p> +He says to Jonathan: “The bill for the month.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” Jonathan replies. “Would you not prefer, sir, to +have the items added on to the month ensuing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you for the bill of the month,” said the old gentleman, +with an irritated voice and a twinkle in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan bowed; but his aspect betrayed perplexity, and that perplexity was +soon shared by the landlady for Jonathan said, he was convinced the old +gentleman intended to pay for sixteen days, and the landlady could not bring +her hand to charge him for more than two. Here was the dilemma foreseen by the +old gentleman, and it added vastly to the flavour of the Port. +</p> + +<p> +Pleasantly tickled, he sat gazing at his glass, and let the minutes fly. He +knew the part he would act in his little farce. If charged for the whole month, +he would peruse the bill deliberately, and perhaps cry out +“Hulloa?” and then snap at Jonathan for the interposition of a +remark. But if charged for two days, he would wish to be told whether they were +demented, those people outside, and scornfully return the bill to Jonathan. +</p> + +<p> +A slap on the shoulder, and a voice: “Found you at last, Tom!” +violently shattered the excellent plot, and made the old gentleman start. He +beheld Mr. Andrew Cogglesby. +</p> + +<p> +“Drinking Port, Tom?” said Mr. Andrew. “I’ll join +you”: and he sat down opposite to him, rubbing his hands and pushing back +his hair. +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan entering briskly with the bill, fell back a step, in alarm. The old +gentleman, whose inviolacy was thus rudely assailed, sat staring at the +intruder, his mouth compressed, and three fingers round his glass, which it was +doubtful whether he was not going to hurl at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Waiter!” Mr. Andrew carelessly hailed, “a pint of this Port, +if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan sought the countenance of the old gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear, sir?” cried the latter, turning his wrath on him. +“Another pint!” He added: “Take back the bill”; and +away went Jonathan to relate fresh marvels to his mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew then addressed the old gentleman in the most audacious manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Astonished to see me here, Tom? Dare say you are. I knew you came +somewhere in this neighbourhood, and, as I wanted to speak to you very +particularly, and you wouldn’t be visible till Monday, why, I spied into +two or three places, and here I am.” +</p> + +<p> +You might see they were brothers. They had the same bushy eyebrows, the same +healthy colour in their cheeks, the same thick shoulders, and brisk way of +speaking, and clear, sharp, though kindly, eyes; only Tom was cast in larger +proportions than Andrew, and had gotten the grey furniture of Time for his +natural wear. Perhaps, too, a cross in early life had a little twisted him, and +set his mouth in a rueful bunch, out of which occasionally came biting things. +Mr. Andrew carried his head up, and eyed every man living with the benevolence +of a patriarch, dashed with the impudence of a London sparrow. Tom had a +nagging air, and a trifle of acridity on his broad features. Still, any one at +a glance could have sworn they were brothers, and Jonathan unhesitatingly +proclaimed it at the Aurora bar. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew’s hands were working together, and at them, and at his face, +the old gentleman continued to look with a firmly interrogating air. +</p> + +<p> +“Want to know what brings me, Tom? I’ll tell you presently. +Hot,—isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce are you taking exercise for?” the old gentleman +burst out, and having unlocked his mouth, he began to puff and alter his +posture. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are, thawed in a minute!” said Mr. Andrew. +“What’s an eccentric? a child grown grey. It isn’t mine; I +read it somewhere. Ah, here’s the Port! good, I’ll warrant.” +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan deferentially uncorked, excessive composure on his visage. He arranged +the table-cloth to a nicety, fixed the bottle with exactness, and was only sent +scudding by the old gentleman’s muttering of: “Eavesdropping +pie!” followed by a short, “Go!” and even then he must delay +to sweep off a particular crumb. +</p> + +<p> +“Good it is!” said Mr. Andrew, rolling the flavour on his lips, as +he put down his glass. “I follow you in Port, Tom. Elder brother!” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman also drank, and was mollified enough to reply: +“Shan’t follow you in Parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t forgiven that yet, Tom?” +</p> + +<p> +“No great harm done when you’re silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Capital Port!” said Mr. Andrew, replenishing the glasses. “I +ought to have inquired where they kept the best Port. I might have known +you’d stick by it. By the way, talking of Parliament, there’s talk +of a new election for Fallowfield. You have a vote there. Will you give it to +Jocelyn? There’s talk of his standing. +</p> + +<p> +“If he’ll wear petticoats, I’ll give him my vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“There you go, Tom!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate masquerades. You’re penny trumpets of the women. That +tattle comes from the bed-curtains. When a petticoat steps forward I give it my +vote, or else I button it up in my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +This was probably one of the longest speeches he had ever delivered at the +Aurora. There was extra Port in it. Jonathan, who from his place of observation +noted the length of time it occupied, though he was unable to gather the +context, glanced at Mr. Andrew with a sly satisfaction. Mr. Andrew, laughing, +signalled for another pint. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve come here for my vote, have you?” said Mr. Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no; not exactly that,” Mr. Andrew answered, blinking and +passing it by. +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan brought the fresh pint, and Tom filled for himself, drank, and said +emphatically, and with a confounding voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Your women have been setting you on me, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew protested that he was entirely mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the puppet of your women!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Tom, not in this instance. Here’s to the bachelors, and +brother Tom at their head!” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to be Andrew’s object to help his companion to carry a certain +quantity of Port, as if he knew a virtue it had to subdue him, and to have +fixed on a particular measure that he should hold before he addressed him +specially. Arrived at this, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Tom. I know your ways. I shouldn’t have bothered you +here; I never have before; but we couldn’t very well talk it over in +business hours; and besides you’re never at the Brewery till Monday, and +the matter’s rather urgent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you speak like that in Parliament?” the old man +interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Because Parliament isn’t my brother,” replied Mr. Andrew. +“You know, Tom, you never quite took to my wife’s family.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a match for fine ladies, Nan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Harriet would have taken to you, Tom, and will now, if +you’ll let her. Of course, it’s a pity if she’s ashamed +of—hem! You found it out about the Lymport people, Tom, and, you’ve +kept the secret and respected her feelings, and I thank you for it. Women are +odd in those things, you know. She mustn’t imagine I’ve heard a +whisper. I believe it would kill her.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman shook silently. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to travel over the kingdom, hawking her for the daughter +of a marquis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, don’t joke, Tom. I’m serious. Are you not a Radical at +heart? Why do you make such a set against the poor women? What do we spring +from?” +</p> + +<p> +“I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler’s stall.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I, Tom, don’t care a rush who knows it. Homo—something; +but we never had much schooling. We’ve thriven, and should help those we +can. We’ve got on in the world...” +</p> + +<p> +“Wife come back from Lymport?” sneered Tom. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew hurriedly, and with some confusion, explained that she had not been able +to go, on account of the child. +</p> + +<p> +“Account of the child!” his brother repeated, working his chin +contemptuously. “Sisters gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re stopping with us,” said Andrew, reddening. +</p> + +<p> +“So the tailor was left to the kites and the crows. Ah! hum!” and +Tom chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re angry with me, Tom, for coming here,” said Andrew. +“I see what it is. Thought how it would be! You’re offended, old +Tom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come where you like,” returned Tom, “the place is open. +It’s a fool that hopes for peace anywhere. They sent a woman here to wait +on me, this day month.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a shame!” said Mr. Andrew, propitiatingly. +“Well, never mind, Tom: the women are sometimes in the way.—Evan +went down to bury his father. He’s there now. You wouldn’t see him +when he was at the Brewery, Tom. He’s—upon my honour! he’s a +good young fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“A fine young gentleman, I’ve no doubt, Nan.” +</p> + +<p> +“A really good lad, Tom. No nonsense. I’ve come here to speak to +you about him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew drew a letter from his pocket, pursuing: “Just throw aside +your prejudices, and read this. It’s a letter I had from him this +morning. But first I must tell you how the case stands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know more than you can tell me, Nan,” said Tom, turning over the +flavour of a gulp of his wine. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, just let me repeat it. He has been capitally educated; he +has always been used to good society: well, we mustn’t sneer at it: good +society’s better than bad, you’ll allow. He has refined tastes: +well, you wouldn’t like to live among crossing-sweepers, Tom. He’s +clever and accomplished, can speak and write in three languages: I wish I had +his abilities. He has good manners: well, Tom, you know you like them as well +as anybody. And now—but read for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yah!” went old Tom. “The women have been playing the fool +with him since he was a baby. I read his rigmarole? No.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew shrugged his shoulders, and opened the letter, saying: “Well, +listen”; and then he coughed, and rapidly skimmed the introductory part. +“Excuses himself for addressing me formally—poor boy! Circumstances +have altered his position towards the world: found his father’s affairs +in a bad state: only chance of paying off father’s debts to undertake +management of business, and bind himself to so much a year. But there, Tom, if +you won’t read it, you miss the poor young fellow’s character. He +says that he has forgotten his station: fancied he was superior to trade, but +hates debt; and will not allow anybody to throw dirt at his father’s +name, while he can work to clear it; and will sacrifice his pride. Come, Tom, +that’s manly, isn’t it? I call it touching, poor lad!” +</p> + +<p> +Manly it may have been, but the touching part of it was a feature missed in Mr. +Andrew’s hands. At any rate, it did not appear favourably to impress Tom, +whose chin had gathered its ominous puckers, as he inquired: +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trade? he don’t say.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew added, with a wave of the hand: “Out of a sort of feeling for his +sisters—I like him for it. Now what I want to ask you, Tom, is, whether +we can’t assist him in some way! Why couldn’t we take him into our +office, and fix him there, eh? If he works well—we’re both getting +old, and my brats are chicks—we might, by-and-by, give him a +share.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make a brewer of him? Ha! there’d be another mighty sacrifice for +his pride!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Tom,” said Andrew, “he’s my wife’s +brother, and I’m yours; and—there, you know what women are. They +like to preserve appearances: we ought to consider them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Preserve appearances!” echoed Tom: “ha! who’ll do that +for them better than a tailor?” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew was an impatient little man, fitter for a kind action than to plead a +cause. Jeering jarred on him; and from the moment his brother began it, he was +of small service to Evan. He flung back against the partition of the compound, +rattling it to the disturbance of many a quiet digestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Tom,” he cried, “I believe you’re a screw!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never said I wasn’t,” rejoined Tom, as he finished his +glass. “I’m a bachelor, and a person—you’re married, +and an object. I won’t have the tailor’s family at my +coat-tails.” +</p> + +<p> +Do you mean to say, Tom, you don’t like the young fellow? The Countess +says he’s half engaged to an heiress; and he has a chance of +appointments—of course, nothing may come of them. But do you mean to say, +you don’t like him for what he has done?” +</p> + +<p> +Tom made his jaw disagreeably prominent. “’Fraid I’m guilty +of that crime.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you that swear at people pretending to be above their +station!” exclaimed Andrew. “I shall get in a passion. I +can’t stand this. Here, waiter! what have I to pay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go,” cried the time-honoured guest of the Aurora to Jonathan +advancing. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew pressed the very roots of his hair back from his red forehead, and sat +upright and resolute, glancing at Tom. And now ensued a curious scene of family +blood. For no sooner did elderly Tom observe this bantam-like demeanour of his +brother, than he ruffled his feathers likewise, and looked down on him, +agitating his wig over a prodigious frown. Whereof came the following sharp +colloquy; Andrew beginning: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll pay off the debts out of my own pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can make a greater fool of yourself, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“He shan’t be a tailor!” +</p> + +<p> +“He shan’t be a brewer!” +</p> + +<p> +“I say he shall live like a gentleman!” +</p> + +<p> +“I say he shall squat like a Turk!” +</p> + +<p> +Bang went Andrew’s hand on the table: “I’ve pledged my word, +mind!” +</p> + +<p> +Tom made a counter demonstration: “And I’ll have my way!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it! I can be as eccentric as you,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“And I as much a donkey as you, if I try hard,” said Tom. +</p> + +<p> +Something of the cobbler’s stall followed this; till waxing furious, Tom +sung out to Jonathan, hovering around them in watchful timidity, “More +Port!” and the words immediately fell oily on the wrath of the brothers; +both commenced wiping their heads with their handkerchiefs the faces of both +emerged and met, with a half-laugh: and, severally determined to keep to what +they had spoken, there was a tacit accord between them to drop the subject. +</p> + +<p> +Like sunshine after smart rain, the Port shone on these brothers. Like a voice +from the pastures after the bellowing of the thunder, Andrew’s voice +asked: “Got rid of that twinge of the gout, Tom? Did you rub in that +ointment?” while Tom replied: “Ay. How about that rheumatism of +yours? Have you tried that Indy oil?” receiving a like assurance. +</p> + +<p> +The remainder of the Port ebbed in meditation and chance remarks. The bit of +storm had done them both good; and Tom especially—the cynical, carping, +grim old gentleman—was much improved by the nearer resemblance of his +manner to Andrew’s. +</p> + +<p> +Behind this unaffected fraternal concord, however, the fact that they were +pledged to a race in eccentricity, was present. They had been rivals before; +and anterior to the date of his marriage, Andrew had done odd eclipsing things. +But Andrew required prompting to it; he required to be put upon his mettle. +Whereas, it was more nature with Tom: nature and the absence of a wife, gave +him advantages over Andrew. Besides, he had his character to maintain. He had +said the word: and the first vanity of your born eccentric is, that he shall be +taken for infallible. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Andrew ducked his head to mark the evening clouds flushing over the +court-yard of the Aurora. +</p> + +<p> +“Time to be off, Tom,” he said: “wife at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” Tom answered. “Well, I haven’t got to go to bed +so early.” +</p> + +<p> +“What an old rogue you are, Tom!” Andrew pushed his elbows forward +on the table amiably. “’Gad, we haven’t drunk wine together +since—by George! we’ll have another pint.” +</p> + +<p> +“Many as you like,” said Tom. +</p> + +<p> +Over the succeeding pint, Andrew, in whose veins the Port was merry, favoured +his brother with an imitation of Major Strike, and indicated his dislike to +that officer. Tom informed him that Major Strike was speculating. +</p> + +<p> +“The ass eats at my table, and treats me with contempt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just tell him that you’re putting by the bones for him. +He’ll want ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Andrew with another glance at the clouds, now violet on a grey sky, said +he must really be off. Upon which Tom observed: “Don’t come here +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“You old rascal, Tom!” cried Andrew, swinging over the table: +“it’s quite jolly for us to be hob-a-nobbing together once more. +’Gad!—no, we won’t though! I promised—Harriet. Eh? What +say, Tom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nother pint, Nan?” +</p> + +<p> +Tom shook his head in a roguishly-cosy, irresistible way. Andrew, from a shake +of denial and resolve, fell into the same; and there sat the two +brothers—a jolly picture. +</p> + +<p> +The hour was ten, when Andrew Cogglesby, comforted by Tom’s remark, that +he, Tom, had a wig, and that he, Andrew, would have a wigging, left the Aurora; +and he left it singing a song. Tom Cogglesby still sat at his table, holding +before him Evan’s letter, of which he had got possession; and knocking it +round and round with a stroke of the forefinger, to the tune of, “Tinker, +tailor, soldier, sailor, ’pothecary, ploughboy, thief”; each +profession being sounded as a corner presented itself to the point of his nail. +After indulging in this species of incantation for some length of time, Tom +Cogglesby read the letter from beginning to end, and called peremptorily for +pen, ink, and paper. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br /> +THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY</h2> + +<p> +By dint of stratagems worthy of a Court intrigue, the Countess de Saldar +contrived to traverse the streets of Lymport, and enter the house where she was +born, unsuspected and unseen, under cover of a profusion of lace and veil and +mantilla, which only her heroic resolve to keep her beauties hidden from the +profane townspeople could have rendered endurable beneath the fervid summer +sun. Dress in a foreign style she must, as without it she lost that sense of +superiority, which was the only comfort to her in her tribulations. The period +of her arrival was ten days subsequent to the burial of her father. She had +come in the coach, like any common mortal, and the coachman, upon her request, +had put her down at the Governor’s house, and the guard had knocked at +the door, and the servant had informed her that General Hucklebridge was not +the governor of Lymport, nor did Admiral Combleman then reside in the town; +which tidings, the coach then being out of sight, it did not disconcert the +Countess to hear; and she reached her mother, having, at least, cut off +communication with the object of conveyance. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess kissed her mother, kissed Mrs. Fiske, and asked sharply for Evan. +Mrs. Fiske let her know that Evan was in the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” inquired the Countess. “I have news of the utmost +importance for him. I must see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he, aunt?” said Mrs. Fiske. “In the shop, I think; +I wonder he did not see you passing, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess went bolt down into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to him, Jane,” said Mrs. Mel. “Tell him Louisa is here, +and don’t return.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske departed, and the Countess smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Mama! you know I never could bear that odious, vulgar little +woman. Oh, the heat! You talk of Portugal! And, oh! poor dear Papa! what I have +suffered!” +</p> + +<p> +Flapping her laces for air, and wiping her eyes for sorrow, the Countess poured +a flood of sympathy into her mother’s ears and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“But you have made a great mistake, Mama, in allowing Evan to put his +foot into that place. He—beloved of an heiress! Why, if an enemy should +hear of it, it would ruin him—positively blast him—for ever. And +that she loves him I have proof positive. Yes; with all her frankness, the +little thing cannot conceal that from me now. She loves him! And I desire you +to guess, Mama, whether rivals will not abound? And what enemy so much to be +dreaded as a rival? And what revelation so awful as that he has stood in +a—in a—boutique?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel maintained her usual attitude for listening. It had occurred to her +that it might do no good to tell the grand lady, her daughter, of Evan’s +resolution, so she simply said, “It is discipline for him,” and +left her to speak a private word with the youth. +</p> + +<p> +Timidly the Countess inspected the furniture of the apartment, taking chills at +the dingy articles she saw, in the midst of her heat. That she should have +sprung from this! The thought was painful; still she could forgive Providence +so much. But should it ever be known she had sprung from this! Alas! she felt +she never could pardon such a dire betrayal. She had come in good spirits, but +the mention of Evan’s backsliding had troubled her extremely, and though +she did not say to herself, What was the benefit resulting from her +father’s dying, if Evan would be so base-minded? she thought the thing +indefinitely, and was forming the words on her mouth, One Harrington in a shop +is equal to all! when Evan appeared alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, goodness gracious! where’s your moustache?” cried the +Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone the way of hair!” said Evan, coldly stooping to her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Such a distinction!” the Countess continued, reproachfully. +“Why, mon Dieu! one could hardly tell you; as you look now, from the very +commonest tradesman—if you were not rather handsome and something of a +figure. It’s a disguise, Evan—do you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ve parted with it—that’s all,” said Evan. +“No more disguises for me!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess immediately took his arm, and walked with him to a window. His +face was certainly changed. Murmuring that the air of Lymport was bad for him, +and that he must leave it instantly, she bade him sit and attend to what she +was about to say. +</p> + +<p> +“While you have been here, degenerating, Evan, day by day—as you +always do out of my sight—degenerating! no less a word!—I have been +slaving in your interests. Yes; I have forced the Jocelyns socially to +acknowledge us. I have not slept; I have eaten bare morsels. Do abstinence and +vigils clear the wits? I know not! but indeed they have enabled me to do more +in a week than would suffice for a lifetime. Hark to me. I have discovered +Rose’s secret. Si! It is so! Rose loves you. You blush; you blush like a +girl. She loves you, and you have let yourself be seen in a shop! Contrast me +the two things. Oh! in verity, dreadful as it is, one could almost laugh. But +the moment I lose sight of you, my instructions vanish as quickly as that hair +on your superior lip, which took such time to perfect. Alas! you must grow it +again immediately. Use any perfumer’s contrivance. Rowland! I have great +faith in Rowland. Without him, I believe, there would have been many bald women +committing suicide! You remember the bottle I gave to the Count de Villa Flor? +‘Countess,’ he said to me, ‘you have saved this egg-shell +from a crack by helping to cover it’—for so he called his +head—the top, you know, was beginning to shine like an egg. And I do fear +me he would have done it. Ah! you do not conceive what the dread of baldness +is! To a woman death—death is preferable to baldness! Baldness is death! +And a wig—a wig! Oh, horror! total extinction is better than to rise +again in a wig! But you are young, and play with hair. But I was saying, I went +to see the Jocelyns. I was introduced to Sir Franks and his lady and the +wealthy grandmother. And I have an invitation for you, Evan—you +unmannered boy, that you do not bow! A gentle incline forward of the shoulders, +and the eyes fixed softly, your upper lids drooping triflingly, as if you +thanked with gentle sincerity, but were indifferent. Well, well, if you will +not! An invitation for you to spend part of the autumn at Beckley Court, the +ancestral domain, where there will be company the nobles of the land! Consider +that. You say it was bold in me to face them after that horrible man committed +us on board the vessel? A Harrington is anything but a coward. I did go and +because I am devoted to your interests. That very morning, I saw announced in +the paper, just beneath poor Andrew’s hand, as he held it up at the +breakfast-table, reading it, I saw among the deaths, Sir Abraham Harrington, of +Torquay, Baronet, of quinsy! Twice that good man has come to my rescue! Oh! I +welcomed him as a piece of Providence! I turned and said to Harriet, ‘I +see they have put poor Papa in the paper.’ Harriet was staggered. I took +the paper from Andrew, and pointed it to her. She has no readiness. She has had +no foreign training. She could not comprehend, and Andrew stood on tiptoe, and +peeped. He has a bad cough, and coughed himself black in the face. I attribute +it to excessive bad manners and his cold feelings. He left the room. I +reproached Harriet. But, oh! the singularity of the excellent fortune of such +an event at such a time! It showed that our Harrington-luck had not forsaken +us. I hurried to the Jocelyns instantly. Of course, it cleared away any +suspicions aroused in them by that horrible man on board the vessel. And the +tears I wept for Sir Abraham, Evan, in verity they were tears of deep and +sincere gratitude! What is your mouth knitting the corners at? Are you +laughing?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan hastily composed his visage to the melancholy that was no counterfeit in +him just then. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” continued the Countess, easily reassured, “I shall +ever feel a debt to Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay. I dare say we are +related to him. At least he has done us more service than many a rich and +titled relative. No one supposes he would acknowledge poor Papa. I can forgive +him that, Evan!” The Countess pointed out her finger with mournful and +impressive majesty, “As we look down on that monkey, people of rank and +consideration in society look on what poor dear Papa was.” +</p> + +<p> +This was partly true, for Jacko sat on a chair, in his favourite attitude, +copied accurately from the workmen of the establishment at their labour with +needle and thread. Growing cognizant of the infamy of his posture, the Countess +begged Evan to drive him out of her sight, and took a sniff at her +smelling-bottle. +</p> + +<p> +She went on: “Now, dear Van, you would hear of your sweet Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word!” Evan hastily answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what does this indicate? Whims! Then you do love?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you, Louisa, I don’t want to hear a word of any of +them,” said Evan, with an angry gleam in his eyes. “They are +nothing to me, nor I to them. I—my walk in life is not theirs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faint heart! faint heart!” the Countess lifted a proverbial +forefinger. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank heaven, I shall have the consolation of not going about, and +bowing and smirking like an impostor!” Evan exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +There was a wider intelligence in the Countess’s arrested gaze than she +chose to fashion into speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew,” she said, “I knew how the air of this horrible +Lymport would act on you. But while I live, Evan, you shall not sink in the +sludge. You, with all the pains I have lavished on you! and with your +presence!—for you have a presence, so rare among young men in this +England! You, who have been to a Court, and interchanged bows with duchesses, +and I know not what besides—nay, I do not accuse you; but if you had not +been a mere boy, and an English boy—poor Eugenia herself confessed to me +that you had a look—a tender cleaving of the underlids—that made +her catch her hand to her heart sometimes: it reminded her so acutely of false +Belmaraña. Could you have had a greater compliment than that? You shall not +stop here another day!” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Evan, “for I’m going to London +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to London,” the Countess returned, with a conquering glance, +“but to Beckley Court—and with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“To London, Louisa, with Mr. Goren.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Countess eyed him largely; but took, as it were, a side-path from her +broad thought, saying: “Yes, fortunes are made in London, if you would +they should be rapid.” +</p> + +<p> +She meditated. At that moment Dandy knocked at the door, and called outside: +“Please, master, Mr. Goren says there’s a gentleman in the +shop—wants to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” replied Evan, moving. He was swung violently round. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had clutched him by the arm. A fearful expression was on her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Whither do you go?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“To the shop, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +Too late to arrest the villanous word, she pulled at him. “Are you quite +insane? Consent to be seen by a gentleman there? What has come to you? You must +be lunatic! Are we all to be utterly ruined—disgraced?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is my mother to starve?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd rejoinder! No! You should have sold everything here before this. +She can live with Harriet—she—once out of this horrible +element—she would not show it. But, Evan, you are getting away from me: +you are not going?—speak!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess clung to him, exclaiming: “Never, while I have the power to +detain you!” but as he was firm and strong, she had recourse to her +woman’s aids, and burst into a storm of sobs on his shoulder—a +scene of which Mrs. Mel was, for some seconds, a composed spectator. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter now?” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +Evan impatiently explained the case. Mrs. Mel desired her daughter to avoid +being ridiculous, and making two fools in her family; and at the same time that +she told Evan there was no occasion for him to go, contrived, with a look, to +make the advice a command. He, in that state of mind when one takes bitter +delight in doing an abhorred duty, was hardly willing to be submissive; but the +despair of the Countess reduced him, and for her sake he consented to forego +the sacrifice of his pride which was now his sad, sole pleasure. Feeling him +linger, the Countess relaxed her grasp. Hers were tears that dried as soon as +they had served their end; and, to give him the full benefit of his conduct, +she said: “I knew Evan would be persuaded by me.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan pitifully pressed her hand, and sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea is on the table down-stairs,” said Mrs. Mel. “I have +cooked something for you, Louisa. Do you sleep here to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can I tell you, Mama?” murmured the Countess. “I am +dependent on our Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! well, we will eat first,” said Mrs. Mel, and they went to the +table below, the Countess begging her mother to drop titles in designating her +to the servants, which caused Mrs. Mel to say: +</p> + +<p> +“There is but one. I do the cooking”; and the Countess, ever +disposed to flatter and be suave, even when stung by a fact or a phrase, added: +</p> + +<p> +“And a beautiful cook you used to be, dear Mama!” +</p> + +<p> +At the table, awaiting them, sat Mrs. Wishaw, Mrs. Fiske, and Mr. Goren, who +soon found themselves enveloped in the Countess’s graciousness. Mr. Goren +would talk of trade, and compare Lymport business with London, and the +Countess, loftily interested in his remarks, drew him out to disgust her +brother. Mrs. Wishaw, in whom the Countess at once discovered a frivolous +pretentious woman of the moneyed trading class, she treated as one who was +alive to society, and surveyed matters from a station in the world, leading her +to think that she tolerated Mr. Goren, as a lady-Christian of the highest rank +should tolerate the insects that toil for us. Mrs. Fiske was not so tractable, +for Mrs. Fiske was hostile and armed. Mrs. Fiske adored the great Mel, and she +had never loved Louisa. Hence, she scorned Louisa on account of her late +behaviour toward her dead parent. The Countess saw through her, and laboured to +be friendly with her, while she rendered her disagreeable in the eyes of Mrs. +Wishaw, and let Mrs. Wishaw perceive that sympathy was possible between them; +manoeuvring a trifle too delicate, perhaps, for the people present, but +sufficient to blind its keen-witted author to the something that was being +concealed from herself, of which something, nevertheless, her senses +apprehensively warned her: and they might have spoken to her wits, but that +mortals cannot, unaided, guess, or will not, unless struck in the face by the +fact, credit, what is to their minds the last horror. +</p> + +<p> +“I came down in the coach, quite accidental, with this gentleman,” +said Mrs. Wishaw, fanning a cheek and nodding at Mr. Goren. “I’m an +old flame of dear Mel’s. I knew him when he was an apprentice in London. +Now, wasn’t it odd? Your mother—I suppose I must call you ‘my +lady’?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess breathed a tender “Spare me,” with a smile that added, +“among friends!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Wishaw resumed: “Your mother was an old flame of this +gentleman’s, I found out. So there were two old flames, and I +couldn’t help thinking! But I was so glad to have seen dear Mel once +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” sighed the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“He was always a martial-looking man, and laid out, he was quite +imposing. I declare, I cried so, as it reminded me of when I couldn’t +have him, for he had nothing but his legs and arms—and I married Wishaw. +But it’s a comfort to think I have been of some service to dear, dear +Mel! for Wishaw’s a man of accounts and payments; and I knew Mel had +cloth from him, and,” the lady suggested bills delayed, with two or three +nods, “you know! and I’ll do my best for his son.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are kind,” said the Countess, smiling internally at the vulgar +creature’s misconception of Evan’s requirements. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he ever talk much about Mary Fence?” asked Mrs. Wishaw. +“‘Polly Fence,’ he used to say, ‘sweet Polly +Fence!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I think so. Frequently,” observed the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske primmed her mouth. She had never heard the great Mel allude to the +name of Fence. +</p> + +<p> +The Goren-croak was heard: +</p> + +<p> +“Painters have painted out ‘Melchisedec’ this afternoon. +Yes,—ah! In and out—as the saying goes.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was an opportunity to mortify the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske placidly remarked: “Have we the other put up in its stead? +It’s shorter.” +</p> + +<p> +A twinge of weakness had made Evan request that the name of Evan Harrington +should not decorate the shopfront till he had turned his back on it, for a +time. Mrs. Mel crushed her venomous niece. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you to do with such things? Shine in your own affairs first, +Ann, before you meddle with others.” +</p> + +<p> +Relieved at hearing that “Melchisedec” was painted out, and +unsuspicious of the announcement that should replace it, the Countess asked +Mrs. Wishaw if she thought Evan like her dear Papa. +</p> + +<p> +“So like,” returned the lady, “that I would not be alone with +him yet, for worlds. I should expect him to be making love to me: for, you +know, my dear—I must be familiar—Mel never could be alone with you, +without! It was his nature. I speak of him before marriage. But, if I can trust +myself with him, I shall take charge of Mr. Evan, and show him some London +society.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is indeed kind,” said the Countess, glad of a thick veil for +the utterance of her contempt. “Evan, though—I fear—will be +rather engaged. His friends, the Jocelyns of Beckley Court, will—I +fear—hardly dispense with him and Lady Splenders—you know her? the +Marchioness of Splenders? No?—by repute, at least: a most beautiful and +most fascinating woman; report of him alone has induced her to say that Evan +must and shall form a part of her autumnal gathering at Splenders Castle. And +how he is to get out of it, I cannot tell. But I am sure his multitudinous +engagements will not prevent his paying due court to Mistress Wishaw.” +</p> + +<p> +As the Countess intended, Mistress Wishaw’s vanity was reproved, and her +ambition excited: a pretty doublestroke, only possible to dexterous players. +</p> + +<p> +The lady rejoined that she hoped so, she was sure; and forthwith (because she +suddenly seemed to possess him more than his son), launched upon Mel’s +incomparable personal attractions. This caused the Countess to enlarge upon +Evan’s vast personal prospects. They talked across each other a little, +till the Countess remembered her breeding, allowed Mrs. Wishaw to run to an end +in hollow exclamations, and put a finish to the undeclared controversy, by a +traverse of speech, as if she were taking up the most important subject of +their late colloquy. “But Evan is not in his own hands—he is in the +hands of a lovely young woman, I must tell you. He belongs to her, and not to +us. You have heard of Rose Jocelyn, the celebrated heiress?” +</p> + +<p> +“Engaged?” Mrs. Wishaw whispered aloud. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, an adept in the lie implied—practised by her, that she +might not subject herself to future punishment (in which she was so devout a +believer, that she condemned whole hosts to it)—deeply smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Really!” said Mrs. Wishaw, and was about to inquire why Evan, with +these brilliant expectations, could think of trade and tailoring, when the +young man, whose forehead had been growing black, jumped up, and quitted them; +thus breaking the harmony of the table; and as the Countess had said enough, +she turned the conversation to the always welcome theme of low society. She +broached death and corpses; and became extremely interesting, and very +sympathetic: the only difference between the ghostly anecdotes she related, and +those of the other ladies, being that her ghosts were all of them titled, and +walked mostly under the burden of a coronet. For instance, there was the +Portuguese Marquis de Col. He had married a Spanish wife, whose end was +mysterious. Undressing, on the night of the anniversary of her death, and on +the point of getting into bed, he beheld the dead woman lying on her back +before him. All night long he had to sleep with this freezing phantom! +Regularly, every fresh anniversary, he had to endure the same penance, no +matter where he might be, or in what strange bed. On one occasion, when he took +the live for the dead, a curious thing occurred, which the Countess scrupled +less to relate than would men to hint at. Ghosts were the one childish +enjoyment Mrs. Mel allowed herself, and she listened to her daughter intently, +ready to cap any narrative; but Mrs. Fiske stopped the flood. +</p> + +<p> +“You have improved on Peter Smithers, Louisa,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess turned to her mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are certainly thinking of Peter Smithers,” Mrs. Fiske +continued, bracing her shoulders. “Surely, you remember poor Peter, +Louisa? An old flame of your own! He was going to kill himself, but married a +Devonshire woman, and they had disagreeables, and SHE died, and he was +undressing, and saw her there in the bed, and wouldn’t get into it, and +had the mattress, and the curtains, and the counterpanes, and everything burnt. +He told us it himself. You must remember it, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess remembered nothing of the sort. No doubt could exist of its having +been the Portuguese Marquis de Col, because he had confided to her the whole +affair, and indeed come to her, as his habit was, to ask her what he could +possibly do, under the circumstances. If Mrs. Fiske’s friend, who married +the Devonshire person, had seen the same thing, the coincidence was yet more +extraordinary than the case. Mrs. Fiske said it assuredly was, and glanced at +her aunt, who, as the Countess now rose, declaring she must speak to Evan, chid +Mrs. Fiske, and wished her and Peter Smithers at the bottom of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Mama,” said the Countess, laughing, “that would +hardly be proper,” and before Mrs. Fiske could reply, escaped to complain +to Evan of the vulgarity of those women. +</p> + +<p> +She was not prepared for the burst of wrath with which Evan met her. +“Louisa,” said he, taking her wrist sternly, “you have done a +thing I can’t forgive. I find it hard to bear disgrace myself: I will not +consent to bring it upon others. Why did you dare to couple Miss +Jocelyn’s name with mine?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess gave him out her arm’s length. “Speak on, Van,” +she said, admiring him with a bright gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me, Louisa; and don’t take me for a fool any more,” +he pursued. “You have coupled Miss Jocelyn’s name with mine, in +company, and I insist now upon your giving me your promise to abstain from +doing it anywhere, before anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she saw you at this instant, Van,” returned the incorrigible +Countess, “would she desire it, think you? Oh! I must make you angry +before her, I see that! You have your father’s frown. You surpass him, +for your delivery is more correct, and equally fluent. And if a woman is +momentarily melted by softness in a man, she is for ever subdued by boldness +and bravery of mien.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan dropped her hand. “Miss Jocelyn has done me the honour to call me +her friend. That was in other days.” His lip quivered. “I shall not +see Miss Jocelyn again. Yes; I would lay down my life for her; but that’s +idle talk. No such chance will ever come to me. But I can save her from being +spoken of in alliance with me, and what I am, and I tell you, Louisa, I will +not have it.” Saying which, and while he looked harshly at her, wounded +pride bled through his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +She was touched. “Sit down, dear; I must explain to you, and make you +happy against your will,” she said, in another voice, and an English +accent. “The mischief is done, Van. If you do not want Rose Jocelyn to +love you, you must undo it in your own way. I am not easily deceived. On the +morning I went to her house in town, she took me aside, and spoke to me. Not a +confession in words. The blood in her cheeks, when I mentioned you, did that +for her. Everything about you she must know—how you bore your grief, and +all. And not in her usual free manner, but timidly, as if she feared a +surprise, or feared to be wakened to the secret in her bosom she half +suspects—‘Tell him!’ she said, ‘I hope he will not +forget me.’” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess was interrupted by a great sob; for the picture of frank Rose +Jocelyn changed, and soft, and, as it were, shadowed under a veil of bashful +regard for him, so filled the young man with sorrowful tenderness, that he +trembled, and was as a child. +</p> + +<p> +Marking the impression she had produced on him, and having worn off that which +he had produced on her, the Countess resumed the art in her style of speech, +easier to her than nature. +</p> + +<p> +“So the sweetest of Roses may be yours, dear Van; and you have her in a +gold setting, to wear on your heart. Are you not enviable? I will not—no, +I will not tell you she is perfect. I must fashion the sweet young creature. +Though I am very ready to admit that she is much improved by this—shall I +call it, desired consummation?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan could listen no more. Such a struggle was rising in his breast: the effort +to quench what the Countess had so shrewdly kindled; passionate desire to look +on Rose but for one lightning flash: desire to look on her, and muffled sense +of shame twin-born with it: wild love and leaden misery mixed: dead +hopelessness and vivid hope. Up to the neck in Purgatory, but his soul +saturated with visions of Bliss! The fair orb of Love was all that was wanted +to complete his planetary state, and aloft it sprang, showing many faint, fair +tracts to him, and piling huge darknesses. +</p> + +<p> +As if in search of something, he suddenly went from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I have intoxicated the poor boy,” said the Countess, and consulted +an attitude by the evening light in a mirror. Approving the result, she rang +for her mother, and sat with her till dark; telling her she could not and would +not leave her dear Mama that night. At the supper-table Evan did not appear, +and Mr. Goren, after taking counsel of Mrs. Mel, dispersed the news that Evan +was off to London. On the road again, with a purse just as ill-furnished, and +in his breast the light that sometimes leads gentlemen, as well as ladies, +astray. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X.<br /> +MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN</h2> + +<p> +Near a milestone, under the moonlight, crouched the figure of a woman, huddled +with her head against her knees, and careless hair falling to the +summer’s dust. Evan came upon this sight within a few miles of +Fallowfield. At first he was rather startled, for he had inherited +superstitious emotions from his mother, and the road was lone, the moon full. +He went up to her and spoke a gentle word, which provoked no reply. He ventured +to put his hand on her shoulder, continuing softly to address her. She was +flesh and blood. Evan stooped his head to catch a whisper from her mouth, but +nothing save a heavier fall of the breath she took, as of one painfully waking, +was heard. +</p> + +<p> +A misery beyond our own is a wholesome picture for youth, and though we may not +for the moment compare the deep with the lower deep, we, if we have a heart for +outer sorrows, can forget ourselves in it. Evan had just been accusing the +heavens of conspiracy to disgrace him. Those patient heavens had listened, as +is their wont. They had viewed and had not been disordered by his mental +frenzies. It is certainly hard that they do not come down to us, and condescend +to tell us what they mean, and be dumb-foundered by the perspicuity of our +arguments—the argument, for instance, that they have not fashioned us for +the science of the shears, and do yet impel us to wield them. Nevertheless, +they to whom mortal life has ceased to be a long matter perceive that our +appeals for conviction are answered, now and then very closely upon the call. +When we have cast off the scales of hope and fancy, and surrender our claims on +mad chance, it is given us to see that some plan is working out: that the +heavens, icy as they are to the pangs of our blood, have been throughout +speaking to our souls; and, according to the strength there existing, we learn +to comprehend them. But their language is an element of Time, whom primarily we +have to know. +</p> + +<p> +Evan Harrington was young. He wished not to clothe the generation. What was to +the remainder of the exiled sons of Adam simply the brand of expulsion from +Paradise, was to him hell. In his agony, anything less than an angel, +soft-voiced in his path, would not have satisfied the poor boy, and here was +this wretched outcast, and instead of being relieved, he was to act the +reliever! +</p> + +<p> +Striving to rouse the desolate creature, he shook her slightly. She now raised +her head with a slow, gradual motion, like that of a wax-work, showing a white +young face, tearless,—dreadfully drawn at the lips. After gazing at him, +she turned her head mechanically to her shoulder, as to ask him why he touched +her. He withdrew his hand, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Why are you here? Pardon me; I want, if possible, to help you.” +</p> + +<p> +A light sprang in her eyes. She jumped from the stone, and ran forward a step +or two, with a gasp: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my God! I want to go and drown myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan lingered behind her till he saw her body sway, and in a fit of trembling +she half fell on his outstretched arm. He led her to the stone, not knowing +what on earth to do with her. There was no sign of a house near; they were +quite solitary; to all his questions she gave an unintelligible moan. He had +not the heart to leave her, so, taking a sharp seat on a heap of flints, thus +possibly furnishing future occupation for one of his craftsmen, he waited, and +amused himself by marking out diagrams with his stick in the thick dust. +</p> + +<p> +His thoughts were far away, when he heard, faintly uttered: +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you stop here?” +</p> + +<p> +“To help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t. Let me be. I can’t be helped.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good creature,” said Evan, “it’s quite impossible +that I should leave you in this state. Tell me where you were going when your +illness seized you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was going,” she commenced vacantly, “to the sea—the +water,” she added, with a shivering lip. +</p> + +<p> +The foolish youth asked her if she could be cold on such a night. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’m not cold,” she replied, drawing closer over her lap +the ends of a shawl which would in that period have been thought rather gaudy +for her station. +</p> + +<p> +“You were going to Lymport?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,—Lymport’s nearest, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why were you out travelling at this hour?” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped her head, and began rocking to right and left. +</p> + +<p> +While they talked the noise of waggon-wheels was heard approaching. Evan went +into the middle of the road, and beheld a covered waggon, and a fellow whom he +advanced to meet, plodding a little to the rear of the horses. He proved +kindly. He was a farmer’s man, he said, and was at that moment employed +in removing the furniture of the farmer’s son, who had failed as a +corn-chandler in Lymport, to Hillford, which he expected to reach about morn. +He answered Evan’s request that he would afford the young woman +conveyance as far as Fallowfield: +</p> + +<p> +“Tak’ her in? That I will. +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t hurt the harses,” he pursued, pointing his whip at +the vehicle: “there’s my mate, Garge Stoakes, he’s in there, +snorin’ his turn. Can’t you hear ’n asnorin’ thraugh +the wheels? I can; I’ve been laughin’! He do snore that +loud—Garge do!” +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to inform Evan how George Stokes had snored in that characteristic +manner from boyhood, ever since he and George had slept in a hayloft together; +and how he, kept wakeful and driven to distraction by George Stokes’ +nose, had been occasionally compelled, in sheer self-defence, madly to start up +and hold that pertinacious alarum in tight compression between thumb and +forefinger; and how George Stokes, thus severely handled, had burst his hold +with a tremendous snort, as big as a bull, and had invariably uttered the +exclamation, “Hulloa!—same to you, my lad!” and rolled over +to snore as fresh as ever;—all this with singular rustic comparisons, +racy of the soil, and in raw Hampshire dialect, the waggoner came to a halt +opposite the stone, and, while Evan strode to assist the girl, addressed +himself to the great task of arousing the sturdy sleeper and quieting his +trumpet, heard by all ears now that the accompaniment of the wheels was at an +end. +</p> + +<p> +George, violently awakened, complained that it was before his time, to which he +was true; and was for going off again with exalted contentment, though his +heels had been tugged, and were dangling some length out of the machine; but +his comrade, with a determined blow of the lungs, gave another valiant pull, +and George Stokes was on his legs, marvelling at the world and man. Evan had +less difficulty with the girl. She rose to meet him, put up her arms for him to +clasp her waist, whispering sharply in an inward breath: “What are you +going to do with me?” and indifferent to his verbal response, trustingly +yielded her limbs to his guidance. He could see blood on her bitten underlip; +as, with the help of the waggoner, he lifted her on the mattress, backed by a +portly bundle, which the sagacity of Mr. Stokes had selected for his couch. +</p> + +<p> +The waggoner cracked his whip, laughing at George Stokes, who yawned and +settled into a composed ploughswing, without asking questions; apparently +resolved to finish his nap on his legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Warn’t he like that Myzepper chap, I see at the circus, bound +athert gray mare!” chuckled the waggoner. “So he’d ’a +gone on, had ye ’a let ’n. No wulves waddn’t wake Garge till +he’d slept it out. Then he’d say, ‘marnin’!’ to +’m. Are ye ’wake now, Garge?” +</p> + +<p> +The admirable sleeper preferred to be a quiet butt, and the waggoner leisurely +exhausted the fun that was to be had out of him; returning to it with a +persistency that evinced more concentration than variety in his mind. At last +Evan said: “Your pace is rather slow. They’ll be shut up in +Fallowfield. I’ll go on ahead. You’ll find me at one of the +inns—the Green Dragon.” +</p> + +<p> +In return for this speech, the waggoner favoured him with a stare, followed by +the exclamation: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! dang that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s the matter?” quoth Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“You en’t goin’ to be off, for to leave me and Garge in the +lurch there, with that ther’ young woman, in that ther’ +pickle!” returned the waggoner. +</p> + +<p> +Evan made an appeal to his reason, but finding that impregnable, he pulled out +his scanty purse to guarantee his sincerity with an offer of pledgemoney. The +waggoner waved it aside. He wanted no money, he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Look heer,” he went on; “if you’re for a start, I +tells ye plain, I chucks that ther’ young woman int’ the +road.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan bade him not to be a brute. +</p> + +<p> +“Nark and crop!” the waggoner doggedly ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +Very much surprised that a fellow who appeared sound at heart, should threaten +to behave so basely, Evan asked an explanation: upon which the waggoner +demanded to know what he had eyes for: and as this query failed to enlighten +the youth, he let him understand that he was a man of family experience, and +that it was easy to tell at a glance that the complaint the young woman +laboured under was one common to the daughters of Eve. He added that, should an +emergency arise, he, though a family man, would be useless: that he always +vacated the premises while those incidental scenes were being enacted at home; +and that for him and George Stokes to be left alone with the young woman, why +they would be of no more service to her than a couple of babies newborn +themselves. He, for his part, he assured Evan, should take to his heels, and +relinquish waggon, and horses, and all; while George probably would stand and +gape; and the end of it would be, they would all be had up for murder. He +diverged from the alarming prospect, by a renewal of the foregoing alternative +to the gentleman who had constituted himself the young woman’s protector. +If he parted company with them, they would immediately part company with the +young woman, whose condition was evident. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, couldn’t you tall that?” said the waggoner, as Evan, +tingling at the ears, remained silent. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of such things,” he answered, hastily, like one +hurt. +</p> + +<p> +I have to repeat the statement, that he was a youth, and a modest one. He felt +unaccountably, unreasonably, but horridly, ashamed. The thought of his actual +position swamped the sickening disgust at tailordom. Worse, then, might happen +to us in this extraordinary world! There was something more abhorrent than +sitting with one’s legs crossed, publicly stitching, and scoffed at! He +called vehemently to the waggoner to whip the horses, and hurry ahead into +Fallowfield; but that worthy, whatever might be his dire alarms, had a regular +pace, that was conscious of no spur: the reply of “All right!” +satisfied him at least; and Evan’s chaste sighs for the appearance of an +assistant petticoat round a turn of the road, were offered up duly, to the +measure of the waggoner’s steps. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the waggoner came to a halt, and said “Blest if that Garge +bain’t a snorin’ on his pins!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan lingered by him with some curiosity, while the waggoner thumped his thigh +to, “Yes he be! no he bain’t!” several times, in eager +hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fellow calling from the downs,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, so!” responded the waggoner. “Dang’d if I +didn’t think ’twere that Garge of our’n. Hark awhile.” +</p> + +<p> +At a repetition of the call, the waggoner stopped his team. After a few +minutes, a man appeared panting on the bank above them, down which he ran +precipitately, knocked against Evan, apologized with the little breath that +remained to him, and then held his hand as to entreat a hearing. Evan thought +him half-mad; the waggoner was about to imagine him the victim of a midnight +assault. He undeceived them by requesting, in rather flowery terms, conveyance +on the road and rest for his limbs. It being explained to him that the waggon +was already occupied, he comforted himself aloud with the reflection that it +was something to be on the road again for one who had been belated, lost, and +wandering over the downs for the last six hours. +</p> + +<p> +“Walcome to git in, when young woman gits out,” said the waggoner. +“I’ll gi’ ye my sleep on t’ Hillford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, worthy friend,” returned the new comer. “The state +of the case is this—I’m happy to take from humankind whatsoever I +can get. If this gentleman will accept of my company, and my legs hold out, all +will yet be well.” +</p> + +<p> +Though he did not wear a petticoat, Evan was not sorry to have him. Next to the +interposition of the Gods, we pray for human fellowship when we are in a mess. +So he mumbled politely, dropped with him a little to the rear, and they all +stepped out to the crack of the waggoner’s whip. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather a slow pace,” said Evan, feeling bound to converse. +</p> + +<p> +“Six hours on the downs makes it extremely suitable to me,” +rejoined the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“You lost your way?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, sir. Yes; one does not court those desolate regions wittingly. I +am for life and society. The embraces of Diana do not agree with my +constitution. If classics there be who differ from me, I beg them to take six +hours on the downs alone with the moon, and the last prospect of bread and +cheese, and a chaste bed, seemingly utterly extinguished. I am cured of my +romance. Of course, when I say bread and cheese, I speak figuratively. Food is +implied.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan stole a glance at his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” the other continued, with an inflexion of grandeur, +“for a man accustomed to his hunters, it is, you will confess, +unpleasant—I speak hypothetically—to be reduced to his legs to that +extent that it strikes him shrewdly he will run them into stumps.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The fair lady of the night illumined his face, like one who recognized a +subject. Evan thought he knew the voice. A curious struggle therein between +native facetiousness and an attempt at dignity, appeared to Evan not +unfamiliar; and the egregious failure of ambition and triumph of the instinct, +helped him to join the stranger in his mirth. +</p> + +<p> +“Jack Raikes?” he said: “surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“The man!” it was answered to him. “But you? and near our old +school—Viscount Harrington? These marvels occur, you see—we meet +again by night.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan, with little gratification at the meeting, fell into their former +comradeship; tickled by a recollection of his old schoolfellow’s +India-rubber mind. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes stood about a head under him. He had extremely mobile features; +thick, flexible eyebrows; a loose, voluble mouth; a ridiculous figure on a +dandified foot. He represented to you one who was rehearsing a part he wished +to act before the world, and was not aware that he took the world into his +confidence. +</p> + +<p> +How he had come there his elastic tongue explained in tropes and puns and lines +of dramatic verse. His patrimony spent, he at once believed himself an actor, +and he was hissed off the stage of a provincial theatre. +</p> + +<p> +“Ruined, the last ignominy endured, I fled from the gay vistas of the +Bench—for they live who would thither lead me! and determined, the day +before the yesterday—what think’st thou? why to go boldly, and +offer myself as Adlatus to blessed old Cudford! Yes! a little Latin is all that +remains to me, and I resolved, like the man I am, to turn, hic, hac, hoc, into +bread and cheese, and beer: Impute nought foreign to me, in the matter of +pride.” +</p> + +<p> +“Usher in our old school—poor old Jack!” exclaimed Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Lieutenant in the Cudford Academy!” the latter rejoined. “I +walked the distance from London. I had my interview with the respected +principal. He gave me of mutton nearest the bone, which, they say, is sweetest; +and on sweet things you should not regale in excess. Endymion watched the sheep +that bred that mutton! He gave me the thin beer of our boyhood, that I might +the more soberly state my mission. That beer, my friend, was brewed by one who +wished to form a study for pantomimic masks. He listened with the gravity which +is all his own to the recital of my career; he pleasantly compared me to +Phaethon, congratulated the river Thames at my not setting it on fire in my +rapid descent, and extended to me the three fingers of affectionate farewell. +‘You an usher, a rearer of youth, Mr. Raikes? Oh, no! Oh, no!’ That +was all I could get out of him. ’Gad! he might have seen that I +didn’t joke with the mutton-bone. If I winced at the beer it was +imperceptible. Now a man who can do that is what I call a man in +earnest.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve just come from Cudford?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Short is the tale, though long the way, friend Harrington. From Bodley +is ten miles to Beckley. I walked them. From Beckley is fifteen miles to +Fallowfield. Them I was traversing, when, lo! near sweet eventide a fair +horsewoman riding with her groom at her horse’s heels. +‘Lady,’ says I, addressing her, as much out of the style of the +needy as possible, ‘will you condescend to direct me to +Fallowfield?’—‘Are you going to the match?’ says she. I +answered boldly that I was. ‘Beckley’s in,’ says she, +‘and you’ll be in time to see them out, if you cut across the downs +there.’ I lifted my hat—a desperate measure, for the brim +won’t bear much—but honour to women though we perish. She bowed: I +cut across the downs. In fine, Harrington, old boy, I’ve been wandering +among those downs for the last seven or eight hours. I was on the point of +turning my back on the road for the twentieth time, I believe when I heard your +welcome vehicular music, and hailed you; and I ask you, isn’t it luck for +a fellow who hasn’t got a penny in his pocket, and is as hungry as five +hundred hunters, to drop on an old friend like this?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan answered with the question: +</p> + +<p> +“Where was it you said you met the young lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place, O Amadis! I never said she was young. You’re +on the scent, I see.” +</p> + +<p> +Nursing the fresh image of his darling in his heart’s recesses, Evan, as +they entered Fallowfield, laid the state of his purse before Jack, and earned +anew the epithet of Amadis, when it came to be told that the occupant of the +waggon was likewise one of its pensioners. +</p> + +<p> +Sleep had long held its reign in Fallowfield. Nevertheless, Mr. Raikes, though +blind windows alone looked on him, and nought foreign was to be imputed to him +in the matter of pride, had become exceedingly solicitous concerning his +presentation to the inhabitants of that quiet little country town; and while +Evan and the waggoner consulted—the former with regard to the chances of +procuring beds and supper, the latter as to his prospect of beer and a +comfortable riddance of the feminine burden weighing on them all—Mr. +Raikes was engaged in persuading his hat to assume something of the gentlemanly +polish of its youth, and might have been observed now and then furtively +catching up a leg to be dusted. Ere the wheels of the waggon stopped he had +gained that ease of mind which the knowledge that you have done all a man may +do and circumstances warrant, establishes. Capacities conscious of their limits +may repose even proudly when they reach them; and, if Mr. Raikes had not quite +the air of one come out of a bandbox, he at least proved to the discerning +intelligence that he knew what sort of manner befitted that happy occasion, and +was enabled by the pains he had taken to glance with a challenge at the sign of +the hostelry, under which they were now ranked, and from which, though the hour +was late, and Fallowfield a singularly somnolent little town, there issued +signs of life approaching to festivity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br /> +DOINGS AT AN INN</h2> + +<p> +What every traveller sighs to find, was palatably furnished by the Green Dragon +of Fallowfield—a famous inn, and a constellation for wandering coachmen. +There pleasant smiles seasoned plenty, and the bill was gilded in a manner +unknown to our days. Whoso drank of the ale of the Green Dragon kept in his +memory a place apart for it. The secret, that to give a warm welcome is the +breath of life to an inn, was one the Green Dragon boasted, even then, not to +share with many Red Lions, or Cocks of the Morning, or Kings’ Heads, or +other fabulous monsters; and as if to show that when you are in the right track +you are sure to be seconded, there was a friend of the Green Dragon, who, on a +particular night of the year, caused its renown to enlarge to the dimensions of +a miracle. But that, for the moment, is my secret. +</p> + +<p> +Evan and Jack were met in the passage by a chambermaid. Before either of them +could speak, she had turned and fled, with the words: +</p> + +<p> +“More coming!” which, with the addition of “My goodness +me!” were echoed by the hostess in her recess. Hurried directions seemed +to be consequent, and then the hostess sallied out, and said, with a curtsey: +</p> + +<p> +“Please to step in, gentlemen. This is the room, tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan lifted his hat; and bowing, requested to know whether they could have a +supper and beds. +</p> + +<p> +“Beds, Sir!” cried the hostess. “What am I to do for beds! +Yes, beds indeed you may have, but bed-rooms—if you ask for them, it +really is more than I can supply you with. I have given up my own. I sleep with +my maid Jane to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything will do for us, madam,” replied Evan, renewing his +foreign courtesy. “But there is a poor young woman outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Another!” The hostess instantly smiled down her inhospitable +outcry. +</p> + +<p> +“She,” said Evan, “must have a room to herself. She is +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must is must, sir,” returned the gracious hostess. “But I +really haven’t the means.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have bed-rooms, madam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every one of them engaged, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“By ladies, madam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord forbid, Sir!” she exclaimed with the honest energy of a woman +who knew her sex. +</p> + +<p> +Evan bade Jack go and assist the waggoner to bring in the girl. Jack, who had +been all the time pulling at his wristbands, and settling his coat-collar by +the dim reflection of a window of the bar, departed, after, on his own +authority, assuring the hostess that fever was not the young woman’s +malady, as she protested against admitting fever into her house, seeing that +she had to consider her guests. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re open to all the world to-night, except fever,” said +the hostess. “Yes,” she rejoined to Evan’s order that the +waggoner and his mate should be supplied with ale, “they shall have as +much as they can drink,” which is not a speech usual at inns, when one +man gives an order for others, but Evan passed it by, and politely begged to be +shown in to one of the gentlemen who had engaged bedrooms. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! if you can persuade any of them, sir, I’m sure I’ve +nothing to say,” observed the hostess. “Pray, don’t ask me to +stand by and back it, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Had Evan been familiar with the Green Dragon, he would have noticed that the +landlady, its presiding genius, was stiffer than usual; the rosy smile was more +constrained, as if a great host had to be embraced, and were trying it to the +utmost stretch. There was, however, no asperity about her, and when she had led +him to the door he was to enter to prefer his suit, and she had asked whether +the young woman was quite common, and he had replied that he had picked her up +on the road, and that she was certainly poor, the hostess said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you’re a very good gentleman, sir, and if I could +spare your asking at all, I would.” +</p> + +<p> +With that she went back to encounter Mr. Raikes and his charge, and prime the +waggoner and his mate. +</p> + +<p> +A noise of laughter and talk was stilled gradually, as Evan made his bow into a +spacious room, wherein, as the tops of pines are seen swimming on the morning +mist, about a couple of dozen guests of divers conditions sat partially +revealed through wavy clouds of tobacco-smoke. By their postures, which +Evan’s appearance by no means disconcerted, you read in a glance men who +had been at ease for so many hours that they had no troubles in the world save +the two ultimate perplexities of the British Sybarite, whose bed of roses is +harassed by the pair of problems: first, what to do with his legs; secondly, +how to imbibe liquor with the slightest possible derangement of those members +subordinate to his upper structure. Of old the Sybarite complained. Not so our +self-helpful islanders. Since they could not, now that work was done and +jollity the game, take off their legs, they got away from them as far as they +might, in fashions original or imitative: some by thrusting them out at full +length; some by cramping them under their chairs: while some, taking refuge in +a mental effort, forgot them, a process to be recommended if it did not involve +occasional pangs of consciousness to the legs of their neighbours. We see in +our cousins West of the great water, who are said to exaggerate our +peculiarities, beings labouring under the same difficulty, and intent on its +solution. As to the second problem: that of drinking without discomposure to +the subservient limbs: the company present worked out this republican principle +ingeniously, but in a manner beneath the attention of the Muse. Let Clio record +that mugs and glasses, tobacco and pipes, were strewn upon the table. But if +the guests had arrived at that stage when to reach the arm, or arrange the +person, for a sip of good stuff, causes moral debates, and presents to the mind +impediments equal to what would be raised in active men by the prospect of a +great excursion, it is not to be wondered at that the presence of a stranger +produced no immediate commotion. Two or three heads were half turned; such as +faced him imperceptibly lifted their eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, sir,” said one who sat as chairman, with a decisive +nod. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, ain’t it?” a jolly-looking old fellow queried of +the speaker, in an under-voice. +</p> + +<p> +“’Gad, you don’t expect me to be wishing the gentleman +good-bye, do you?” retorted the former. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! No, to be sure,” answered the old boy; and the remark was +variously uttered, that “Good night,” by a caprice of our language, +did sound like it. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening’s ‘How d’ ye do?’—‘How +are ye?’ Good night’s ‘Be off, and be blowed to +you,’” observed an interpreter with a positive mind; and another, +whose intelligence was not so clear, but whose perceptions had seized the +point, exclaimed: “I never says it when I hails a chap; but, dash my +buttons, if I mightn’t ’a done, one day or another! Queer!” +</p> + +<p> +The chairman, warmed by his joke, added, with a sharp wink: “Ay; it would +be queer, if you hailed ‘Good night’ in the middle of the +day!” and this among a company soaked in ripe ale, could not fail to run +the electric circle, and persuaded several to change their positions; in the +rumble of which, Evan’s reply, if he had made any, was lost. Few, +however, were there who could think of him, and ponder on that glimpse of fun, +at the same time; and he would have been passed over, had not the chairman +said: “Take a seat, sir; make yourself comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before I have that pleasure,” replied Evan, “I—” +</p> + +<p> +“I see where ’tis,” burst out the old boy who had previously +superinduced a diversion: “he’s going to ax if he can’t have +a bed!” +</p> + +<p> +A roar of laughter, and “Don’t you remember this day last +year?” followed the cunning guess. For awhile explication was impossible; +and Evan coloured, and smiled, and waited for them. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to ask—” +</p> + +<p> +“Said so!” shouted the old boy, gleefully. +</p> + +<p> +“—one of the gentlemen who has engaged a bed-room to do me the +extreme favour to step aside with me, and allow me a moment’s speech with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Long faces were drawn, and odd stares were directed toward him, in reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I see where ’tis”; the old boy thumped his knee. +“Ain’t it now? Speak up, sir! There’s a lady in the +case?” +</p> + +<p> +“I may tell you thus much,” answered Evan, “that it is an +unfortunate young woman, very ill, who needs rest and quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t I say so?” shouted the old boy. +</p> + +<p> +But this time, though his jolly red jowl turned all round to demand a +confirmation, it was not generally considered that he had divined so correctly. +Between a lady and an unfortunate young woman, there seemed to be a strong +distinction, in the minds of the company. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman was the most affected by the communication. His bushy eyebrows +frowned at Evan, and he began tugging at the brass buttons of his coat, like +one preparing to arm for a conflict. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak out, sir, if you please,” he said. “Above +board—no asides—no taking advantages. You want me to give up my +bed-room for the use of your young woman, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan replied quietly: “She is a stranger to me; and if you could see her, +sir, and know her situation, I think she would move your pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t doubt it, sir—I don’t doubt it,” +returned the chairman. “They all move our pity. That’s how they get +over us. She has diddled you, and she would diddle me, and diddle us +all—diddle the devil, I dare say, when her time comes. I don’t +doubt it, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +To confront a vehement old gentleman, sitting as president in an assembly of +satellites, requires command of countenance, and Evan was not browbeaten: he +held him, and the whole room, from where he stood, under a serene and serious +eye, for his feelings were too deeply stirred on behalf of the girl to let him +think of himself. That question of hers, “What are you going to do with +me?” implying such helplessness and trust, was still sharp on his nerves. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he said, “I humbly beg your pardon for +disturbing you as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +But with a sudden idea that a general address on behalf of a particular demand +must necessarily fail, he let his eyes rest on one there, whose face was +neither stupid nor repellent, and who, though he did not look up, had an +attentive, thoughtful cast about the mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“May I entreat a word apart with you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan was not mistaken in the index he had perused. The gentleman seemed to feel +that he was selected from the company, and slightly raising his head, +carelessly replied: “My bed is entirely at your disposal,” resuming +his contemplative pose. +</p> + +<p> +On the point of thanking him, Evan advanced a step, when up started the +irascible chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t permit it! I won’t allow it!” And before Evan +could ask his reasons, he had rung the bell, muttering: “They follow us +to our inns, now, the baggages! They must harry us at our inns! We can’t +have peace and quiet at our inns!—” +</p> + +<p> +In a state of combustion, he cried out to the waiter: +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Mark, this gentleman has brought in a dirty wench: pack her up to +my bed-room, and lock her in lock her in, and bring down the key.” +</p> + +<p> +Agreeably deceived in the old gentleman’s intentions, Evan could not +refrain from joining the murmured hilarity created by the conclusion of his +order. The latter glared at him, and added: “Now, sir, you’ve done +your worst. Sit down, and be merry.” +</p> + +<p> +Replying that he had a friend outside, and would not fail to accept the +invitation, Evan retired. He was met by the hostess with the reproachful +declaration on her lips, that she was a widow woman, wise in appearances, and +that he had brought into her house that night work she did not expect, or +bargain for. Rather (since I must speak truth of my gentleman) to silence her +on the subject, and save his ears, than to propitiate her favour towards the +girl, Evan drew out his constitutionally lean purse, and dropped it in her +hand, praying her to put every expense incurred to his charge. She exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“If Dr. Pillie has his full sleep this night, I shall be +astonished”; and Evan hastily led Jack into the passage to impart to him, +that the extent of his resources was reduced to the smallest of sums in +shillings. +</p> + +<p> +“I can beat my friend at that reckoning,” said Mr. Raikes; and they +entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +Eyes were on him. This had ever the effect of causing him to swell to monstrous +proportions in the histrionic line. Asking the waiter carelessly for some light +supper dish, he suggested the various French, with “not that?” and +the affable naming of another. “Nor that? Dear me, we shall have to sup +on chops, I believe!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan saw the chairman scrutinizing Raikes, much as he himself might have done, +and he said: “Bread and cheese for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Raikes exclaimed: “Really? Well, my lord, you lead, and your taste is +mine!” +</p> + +<p> +A second waiter scudded past, and stopped before the chairman to say: “If +you please, sir, the gentlemen upstairs send their compliments, and will be +happy to accept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” was the answer. “Thought better of it, have they! Lay +for three more, then. Five more, I guess.” He glanced at the pair of +intruders. +</p> + +<p> +Among a portion of the guests there had been a return to common talk, and one +had observed that he could not get that “Good Evening,” and +“Good Night,” out of his head which had caused a friend to explain +the meaning of these terms of salutation to him: while another, of a +philosophic turn, pursued the theme: “You see, when we meets, we makes a +night of it. So, when we parts, it’s Good Night—natural! +ain’t it?” A proposition assented to, and considerably dilated on; +but whether he was laughing at that, or what had aroused the fit, the chairman +did not say. +</p> + +<p> +Gentle chuckles had succeeded his laughter by the time the bread and cheese +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +In the rear of the provision came three young gentlemen, of whom the foremost +lumped in, singing to one behind him, “And you shall have little +Rosey!” +</p> + +<p> +They were clad in cricketing costume, and exhibited the health and manners of +youthful Englishmen of station. Frolicsome young bulls bursting on an +assemblage of sheep, they might be compared to. The chairman welcomed them a +trifle snubbingly. The colour mounted to the cheeks of Mr. Raikes as he made +incision in the cheese, under their eyes, knitting his brows fearfully, as if +at hard work. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman entreated Evan to desist from the cheese; and, pulling out his +watch, thundered: “Time!” +</p> + +<p> +The company generally jumped on their legs; and, in the midst of a hum of talk +and laughter, he informed Evan and Jack, that he invited them cordially to a +supper up-stairs, and would be pleased if they would partake of it, and in a +great rage if they would not. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes was for condescending to accept. +</p> + +<p> +Evan sprang up and cried: “Gladly, sir,” and gladly would he have +cast his cockney schoolmate to the winds, in the presence of these young +cricketers; for he had a prognostication. +</p> + +<p> +The door was open, and the company of jolly yeomen, tradesmen, farmers, and the +like, had become intent on observing all the ceremonies of precedence: not one +would broaden his back on the other; and there was bowing, and scraping, and +grimacing, till Farmer Broadmead was hailed aloud, and the old boy stepped +forth, and was summarily pushed through: the chairman calling from the rear, +“Hulloa! no names to-night!” to which was answered lustily: +“All right, Mr. Tom!” and the speaker was reproved with, +“There you go! at it again!” and out and up they hustled. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman said quietly to Evan, as they were ascending the stairs: “We +don’t have names to-night; may as well drop titles.” Which +presented no peculiar meaning to Evan’s mind, and he smiled the usual +smile. +</p> + +<p> +To Raikes, at the door of the supper-room, the chairman repeated the same; and +with extreme affability and alacrity of abnegation, the other rejoined, +“Oh, certainly!” +</p> + +<p> +No wonder that he rubbed his hands with more delight than aristocrats and +people with gentlemanly connections are in the habit of betraying at the +prospect of refection, for the release from bread and cheese was rendered +overpoweringly glorious, in his eyes, by the bountiful contrast exhibited on +the board before him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br /> +IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINE</h2> + +<p> +To proclaim that yon ribs of beef and yonder ruddy Britons have met, is to +furnish matter for an hour’s comfortable meditation. +</p> + +<p> +Digest the fact. Here the Fates have put their seal to something Nature clearly +devised. It was intended; and it has come to pass. A thing has come to pass +which we feel to be right! The machinery of the world, then, is not entirely +dislocated: there is harmony, on one point, among the mysterious powers who +have to do with us. +</p> + +<p> +Apart from its eloquent and consoling philosophy, the picture is pleasant. You +see two rows of shoulders resolutely set for action: heads in divers degrees of +proximity to their plates: eyes variously twinkling, or hypocritically +composed: chaps in vigorous exercise. Now leans a fellow right back with his +whole face to the firmament: Ale is his adoration. He sighs not till he sees +the end of the mug. Now from one a laugh is sprung; but, as if too early +tapped, he turns off the cock, and primes himself anew. Occupied by their own +requirements, these Britons allow that their neighbours have rights: no cursing +at waste of time is heard when plates have to be passed: disagreeable, it is +still duty. Field-Marshal Duty, the Briton’s chief star, shines here. If +one usurps more than his allowance of elbow-room, bring your charge against +them that fashioned him: work away to arrive at some compass yourself. +</p> + +<p> +Now the mustard ceases to travel, and the salt: the guests have leisure to +contemplate their achievements. Laughs are more prolonged, and come from the +depths. +</p> + +<p> +Now Ale, which is to Beef what Eve was to Adam, threatens to take possession of +the field. Happy they who, following Nature’s direction, admitted not +bright ale into their Paradise till their manhood was strengthened with beef. +Some, impatient, had thirsted; had satisfied their thirst; and the ale, the +light though lovely spirit, with nothing to hold it down, had mounted to their +heads; just as Eve will do when Adam is not mature: just as she did—Alas! +</p> + +<p> +Now, the ruins of the feast being removed, and a clear course left for the flow +of ale, Farmer Broadmead, facing the chairman, rises. He stands in an attitude +of midway. He speaks: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen! ’Taint fust time you and I be met here, to salbrate +this here occasion. I say, not fust time, not by many a time, ’taint. +Well, gentlemen, I ain’t much of a speaker, gentlemen, as you know. +Howsever, here I be. No denyin’ that. I’m on my legs. This +here’s a strange enough world, and a man’s a gentleman, I say, we +ought for to be glad when we got ’m. You know: I’m coming to it +shortly. I ain’t much of a speaker, and if you wants somethin’ new, +you must ax elsewhere: but what I say is—Bang it! here’s good +health and long life to Mr. Tom, up there!” +</p> + +<p> +“No names!” shouts the chairman, in the midst of a tremendous +clatter. +</p> + +<p> +Farmer Broadmead moderately disengages his breadth from the seat. He humbly +axes pardon, which is accorded him with a blunt nod. +</p> + +<p> +Ale (to Beef what Eve was to Adam) circulates beneath a dazzling foam, fair as +the first woman. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tom (for the breach of the rules in mentioning whose name on a night when +identities are merged, we offer sincere apologies every other minute), Mr. Tom +is toasted. His parents, who selected that day sixty years ago, for his bow to +be made to the world, are alluded to with encomiums, and float down to +posterity on floods of liquid amber. +</p> + +<p> +But to see all the subtle merits that now begin to bud out from Mr. Tom, the +chairman and giver of the feast; and also rightly to appreciate the speeches, +we require to be enormously charged with Ale. Mr. Raikes did his best to keep +his head above the surface of the rapid flood. He conceived the chairman in +brilliant colours, and probably owing to the energy called for by his brain, +the legs of the young man failed him twice, as he tried them. Attention was +demanded. Mr. Raikes addressed the meeting. +</p> + +<p> +The three young gentlemen-cricketers had hitherto behaved with a certain +propriety. It did not offend Mr. Raikes to see them conduct themselves as if +they were at a play, and the rest of the company paid actors. He had likewise +taken a position, and had been the first to laugh aloud at a particular slip of +grammar; while his shrugs at the aspirates transposed and the pronunciation +prevalent, had almost established a free-masonry between him and one of the +three young gentlemen-cricketers—a fair-haired youth, with a handsome, +reckless face, who leaned on the table, humorously eyeing the several speakers, +and exchanging by-words and laughs with his friends on each side of him. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Raikes had the disadvantage of having come to the table empty in +stomach—thirsty exceedingly; and, I repeat, that as, without experience, +you are the victim of divinely given Eve, so, with no foundation to receive it +upon, are you the victim of good sound Ale. He very soon lost his head. He +would otherwise have seen that he must produce a wonderfully-telling speech if +he was to keep the position he had taken, and had better not attempt one. The +three young cricketers were hostile from the beginning. All of them leant +forward, calling attention loudly laughing for the fun to come. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen!” he said: and said it twice. The gap was wide, and he +said, “Gentlemen!” again. +</p> + +<p> +This commencement of a speech proves that you have made the plunge, but not +that you can swim. At a repetition of “Gentlemen!” expectancy +resolved into cynicism. +</p> + +<p> +“Gie’n a help,” sang out a son of the plough to a neighbour +of the orator. +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it!” murmured another, “we ain’t such gentlemen +as that comes to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes was politely requested to “tune his pipe.” +</p> + +<p> +With a gloomy curiosity as to the results of Jack’s adventurous +undertaking, and a touch of anger at the three whose bearing throughout had +displeased him, Evan regarded his friend. He, too, had drunk, and upon +emptiness. Bright ale had mounted to his brain. A hero should be held as sacred +as the Grand Llama: so let no more be said than that he drank still, nor marked +the replenishing of his glass. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes cleared his throat for a final assault: he had got an image, and was +dashing off; but, unhappily, as if to make the start seem fair, he was guilty +of his reiteration, “Gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +Everybody knew that it was a real start this time, and indeed he had made an +advance, and had run straight through half a sentence. It was therefore +manifestly unfair, inimical, contemptuous, overbearing, and base, for one of +the three young cricketers at this period to fling back weariedly and exclaim: +“By the Lord; too many gentlemen here!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan heard him across the table. Lacking the key of the speaker’s +previous conduct, the words might have passed. As it was, they, to the +ale-invaded head of a young hero, feeling himself the world’s equal, and +condemned nevertheless to bear through life the insignia of Tailordom, not +unnaturally struck with peculiar offence. There was arrogance, too, in the +young man who had interposed. He was long in the body, and, when he was not +refreshing his sight by a careless contemplation of his finger-nails, looked +down on his company at table, as one may do who comes from loftier studies. He +had what is popularly known as the nose of our aristocracy: a nose that much +culture of the external graces, and affectation of suavity, are required to +soften. Thereto were joined thin lips and arched brows. Birth it was possible +he could boast, hardly brains. He sat to the right of the fair-haired youth, +who, with his remaining comrade, a quiet smiling fellow, appeared to be better +liked by the guests, and had been hailed once or twice, under correction of the +chairman, as Mr. Harry. The three had distinguished one there by a few friendly +passages; and this was he who had offered his bed to Evan for the service of +the girl. The recognition they extended to him did not affect him deeply. He +was called Drummond, and had his place near the chairmen, whose humours he +seemed to relish. +</p> + +<p> +The ears of Mr. Raikes were less keen at the moment than Evan’s, but his +openness to ridicule was that of a man on his legs solus, amid a company +sitting, and his sense of the same—when he saw himself the victim of +it—acute. His face was rather comic, and, under the shadow of +embarrassment, twitching and working for ideas—might excuse a want of +steadiness and absolute gravity in the countenances of others. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman’s neighbour, Drummond, whispered him “Laxley will get +up a row with that fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s young Jocelyn egging him on,” said the chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“Um!” added Drummond: “it’s the friend of that +talkative rascal that’s dangerous, if it comes to anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes perceived that his host desired him to conclude. So, lifting his +voice and swinging his arm, he ended: “Allow me to propose to you the Fly +in Amber. In other words, our excellent host embalmed in brilliant ale! Drink +him! and so let him live in our memories for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down very well contented with himself, very little comprehended, and +applauded loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“The Flyin’ Number!” echoed Farmer Broadmead, confidently and +with clamour; adding to a friend, when both had drunk the toast to the dregs, +“But what number that be, or how many ’tis of ’em, dishes me! +But that’s ne’ther here nor there.” +</p> + +<p> +The chairman and host of the evening stood up to reply, welcomed by +thunders—“There ye be, Mr. Tom! glad I lives to see ye!” and +“No names!” and “Long life to him!” +</p> + +<p> +This having subsided, the chairman spoke, first nodding. “You don’t +want many words, and if you do, you won’t get ’em from me.” +</p> + +<p> +Cries of “Got something better!” took up the blunt address. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been true to it, most of you. I like men not to forget a +custom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good reason so to be,” and “A jolly good custom,” +replied to both sentences. +</p> + +<p> +“As to the beef, I hope you didn’t find it tough: as to the +ale—I know all about THAT!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha! good!” rang the verdict. +</p> + +<p> +“All I can say is, that this day next year it will be on the table, and I +hope that every one of you will meet Tom—will meet me here punctually. +I’m not a Parliament man, so that’ll do.” +</p> + +<p> +The chairman’s breach of his own rules drowned the termination of his +speech in an uproar. +</p> + +<p> +Re-seating himself, he lifted his glass, and proposed: “The +Antediluvians!” +</p> + +<p> +Farmer Broadmead echoed: “The Antediloovians!” appending, as a +private sentiment, “And dam rum chaps they were!” +</p> + +<p> +The Antediluvians, undoubtedly the toast of the evening, were enthusiastically +drunk, and in an ale of treble brew. +</p> + +<p> +When they had quite gone down, Mr. Raikes ventured to ask for the reason of +their receiving such honour from a posterity they had so little to do with. He +put the question mildly, but was impetuously snapped at by the chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“You respect men for their luck, sir, don’t you? Don’t be a +hypocrite, and say you don’t—you do. Very well: so do I. +That’s why I drink ‘The Antediluvians’!” +</p> + +<p> +“Our worthy host here” (Drummond, gravely smiling, undertook to +elucidate the case) “has a theory that the constitutions of the +Postdiluvians have been deranged, and their lives shortened, by the miasmas of +the Deluge. I believe he carries it so far as to say that Noah, in the light of +a progenitor, is inferior to Adam, owing to the shaking he had to endure in the +ark, and which he conceives to have damaged the patriarch and the nervous +systems of his sons. It’s a theory, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“They lived close on a thousand years, hale, hearty—and no +water!” said the chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” exclaimed one, some way down the table, a young farmer, red +as a cock’s comb: “no fools they, eh, master? Where there’s +ale, would you drink water, my hearty?” and back he leaned to enjoy the +tribute to his wit; a wit not remarkable, but nevertheless sufficient in the +noise it created to excite the envy of Mr. Raikes, who, inveterately silly when +not engaged in a contest, now began to play on the names of the sons of Noah. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman lanced a keen light at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +Before long he had again to call two parties to order. To Raikes, Laxley was a +puppy: to Laxley, Mr. Raikes was a snob. The antagonism was natural: ale did +but put the match to the magazine. But previous to an explosion, Laxley, who +had observed Evan’s disgust at Jack’s exhibition of himself, and +had been led to think, by his conduct and clothes in conjunction, that Evan was +his own equal; a gentleman condescending to the society of a low-born +acquaintance;—had sought with sundry propitiations, intelligent glances, +light shrugs, and such like, to divide Evan from Jack. He did this, doubtless, +because he partly sympathized with Evan, and to assure him that he took a +separate view of him. Probably Evan was already offended, or he held to Jack, +as a comrade should, or else it was that Tailordom and the pride of his +accepted humiliation bellowed in his ears, every fresh minute: “Nothing +assume!” I incline to think that the more ale he drank the fiercer rebel +he grew against conventional ideas of rank, and those class-barriers which we +scorn so vehemently when we find ourselves kicking at them. Whatsoever the +reason that prompted him, he did not respond to Laxley’s advances; and +Laxley, disregarding him, dealt with Raikes alone. +</p> + +<p> +In a tone plainly directed at him, he said: “Well, Harry, tired of this? +The agriculturals are good fun, but I can’t stand much of the small +cockney. A blackguard who tries to make jokes out of the Scriptures ought to be +kicked!” +</p> + +<p> +Harry rejoined, with wet lips: “Wopping stuff, this ale! Who’s that +you want to kick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody who objects to his bray, I suppose,” Mr. Raikes struck +in, across the table, negligently thrusting out his elbow to support his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you allude to me, sir?” Laxley inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I alluded to a donkey, sir.” Raikes lifted his eyelids to the same +level as Laxley’s: “a passing remark on that interesting +animal.” +</p> + +<p> +His friend Harry now came into the ring to try a fall. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you an usher in a school?” he asked, meaning by his looks what +men of science in fisticuffs call business. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes started in amazement. He recovered as quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, not quite; but I have no doubt I should be able to instruct you +upon a point or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good manners, for instance?” remarked the third young cricketer, +without disturbing his habitual smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Or what comes from not observing them,” said Evan, unwilling to +have Jack over-matched. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’ll give me a lesson now?” Harry indicated a +readiness to rise for either of them. +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture the chairman interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Harmony, my lads!—harmony to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Farmer Broadmead, imagining it to be the signal for a song, returned: +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Mr.—- Mr. Chair! but we an’t got pipes in yet. +Pipes before harmony, you know, to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +The pipes were summoned forthwith. System appeared to regulate the proceedings +of this particular night at the Green Dragon. The pipes charged, and those of +the guests who smoked, well fixed behind them, celestial Harmony was invoked +through the slowly curling clouds. In Britain the Goddess is coy. She demands +pressure to appear, and great gulps of ale. Vastly does she swell the chests of +her island children, but with the modesty of a maid at the commencement. +Precedence again disturbed the minds of the company. At last the red-faced +young farmer led off with “The Rose and the Thorn.” In that day +Chloe still lived; nor were the amorous transports of Strephon quenched. +Mountainous inflation—mouse-like issue characterized the young +farmer’s first verse. Encouraged by manifest approbation he now told +Chloe that he “by Heaven! never would plant in that bosom a thorn,” +with such a volume of sound as did indeed show how a lover’s oath should +be uttered in the ear of a British damsel to subdue her. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” cried Mr. Raikes, anxious to be convivial. +</p> + +<p> +Subsiding into impertinence, he asked Laxley, “Could you tip us a +Strephonade, sir? Rejoiced to listen to you, I’m sure! Promise you my +applause beforehand.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry replied hotly: “Will you step out of the room with me a +minute?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a confession to make?” quoth Jack, unmoved. “Have +you planted a thorn in the feminine flower-garden? Make a clean breast of it at +the table. Confess openly and be absolved.” +</p> + +<p> +While Evan spoke a word of angry reproof to Raikes, Harry had to be restrained +by his two friends. The rest of the company looked on with curiosity; the mouth +of the chairman was bunched. Drummond had his eyes on Evan, who was gazing +steadily at the three. Suddenly “The fellow isn’t a +gentleman!” struck the attention of Mr. Raikes with alarming force. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes—and it may be because he knew he could do more than Evan in this +respect—vociferated: “I’m the son of a gentleman!” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond, from the head of the table, saw that a diversion was imperative. He +leaned forward, and with a look of great interest said: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you? Pray, never disgrace your origin, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the choice were offered me, I think I would rather have known his +father,” said the smiling fellow, yawning, and rocking on his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“You would, possibly, have been exceedingly intimate—with his right +foot,” said Raikes. +</p> + +<p> +The other merely remarked: “Oh! that is the language of the son of a +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +The tumult of irony, abuse, and retort, went on despite the efforts of Drummond +and the chairman. It was odd; for at Farmer Broadmead’s end of the table, +friendship had grown maudlin: two were seen in a drowsy embrace, with crossed +pipes; and others were vowing deep amity, and offering to fight the man that +might desire it. +</p> + +<p> +“Are ye a friend? or are ye a foe?” was heard repeatedly, and +consequences to the career of the respondent, on his choice of affirmatives to +either of these two interrogations, emphatically detailed. +</p> + +<p> +It was likewise asked, in reference to the row at the gentlemen’s end: +“Why doan’ they stand up and have ’t out?” +</p> + +<p> +“They talks, they speechifies—why doan’ they fight for +’t, and then be friendly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the yarmony, Mr. Chair, I axes—so please ye?” +sang out Farmer Broadmead. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay! Silence!” the chairman called. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes begged permission to pronounce his excuses, but lapsed into a +lamentation for the squandering of property bequeathed to him by his respected +uncle, and for which—as far as he was intelligible—he persisted in +calling the three offensive young cricketers opposite to account. +</p> + +<p> +Before he could desist, Harmony, no longer coy, burst on the assembly from +three different sources. “A Man who is given to Liquor,” soared +aloft with “The Maid of sweet Seventeen,” who participated in the +adventures of “Young Molly and the Kicking Cow”; while the guests +selected the chorus of the song that first demanded it. +</p> + +<p> +Evan probably thought that Harmony was herself only when she came single, or he +was wearied of his fellows, and wished to gaze a moment on the skies whose arms +were over and around his young beloved. He went to the window and threw it up, +and feasted his sight on the moon standing on the downs. He could have wept at +the bitter ignominy that severed him from Rose. And again he gathered his pride +as a cloak, and defied the world, and gloried in the sacrifice that degraded +him. The beauty of the night touched him, and mixed these feelings with +mournfulness. He quite forgot the bellow and clatter behind. The beauty of the +night, and heaven knows what treacherous hope in the depths of his soul, +coloured existence warmly. +</p> + +<p> +He was roused from his reverie by an altercation unmistakeably fierce. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes had been touched on a tender point. In reply to a bantering remark of +his, Laxley had hummed over bits of his oration, amid the chuckles of his +comrades. Unfortunately at a loss for a biting retort, Raikes was reduced to +that plain confession of a lack of wit; he offered combat. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what,” said Laxley, “I never soil my +hands with a blackguard; and a fellow who tries to make fun of Scripture, in my +opinion is one. A blackguard—do you hear? But, if you’ll give me +satisfactory proofs that you really are what I have some difficulty in +believing—the son of a gentleman—I’ll meet you when and where +you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fight him, anyhow,” said Harry. “I’ll take him myself +after we finish the match to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Laxley rejoined that Mr. Raikes must be left to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll take the other,” said Harry. “Where is +he?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan walked round to his place. +</p> + +<p> +“I am here,” he answered, “and at your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you fight?” cried Harry. +</p> + +<p> +There was a disdainful smile on Evan’s mouth, as he replied: “I +must first enlighten you. I have no pretensions to your blue blood, or yellow. +If, sir, you will deign to challenge a man who is not the son of a gentleman, +and consider the expression of his thorough contempt for your conduct +sufficient to enable you to overlook that fact, you may dispose of me. My +friend here has, it seems, reason to be proud of his connections. That you may +not subsequently bring the charge against me of having led you to ‘soil +your hands’—as your friend there terms it—I, with all the +willingness in the world to chastise you or him for your impertinence, must +first give you a fair chance of escape, by telling you that my father was a +tailor.” +</p> + +<p> +The countenance of Mr. Raikes at the conclusion of this speech was a painful +picture. He knocked the table passionately, exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“Who’d have thought it?” +</p> + +<p> +Yet he had known it. But he could not have thought it possible for a man to own +it publicly. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, Evan could not have mentioned it, but for hot fury and the ale. It was +the ale in him expelling truth; and certainly, to look at him, none would have +thought it. +</p> + +<p> +“That will do,” said Laxley, lacking the magnanimity to despise the +advantage given him, “you have chosen the very best means of saving your +skins.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll come to you when our supply of clothes runs short,” +added Harry. “A snip!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me!” said Evan, with his eyes slightly widening, “but +if you come to me, I shall no longer give you a choice of behaviour. I wish you +good-night, gentlemen. I shall be in this house, and am to be found here, till +ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Sir,” he addressed the chairman, +“I must apologize to you for this interruption to your kindness, for +which I thank you very sincerely. It’s ‘good-night,’ now, +sir,” he pursued, bowing, and holding out his hand, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman grasped it: “You’re a hot-headed young fool, sir: +you’re an ill-tempered ferocious young ass. Can’t you see another +young donkey without joining company in kicks-eh? Sit down, and don’t +dare to spoil the fun any more. You a tailor! Who’ll believe it? +You’re a nobleman in disguise. Didn’t your friend say so?—ha! +ha! Sit down.” He pulled out his watch, and proclaiming that he was born +into this world at the hour about to strike, called for a bumper all round. +</p> + +<p> +While such of the company as had yet legs and eyes unvanquished by the potency +of the ale, stood up to drink and cheer, Mark, the waiter, scurried into the +room, and, to the immense stupefaction of the chairman, and amusement of his +guests, spread the news of the immediate birth of a little stranger on the +premises, who was declared by Dr. Pillie to be a lusty boy, and for whom the +kindly landlady solicited good luck to be drunk. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +THE MATCH OF FALLOW FIELD AGAINST BECKLEY</h2> + +<p> +The dramatic proportions to which ale will exalt the sentiments within us, and +our delivery of them, are apt to dwindle and shrink even below the natural +elevation when we look back on them from the hither shore of the river of +sleep—in other words, wake in the morning: and it was with no very +self-satisfied emotions that Evan, dressing by the full light of day, reviewed +his share in the events of the preceding night. Why, since he had accepted his +fate, should he pretend to judge the conduct of people his superiors in rank? +And where was the necessity for him to thrust the fact of his being that +abhorred social pariah down the throats of an assembly of worthy good fellows? +The answer was, that he had not accepted his fate: that he considered himself +as good a gentleman as any man living, and was in absolute hostility with the +prejudices of society. That was the state of the case: but the evaporation of +ale in his brain caused him to view his actions from the humble extreme of that +delightful liquor, of which the spirit had flown and the corpse remained. +</p> + +<p> +Having revived his system with soda-water, and finding no sign of his +antagonist below, Mr. Raikes, to disperse the sceptical dimples on his +friend’s face, alluded during breakfast to a determination he had formed +to go forth and show on the cricket-field. +</p> + +<p> +“For, you know,” he observed, “they can’t have any +objection to fight one.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan, slightly colouring, answered: “Why, you said up-stairs, you thought +fighting duels disgraceful folly.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it is, so it is; everybody knows that,” returned Jack; +“but what can a gentleman do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be a disgraceful fool, I suppose,” said Evan: and Raikes went on +with his breakfast, as if to be such occasionally was the distinguished fate of +a gentleman, of which others, not so happy in their birth, might well be +envious. +</p> + +<p> +He could not help betraying that he bore in mind the main incidents of the +festival over-night; for when he had inquired who it might be that had reduced +his friend to wear mourning, and heard that it was his father (spoken by Evan +with a quiet sigh), Mr. Raikes tapped an egg, and his flexible brows exhibited +a whole Bar of contending arguments within. More than for the love of pleasure, +he had spent his money to be taken for a gentleman. He naturally thought highly +of the position, having bought it. But Raikes appreciated a capital fellow, and +felt warmly to Evan, who, moreover, was feeding him. +</p> + +<p> +If not born a gentleman, this Harrington had the look of one, and was pleasing +in female eyes, as the landlady, now present, bore witness, wishing them good +morning, and hoping they had slept well. She handed to Evan his purse, telling +him she had taken it last night, thinking it safer for the time being in her +pocket; and that the chairman of the feast paid for all in the Green Dragon up +to twelve that day, he having been born between the hours, and liking to make +certain: and that every year he did the same; and was a seemingly rough old +gentleman, but as soft-hearted as a chicken. His name must positively not be +inquired, she said; to be thankful to him was to depart, asking no questions. +</p> + +<p> +“And with a dart in the bosom from those eyes—those eyes!” +cried Jack, shaking his head at the landlady’s resistless charms. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you was not one of the gentlemen who came and disturbed us last +night, Sir?” she turned on him sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Jack dallied with the imputation, but denied his guilt. +</p> + +<p> +“No; it wasn’t your voice,” continued the landlady. “A +parcel of young puppies calling themselves gentlemen! I know him. It’s +that young Mr. Laxley: and he the nephew of a Bishop, and one of the +Honourables! and then the poor gals get the blame. I call it a shame, I do. +There’s that poor young creature up-stairs—somebody’s victim +she is: and nobody’s to suffer but herself, the little fool!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Raikes. “Ah! we regret these things in after +life!” and he looked as if he had many gentlemanly burdens of the kind on +his conscience. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a wonder, to my mind,” remarked the landlady, when she +had placidly surveyed Mr. Raikes, “how young gals can let some of you +men-folk mislead ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned from him huffily, and addressed Evan: +</p> + +<p> +“The old gentleman is gone, sir. He slept on a chair, breakfasted, and +was off before eight. He left word, as the child was born on his birthright, +he’d provide for it, and pay the mother’s bill, unless you claimed +the right. I’m afraid he suspected—what I never, never-no! but by +what I’ve seen of you—never will believe. For you, I’d say, +must be a gentleman, whatever your company. She asks one favour of you, +sir:—for you to go and let her speak to you once before you go away for +good. She’s asleep now, and mustn’t be disturbed. Will you do it, +by-and-by? Please to comfort the poor creature, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan consented. I am afraid also it was the landlady’s flattering speech +made him, without reckoning his means, add that the young mother and her child +must be considered under his care, and their expenses charged to him. The +landlady was obliged to think him a wealthy as well as a noble youth, and +admiringly curtsied. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. John Raikes and Mr. Evan Harrington then strolled into the air, and through +a long courtyard, with brewhouse and dairy on each side, and a pleasant smell +of baking bread, and dogs winking in the sun, cats at the corners of doors, +satisfied with life, and turkeys parading, and fowls, strutting cocks, that +overset the dignity of Mr. Raikes by awakening his imitative propensities. +Certain white-capped women, who were washing in a tub, laughed, and one +observed: “He’s for all the world like the little bantam cock +stickin’ ’self up in a crow against the Spaniar’.” And +this, and the landlady’s marked deference to Evan, induced Mr. Raikes +contemptuously to glance at our national blindness to the true diamond, and +worship of the mere plumes in which a person is dressed. +</p> + +<p> +They passed a pretty flower-garden, and entering a smooth-shorn meadow, beheld +the downs beautifully clear under sunlight and slowly-sailing images of cloud. +At the foot of the downs, on a plain of grass, stood a white booth topped by a +flag, which signalled that on that spot Fallowfield and Beckley were +contending. +</p> + +<p> +“A singular old gentleman! A very singular old gentleman, that!” +Raikes observed, following an idea that had been occupying him. “We did +wrong to miss him. We ought to have waylaid him in the morning. Never miss a +chance, Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +“What chance?” Evan inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Those old gentlemen are very odd,” Jack pursued, “very +strange. He wouldn’t have judged me by my attire. Admetus’ flocks I +guard, yet am a God! Dress is nothing to those old cocks. He’s an +eccentric. I know it; I can see it. He’s a corrective of Cudford, who is +abhorrent to my soul. To give you an instance, now, of what those old boys will +do—I remember my father taking me, when I was quite a youngster, to a +tavern he frequented, and we met one night just such an old fellow as this; and +the waiter told us afterwards that he noticed me particularly. He thought me a +very remarkable boy—predicted great things. For some reason or other my +father never took me there again. I remember our having a Welsh rarebit there +for supper, and when the waiter last night mentioned a rarebit, ’gad he +started up before me. I gave chase into my early youth. However, my father +never took me to meet the old fellow again. I believe it lost me a +fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s thoughts were leaping to the cricket-field, or he would have +condoled with Mr. Raikes for a loss that evidently afflicted him still. +</p> + +<p> +Now, it must be told that the lady’s-maid of Mrs. Andrew Cogglesby, +borrowed temporarily by the Countess de Saldar for service at Beckley Court, +had slept in charge of the Countess’s boxes at the Green Dragon: the +Countess having told her, with the candour of high-born dames to their +attendants, that it would save expense; and that, besides, Admiral Combleman, +whom she was going to see, or Sir Perkins Ripley (her father’s old +friend), whom she should visit if Admiral Combleman was not at his +mansion—both were likely to have full houses, and she could not take them +by storm. An arrangement which left her upwards of twelve hours’ liberty, +seemed highly proper to Maria Conning, this lady’s-maid, a very demure +young person. She was at her bed-room window, as Evan passed up the courtyard +of the inn, and recognized him immediately. “Can it be him they mean +that’s the low tradesman?” was Maria’s mysterious +exclamation. She examined the pair, and added: “Oh, no. It must be the +tall one they mistook for the small one. But Mr. Harrington ought not to demean +himself by keeping company with such, and my lady should know of it.” +</p> + +<p> +My lady, alighting from the Lymport coach, did know of it, within a few minutes +after Evan had quitted the Green Dragon, and turned pale, as high-born dames +naturally do when they hear of a relative’s disregard of the company he +keeps. +</p> + +<p> +“A tailor, my lady!” said scornful Maria; and the Countess jumped +and complained of a pin. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you hear of this, Conning?” she presently asked with +composure. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my lady, he was tipsy last night, and kept swearing out loud he was +a gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tipsy!” the Countess murmured in terror. She had heard of +inaccessible truths brought to light by the magic wand of alcohol. Was Evan +intoxicated, and his dreadful secret unlocked last night? +</p> + +<p> +“And who may have told you of this, Conning?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Maria plunged into one of the boxes, and was understood to say that nobody in +particular had told her, but that among other flying matters it had come to her +ears. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother is Charity itself,” sighed the Countess. “He +welcomes high or low.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but, my lady, a tailor!” Maria repeated, and the Countess, +agreeing with her scorn as she did, could have killed her. At least she would +have liked to run a bodkin into her, and make her scream. In her position she +could not always be Charity itself: nor is this the required character for a +high-born dame: so she rarely affected it. +</p> + +<p> +“Order a fly: discover the direction Mr. Harrington has taken; spare me +further remarks,” she said; and Maria humbly flitted from her presence. +</p> + +<p> +When she was gone, the Countess covered her face with her hands. “Even +this creature would despise us!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +The young lady encountered by Mr. Raikes on the road to Fallowfield, was wrong +in saying that Beckley would be seen out before the shades of evening caught up +the ball. Not one, but two men of Beckley—the last two—carried out +their bats, cheered handsomely by both parties. The wickets pitched in the +morning, they carried them in again, and plaudits renewed proved that their +fame had not slumbered. To stand before a field, thoroughly aware that every +successful stroke you make is adding to the hoards of applause in store for you +is a joy to your friends, an exasperation to your foes; I call this an exciting +situation, and one as proud as a man may desire. Then, again, the two last men +of an eleven are twins: they hold one life between them; so that he who dies +extinguishes the other. Your faculties are stirred to their depths. You become +engaged in the noblest of rivalries: in defending your own, you fight for your +comrade’s existence. You are assured that the dread of shame, if not +emulation, is making him equally wary and alert. +</p> + +<p> +Behold, then, the two bold men of Beckley fighting to preserve one life. Under +the shadow of the downs they stand, beneath a glorious day, and before a +gallant company. For there are ladies in carriages here, there are cavaliers; +good county names may be pointed out. The sons of first-rate families are in +the two elevens, mingled with the yeomen and whoever can best do the business. +Fallowfield and Beckley, without regard to rank, have drawn upon their muscle +and science. One of the bold men of Beckley at the wickets is Nick Frim, son of +the gamekeeper at Beckley Court; the other is young Tom Copping, son of Squire +Copping, of Dox Hall, in the parish of Beckley. Last year, you must know, +Fallowfield beat. That is why Nick Frim, a renowned out-hitter, good to finish +a score brilliantly with a pair of threes, has taken to blocking, and Mr. Tom +cuts with caution, though he loves to steal his runs, and is usually dismissed +by his remarkable cunning. +</p> + +<p> +The field was ringing at a stroke of Nick Frim’s, who had lashed out in +his old familiar style at last, and the heavens heard of it, when Evan came +into the circle of spectators. Nick and Tom were stretching from post to post, +might and main. A splendid four was scored. The field took breath with the +heroes; and presume not to doubt that heroes they are. It is good to win glory +for your country; it is also good to win glory for your village. A Member of +Parliament, Sir George Lowton, notes this emphatically, from the +statesman’s eminence, to a group of gentlemen on horseback round a +carriage wherein a couple of fair ladies reclined. +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t shout more at the news of the Battle of Waterloo. Now +this is our peculiarity, this absence of extreme centralization. It must be +encouraged. Local jealousies, local rivalries, local triumphs—these are +the strength of the kingdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you mean to say that cricket’s a ——” the old +squire speaking (Squire Uplift of Fallowfield) remembered the saving +presences, and coughed—“good thing, I’m one with ye, Sir +George. Encouraged, egad! They don’t want much of that here. Give some of +your lean London straws a strip o’ clean grass and a bit o’ +liberty, and you’ll do ’em a service.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a beautiful hit!” exclaimed one of the ladies, languidly +watching the ascent of the ball. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful, d’ ye call it?” muttered the squire. +</p> + +<p> +The ball, indeed, was dropping straight into the hands of the long-hit-off. +Instantly a thunder rolled. But it was Beckley that took the joyful +treble—Fallowfield the deeply-cursing bass. The long-hit-off, he who +never was known to miss a catch—butter-fingered beast!—he has let +the ball slip through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Are there Gods in the air? Fred Linnington, the unfortunate of Fallowfield, +with a whole year of unhappy recollection haunting him in prospect, ere he can +retrieve his character—Fred, if he does not accuse the powers of the sky, +protests that he cannot understand it, which means the same. +</p> + +<p> +Fallowfield’s defeat—should such be the result of the +contest—he knows now will be laid at his door. Five men who have bowled +at the indomitable Beckleyans think the same. Albeit they are Britons, it +abashes them. They are not the men they were. Their bowling is as the bowling +of babies; and see! Nick, who gave the catch, and pretends he did it out of +commiseration for Fallowfield, the ball has flown from his bat sheer over the +booth. If they don’t add six to the score, it will be the fault of their +legs. But no: they rest content with a fiver and cherish their wind. +</p> + +<p> +Yet more they mean to do, Success does not turn the heads of these Britons, as +it would of your frivolous foreigners. +</p> + +<p> +And now small boys (who represent the Press here) spread out from the +marking-booth, announcing foremost, and in larger type, as it were, quite in +Press style, their opinion—which is, that Fallowfield will get a jolly +good hiding; and vociferating that Beckley is seventy-nine ahead, and that Nick +Frim, the favourite of the field, has scored fifty-one to his own cheek. The +boys are boys of both villages: but they are British boys—they adore +prowess. The Fallowfield boys wish that Nick Frim would come and live on their +side; the boys of Beckley rejoice in possessing him. Nick is the wicketkeeper +of the Beckley eleven; long-limbed, wiry, keen of eye. His fault as a batsman +is, that he will be a slashing hitter. He is too sensible of the joys of a +grand spanking hit. A short life and a merry one, has hitherto been his motto. +</p> + +<p> +But there were reasons for Nick’s rare display of skill. That woman may +have the credit due to her (and, as there never was a contest of which she did +not sit at the springs, so is she the source of all superhuman efforts +exhibited by men), be it told that Polly Wheedle is on the field; Polly, one of +the upper housemaids of Beckley Court; Polly, eagerly courted by Fred +Linnington, humbly desired by Nick Frim—a pert and blooming +maiden—who, while her suitors combat hotly for an undivided smile, +improves her holiday by instilling similar unselfish aspirations into the +breasts of others. +</p> + +<p> +Between his enjoyment of society and the melancholy it engendered in his mind +by reflecting on him the age and decrepitude of his hat, Mr. John Raikes was +doubtful of his happiness for some time. But as his taste for happiness was +sharp, he, with a great instinct amounting almost to genius in its pursuit, +resolved to extinguish his suspicion by acting the perfectly happy man. To do +this, it was necessary that he should have listeners: Evan was not enough, and +was besides unsympathetic; he had not responded to Jack’s cordial +assurances of his friendship “in spite of anything,” uttered before +they came into the field. +</p> + +<p> +Heat and lustre were now poured from the sky, on whose soft blue a fleet of +clouds sailed heavily. Nick Frim was very wonderful, no doubt. He deserved that +the Gods should recline on those gold-edged cushions above, and lean over to +observe him. Nevertheless, the ladies were beginning to ask when Nick Frim +would be out. The small boys alone preserved their enthusiasm for Nick. As +usual, the men took a middle position. Theirs was the pleasure of critics, +which, being founded on the judgement, lasts long, and is without +disappointment at the close. It was sufficient that the ladies should lend the +inspiration of their bonnets to this fine match. Their presence on the field is +another beautiful instance of the generous yielding of the sex simply to grace +our amusement, and their acute perception of the part they have to play. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes was rather shy of them at first. But his acting rarely failing to +deceive himself, he began to feel himself the perfectly happy man he +impersonated, and where there were ladies he went, and talked of days when he +had creditably handled a bat, and of a renown in the annals of Cricket cut +short by mysterious calamity. The foolish fellow did not know that they care +not a straw for cricketing fame. His gaiety presently forsook him as quickly as +it had come. Instead of remonstrating at Evan’s restlessness, it was he +who now dragged Evan from spot to spot. He spoke low and nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re watched!” +</p> + +<p> +There was indeed a man lurking near and moving as they moved, with a +speculative air. Writs were out against Raikes. He slipped from his friend, +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind me. That old amphitryon’s birthday hangs on till the +meridian; you understand. His table invites. He is not unlikely to enjoy my +conversation. What mayn’t that lead to? Seek me there.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan strolled on, relieved by the voluntary departure of the weariful funny +friend he would not shake off, but could not well link with. +</p> + +<p> +A long success is better when seen at a distance of time, and Nick Frim was +beginning to suffer from the monotony of his luck. Fallowfield could do +nothing with him. He no longer blocked. He lashed out at every ball, and far +flew every ball that was bowled. The critics saw, in this return to his old +practices, promise of Nick’s approaching extinction. The ladies were +growing hot and weary. The little boys gasped on the grass, but like cunning +circulators of excitement, spread a report to keep it up, that Nick, on going +to his wickets the previous day, had sworn an oath that he would not lay down +his bat till he had scored a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +So they had still matter to agitate their youthful breasts, and Nick’s +gradual building up of tens, and prophecies and speculations as to his chances +of completing the hundred, were still vehemently confided to the field, amid a +general mopping of faces. +</p> + +<p> +Evan did become aware that a man was following him. The man had not the look of +a dreaded official. His countenance was sun-burnt and open, and he was dressed +in a countryman’s holiday suit. When Evan met his eyes, they showed +perplexity. Evan felt he was being examined from head to heel, but by one +unaccustomed to his part, and without the courage to decide what he ought +consequently to do while a doubt remained, though his inspection was verging +towards a certainty in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +At last, somewhat annoyed that the man should continue to dog him wherever he +moved, he turned on him and asked him what he wanted? +</p> + +<p> +“Be you a Muster Eav’n Harrington, Esquire?” the man drawled +out in the rustic music of inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my name,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” returned the man, “it’s somebody lookin’ +like a lord, and has a small friend wi’ shockin’ old hat, and I see +ye come out o’ the Green Drag’n this mornin’—I +don’t reck’n there’s e’er a mistaak, but I likes to +make cock sure. Be you been to Poortigal, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Evan, “I have been to Poortigal.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the name o’ the capital o’ Portugal, +sir?” The man looked immensely shrewd, and nodding his consent at the +laughing reply, added: +</p> + +<p> +“And there you was born, sir? You’ll excuse my boldness, but I only +does what’s necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan said he was not born there. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not born there. That’s good. Now, sir, did you happen to be +born anywheres within smell o’ salt water?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Evan, “I was born by the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not far beyond fifty mile from Fall’field here, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something less.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Now I’m cock sure,” said the man. “Now, if +you’ll have the kindness just to oblige me by—” he sped the +words and the instrument jointly at Evan, “—takin’ that there +letter, I’ll say good-bye, sir, and my work’s done for the +day.” +</p> + +<p> +Saying which, he left Evan with the letter in his hands. Evan turned it over +curiously. It was addressed to “Evan Harrington, Esquire, T—— +of Lymport.” +</p> + +<p> +A voice paralyzed his fingers: the clear ringing voice of a young horsewoman, +accompanied by a little maid on a pony, who galloped up to the carriage upon +which Squire Uplift, Sir George Lowton, Hamilton Jocelyn, and other cavaliers, +were in attendance. +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am at last, and Beckley’s in still! How d’ ye do, +Lady Racial? How d’ ye do, Sir George. How d’ ye do, everybody. +Your servant, Squire! We shall beat you. Harry says we shall soon be a hundred +a-head of you. Fancy those boys! they would sleep at Fallowfield last night. +How I wish you had made a bet with me, Squire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my lass, it’s not too late,” said the Squire, +detaining her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but it wouldn’t be fair now. And I’m not going to be +kissed on the field, if you please, Squire. Here, Dorry will do instead. Dorry! +come and be kissed by the Squire.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Rose, living and glowing; Rose, who was the brilliant young Amazon, +smoothing the neck of a mettlesome gray cob. Evan’s heart bounded up to +her, but his limbs were motionless. +</p> + +<p> +The Squire caught her smaller companion in his arms, and sounded a kiss upon +both her cheeks; then settled her in the saddle, and she went to answer some +questions of the ladies. She had the same lively eyes as Rose; quick saucy +lips, red, and open for prattle. Rolls of auburn hair fell down her back, for +being a child she was allowed privileges. To talk as her thoughts came, as well +as to wear her hair as it grew, was a special privilege of this young person, +on horseback or elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I know what you want to ask me, Aunt Shorne. Isn’t it about +my Papa? He’s not come, and he won’t be able to come for a +week.—Glad to be with Cousin Rosey? I should think I am! She’s the +nicest girl I ever could suppose. She isn’t a bit spoiled by Portugal; +only browned; and she doesn’t care for that; no more do I. I rather like +the sun when it doesn’t freckle you. I can’t bear freckles, and I +don’t believe in milk for them. People who have them are such a figure. +Drummond Forth has them, but he’s a man, and it doesn’t matter for +a man to have freckles. How’s my uncle Mel? Oh, he’s quite well. I +mean he has the gout in one of his fingers, and it’s swollen so, +it’s just like a great fat fir cone! He can’t write a bit, and +rests his hand on a table. He wants to have me made to write with my left hand +as well as my right. As if I was ever going to have the gout in one of my +fingers!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir George Lowton observed to Hamilton Jocelyn, that Melville must take to his +tongue now. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy he will,” said Hamilton. “My father won’t give +up his nominee; so I fancy he’ll try Fallowfield. Of course, we go in +for the agricultural interest; but there’s a cantankerous old ruffian +down here—a brewer, or something—he’s got half the votes at +his bidding. We shall see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dorothy, my dear child, are you not tired?” said Lady Racial. +“You are very hot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s because Rose would tear along the road to get here in +time, after we had left those tiresome Copping people, where she had to make a +call. ‘What a slow little beast your pony is, Dorry!’—she +said that at least twenty times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you naughty puss!” cried Rose. “Wasn’t it, +‘Rosey, Rosey, I’m sure we shall be too late, and shan’t see +a thing: do come along as hard as you can’?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure it was not,” Miss Dorothy retorted, with the large +eyes of innocence. “You said you wanted to see Nick Frim keeping the +wicket, and Ferdinand Laxley bowl. And, oh! you know something you said about +Drummond Forth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, shall I tell upon you?” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“No, don’t!” hastily replied the little woman, blushing. And +the cavaliers laughed out, and the ladies smiled, and Dorothy added: “It +isn’t much, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, come; let’s have it, or I shall be jealous,” said the +Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I tell?” Rose asked slily. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s unfair to betray one of your sex, Rose,” remarked the +sweetly-smiling lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Lady Racial—mayn’t a woman have secrets?” Dorothy +put it with great natural earnestness, and they all laughed aloud. “But I +know a secret of Rosey’s,” continued Miss Dorothy, “and if +she tells upon me, I shall tell upon her.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re out!” cried Rose, pointing her whip at the wickets. +“Good night to Beckley! Tom Copping’s run out.” +</p> + +<p> +Questions as to how it was done passed from mouth to mouth. Questions as to +whether it was fair sprang from Tom’s friends, and that a doubt existed +was certain: the whole field was seen converging toward the two umpires. +</p> + +<p> +Farmer Broadmead for Fallowfield, Master Nat Hodges for Beckley. +</p> + +<p> +It really is a mercy there’s some change in the game,” said Mrs. +Shorne, waving her parasol. “It’s a charming game, but it wants +variety a little. When do you return, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for some time,” said Rose, primly. “I like variety very +well, but I don’t seek it by running away the moment I’ve +come.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but, my dear,” Mrs. Shorne negligently fanned her face, +“you will have to come with us, I fear, when we go. Your uncle +accompanies us. I really think the Squire will, too; and Mr. Forth is no +chaperon. Even you understand that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can get an old man—don’t be afraid, said Rose. +“Or must I have an old woman, aunt?” +</p> + +<p> +The lady raised her eyelids slowly on Rose, and thought: “If you were +soundly whipped, my little madam, what a good thing it would be for you.” +And that good thing Mrs. Shorne was willing to do for Rose. She turned aside, +and received the salute of an unmistakable curate on foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Parsley, you lend your countenance to the game, then?” +</p> + +<p> +The curate observed that sound Churchmen unanimously supported the game. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo!” cried Rose. “How I like to hear you talk like that, +Mr. Parsley. I didn’t think you had so much sense. You and I will have a +game together—single wicket. We must play for something—what shall +it be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—for nothing,” the curate vacuously remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for love, you rogue!” exclaimed the Squire. +“Come, come, none o’ that, sir—ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, very well; we’ll play for love,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ll hold the stakes, my dear—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You dear old naughty Squire!—what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose laughed. But she had all the men surrounding her, and Mrs. Shorne talked +of departing. +</p> + +<p> +Why did not Evan bravely march away? Why, he asked himself, had he come on this +cricket-field to be made thus miserable? What right had such as he to look on +Rose? Consider, however, the young man’s excuses. He could not possibly +imagine that a damsel who rode one day to a match, would return on the +following day to see it finished: or absolutely know that unseen damsel to be +Rose Jocelyn. And if he waited, it was only to hear her sweet voice once again, +and go for ever. As far as he could fathom his hopes, they were that Rose would +not see him: but the hopes of youth are deep. +</p> + +<p> +Just then a toddling small rustic stopped in front of Evan, and set up a howl +for his “fayther.” Evan lifted him high to look over people’s +heads, and discover his wandering parent. The urchin, when he had settled to +his novel position, surveyed the field, and shouting, “Fayther, fayther! +here I bes on top of a gentleman!” made lusty signs, which attracted not +his father alone. Rose sang out, “Who can lend me a penny?” +Instantly the curate and the squire had a race in their pockets. The curate was +first, but Rose favoured the squire, took his money with a nod and a smile, and +rode at the little lad, to whom she was saying: “Here, bonny boy, this +will buy you—” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped and coloured. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan!” +</p> + +<p> +The child descended rapidly to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +A bow and a few murmured words replied to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t this just like you, my dear Evan? Shouldn’t I know +that whenever I met you, you would be doing something kind? How did you come +here? You were on your way to Beckley!” +</p> + +<p> +“To London,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“To London! and not coming over to see me—us?” +</p> + +<p> +Here the little fellow’s father intervened to claim his offspring, and +thank the lady and the gentleman: and, with his penny firmly grasped, he who +had brought the lady and the gentleman together, was borne off a wealthy human +creature. +</p> + +<p> +Before much further could be said between them, the Countess de Saldar drove +up. +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest Rose!” and “My dear Countess!” and +“Not Louisa, then?” and, “I am very glad to see you!” +without attempting the endearing “Louisa”—passed. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess de Saldar then admitted the presence of her brother. +</p> + +<p> +“Think!” said Rose. “He talks of going on straight from here +to London.” +</p> + +<p> +“That pretty pout will alone suffice to make him deviate, then,” +said the Countess, with her sweetest open slyness. “I am now on the point +of accepting your most kind invitation. Our foreign habits allow us to visit +thus early! He will come with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan tried to look firm, and speak as he was trying to look. Rose fell to +entreaty, and from entreaty rose to command; and in both was utterly +fascinating to the poor youth. Luxuriously—while he hesitated and dwelt +on this and that faint objection—his spirit drank the delicious changes +of her face. To have her face before him but one day seemed so rich a boon to +deny himself, that he was beginning to wonder at his constancy in refusal; and +now that she spoke to him so pressingly, devoting her guileless eyes to him +alone, he forgot a certain envious feeling that had possessed him while she was +rattling among the other males—a doubt whether she ever cast a thought on +Mr. Evan Harrington. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; he will come,” cried Rose; “and he shall ride home with +me and my friend Drummond; and he shall have my groom’s horse, if he +doesn’t mind. Bob can ride home in the cart with Polly, my maid; and +he’ll like that, because Polly’s always good fun—when +they’re not in love with her. Then, of course, she torments them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally,” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Evan Harrington’s final objection, based on his not having clothes, +and so forth, was met by his foreseeing sister. +</p> + +<p> +“I have your portmanteau packed, in with me, my dear brother; Conning has +her feet on it. I divined that I should overtake you.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan felt he was in the toils. After a struggle or two he yielded; and, having +yielded, did it with grace. In a moment, and with a power of self-compression +equal to that of the adept Countess, he threw off his moodiness as easily as if +it had been his Spanish mantle, and assumed a gaiety that made the +Countess’s eyes beam rapturously upon him, and was pleasing to Rose, +apart from the lead in admiration the Countess had given her—not for the +first time. We mortals, the best of us, may be silly sheep in our likes and +dislikes: where there is no premeditated or instinctive antagonism, we can be +led into warm acknowledgement of merits we have not sounded. This the Countess +de Saldar knew right well. +</p> + +<p> +Rose now intimated her wish to perform the ceremony of introduction between her +aunt and uncle present, and the visitors to Beckley Court. The Countess smiled, +and in the few paces that separated the two groups, whispered to her brother: +“Miss Jocelyn, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +The eye-glasses of the Beckley group were dropped with one accord. The ceremony +was gone through. The softly-shadowed differences of a grand manner addressed +to ladies, and to males, were exquisitely accomplished by the Countess de +Saldar. +</p> + +<p> +“Harrington? Harrington?” her quick ear caught on the mouth of +Squire Uplift, scanning Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Her accent was very foreign, as she said aloud: “We are entirely +strangers to your game—your creecket. My brother and myself are scarcely +English. Nothing save diplomacy are we adepts in!” +</p> + +<p> +“You must be excessively dangerous, madam,” said Sir George, hat in +air. +</p> + +<p> +“Even in that, I fear, we are babes and sucklings, and might take many a +lesson from you. Will you instruct me in your creecket? What are they doing +now? It seems very unintelligible—indistinct—is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +Inasmuch as Farmer Broadmead and Master Nat Hodges were surrounded by a +clamorous mob, shouting both sides of the case, as if the loudest and +longest-winded were sure to wrest a favourable judgement from those two +infallible authorities on the laws of cricket, the noble game was certainly in +a state of indistinctness. +</p> + +<p> +The squire came forward to explain, piteously entreated not to expect too much +from a woman’s inapprehensive wits, which he plainly promised (under eyes +that had melted harder men) he would not. His forbearance and bucolic gallantry +were needed, for he had the Countess’s radiant full visage alone. Her +senses were dancing in her right ear, which had heard the name of Lady Racial +pronounced, and a voice respond to it from the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +Into what a pit had she suddenly plunged! You ask why she did not drive away as +fast as the horses would carry her, and fly the veiled head of Demogorgon +obscuring valley and hill and the shining firmament, and threatening to glare +destruction on her? You do not know an intriguer. She relinquishes the joys of +life for the joys of intrigue. This is her element. The Countess did feel that +the heavens were hard on her. She resolved none the less to fight her way to +her object; for where so much had conspired to favour her—the decease of +the generous Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay, and the invitation to Beckley +Court—could she believe the heavens in league against her? Did she not +nightly pray to them, in all humbleness of body, for the safe issue of her +cherished schemes? And in this, how unlike she was to the rest of mankind! She +thought so; she relied on her devout observances; they gave her sweet +confidence, and the sense of being specially shielded even when specially +menaced. Moreover, tell a woman to put back, when she is once clearly launched! +Timid as she may be, her light bark bounds to meet the tempest. I speak of +women who do launch: they are not numerous, but, to the wise, the minorities +are the representatives. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, it is an intricate game!” said the Countess, at the +conclusion of the squire’s explanation, and leaned over to Mrs. Shorne to +ask her if she thoroughly understood it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I suppose I do,” was the reply; “it—rather than +the amusement they find in it.” This lady had recovered Mr. Parsley from +Rose, but had only succeeded in making the curate unhappy, without satisfying +herself. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess gave her the shrug of secret sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“We must not say so,” she observed aloud—most artlessly, and +fixed the squire with a bewitching smile, under which her heart beat thickly. +As her eyes travelled from Mrs. Shorne to the squire, she had marked Lady +Racial looking singularly at Evan, who was mounting the horse of Bob the groom. +</p> + +<p> +“Fine young fellow, that,” said the squire to Lady Racial, as Evan +rode off with Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“An extremely handsome, well-bred young man,” she answered. Her +eyes met the Countess’s, and the Countess, after resting on their surface +with an ephemeral pause, murmured: “I must not praise my brother,” +and smiled a smile which was meant to mean: “I think with you, and thank +you, and love you for admiring him.” +</p> + +<p> +Had Lady Racial joined the smile and spoken with animation afterwards, the +Countess would have shuddered and had chills of dread. As it was, she was +passably content. Lady Racial slightly dimpled her cheek, for courtesy’s +sake, and then looked gravely on the ground. This was no promise; it was even +an indication (as the Countess read her), of something beyond suspicion in the +lady’s mind; but it was a sign of delicacy, and a sign that her feelings +had been touched, from which a truce might be reckoned on, and no betrayal +feared. +</p> + +<p> +She heard it said that the match was for honour and glory. A match of two +days’ duration under a broiling sun, all for honour and glory! Was it not +enough to make her despise the games of men? For something better she played. +Her game was for one hundred thousand pounds, the happiness of her brother, and +the concealment of a horror. To win a game like that was worth the trouble. +Whether she would have continued her efforts, had she known that the name of +Evan Harrington was then blazing on a shop-front in Lymport, I cannot tell. The +possessor of the name was in love, and did not reflect. +</p> + +<p> +Smiling adieu to the ladies, bowing to the gentlemen, and apprehending all the +homage they would pour out to her condescending beauty when she had left them, +the Countess’s graceful hand gave the signal for Beckley. +</p> + +<p> +She stopped the coachman ere the wheels had rolled off the muffling turf, to +enjoy one glimpse of Evan and Rose riding together, with the little maid on her +pony in the rear. How suitable they seemed! how happy! She had brought them +together after many difficulties—might it not be? It was surely a thing +to be hoped for! +</p> + +<p> +Rose, galloping freshly, was saying to Evan: “Why did you cut off your +moustache?” +</p> + +<p> +He, neck and neck with her, replied: “You complained of it in +Portugal.” +</p> + +<p> +And she: “Portugal’s old times now to me—and I always love +old times. I’m sorry! And, oh, Evan! did you really do it for me?” +</p> + +<p> +And really, just then, flying through the air, close to the darling of his +heart, he had not the courage to spoil that delicious question, but dallying +with the lie, he looked in her eyes lingeringly. +</p> + +<p> +This picture the Countess contemplated. Close to her carriage two young +gentlemen-cricketers were strolling, while Fallowfield gained breath to decide +which men to send in first to the wickets. +</p> + +<p> +One of these stood suddenly on tiptoe, and pointing to the pair on horseback, +cried, with the vivacity of astonishment: +</p> + +<p> +“Look there! do you see that? What the deuce is little Rosey doing with +the tailor-fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, though her cheeks were blanched, gazed calmly in +Demogorgon’s face, took a mental impression of the speaker, and again +signalled for Beckley. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION</h2> + +<p> +Now, to clear up a point or two: You may think the Comic Muse is straining +human nature rather toughly in making the Countess de Saldar rush open-eyed +into the jaws of Demogorgon, dreadful to her. She has seen her brother pointed +out unmistakeably as the tailor-fellow. There is yet time to cast him off or +fly with him. Is it her extraordinary heroism impelling her onward, or +infatuated rashness? or is it her mere animal love of conflict? +</p> + +<p> +The Countess de Saldar, like other adventurers, has her star. They who possess +nothing on earth, have a right to claim a portion of the heavens. In resolute +hands, much may be done with a star. As it has empires in its gift, so may it +have heiresses. The Countess’s star had not blinked balefully at her. +That was one reason why she went straight on to Beckley. +</p> + +<p> +Again: the Countess was a born general. With her star above, with certain +advantages secured, with battalions of lies disciplined and zealous, and with +one clear prize in view, besides other undeveloped benefits dimly shadowing +forth, the Countess threw herself headlong into the enemy’s country. +</p> + +<p> +But, that you may not think too highly of this lady, I must add that the +trivial reason was the exciting cause—as in many great enterprises. This +was nothing more than the simple desire to be located, if but for a day or two, +on the footing of her present rank, in the English country-house of an offshoot +of our aristocracy. She who had moved in the first society of a foreign +capital—who had married a Count, a minister of his sovereign, had enjoyed +delicious high-bred badinage with refulgent ambassadors, could boast the +friendship of duchesses, and had been the amiable receptacle of their +pardonable follies; she who, moreover, heartily despised things +English:—this lady experienced thrills of proud pleasure at the prospect +of being welcomed at a third-rate English mansion. But then, that mansion was +Beckley Court. We return to our first ambitions, as to our first loves not that +they are dearer to us,—quit that delusion: our ripened loves and mature +ambitions are probably closest to our hearts, as they deserve to be—but +we return to them because our youth has a hold on us which it asserts whenever +a disappointment knocks us down. Our old loves (with the bad natures I know in +them) are always lurking to avenge themselves on the new by tempting us to a +little retrograde infidelity. A schoolgirl in Fallowfield, the tailor’s +daughter, had sighed for the bliss of Beckley Court. Beckley Court was her +Elysium ere the ardent feminine brain conceived a loftier summit. Fallen from +that attained eminence, she sighed anew for Beckley Court. Nor was this mere +spiritual longing; it had its material side. At Beckley Court she could feel +her foreign rank. Moving with our nobility as an equal, she could feel that the +short dazzling glitter of her career was not illusory, and had left her +something solid; not coin of the realm exactly, but yet gold. She could not +feel this in the Cogglesby saloons, among pitiable +bourgeoises—middle-class people daily soiled by the touch of tradesmen. +They dragged her down. Their very homage was a mockery. +</p> + +<p> +Let the Countess have due credit for still allowing Evan to visit Beckley Court +to follow up his chance. If Demogorgon betrayed her there, the Count was her +protector: a woman rises to her husband. But a man is what he is, and must +stand upon that. She was positive Evan had committed himself in some manner. As +it did not suit her to think so, she at once encouraged an imaginary +conversation, in which she took the argument that it was quite impossible Evan +could have been so mad, and others instanced his youth, his wrongheaded +perversity, his ungenerous disregard for his devoted sister, and his known +weakness: she replying, that undoubtedly they were right so far: but that he +could not have said he himself was that horrible thing, because he was nothing +of the sort: which faith in Evan’s stedfast adherence to facts, +ultimately silenced the phantom opposition, and gained the day. +</p> + +<p> +With admiration let us behold the Countess de Saldar alighting on the gravel +sweep of Beckley Court, the footman and butler of the enemy bowing obsequious +welcome to the most potent visitor Beckley Court has ever yet embraced. +</p> + +<p> +The despatches of a general being usually acknowledged to be the safest sources +from which the historian of a campaign can draw, I proceed to set forth a +letter of the Countess de Saldar, forwarded to her sister, Harriet Cogglesby, +three mornings after her arrival at Beckley Court; and which, if it should +prove false in a few particulars, does nevertheless let us into the state of +the Countess’s mind, and gives the result of that general’s first +inspection of the field of action. The Countess’s epistolary English does +small credit to her Fallowfield education; but it is feminine, and flows more +than her ordinary speech. Besides, leaders of men have always notoriously been +above the honours of grammar. “MY DEAREST HARRIET, +</p> + +<p> +“Your note awaited me. No sooner my name announced, than servitors in +yellow livery, with powder and buckles started before me, and bowing one +presented it on a salver. A venerable butler—most impressive! led the +way. In future, my dear, let it be de Saldar de Sancorvo. That is our title by +rights, and it may as well be so in England. English Countess is certainly +best. Always put the de. But let us be systematic, as my poor Silva says. He +would be in the way here, and had better not come till I see something he can +do. Silva has great reliance upon me. The farther he is from Lymport, my +dear!—and imagine me, Harriet, driving through Fallowfield to Beckley +Court! I gave one peep at Dubbins’s, as I passed. The school still goes +on. I saw three little girls skipping, and the old swing-pole. SEMINARY FOR +YOUNG LADIES as bright as ever! I should have liked to have kissed the children +and given them bonbons and a holiday. +</p> + +<p> +“How sparing you English are of your crests and arms! I fully expected to +see the Jocelyns’ over my bed; but no—four posts totally without +ornament! Sleep, indeed, must be the result of dire fatigue in such a bed. The +Jocelyn crest is a hawk in jesses. The Elburne arms are, Or, three falcons on a +field, vert. How heraldry reminds me of poor Papa! the evenings we used to +spend with him, when he stayed at home, studying it so diligently under his +directions! We never shall again! Sir Franks Jocelyn is the third son of Lord +Elburne, made a Baronet for his patriotic support of the Ministry in a time of +great trouble. The people are sometimes grateful, my dear. Lord Elburne is the +fourteenth of his line—originally simple country squires. They talk of +the Roses, but we need not go so very far back as that. I do not quite +understand why a Lord’s son should condescend to a Baronetcy. Precedence +of some sort for his lady, I suppose. I have yet to learn whether she ranks by +his birth, or his present title. If so, a young Baronetcy cannot possibly be a +gain. One thing is certain. She cares very little about it. She is most +eccentric. But remember what I have told you. It will be serviceable when you +are speaking of the family. +</p> + +<p> +“The dinner-hour, six. It would no doubt be full seven in Town. I am +convinced you are half-an-hour too early. I had the post of honour to the right +of Sir Franks. Evan to the right of Lady Jocelyn. Most fortunately he was in +the best of spirits—quite brilliant. I saw the eyes of that sweet Rose +glisten. On the other side of me sat my pet diplomatist, and I gave him one or +two political secrets which astonished him. Of course, my dear, I was wheedled +out of them. His contempt for our weak intellects is ineffable. But a woman +must now and then ingratiate herself at the expense of her sex. This is +perfectly legitimate. Tory policy at the table. The Opposition, as Andrew says, +not represented. So to show that we were human beings, we differed among +ourselves, and it soon became clear to me that Lady Jocelyn is the rankest of +Radicals. My secret suspicion is, that she is a person of no birth whatever, +wherever her money came from. A fine woman—yes; still to be admired, I +suppose, by some kind of men; but totally wanting in the essentially feminine +attractions. +</p> + +<p> +“There was no party, so to say. I will describe the people present, +beginning with the insignifacants. +</p> + +<p> +“First, Mr. Parsley, the curate of Beckley. He eats everything at table, +and agrees with everything. A most excellent orthodox young clergyman. Except +that he was nearly choked by a fish-bone, and could not quite conceal his +distress—and really Rose should have repressed her desire to laugh till +the time for our retirement—he made no sensation. I saw her eyes +watering, and she is not clever in turning it off. In that nobody ever equalled +dear Papa. I attribute the attack almost entirely to the tightness of the white +neck-cloths the young clergymen of the Established Church wear. But, my dear, I +have lived too long away from them to wish for an instant the slightest change +in anything they think, say, or do. The mere sight of this young man was most +refreshing to my spirit. He may be the shepherd of a flock, this poor Mr. +Parsley, but he is a sheep to one young person. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Drummond Forth. A great favourite of Lady Jocelyn’s; an old +friend. He went with them to the East. Nothing improper. She is too cold for +that. He is fair, with regular features, very self-possessed, and +ready—your English notions of gentlemanly. But none of your men treat a +woman as a woman. We are either angels, or good fellows, or heaven knows what +that is bad. No exquisite delicacy, no insinuating softness, mixed with +respect, none of that hovering over the border, as Papa used to say, none of +that happy indefiniteness of manner which seems to declare ‘I would love +you if I might,’ or ‘I do, but I dare not tell,’ even when +engaged in the most trivial attentions—handing a footstool, remarking on +the soup, etc. You none of you know how to meet a woman’s smile, or to +engage her eyes without boldness—to slide off them, as it were, +gracefully. Evan alone can look between the eyelids of a woman. I have had to +correct him, for to me he quite exposes the state of his heart towards dearest +Rose. She listens to Mr. Forth with evident esteem. In Portugal we do not +understand young ladies having male friends. +</p> + +<p> +“Hamilton Jocelyn—all politics. The stiff Englishman. Not a shade +of manners. He invited me to drink wine. Before I had finished my bow his glass +was empty—the man was telling an anecdote of Lord Livelyston! You may be +sure, my dear, I did not say I had seen his lordship. +</p> + +<p> +“Seymour Jocelyn, Colonel of Hussars. He did nothing but sigh for the +cold weather, and hunting. All I envied him was his moustache for Evan. Will +you believe that the ridiculous boy has shaved! +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is Melville, my dear diplomatist; and here is another +instance of our Harrington luck. He has the gout in his right hand; he can only +just hold knife and fork, and is interdicted Port-wine and penmanship. The +dinner was not concluded before I had arranged that Evan should resume +(gratuitously, you know) his post of secretary to him. So here is Evan fixed at +Beckley Court as long as Melville stays. Talking of him, I am horrified +suddenly. They call him the great Mel! +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Franks is most estimable, I am sure, as a man, and redolent of +excellent qualities—a beautiful disposition, very handsome. He has just +as much and no more of the English polish one ordinarily meets. When he has +given me soup or fish, bowed to me over wine, and asked a conventional +question, he has done with me. I should imagine his opinions to be extremely +good, for they are not a multitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Then his lady—but I have not grappled with her yet. Now for the +women, for I quite class her with the opposite sex. +</p> + +<p> +“You must know that before I retired for the night, I induced Conning to +think she had a bad head-ache, and Rose lent me her +lady’s-maid—they call the creature Polly. A terrible talker. She +would tell all about the family. Rose has been speaking of Evan. It would have +looked better had she been quiet—but then she is so English!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Countess breaks off to say, that from where she is writing, she can +see Rose and Evan walking out to the cypress avenue, and that no eyes are on +them; great praise being given to the absence of suspicion in the Jocelyn +nature. +</p> + +<p> +The communication is resumed the night of the same day. +</p> + +<p> +“Two days at Beckley Court are over, and that strange sensation I had of +being an intruder escaped from Dubbins’s, and expecting every instant the +old schoolmistress to call for me, and expose me, and take me to the dark room, +is quite vanished, and I feel quite at home, quite happy. Evan is behaving +well. Quite the young nobleman. With the women I had no fear of him; he is +really admirable with the men—easy, and talks of sport and politics, and +makes the proper use of Portugal. He has quite won the heart of his sister. +Heaven smiles on us, dearest Harriet! +</p> + +<p> +“We must be favoured, my dear, for Evan is very +troublesome—distressingly inconsiderate! I left him for a +day—remaining to comfort poor Mama—and on the road he picked up an +object he had known at school, and this creature, in shameful garments, is seen +in the field where Rose and Evan are riding—in a dreadful hat—Rose +might well laugh at it!—he is seen running away from an old apple woman, +whose fruit he had consumed without means to liquidate; but, of course, he +rushes bolt up to Evan before all his grand company, and claims acquaintance, +and Evan was base enough to acknowledge him! He disengaged himself so far well +by tossing his purse to the wretch, but if he knows not how to <i>cut</i>, I +assure him it will be his ruin. Resolutely he must cast the dust off his shoes, +or he will be dragged down to their level. By the way, as to hands and feet, +comparing him with the Jocelyn men, he has every mark of better blood. Not a +question about it. As Papa would say—We have Nature’s proof. +</p> + +<p> +“Looking out on a beautiful lawn, and the moon, and all sorts of trees, I +must now tell you about the ladies here. +</p> + +<p> +“Conning undid me to-night. While Conning remains unattached, Conning is +likely to be serviceable. If Evan, would only give her a crumb, she would be +his most faithful dog. I fear he cannot be induced, and Conning will be snapped +up by somebody else. You know how susceptible she is behind her +primness—she will be of no use on earth, and I shall find excuse to send +her back immediately. After all, her appearance here was all that was wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Melville and her dreadful juvenile are here, as you may +imagine—the complete Englishwoman. I smile on her, but I could laugh. To +see the crow’s-feet under her eyes on her white skin, and those ringlets, +is really too ridiculous. Then there is a Miss Carrington, Lady Jocelyn’s +cousin, aged thirty-two—if she has not tampered with the register of her +birth. I should think her equal to it. Between dark and fair. Always in love +with some man, Conning tells me she hears. Rose’s maid, Polly, hinted the +same. She has a little money. +</p> + +<p> +“But my sympathies have been excited by a little cripple—a niece of +Lady Jocelyn’s and the favourite grand-daughter of the rich old Mrs. +Bonner—also here—Juliana Bonner. Her age must be twenty. You would +take her for ten. In spite of her immense expectations, the Jocelyns hate her. +They can hardly be civil to her. It is the poor child’s temper. She has +already begun to watch dear Evan—certainly the handsomest of the men here +as yet, though I grant you, they are well-grown men, these Jocelyns, for an +untravelled Englishwoman. I fear, dear Harriet, we have been dreadfully +deceived about Rose. The poor child has not, in her own right, much more than a +tenth part of what we supposed, I fear. It was that Mrs. Melville. I have had +occasion to notice her quiet boasts here. She said this morning, ‘when +Mel is in the Ministry’—he is not yet in Parliament! I feel quite +angry with the woman, and she is not so cordial as she might be. I have her +profile very frequently while I am conversing with her. +</p> + +<p> +“With Grandmama Bonner I am excellent good friends,—venerable +silver hair, high caps, etc. More of this most interesting Juliana Bonner +by-and-by. It is clear to me that Rose’s fortune is calculated upon the +dear invalid’s death! Is not that harrowing? It shocks me to think of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is Mrs. Shorne. She is a Jocelyn—and such a history! +She married a wealthy manufacturer—bartered her blood for his money, and +he failed, and here she resides, a bankrupt widow, petitioning any man that may +be willing for his love <i>and</i> a decent home. <i>And</i>—I say in +charity. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Shorne comes here to-morrow. She is at present with—guess, my +dear!—with Lady Racial. Do not be alarmed. I have met Lady Racial. She +heard Evan’s name, and by that and the likeness I saw she knew at once, +and I saw a truce in her eyes. She gave me a tacit assurance of it—she +was engaged to dine here yesterday, and put it off—probably to grant us +time for composure. If she comes I do not fear her. Besides, has she not +reasons? Providence may have designed her for a staunch ally—I will not +say, confederate. +</p> + +<p> +“Would that Providence had fixed this beautiful mansion five hundred +miles from L——, though it were in a desolate region! And that +reminds me of the Madre. She is in health. She always will be overbearingly +robust till the day we are bereft of her. There was some secret in the house +when I was there, which I did not trouble to penetrate. That little Jane +F—— was there—not improved. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, be firm about Torquay. Estates mortgaged, but hopes of saving a +remnant of the property. Third son! Don’t commit yourself there. We dare +not baronetize him. You need not speak it—imply. More can be done that +way. +</p> + +<p> +“And remember, dear Harriet, that you must manage Andrew so that we may +positively promise his vote to the Ministry on all questions when Parliament +next assembles. I understood from Lord Livelyston, that Andrew’s vote +would be thought much of. A most amusing nobleman! He pledged himself to +nothing! But we are above such a thing as a commercial transaction. He must +countenance Silva. Women, my dear, have sent out armies—why not fleets? +Do not spare me your utmost aid in my extremity, my dearest sister. +</p> + +<p> +“As for Strike, I refuse to speak of him. He is insufferable and next to +useless. How can one talk with any confidence of relationship with a Major of +Marines? When I reflect on what he is, and his conduct to Caroline, I have +inscrutable longings to slap his face. Tell dear Carry her husband’s +friend—the chairman or something of that wonderful company of +Strike’s—you know—the Duke of Belfield is coming here. He is +a blood-relation of the Elburnes, therefore of the Jocelyns. It will not matter +at all. Breweries, I find, are quite in esteem in your England. It was highly +commendable in his Grace to visit you. Did he come to see the Major of Marines? +Caroline is certainly the loveliest woman I ever beheld, and I forgive her now +the pangs of jealousy she used to make me feel. +</p> + +<p> +“Andrew, I hope, has received the most kind invitations of the Jocelyns. +He must come. Melville must talk with him about the votes of his abominable +brother in Fallowfield. We must elect Melville and have the family indebted to +us. But pray be careful that Andrew speaks not a word to his odious brother +about our location here. It would set him dead against these hospitable +Jocelyns. It will perhaps be as well, dear Harriet, if you do not accompany +Andrew. You would not be able to account for him quite thoroughly. Do as you +like—I do but advise, and you know I may be trusted—for our sakes, +dear one! I am working for Carry to come with Andrew. Beautiful women always +welcome. A prodigy!—if they wish to astonish the Duke. Adieu! Heaven +bless your babes!” +</p> + +<p> +The night passes, and the Countess pursues: +</p> + +<p> +“Awakened by your fresh note from a dream of Evan on horseback, and a +multitude hailing him Count Jocelyn for Fallowfield! A morning dream. They +might desire that he should change his name; but ‘Count’ is +preposterous, though it may conceal something. +</p> + +<p> +“You say Andrew will come, and talk of his bringing Caroline. Anything to +give our poor darling a respite from her brute. You deserve great credit for +your managing of that dear little good-natured piece of obstinate man. I will +at once see to prepare dear Caroline’s welcome, and trust her stay may be +prolonged in the interest of common humanity. They have her story here already. +</p> + +<p> +“Conning has come in, and says that young Mr. Harry Jocelyn will be here +this morning from Fallowfield, where he has been cricketing. The family have +not spoken of him in my hearing. He is not, I think, in good odour at +home—a scapegrace. Rose’s maid, Polly, quite flew out when I +happened to mention him, and broke one of my laces. These English maids are +domesticated savage animals. +</p> + +<p> +“My chocolate is sent up, exquisitely concocted, in plate of the purest +quality—lovely little silver cups! I have already quite set the fashion +for the ladies to have chocolate in bed. The men, I hear, complain that there +is no lady at the breakfast-table. They have Miss Carrington to superintend. I +read, in the subdued satisfaction of her eyes (completely without colour), how +much she thanks me and the institution of chocolate in bed. Poor Miss +Carrington is no match for her opportunities. One may give them to her without +dread. +</p> + +<p> +“It is ten on the Sabbath morn. The sweet churchbells are ringing. It +seems like a dream. There is nothing but the religion attaches me to England; +but that—is not that everything? How I used to sigh on Sundays to hear +them in Portugal! +</p> + +<p> +“I have an idea of instituting toilette-receptions. They will not please +Miss Carrington so well. +</p> + +<p> +“Now to the peaceful village church, and divine worship. Adieu, my dear. +I kiss my fingers to Silva. Make no effort to amuse him. He is always occupied. +Bread!—he asks no more. Adieu! Carry will be invited with your little +man.... You unhappily unable.... She, the sister I pine to see, to show her +worthy of my praises. Expectation and excitement! Adieu!” +</p> + +<p> +Filled with pleasing emotions at the thought of the service in the quiet +village church, and worshipping in the principal pew, under the blazonry of the +Jocelyn arms, the Countess sealed her letter and addressed it, and then +examined the name of Cogglesby; which plebeian name, it struck her, would not +sound well to the menials of Beckley Court. While she was deliberating what to +do to conceal it, she heard, through her open window, the voices of some young +men laughing. She beheld her brother pass these young men, and bow to them. She +beheld them stare at him without at all returning his salute, and then one of +them—the same who had filled her ears with venom at +Fallowfield—turned to the others and laughed outrageously, crying— +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! this comes it strong. Fancy the snipocracy +here—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +What the others said the Countess did not wait to hear. She put on her bonnet +hastily, tried the effect of a peculiar smile in the mirror, and lightly ran +down-stairs. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br /> +A CAPTURE</h2> + +<p> +The three youths were standing in the portico when the Countess appeared among +them. She singled out him who was specially obnoxious to her, and sweetly +inquired the direction to the village post. With the renowned gallantry of his +nation, he offered to accompany her, but presently, with a different exhibition +of the same, proposed that they should spare themselves the trouble by dropping +the letter she held prominently, in the bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” murmured the Countess, “I will go.” Upon +which his eager air subsided, and he fell into an awkward silent march at her +side, looking so like the victim he was to be, that the Countess could have +emulated his power of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are Mr. Harry Jocelyn, the very famous cricketer?” +</p> + +<p> +He answered, glancing back at his friends, that he was, but did not know about +the “famous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! but I saw you—I saw you hit the ball most beautifully, and +dearly wished my brother had an equal ability. Brought up in the Court of +Portugal, he is barely English. There they have no manly sports. You saw him +pass you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Him! Who?” asked Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother, on the lawn, this moment. Your sweet sister’s friend. +Your uncle Melville’s secretary.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s his name?” said Harry, in blunt perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess repeated his name, which in her pronunciation was +“Hawington,” adding, “That was my brother. I am his sister. +Have you heard of the Countess de Saldar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Countess!” muttered Harry. “Dash it! here’s a +mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +She continued, with elegant fan-like motion of her gloved fingers: “They +say there is a likeness between us. The dear Queen of Portugal often remarked +it, and in her it was a compliment to me, for she thought my brother a model! +You I should have known from your extreme resemblance to your lovely young +sister.” +</p> + +<p> +Coarse food, but then Harry was a youthful Englishman; and the Countess dieted +the vanity according to the nationality. With good wine to wash it down, one +can swallow anything. The Countess lent him her eyes for that purpose; eyes +that had a liquid glow under the dove—like drooping lids. It was a +principle of hers, pampering our poor sex with swinish solids or the lightest +ambrosia, never to let the accompanying cordial be other than of the finest +quality. She knew that clowns, even more than aristocrats, are flattered by the +inebriation of delicate celestial liquors. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” she said, after Harry had gulped as much of the dose as she +chose to administer direct from the founts, “you must accord me the +favour to tell me all about yourself, for I have heard much of you, Mr. Harry +Jocelyn, and you have excited my woman’s interest. Of me you know +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t I?” cried Harry, speaking to the pitch of his new +warmth. “My uncle Melville goes on about you tremendously—makes his +wife as jealous as fire. How could I tell that was your brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your uncle has deigned to allude to me?” said the Countess, +meditatively. “But not of him—of you, Mr. Harry! What does he +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Says you’re so clever you ought to be a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! generous!” exclaimed the Countess. “The idea, I think, +is novel to him. Is it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I believe, from what I hear, he didn’t back you for much +over in Lisbon,” said veracious Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear he is deceived in me now. I fear I am but a woman—I am not +to be ‘backed.’ But you are not talking of yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! never mind me,” was Harry’s modest answer. +</p> + +<p> +“But I do. Try to imagine me as clever as a man, and talk to me of your +doings. Indeed I will endeavour to comprehend you.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus humble, the Countess bade him give her his arm. He stuck it out with +abrupt eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Not against my cheek.” She laughed forgivingly. “And you +need not start back half-a-mile,” she pursued with plain humour: +“and please do not look irresolute and awkward—It is not +necessary,” she added. “There!”; and she settled her fingers +on him, “I am glad I can find one or two things to instruct you in. +Begin. You are a great cricketer. What else?” +</p> + +<p> +Ay! what else? Harry might well say he had no wish to talk of himself. He did +not know even how to give his arm to a lady! The first flattery and the +subsequent chiding clashed in his elated soul, and caused him to deem himself +one of the blest suddenly overhauled by an inspecting angel and found wanting: +or, in his own more accurate style of reflection, “What a rattling fine +woman this is, and what a deuce of a fool she must think me!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess leaned on his arm with dainty languor. +</p> + +<p> +“You walk well,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Harry’s backbone straightened immediately. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; I do not want you to be a drill-sergeant. Can you not be told +you are perfect without seeking to improve, vain boy? You can cricket, and you +can walk, and will very soon learn how to give your arm to a lady. I have hopes +of you. Of your friends, from whom I have ruthlessly dragged you, I have not +much. Am I personally offensive to them, Mr. Harry? I saw them let my brother +pass without returning his bow, and they in no way acknowledged my presence as +I passed. Are they gentlemen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Harry, stupefied by the question. “One’s +Ferdinand Laxley, Lord Laxley’s son, heir to the title; the other’s +William Harvey, son of the Chief Justice—both friends of mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not of your manners,” interposed the Countess. “I have +not so much compunction as I ought to have in divorcing you from your +associates for a few minutes. I think I shall make a scholar of you in one or +two essentials. You do want polish. Have I not a right to take you in hand? I +have defended you already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” cried Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“None other than Mr. Harry Jocelyn. Will he vouchsafe to me his pardon? +It has been whispered in my ears that his ambition is to be the Don Juan of a +country district, and I have said for him, that however grovelling his +undirected tastes, he is too truly noble to plume himself upon the reputation +they have procured him. Why did I defend you? Women, you know, do not shrink +from Don Juans—even provincial Don Juans—as they should, perhaps, +for their own sakes! You are all of you dangerous, if a woman is not strictly +on her guard. But you will respect your champion, will you not?” +</p> + +<p> +Harry was about to reply with wonderful briskness. He stopped, and murmured +boorishly that he was sure he was very much obliged. +</p> + +<p> +Command of countenance the Countess possessed in common with her sex. Those +faces on which we make them depend entirely, women can entirely control. Keenly +sensible to humour as the Countess was, her face sidled up to his immovably +sweet. Harry looked, and looked away, and looked again. The poor fellow was so +profoundly aware of his foolishness that he even doubted whether he was +admired. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess trifled with his English nature; quietly watched him bob between +tugging humility and airy conceit, and went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! I will trust you, and that is saying very much, for what protection +is a brother? I am alone here—defenceless!” +</p> + +<p> +Men, of course, grow virtuously zealous in an instant on behalf of the lovely +dame who tells them bewitchingly, she is alone and defenceless, with pitiful +dimples round the dewy mouth that entreats their guardianship and mercy! +</p> + +<p> +The provincial Don Juan found words—a sign of clearer sensations within. +He said: +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my honour, I’d look after you better than fifty +brothers!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess eyed him softly, and then allowed herself the luxury of a laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! it is not the sheep, it is the wolf I fear.” +</p> + +<p> +And she went through a bit of the concluding portion of the drama of Little Red +Riding Hood very prettily, and tickled him so that he became somewhat less +afraid of her. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you truly so bad as report would have you to be, Mr. Harry?” +she asked, not at all in the voice of a censor. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray don’t think me—a—anything you wouldn’t have +me,” the youth stumbled into an apt response. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” said the Countess, and varied her admiration for +the noble creature beside her with gentle ejaculations on the beauty of the +deer that ranged the park of Beckley Court, the grand old oaks and beeches, the +clumps of flowering laurel, and the rich air swarming Summer. +</p> + +<p> +She swept out her arm. “And this most magnificent estate will be yours? +How happy will she be who is led hither to reside by you, Mr. Harry!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine? No; there’s the bother,” he answered, with unfeigned +chagrin. “Beckley isn’t Elburne property, you know. It belongs to +old Mrs. Bonner, Rose’s grandmama.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” interjected the Countess, indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never get it—no chance,” Harry pursued. “Lost +my luck with the old lady long ago.” He waxed excited on a subject that +drew him from his shamefacedness. “It goes to Juley Bonner, or to Rosey; +it’s a toss-up which. If I’d stuck up to Juley, I might have had a +pretty fair chance. They wanted me to, that’s why I scout the premises. +But fancy Juley Bonner!” +</p> + +<p> +“You couldn’t, upon your honour!” rhymed the Countess. (And +Harry let loose a delighted “Ha! ha!” as at a fine stroke of wit.) +“Are we enamoured of a beautiful maiden, Senor Harry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” he assured her eagerly. “I don’t know any +girl. I don’t care for ’em. I don’t, really.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess impressively declared to him that he must be guided by her; and +that she might the better act his monitress, she desired to hear the pedigree +of the estate, and the exact relations in which it at present stood toward the +Elburne family. +</p> + +<p> +Glad of any theme he could speak on, Harry informed her that Beckley Court was +bought by his grandfather Bonner from the proceeds of a successful oil +speculation. +</p> + +<p> +“So we ain’t much on that side,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oil!” was the Countess’s weary exclamation. “I +imagined Beckley Court to be your ancestral mansion. Oil!” +</p> + +<p> +Harry deprecatingly remarked that oil was money. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied; “but you are not one to mix oil with your +Elburne blood. Let me see—oil! That, I conceive, is grocery. So, you are +grocers on one side!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come! hang it!” cried Harry, turning red. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I leaning on the grocer’s side, or on the lord’s?” +</p> + +<p> +Harry felt dreadfully taken down. “One ranks with one’s +father,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” observed the Countess; “but you should ever be careful +not to expose the grocer. When I beheld my brother bow to you, and that your +only return was to stare at him in that singular way, I was not aware of this, +and could not account for it.” +</p> + +<p> +I declare I’m very sorry,” said Harry, with a nettled air. +“Do just let me tell you how it happened. We were at an inn, where there +was an odd old fellow gave a supper; and there was your brother, and another +fellow—as thorough an upstart as I ever met, and infernally impudent. He +got drinking, and wanted to fight us. Now I see it! Your brother, to save his +friend’s bones, said he was a tailor! Of course no gentleman could fight +a tailor; and it blew over with my saying we’d order our clothes of +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Said he was a—!” exclaimed the Countess, gazing blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder at your feeling annoyed,” returned Harry. +“I saw him with Rosey next day, and began to smell a rat then, but Laxley +won’t give up the tailor. He’s as proud as Lucifer. He wanted to +order a suit of your brother to-day; but I said—not while he’s in +the house, however he came here.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had partially recovered. They were now in the village street, and +Harry pointed out the post-office. +</p> + +<p> +“Your divination with regard to my brother’s most eccentric +behaviour was doubtless correct,” she said. “He wished to succour +his wretched companion. Anywhere—it matters not to him what!—he +allies himself with miserable mortals. He is the modern Samaritan. You should +thank him for saving you an encounter with some low creature.” +</p> + +<p> +Swaying the letter to and fro, she pursued archly: “I can read your +thoughts. You are dying to know to whom this dear letter is addressed!” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Harry, whose eyes had previously been quite empty of expression, +glanced at the letter wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +Shall I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s to somebody I love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in love then?” was his disconcerted rejoinder. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I not married?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but every woman that’s married isn’t in love with her +husband, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Don Juan of the provinces!” she cried, holding the seal of the +letter before him in playful reproof. “Fie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come! who is it?” Harry burst out. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not, surely, obliged to confess my correspondence to you? +Remember!” she laughed lightly. “He already assumes the airs of a +lord and master! You are rapid, Mr. Harry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you really tell me?” he pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +She put a corner of the letter in the box. “Must I?” +</p> + +<p> +All was done with the archest elegance: the bewildering condescension of a +Goddess to a boor. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t say you must, you know: but I should like to see +it,” returned Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” She showed him a glimpse of “Mrs.,” cleverly +concealing plebeian “Cogglesby,” and the letter slid into darkness. +“Are you satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Harry, wondering why he felt a relief at the sight of +“Mrs.” written on a letter by a lady he had only known half an +hour. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said she, “I shall demand a boon of you, Mr. +Harry. Will it be accorded?” +</p> + +<p> +She was hurriedly told that she might count upon him for whatever she chose to +ask; and after much trifling and many exaggerations of the boon in question, he +heard that she had selected him as her cavalier for the day, and that he was to +consent to accompany her to the village church. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so great a request, the desire that you should sit beside a +solitary lady for so short a space?” she asked, noting his rueful visage. +</p> + +<p> +Harry assured her he would be very happy, but hinted at the bother of having to +sit and listen to that fool of a Parsley: again assuring her, and with real +earnestness, which the lady now affected to doubt, that he would be extremely +happy. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, I haven’t been there for ages,” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear it!” she sighed, aware of the credit his escort would bring +her in Beckley, and especially with Harry’s grandmama Bonner. +</p> + +<p> +They went together to the village church. The Countess took care to be late, so +that all eyes beheld her stately march up the aisle, with her captive beside +her. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was her captive less happy than he professed he would be. Charming comic +side-play, at the expense of Mr. Parsley, she mingled with exceeding +devoutness, and a serious attention to Mr. Parsley’s discourse. In her +heart this lady really thought her confessed daily sins forgiven her by the +recovery of the lost sheep to Mr. Parsley’s fold. The results of this +small passage of arms were, that Evan’s disclosure at Fallowfield was +annulled in the mind of Harry Jocelyn, and the latter gentleman became the +happy slave of the Countess de Saldar. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN</h2> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn belonged properly to that order which the Sultans and the +Roxalanas of earth combine to exclude from their little games, under the +designation of blues, or strong-minded women: a kind, if genuine, the least +dangerous and staunchest of the sex, as poor fellows learn when the flippant +and the frail fair have made mummies of them. She had the frankness of her +daughter, the same direct eyes and firm step: a face without shadows, though no +longer bright with youth. It may be charged to her as one of the errors of her +strong mind, that she believed friendship practicable between men and women, +young or old. She knew the world pretty well, and was not amazed by +extraordinary accidents; but as she herself continued to be an example of her +faith: we must presume it natural that her delusion should cling to her. She +welcomed Evan as her daughter’s friend, walked half-way across the room +to meet him on his introduction to her, and with the simple words, “I +have heard of you,” let him see that he stood upon his merits in her +house. The young man’s spirit caught something of hers even in their +first interview, and at once mounted to that level. Unconsciously he felt that +she took, and would take him, for what he was, and he rose to his worth in the +society she presided over. A youth like Evan could not perceive, that in loving +this lady’s daughter, and accepting the place she offered him, he was +guilty of a breach of confidence; or reflect, that her entire absence of +suspicion imposed upon him a corresponding honesty toward her. He fell into a +blindness. Without dreaming for a moment that she designed to encourage his +passion for Rose, he yet beheld himself in the light she had cast on him; and, +received as her daughter’s friend, it seemed to him not so utterly +monstrous that he might be her daughter’s lover. A haughty, a grand, or a +too familiar manner, would have kept his eyes clearer on his true condition. +Lady Jocelyn spoke to his secret nature, and eclipsed in his mind the outward +aspects with which it was warring. To her he was a gallant young man, a fit +companion for Rose, and when she and Sir Franks said, and showed him, that they +were glad to know him, his heart swam in a flood of happiness they little +suspected. +</p> + +<p> +This was another of the many forms of intoxication to which circumstances +subjected the poor lover. In Fallowfield, among impertinent young men, +Evan’s pride proclaimed him a tailor. At Beckley Court, acted on by one +genuine soul, he forgot it, and felt elate in his manhood. The shades of +Tailordom dispersed like fog before the full South-west breeze. When I say he +forgot it, the fact was present enough to him, but it became an outward fact: +he had ceased to feel it within him. It was not a portion of his being, hard as +Mrs. Mel had struck to fix it. Consequently, though he was in a far worse +plight than when he parted with Rose on board the Jocasta, he felt much less of +an impostor now. This may have been partly because he had endured his struggle +with the Demogorgon the Countess painted to him in such frightful colours, and +found him human after all; but it was mainly owing to the hearty welcome Lady +Jocelyn had extended to him as the friend of Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Loving Rose, he nevertheless allowed his love no tender liberties. The eyes of +a lover are not his own; but his hands and lips are, till such time as they are +claimed. The sun must smile on us with peculiar warmth to woo us forth +utterly—pluck our hearts out. Rose smiled on many. She smiled on Drummond +Forth, Ferdinand Laxley, William Harvey, and her brother Harry; and she had the +same eyes for all ages. Once, previous to the arrival of the latter three, +there was a change in her look, or Evan fancied it. They were going to ride out +together, and Evan, coming to his horse on the gravel walk, saw her talking +with Drummond Forth. He mounted, awaiting her, and either from a slight twinge +of jealousy, or to mark her dainty tread with her riding-habit drawn above her +heels, he could not help turning his head occasionally. She listened to +Drummond with attention, but presently broke from him, crying: +“It’s an absurdity. Speak to them yourself—I shall +not.” +</p> + +<p> +On the ride that day, she began prattling of this and that with the careless +glee that became her well, and then sank into a reverie. Between-whiles her +eyes had raised tumults in Evan’s breast by dropping on him in a sort of +questioning way, as if she wished him to speak, or wished to fathom something +she would rather have unspoken. Ere they had finished their ride, she tossed +off what burden may have been on her mind as lightly as a stray lock from her +shoulders. He thought that the singular look recurred. It charmed him too much +for him to speculate on it. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess’s opportune ally, the gout, which had reduced the Hon. +Melville Jocelyn’s right hand to a state of uselessness, served her with +her brother equally: for, having volunteered his services to the invalided +diplomatist, it excused his stay at Beckley Court to himself, and was a mask to +his intimacy with Rose, besides earning him the thanks of the family. Harry +Jocelyn, released from the wing of the Countess, came straight to him, and in a +rough kind of way begged Evan to overlook his rudeness. +</p> + +<p> +“You took us all in at Fallowfield, except Drummond,” he said. +“Drummond would have it you were joking. I see it now. And you’re a +confoundedly clever fellow into the bargain, or you wouldn’t be +quill-driving for Uncle Mel. Don’t be uppish about it—will +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have nothing to fear on that point,” said Evan. With which +promise the peace was signed between them. Drummond and William Harvey were +cordial, and just laughed over the incident. Laxley, however, held aloof. His +retention of ideas once formed befitted his rank and station. Some trifling +qualms attended Evan’s labours with the diplomatist; but these were +merely occasioned by the iteration of a particular phrase. Mr. Goren, an +enthusiastic tailor, had now and then thrown out to Evan stirring hints of an +invention he claimed: the discovery of a Balance in Breeches: apparently the +philosopher’s stone of the tailor craft, a secret that should ensure +harmony of outline to the person and an indubitable accommodation to the most +difficult legs. +</p> + +<p> +Since Adam’s expulsion, it seemed, the tailors of this wilderness had +been in search of it. But like the doctors of this wilderness, their science +knew no specific: like the Babylonian workmen smitten with confusion of +tongues, they had but one word in common, and that word was “cut.” +Mr. Goren contended that to cut was not the key of the science: but to find a +Balance was. An artistic admirer of the frame of man, Mr. Goren was not wanting +in veneration for the individual who had arisen to do it justice. He spoke of +his Balance with supreme self-appreciation. Nor less so the Honourable +Melville, who professed to have discovered the Balance of Power, at home and +abroad. It was a capital Balance, but inferior to Mr. Goren’s. The latter +gentleman guaranteed a Balance with motion: whereas one step not only upset the +Honourable Melville’s, but shattered the limbs of Europe. Let us admit, +that it is easier to fit a man’s legs than to compress expansive empires. +</p> + +<p> +Evan enjoyed the doctoring of kingdoms quite as well as the diplomatist. It +suited the latent grandeur of soul inherited by him from the great Mel. He +liked to prop Austria and arrest the Czar, and keep a watchful eye on France; +but the Honourable Melville’s deep-mouthed phrase conjured up to him a +pair of colossal legs imperiously demanding their Balance likewise. At first +the image scared him. In time he was enabled to smile it into phantom +vagueness. The diplomatist diplomatically informed him, it might happen that +the labours he had undertaken might be neither more nor less than education for +a profession he might have to follow. Out of this, an ardent imagination, with +the Countess de Saldar for an interpreter, might construe a promise of some +sort. Evan soon had high hopes. What though his name blazed on a shop-front? +The sun might yet illumine him to honour! +</p> + +<p> +Where a young man is getting into delicate relations with a young woman, the +more of his sex the better—they serve as a blind; and the Countess hailed +fresh arrivals warmly. There was Sir John Loring, Dorothy’s father, who +had married the eldest of the daughters of Lord Elburne. A widower, handsome, +and a flirt, he capitulated to the Countess instantly, and was played off +against the provincial Don Juan, who had reached that point with her when +youths of his description make bashful confidences of their successes, and +receive delicious chidings for their naughtiness—rebukes which give +immeasurable rebounds. Then came Mr. Gordon Graine, with his daughter, Miss +Jenny Graine, an early friend of Rose’s, and numerous others. For the +present, Miss Isabella Current need only be chronicled among the +visitors—a sprightly maid fifty years old, without a wrinkle to show for +it—the Aunt Bel of fifty houses where there were young women and little +boys. Aunt Bel had quick wit and capital anecdotes, and tripped them out aptly +on a sparkling tongue with exquisite instinct for climax and when to strike for +a laugh. No sooner had she entered the hall than she announced the proximate +arrival of the Duke of Belfield at her heels, and it was known that his Grace +was as sure to follow as her little dog, who was far better paid for his +devotion. +</p> + +<p> +The dinners at Beckley Court had hitherto been rather languid to those who were +not intriguing or mixing young love with the repast. Miss Current was an +admirable neutral, sent, as the Countess fervently believed, by Providence. +Till now the Countess had drawn upon her own resources to amuse the company, +and she had been obliged to restrain herself from doing it with that unctuous +feeling for rank which warmed her Portuguese sketches in low society and among +her sisters. She retired before Miss Current and formed audience, glad of a +relief to her inventive labour. While Miss Current and her ephemerals lightly +skimmed the surface of human life, the Countess worked in the depths. Vanities, +passions, prejudices beneath the surface, gave her full employment. How +naturally poor Juliana Bonner was moved to mistake Evan’s compassion for +a stronger sentiment! The Countess eagerly assisted Providence to shuffle the +company into their proper places. Harry Jocelyn was moodily happy, but good; +greatly improved in the eyes of his grandmama Bonner, who attributed the change +to the Countess, and partly forgave her the sinful consent to the conditions of +her love-match with the foreign Count, which his penitent wife had privately +confessed to that strict Churchwoman. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven that you have no children,” Mrs. Bonner had said; and +the Countess humbly replied: +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed my remorseful consolation!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows that it is not your punishment?” added Mrs. Bonner; the +Countess weeping. +</p> + +<p> +She went and attended morning prayers in Mrs. Bonner’s apartments, alone +with the old lady. “To make up for lost time in Catholic Portugal!” +she explained it to the household. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning after Miss Current had come to shape the party, most of the +inmates of Beckley Court being at breakfast, Rose gave a lead to the +conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Bel! I want to ask you something. We’ve been making bets +about you. Now, answer honestly, we’re all friends. Why did you refuse +all your offers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite simple, child,” replied the unabashed ex-beauty. “A +matter of taste. I liked twenty shillings better than a sovereign.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked puzzled, but the men laughed, and Rose exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Now I see! How stupid I am! You mean, you may have friends when you are +not married. Well, I think that’s the wisest, after all. You don’t +lose them, do you? Pray, Mr. Evan, are you thinking Aunt Bel might still alter +her mind for somebody, if she knew his value?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was presuming to hope there might be a place vacant among the +twenty,” said Evan, slightly bowing to both. “Am I pardoned?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like you!” returned Aunt Bel, nodding at him. “Where do +you come from? A young man who’ll let himself go for small coin’s a +jewel worth knowing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do I come from?” drawled Laxley, who had been tapping an egg +with a dreary expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Bel spoke to Mr. Harrington,” said Rose, pettishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Asked him where he came from,” Laxley continued his drawl. +“He didn’t answer, so I thought it polite for another of the twenty +to strike in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must thank you expressly,” said Evan, and achieved a cordial +bow. +</p> + +<p> +Rose gave Evan one of her bright looks, and then called the attention of +Ferdinand Laxley to the fact that he had lost a particular bet made among them. +</p> + +<p> +“What bet?” asked Laxley. “About the profession?” +</p> + +<p> +A stream of colour shot over Rose’s face. Her eyes flew nervously from +Laxley to Evan, and then to Drummond. Laxley appeared pleased as a man who has +made a witty sally: Evan was outwardly calm, while Drummond replied to the mute +appeal of Rose, by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; we’ve all lost. But who could hit it? The lady admits no +sovereign in our sex.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve been betting about me?” said Aunt Bel. +“I’ll settle the dispute. Let him who guessed ‘Latin’ +pocket the stakes, and, if I guess him, let him hand them over to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” cried Rose. “One did guess ‘Latin,’ +Aunt Bel! Now, tell us which one it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not you, my dear. You guessed ‘temper.’” +</p> + +<p> +“No! you dreadful Aunt Bel!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” said Aunt Bel, seriously. “A young man would +not marry a woman with Latin, but would not guess it the impediment. Gentlemen +moderately aged are mad enough to slip their heads under any yoke, but see the +obstruction. It was a man of forty guessed ‘Latin.’ I request the +Hon. Hamilton Everard Jocelyn to confirm it.” +</p> + +<p> +Amid laughter and exclamations Hamilton confessed himself the man who had +guessed Latin to be the cause of Miss Current’s remaining an old maid; +Rose, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“You really are too clever, Aunt Bel!” +</p> + +<p> +A divergence to other themes ensued, and then Miss Jenny Graine said: +“Isn’t Juley learning Latin? I should like to join her while +I’m here.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so should I,” responded Rose. “My friend Evan is +teaching her during the intervals of his arduous diplomatic labours. Will you +take us into your class, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly, girls,” interposed Aunt Bel. “Do you +want to graduate for my state with your eyes open?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan objected his poor qualifications as a tutor, and Aunt Bel remarked, that +if Juley learnt Latin at all, she should have regular instruction. +</p> + +<p> +“I am quite satisfied,” said Juley, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you are,” Rose snubbed her cousin. “So would +anybody be. But Mama really was talking of a tutor for Juley, if she could find +one. There’s a school at Bodley; but that’s too far for one of the +men to come over.” +</p> + +<p> +A school at Bodley! thought Evan, and his probationary years at the Cudford +Establishment rose before him; and therewith, for the first time since his +residence at Beckley, the figure of John Raikes. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a friend of mine,” he said, aloud, “I think if +Lady Jocelyn does wish Miss Bonner to learn Latin thoroughly, he would do very +well for the groundwork and would be glad of the employment. He is very +poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he’s poor, and a friend of yours, Evan, we’ll have +him,” said Rose: “we’ll ride and fetch him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” added Miss Carrington, “that must be quite sufficient +qualification.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana was not gazing gratefully at Evan for his proposal. +</p> + +<p> +Rose asked the name of Evan’s friend. “His name is Raikes,” +answered Evan. “I don’t know where he is now. He may be at +Fallowfield. If Lady Jocelyn pleases, I will ride over to-day and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Evan!” cried Rose, “you don’t mean that absurd +figure we saw on the cricket-field?” She burst out laughing. “Oh! +what fun it will be! Let us have him here by all means.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not bring him to be laughed at,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“I will remember he is your friend,” Rose returned demurely; and +again laughed, as she related to Jenny Graine the comic appearance Mr. Raikes +had presented. +</p> + +<p> +Laxley waited for a pause, and then said: “I have met this Mr. Raikes. As +a friend of the family, I should protest against his admission here in any +office whatever into the upper part of the house, at least. He is not a +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +We don’t want teachers to be gentlemen,” observed Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“This fellow is the reverse,” Laxley pronounced, and desired Harry +to confirm it; but Harry took a gulp of coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“Oblige me by recollecting that I have called him a friend of +mine,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Rose murmured to him: “Pray forgive me! I forgot.” Laxley hummed +something about “taste.” Aunt Bel led from the theme by a lively +anecdote. +</p> + +<p> +After breakfast the party broke into knots, and canvassed Laxley’s +behaviour to Evan, which was generally condemned. Rose met the young men +strolling on the lawn; and, with her usual bluntness, accused Laxley of wishing +to insult her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I speak to him—do I not?” said Laxley. “What would you +have more? I admit the obligation of speaking to him when I meet him in your +house. Out of it—that’s another matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is the cause for your conduct to him, Ferdinand?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” cried Harry, “I wonder he puts up with it: I +wouldn’t. I’d have a shot with you, my boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely honoured,” said Laxley. “But neither you nor I +care to fight tailors.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tailors!” exclaimed Rose. There was a sharp twitch in her body, as +if she had been stung or struck. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Rose,” said Laxley; “I meet him, he insults me, +and to get out of the consequences tells me he’s the son of a tailor, and +a tailor himself; knowing that it ties my hands. Very well, he puts himself +hors de combat to save his bones. Let him unsay it, and choose whether +he’ll apologize or not, and I’ll treat him accordingly. At present +I’m not bound to do more than respect the house I find he has somehow got +admission to.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s clear it was that other fellow,” said Harry, casting a +side-glance up at the Countess’s window. +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked straight at Laxley, and abruptly turned on her heel. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon, Lady Jocelyn sent a message to Evan that she wished to see +him. Rose was with her mother. Lady Jocelyn had only to say, that if he thought +his friend a suitable tutor for Miss Bonner, they would be happy to give him +the office at Beckley Court. Glad to befriend poor Jack, Evan gave the needful +assurances, and was requested to go and fetch him forthwith. When he left the +room, Rose marched out silently beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you ride over with me, Rose?” he said, though scarcely +anxious that she should see Mr. Raikes immediately. +</p> + +<p> +The singular sharpness of her refusal astonished him none the less. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, no; I would rather not.” +</p> + +<p> +A lover is ever ready to suspect that water has been thrown on the fire that +burns for him in the bosom of his darling. Sudden as the change was, it was +very decided. His sensitive ears were pained by the absence of his Christian +name, which her lips had lavishly made sweet to him. He stopped in his walk. +</p> + +<p> +“You spoke of riding to Fallowfield. Is it possible you don’t want +me to bring my friend here? There’s time to prevent it.” +</p> + +<p> +Judged by the Countess de Saldar, the behaviour of this well-born English maid +was anything but well-bred. She absolutely shrugged her shoulders and marched +a-head of him into the conservatory, where she began smelling at flowers and +plucking off sere leaves. +</p> + +<p> +In such cases a young man always follows; as her womanly instinct must have +told her, for she expressed no surprise when she heard his voice two minutes +after. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose! what have I done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing at all,” she said, sweeping her eyes over his a moment, +and resting them on the plants. +</p> + +<p> +“I must have uttered something that has displeased you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Brief negatives are not re-assuring to a lover’s uneasy mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg you—Be frank with me, Rose!” +</p> + +<p> +A flame of the vanished fire shone in her face, but subsided, and she shook her +head darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any objection to my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Her fingers grew petulant with an orange leaf. Eyeing a spot on it, she said, +hesitatingly: +</p> + +<p> +“Any friend of yours I am sure I should like to help. But—but I +wish you wouldn’t associate with that—that kind of friend. It gives +people all sorts of suspicions.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan drew a sharp breath. +</p> + +<p> +The voices of Master Alec and Miss Dorothy were heard shouting on the lawn. +Alec gave Dorothy the slip and approached the conservatory on tip-toe, holding +his hand out behind him to enjoin silence and secrecy. The pair could witness +the scene through the glass before Evan spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“What suspicions?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked up, as if the harshness of his tone pleased her. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like red roses best, or white?” was her answer, moving to a +couple of trees in pots. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t make up your mind?” she continued, and plucked both a +white and red rose, saying: “There! choose your colour by-and-by,” +and ask Juley to sew the one you choose in your button-hole.” +</p> + +<p> +She laid the roses in his hand, and walked away. She must have known that there +was a burden of speech on his tongue. She saw him move to follow her, but this +time she did not linger, and it may be inferred that she wished to hear no +more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR</h2> + +<p> +The only philosophic method of discovering what a young woman means, and what +is in her mind, is that zigzag process of inquiry conducted by following her +actions, for she can tell you nothing, and if she does not want to know a +particular matter, it must be a strong beam from the central system of facts +that shall penetrate her. Clearly there was a disturbance in the bosom of Rose +Jocelyn, and one might fancy that amiable mirror as being wilfully ruffled to +confuse a thing it was asked by the heavens to reflect: a good fight fought by +all young people at a certain period, and now and then by an old fool or two. +The young it seasons and strengthens; the old it happily kills off; and thus, +what is, is made to work harmoniously with what we would have be. +</p> + +<p> +After quitting Evan, Rose hied to her friend Jenny Graine, and in the midst of +sweet millinery talk, darted the odd question, whether baronets or knights ever +were tradesmen: to which Scottish Jenny, entirely putting aside the shades of +beatified aldermen and the illustrious list of mayors that have welcomed +royalty, replied that it was a thing quite impossible. Rose then wished to know +if tailors were thought worse of than other tradesmen. Jenny, premising that +she was no authority, stated she imagined she had heard that they were. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Rose, no doubt because she was desirous of seeing +justice dealt to that class. But Jenny’s bosom was a smooth reflector of +facts alone. +</p> + +<p> +Rose pondered, and said with compressed eagerness, “Jenny, do you think +you could ever bring yourself to consent to care at all for anybody ever talked +of as belonging to them? Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Jenny had come to Beckley Court to meet William Harvey: she was therefore +sufficiently soft to think she could care for him whatever his origin were, and +composed in the knowledge that no natal stigma was upon him to try the strength +of her affection. Designing to generalize, as women do (and seem tempted to do +most when they are secretly speaking from their own emotions), she said, shyly +moving her shoulders, with a forefinger laying down the principle: +</p> + +<p> +“You know, my dear, if one esteemed such a person very very much, and +were quite sure, without any doubt, that he liked you in return—that is, +completely liked you, and was quite devoted, and made no concealment—I +mean, if he was very superior, and like other men—you know what I +mean—and had none of the cringing ways some of them have—I mean; +supposing him gay and handsome, taking—” +</p> + +<p> +“Just like William,” Rose cut her short; and we may guess her to +have had some one in her head for her to conceive that Jenny must be speaking +of any one in particular. +</p> + +<p> +A young lady who can have male friends, as well as friends of her own sex, is +not usually pressing and secret in her confidences, possibly because such a +young lady is not always nursing baby-passions, and does not require her +sex’s coddling and posseting to keep them alive. With Rose love will be +full grown when it is once avowed, and will know where to go to be nourished. +</p> + +<p> +“Merely an idea I had,” she said to Jenny, who betrayed her mental +pre-occupation by putting the question for the questions last. +</p> + +<p> +Her Uncle Melville next received a visit from the restless young woman. To him +she spoke not a word of the inferior classes, but as a special favourite of the +diplomatist’s, begged a gift of him for her proximate birthday. Pushed to +explain what it was, she said, “It’s something I want you to do for +a friend of mine, Uncle Mel.” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist instanced a few of the modest requests little maids prefer to +people they presume to have power to grant. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s nothing nonsensical,” said Rose; “I want you +to get my friend Evan an appointment. You can if you like, you know, Uncle Mel, +and it’s a shame to make him lose his time when he’s young and does +his work so well—that you can’t deny! Now, please, be positive, +Uncle Mel. You know I hate—I have no faith in your ‘nous +verrons’. Say you will, and at once.” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist pretended to have his weather-eye awakened. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem very anxious about feathering the young fellow’s nest, +Rosey?” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” cried Rose, with the maiden’s mature experience of +us, “isn’t that just like men? They never can believe you can be +entirely disinterested!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hulloa!” the diplomatist sung out, “I didn’t say +anything, Rosey.” +</p> + +<p> +She reddened at her hastiness, but retrieved it by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“No, but you listen to your wife; you know you do, Uncle Mel; and now +there’s Aunt Shorne and the other women, who make you think just what +they like about me, because they hate Mama.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t use strong words, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s abominable!” cried Rose. “They asked Mama +yesterday what Evan’s being here meant? Why, of course, he’s your +secretary, and my friend, and Mama very properly stopped them, and so will I! +As for me, I intend to stay at Beckley, I can tell you, dear old boy.” +Uncle Mel had a soft arm round his neck, and was being fondled. “And +I’m not going to be bred up to go into a harem, you may be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist whistled, “You talk your mother with a vengeance, +Rosey.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she’s the only sensible woman I know,” said Rose. +“Now promise me—in earnest. Don’t let them mislead you, for +you know you’re quite a child, out of your politics, and I shall take you +in hand myself. Why, now, think, Uncle Mel! wouldn’t any girl, as silly +as they make me out, hold her tongue—not talk of him, as I do; and +because I really do feel for him as a friend. See the difference between me and +Juley!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a sad sign if Rose was growing a bit of a hypocrite, but this instance +of Juliana’s different manner of showing her feelings toward Evan would +have quieted suspicion in shrewder men, for Juliana watched Evan’s +shadow, and it was thought by two or three at Beckley Court, that Evan would be +conferring a benefit on all by carrying off the romantically-inclined but +little presentable young lady. +</p> + +<p> +The diplomatist, with a placid “Well, well!” ultimately promised to +do his best for Rose’s friend, and then Rose said, “Now I leave you +to the Countess,” and went and sat with her mother and Drummond Forth. +The latter was strange in his conduct to Evan. While blaming Laxley’s +unmannered behaviour, he seemed to think Laxley had grounds for it, and treated +Evan with a sort of cynical deference that had, for the last couple of days, +exasperated Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Mama, you must speak to Ferdinand,” she burst upon the +conversation, “Drummond is afraid to—he can stand by and see my +friend insulted. Ferdinand is insufferable with his pride—he’s +jealous of everybody who has manners, and Drummond approves him, and I will not +bear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn hated household worries, and quietly remarked that the young men +must fight it out together. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but it’s your duty to interfere, Mama,” said Rose; +“and I know you will when I tell you that Ferdinand declares my friend +Evan is a tradesman—beneath his notice. Why, it insults me!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn looked out from a lofty window on such veritable squabbles of boys +and girls as Rose revealed. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you help them to run on smoothly while they’re +here?” she said to Drummond, and he related the scene at the Green +Dragon. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I heard he was the son of Sir Something Harrington, Devonshire +people,” said Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he is,” cried Rose, “or closely related. I’m sure +I understood the Countess that it was so. She brought the paper with the death +in it to us in London, and shed tears over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“She showed it in the paper, and shed tears over it?” said +Drummond, repressing an inclination to laugh. “Was her father’s +title given in full?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Abraham Harrington, replied Rose. “I think she said father, if +the word wasn’t too common-place for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can ask old Tom when he comes, if you are anxious to know,” +said Drummond to her ladyship. “His brother married one of the sisters. +By the way, he’s coming, too. He ought to clear up the mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’re sneering, Drummond,” said Rose: “for you +know there’s no mystery to clear up.” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond and Lady Jocelyn began talking of old Tom Cogglesby, whom, it +appeared, the former knew intimately, and the latter had known. +</p> + +<p> +“The Cogglesbys are sons of a cobbler, Rose,” said Lady Jocelyn. +“You must try and be civil to them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I shall, Mama,” Rose answered seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“And help the poor Countess to bear their presence as well as +possible,” said Drummond. “The Harringtons have had to mourn a +dreadful mesalliance. Pity the Countess!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the Countess! the Countess!” exclaimed Rose to +Drummond’s pathetic shake of the head. She and Drummond were fully agreed +about the Countess; Drummond mimicking the lady: “In verity, she is most +mellifluous!” while Rose sugared her lips and leaned gracefully forward +with “De Saldar, let me petition you—since we must endure our +title—since it is not to be your Louisa?” and her eyes sought the +ceiling, and her hand slowly melted into her drapery, as the Countess was wont +to effect it. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn laughed, but said: “You’re too hard upon the Countess. +The female euphuist is not to be met with every day. It’s a different +kind from the Precieuse. She is not a Precieuse. She has made a capital +selection of her vocabulary from Johnson, and does not work it badly, if we may +judge by Harry and Melville. Euphuism—[affectation D.W.]—in +‘woman’ is the popular ideal of a Duchess. She has it by nature, or +she has studied it: and if so, you must respect her abilities.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—Harry!” said Rose, who was angry at a loss of influence +over her rough brother, “any one could manage Harry! and Uncle +Mel’s a goose. You should see what a ‘female euphuist’ Dorry +is getting. She says in the Countess’s hearing: ‘Rose! I should in +verity wish to play, if it were pleasing to my sweet cousin?’ I’m +ready to die with laughing. I don’t do it, Mama.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, thus being discussed, was closeted with old Mrs. Bonner: not +idle. Like Hannibal in Italy, she had crossed her Alps in attaining Beckley +Court, and here in the enemy’s country the wary general found herself +under the necessity of throwing up entrenchments to fly to in case of defeat. +Sir Abraham Harrington of Torquay, who had helped her to cross the Alps, became +a formidable barrier against her return. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Evan was riding over to Fallowfield, and as he rode under black +visions between the hedgeways crowned with their hop-garlands, a fragrance of +roses saluted his nostril, and he called to mind the red and the white the +peerless representative of the two had given him, and which he had thrust +sullenly in his breast-pocket and he drew them out to look at them +reproachfully and sigh farewell to all the roses of life, when in company with +them he found in his hand the forgotten letter delivered to him on the +cricket-field the day of the memorable match. He smelt at the roses, and turned +the letter this way and that. His name was correctly worded on the outside. +With an odd reluctance to open it, he kept trifling over the flowers, and then +broke the broad seal, and these are the words that met his eyes: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. EVAN HARRINGTON. +</p> + +<p> +“You have made up your mind to be a tailor, instead of a Tomnoddy. +You’re right. Not too many men in the world—plenty of nincompoops. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be made a weathercock of by a parcel of women. I want to +find a man worth something. If you go on with it, you shall end by riding in +your carriage, and cutting it as fine as any of them. I’ll take care your +belly is not punished while you’re about it. +</p> + +<p> +“From the time your name is over your shop, I give you £300 per annum. +</p> + +<p> +“Or stop. There’s nine of you. They shall have £40. per annum +apiece, 9 times 40, eh? That’s better than £300., if you know how to +reckon. Don’t you wish it was ninety-nine tailors to a man! I could do +that too, and it would not break me; so don’t be a proud young ass, or +I’ll throw my money to the geese. Lots of them in the world. How many +geese to a tailor? +</p> + +<p> +“Go on for five years, and I double it. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it up, and I give you up. +</p> + +<p> +“No question about me. The first tailor can be paid his £40 in advance, +by applying at the offices of Messrs. Grist, Gray’s Inn Square, +Gray’s Inn. Let him say he is tailor No. 1, and show this letter, signed +Agreed, with your name in full at bottom. This will do—money will be +paid—no questions one side or other. So on—the whole nine. The end +of the year they can give a dinner to their acquaintance. Send in bill to +Messrs. Grist. +</p> + +<p> +“The advice to you to take the cash according to terms mentioned is +advice of +</p> + +<p> +“A FRIEND. +</p> + +<p> +“P.S. You shall have your wine. Consult among yourselves, and carry it by +majority what wine it’s to be. Five carries it. Dozen and half per +tailor, per annum—that’s the limit.” +</p> + +<p> +It was certainly a very hot day. The pores of his skin were prickling, and his +face was fiery; and yet he increased his pace, and broke into a wild gallop for +a mile or so; then suddenly turned his horse’s head back for Beckley. The +secret of which evolution was, that he had caught the idea of a plotted insult +of Laxley’s in the letter, for when the blood is up we are drawn the way +the tide sets strongest, and Evan was prepared to swear that Laxley had written +the letter, because he was burning to chastise the man who had injured him with +Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Sure that he was about to confirm his suspicion, he read it again, gazed upon +Beckley Court in the sultry light, and turned for Fallowfield once more, +devising to consult Mr. John Raikes on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +The letter had a smack of crabbed age hardly counterfeit. The savour of an old +eccentric’s sour generosity was there. Evan fell into bitter laughter at +the idea of Rose glancing over his shoulder and asking him what nine of him to +a man meant. He heard her clear voice pursuing him. He could not get away from +the mocking sound of Rose beseeching him to instruct her on that point. How if +the letter were genuine? He began to abhor the sight and touch of the paper, +for it struck division cold as death between him and his darling. He saw now +the immeasurable hopes his residence at Beckley had lured him to. Rose had +slightly awakened him: this letter was blank day to his soul. He saw the +squalid shop, the good, stern, barren-spirited mother, the changeless drudgery, +the existence which seemed indeed no better than what the ninth of a man was +fit for. The influence of his mother came on him once more. Dared he reject the +gift if true? No spark of gratitude could he feel, but chained, dragged at the +heels of his fate, he submitted to think it true; resolving the next moment +that it was a fabrication and a trap: but he flung away the roses. +</p> + +<p> +As idle as a painted cavalier upon a painted drop-scene, the figure of Mr. John +Raikes was to be observed leaning with crossed legs against a shady pillar of +the Green Dragon; eyeing alternately, with an indifference he did not care to +conceal, the assiduous pecking in the dust of some cocks and hens that had +strayed from the yard of the inn, and the sleepy blinking in the sun of an old +dog at his feet: nor did Evan’s appearance discompose the sad sedateness +of his demeanour. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I am here still,” he answered Evan’s greeting, with a +flaccid gesture. “Don’t excite me too much. A little at a time. I +can’t bear it!” +</p> + +<p> +“How now? What is it now, Jack?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes pointed at the dog. “I’ve made a bet with myself he +won’t wag his tail within the next ten minutes. I beg of you, Harrington, +to remain silent for both our sakes.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan was induced to look at the dog, and the dog looked at him, and gently +moved his tail. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve lost!” cried Raikes, in languid anguish. +“He’s getting excited. He’ll go mad. We’re not +accustomed to this in Fallowfield.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan dismounted, and was going to tell him the news he had for him, when his +attention was distracted by the sight of Rose’s maid, Polly Wheedle, +splendidly bonneted, who slipped past them into the inn, after repulsing +Jack’s careless attempt to caress her chin; which caused him to tell Evan +that he could not get on without the society of intellectual women. +</p> + +<p> +Evan called a boy to hold the horse. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen her before, Jack?” +</p> + +<p> +Jack replied: “Once. Your pensioner up-stairs she comes to visit. I do +suspect there kinship is betwixt them. Ay! one might swear them sisters. +She’s a relief to the monotony of the petrified street—the old man +with the brown-gaitered legs and the doubled-up old woman with the crutch. I +heard the London horn this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan thrust the letter in his hands, telling him to read and form an opinion on +it, and went in the track of Miss Wheedle. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes resumed his station against the pillar, and held the letter out on a +level with his thigh. Acting (as it was his nature to do off the stage), he had +not exaggerated his profound melancholy. Of a light soil and with a tropical +temperament, he had exhausted all lively recollection of his brilliant career, +and, in the short time since Evan had parted with him, sunk abjectly down into +the belief that he was fixed in Fallowfield for life. His spirit pitied for +agitation and events. The horn of the London coach had sounded distant +metropolitan glories in the ears of the exile in rustic parts. +</p> + +<p> +Sighing heavily, Raikes opened the letter, in simple obedience to the wishes of +his friend; for he would have preferred to stand contemplating his own state of +hopeless stagnation. The sceptical expression he put on when he had read the +letter through must not deceive us. John Raikes had dreamed of a beneficent +eccentric old gentleman for many years: one against whom, haply, he had bumped +in a crowded thoroughfare, and had with cordial politeness begged pardon of; +had then picked up his walking-stick; restored it, venturing a witty remark; +retired, accidentally dropping his card-case; subsequently, to his astonishment +and gratification, receiving a pregnant missive from that old gentleman’s +lawyer. Or it so happened that Mr. Raikes met the old gentleman at a tavern, +and, by the exercise of a signal dexterity, relieved him from a bone in his +throat, and reluctantly imparted his address on issuing from the said tavern. +Or perhaps it was a lonely highway where the old gentleman walked, and John +Raikes had his name in the papers for a deed of heroism, nor was man +ungrateful. Since he had eaten up his uncle, this old gentleman of his dreams +walked in town and country—only, and alas! Mr. Raikes could never +encounter him in the flesh. The muscles of his face, therefore, are no index to +the real feelings of the youth when he had thoroughly mastered the contents of +the letter, and reflected that the dream of his luck—his angelic old +gentleman—had gone and wantonly bestowed himself upon Evan Harrington, +instead of the expectant and far worthier John Raikes. Worthier inasmuch as he +gave him credence for existing long ere he knew of him and beheld him manifest. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes retreated to the vacant parlour of the Green Dragon, and there Evan +found him staring at the unfolded letter, his head between his cramped fists, +with a contraction of his mouth. Evan was troubled by what he had seen +up-stairs, and did not speak till Jack looked up and said, “Oh, there you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what do you think, Jack?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—it’s all right,” Raikes rejoined in most +matter-of-course tone, and then he stepped to the window, and puffed a very +deep breath indeed, and glanced from the straight line of the street to the +heavens, with whom, injured as he was, he felt more at home now that he knew +them capable of miracles. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a bad joke played upon me?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes upset a chair. “It’s quite childish. You’re made a +gentleman for life, and you ask if it’s a joke played upon you! +It’s maddening! There—there goes my hat!” +</p> + +<p> +With a vehement kick, Mr. Raikes despatched his ancient head-gear to the other +end of the room, saying that he must have some wine, and would; and disdainful +was his look at Evan, when the latter attempted to reason him into economy. He +ordered the wine; drank a glass, which coloured a new mood in him; and +affecting a practical manner, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I confess I have been a little hurt with you, Harrington. You left me +stranded on the desert isle. I thought myself abandoned. I thought I should +never see anything but the lengthening of an endless bill on my +landlady’s face—my sole planet. I was resigned till I heard my +friend ‘to-lool!’ this morning. He kindled recollection. But, this +is a tidy Port, and that was a delectable sort of young lady that you were +riding with when we parted last! She laughs like the true metal. I suppose you +know it’s the identical damsel I met the day before, and owe it to for my +run on the downs—I’ve a compliment ready made for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think that letter written in good faith?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here.” Mr. Raikes put on a calmness. “You got up the +other night, and said you were a tailor—a devotee of the cabbage and the +goose. Why the notion didn’t strike me is extraordinary—I ought to +have known my man. However, the old gentleman who gave the +supper—he’s evidently one of your beastly rich old ruffianly +republicans—spent part of his time in America, I dare say. Put two and +two together.” +</p> + +<p> +But as Harrington desired plain prose, Mr. Raikes tamed his imagination to +deliver it. He pointed distinctly at the old gentleman who gave the supper as +the writer of the letter. Evan, in return, confided to him his history and +present position, and Mr. Raikes, without cooling to his fortunate friend, +became a trifle patronizing. +</p> + +<p> +“You said your father—I think I remember at old +Cudford’s—was a cavalry officer, a bold dragoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” replied Evan. “I told a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“We knew it; but we feared your prowess, Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they talked over the singular letter uninterruptedly, and Evan, weak among +his perplexities of position and sentiment: wanting money for the girl +up-stairs, for this distasteful comrade’s bill at the Green Dragon, and +for his own immediate requirements, and with the bee buzzing of Rose in his +ears: “She despises you,” consented in a desperation ultimately to +sign his name to it, and despatch Jack forthwith to Messrs. Grist. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find it’s an imposition,” he said, beginning +less to think it so, now that his name was put to the hated monstrous thing; +which also now fell to pricking at curiosity. For he was in the early steps of +his career, and if his lady, holding to pride, despised him—as, he was +tortured into the hypocrisy of confessing, she justly might, why, then, unless +he was the sport of a farceur, here seemed a gilding of the path of duty: he +could be serviceable to friends. His claim on fair young Rose’s love had +grown in the short while so prodigiously asinine that it was a minor matter to +constitute himself an old eccentric’s puppet. +</p> + +<p> +“No more an imposition than it’s 50 of Virgil,” quoth the +rejected usher. +</p> + +<p> +“It smells of a plot,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the best joke that will be made in my time,” said Mr. +Raikes, rubbing his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“And now listen to your luck,” said Evan; “I wish mine were +like it!” and Jack heard of Lady Jocelyn’s offer. He heard also +that the young lady he was to instruct was an heiress, and immediately +inspected his garments, and showed the sacred necessity there was for him to +refit in London, under the hands of scientific tailors. Evan wrote him an +introduction to Mr. Goren, counted out the contents of his purse (which Jack +had reduced in his study of the pastoral game of skittles, he confessed), and +calculated in a niggardly way, how far it would go to supply the fellow’s +wants; sighing, as he did it, to think of Jack installed at Beckley Court, +while Jack, comparing his luck with Evan’s, had discovered it to be +dismally inferior. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, confound those bellows you keep blowing!” he exclaimed. +“I wish to be decently polite, Harrington, but you annoy me. Excuse me, +pray, but the most unexampled case of a lucky beggar that ever was +known—and to hear him panting and ready to whimper!—it’s +outrageous. You’ve only to put up your name, and there you are—an +independent gentleman! By Jove! this isn’t such a dull world. John +Raikes! thou livest in times. I feel warm in the sun of your prosperity, +Harrington. Now listen to me. Propound thou no inquiries anywhere about the old +fellow who gave the supper. Humour his whim—he won’t have it. All +Fallowfield is paid to keep him secret; I know it for a fact. I plied my +rustic friends every night. ‘Eat you yer victuals, and drink yer beer, +and none o’ yer pryin’s and peerin’s among we!’ +That’s my rebuff from Farmer Broadmead. And that old boy knows more than +he will tell. I saw his cunning old eye on-cock. Be silent, Harrington. Let +discretion be the seal of thy luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can reckon on my silence,” said Evan. “I believe in no +such folly. Men don’t do these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” went Mr. Raikes contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +Of the two he was the foolisher fellow; but quacks have cured incomprehensible +maladies, and foolish fellows have an instinct for eccentric actions. +</p> + +<p> +Telling Jack to finish the wine, Evan rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you order the horse to be fed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I order the feeding of the horse?” said Jack, rising and +yawning. “No, I forgot him. Who can think of horses now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor brute!” muttered Evan, and went out to see to him. +</p> + +<p> +The ostler had required no instructions to give the horse a feed of corn. Evan +mounted, and rode out of the yard to where Jack was standing, bare-headed, in +his old posture against the pillar, of which the shade had rounded, and the +evening sun shone full on him over a black cloud. He now looked calmly gay. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m laughing at the agricultural Broadmead!” he said: +“‘None o’ yer pryin’s and peerin’s!’ He +thought my powers of amusing prodigious. ‘Dang ’un, he do maak a +chap laugh!’ Well, Harrington, that sort of homage isn’t much, I +admit.” +</p> + +<p> +Raikes pursued: “There’s something in a pastoral life, after +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pastoral!” muttered Evan. “I was speaking of you at Beckley, +and hope when you’re there you won’t make me regret my introduction +of you. Keep your mind on old Cudford’s mutton-bone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I perfectly understood you,” said Jack. “I’m Presumed +to be in luck. Ingratitude is not my fault—I’m afraid ambition +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Console yourself with it or what you can get till we meet—here or +in London. But the Dragon shall be the address for both of us,” Evan +said, and nodded, trotting off. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN</h2> + +<p> +The young cavalier perused that letter again in memory. Genuine, or a joke of +the enemy, it spoke wakening facts to him. He leapt from the spell Rose had +encircled him with. Strange that he should have rushed into his dream with eyes +open! But he was fully awake now. He would speak his last farewell to her, and +so end the earthly happiness he paid for in deep humiliation, and depart into +that gray cold mist where his duty lay. It is thus that young men occasionally +design to burst from the circle of the passions, and think that they have done +it, when indeed they are but making the circle more swiftly. Here was Evan +mouthing his farewell to Rose, using phrases so profoundly humble, that a +listener would have taken them for bitter irony. He said adieu to +her,—pronouncing it with a pathos to melt scornful princesses. He tried +to be honest, and was as much so as his disease permitted. +</p> + +<p> +The black cloud had swallowed the sun; and turning off to the short cut across +the downs, Evan soon rode between the wind and the storm. He could see the +heavy burden breasting the beacon-point, round which curled leaden arms, and a +low internal growl saluted him advancing. The horse laid back his ears. A last +gust from the opposing quarter shook the furzes and the clumps of long pale +grass, and straight fell columns of rattling white rain, and in a minute he was +closed in by a hissing ring. Men thus pelted abandon without protest the hope +of retaining a dry particle of clothing on their persons. Completely drenched, +the track lost, everything in dense gloom beyond the white enclosure that moved +with him, Evan flung the reins to the horse, and curiously watched him footing +on; for physical discomfort balanced his mental perturbation, and he who had +just been chafing was now quite calm. +</p> + +<p> +Was that a shepherd crouched under the thorn? The place betokened a shepherd, +but it really looked like a bundle of the opposite sex; and it proved to be a +woman gathered up with her gown over her head. Apparently, Mr. Evan Harrington +was destined for these encounters. The thunder rolled as he stopped by her side +and called out to her. She heard him, for she made a movement, but without +sufficiently disengaging her head of its covering to show him a part of her +face. +</p> + +<p> +Bellowing against the thunder, Evan bade her throw back her garment, and stand +and give him up her arms, that he might lift her on the horse behind him. +</p> + +<p> +There came a muffled answer, on a big sob, as it seemed. And as if heaven +paused to hear, the storm was mute. +</p> + +<p> +Could he have heard correctly? The words he fancied he had heard sobbed were: +</p> + +<p> +“Best bonnet.” +</p> + +<p> +The elements hereupon crashed deep and long from end to end, like a table of +Titans passing a jest. +</p> + +<p> +Rain-drops, hard as hail, were spattering a pool on her head. Evan stooped his +shoulder, seized the soaked garment, and pulled it back, revealing the features +of Polly Wheedle, and the splendid bonnet in ruins—all limp and stained. +</p> + +<p> +Polly blinked at him penitentially. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Harrington; oh, ain’t I punished!” she whimpered. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, the maid resembled a well-watered poppy. +</p> + +<p> +Evan told her to stand up close to the horse, and Polly stood up close, looking +like a creature that expected a whipping. She was suffering, poor thing, from +that abject sense of the lack of a circumference, which takes the pride out of +women more than anything. Note, that in all material fashions, as in all moral +observances, women demand a circumference, and enlarge it more and more as +civilization advances. Respect the mighty instinct, however mysterious it seem. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Harrington, don’t laugh at me,” said Polly. +</p> + +<p> +Evan assured her that he was seriously examining her bonnet. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the bonnet of a draggletail,” said Polly, giving up her +arms, and biting her under-lip for the lift. +</p> + +<p> +With some display of strength, Evan got the lean creature up behind him, and +Polly settled there, and squeezed him tightly with her arms, excusing the +liberty she took. +</p> + +<p> +They mounted the beacon, and rode along the ridge whence the West became +visible, and a washed edge of red over Beckley Church spire and the woods of +Beckley Court. +</p> + +<p> +“And what have you been doing to be punished? What brought you +here?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody drove me to Fallowfield to see my poor sister Susan,” +returned Polly, half crying. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, did he bring you here and leave you? +</p> + +<p> +“No: he wasn’t true to his appointment the moment I wanted to go +back; and I, to pay him out, I determined I’d walk it where he +shouldn’t overtake me, and on came the storm... And my gown spoilt, and +such a bonnet!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was the somebody?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a Mr. Nicholas Frim, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Nicholas Frim will be very unhappy, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s one comfort,” said Polly ruefully, drying her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Closely surrounding a young man as a young woman must be when both are on the +same horse, they, as a rule, talk confidentially together in a very short time. +His “Are you cold?” when Polly shivered, and her “Oh, no; not +very,” and a slight screwing of her body up to him, as she spoke, to +assure him and herself of it, soon made them intimate. +</p> + +<p> +“I think Mr. Nicholas Frim mustn’t see us riding into +Beckley,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my gracious! Ought I to get down, sir?” Polly made no move, +however. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he jealous?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only when I make him, he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very naughty of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know it is—all the Wheedles are. Mother says, we never go +right till we’ve once got in a pickle.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to go right from this hour,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s ’dizenzy—does it,” said Polly. “And +then we’re ashamed to show it. My poor Susan went to stay with her aunt +at Bodley, and then at our cousin’s at Hillford, and then she was off to +Lymport to drown her poor self, I do believe, when you met her. And all because +we can’t bear to be seen when we’re in any of our pickles. I wish +you wouldn’t look at me, Mr. Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look very pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s quite impossible I can now,” said Polly, with a +wretched effort to spread open her collar. “I can see myself a fright, +like my Miss Rose did, making a face in the looking-glass when I was undressing +her last night. But, do you know, I would much rather Nicholas saw us than +somebody! +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Bonner. She’d never forgive me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she so strict?” +</p> + +<p> +“She only uses servants for spies,” said Polly. “And since my +Miss Rose come—though I’m up a step—I’m still a +servant, and Miss Bonner’d be in a fury to see my—though I’m +sure we’re quite respectable, Mr. Harrington—my having hold of you +as I’m obliged to, and can’t help myself. But she’d say I +ought to tumble off rather than touch her engaged with a little finger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her engaged?” cried Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you, sir?” quoth Polly. “I understand you were +going to be, from my lady, the Countess. We all think so at Beckley. Why, look +how Miss Bonner looks at you, and she’s sure to have plenty of +money.” +</p> + +<p> +This was Polly’s innocent way of bringing out a word about her own young +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Evan controlled any denial of his pretensions to the hand of Miss Bonner. He +said: “Is it your mistress’s habit to make faces in the +looking-glass?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you how it happened,” said Polly. “But +I’m afraid I’m in your way, sir. Shall I get off now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not by any means,” said Evan. “Make your arm tighter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will that do?” asked Polly. +</p> + +<p> +Evan looked round and met her appealing face, over which the damp locks of hair +straggled. The maid was fair: it was fortunate that he was thinking of the +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on,” said Evan, but Polly put the question whether her face +did not want washing, and so earnestly that he had to regard it again, and +compromised the case by saying that it wanted kissing by Nicholas Frim, which +set Polly’s lips in a pout. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure it wants kissing by nobody,” she said, adding with +a spasm of passion: “Oh! I know the colours of my bonnet are all smeared +over it, and I’m a dreadful fright.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan failed to adopt the proper measures to make Miss Wheedle’s mind easy +with regard to her appearance, and she commenced her story rather languidly. +</p> + +<p> +“My Miss Rose—what was it I was going to tell? Oh!—my Miss +Rose. You must know, Mr. Harrington, she’s very fond of managing; I can +see that, though I haven’t known her long before she gave up short +frocks; and she said to Mr. Laxley, who’s going to marry her some day, +‘She didn’t like my lady, the Countess, taking Mr. Harry to herself +like that.’ I can’t a-bear to speak his name, but I suppose +he’s not a bit more selfish than the rest of men. So Mr. Laxley +said—just like the jealousy of men—they needn’t talk of +women! I’m sure nobody can tell what we have to put up with. We +mustn’t look out of this eye, or out of the other, but they’re up +and—oh, dear me! there’s such a to-do as never was known—all +for nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“My good girl!” said Evan, recalling her to the subject-matter with +all the patience he could command. +</p> + +<p> +“Where was I?” Polly travelled meditatively back. “I do feel +a little cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come closer,” said Evan. “Take this +handkerchief—it’s the only dry thing I have—cover your chest +with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The shoulders feel wettest,” Polly replied, “and they +can’t be helped. I’ll tie it round my neck, if you’ll stop, +sir. There, now I’m warmer.” +</p> + +<p> +To show how concisely women can narrate when they feel warmer, Polly started +off: +</p> + +<p> +“So, you know, Mr. Harrington, Mr. Laxley said—he said to Miss +Rose, ‘You have taken her brother, and she has taken yours.’ And +Miss Rose said, ‘That was her own business, and nobody +else’s.’ And Mr. Laxley said, ‘He was glad she thought it a +fair exchange.’ I heard it all! And then Miss Rose said—for she can +be in a passion about some things—‘What do you mean, +Ferdinand,’ was her words, ‘I insist upon your speaking out.’ +Miss Rose always will call gentlemen by their Christian names when she likes +them; that’s always a sign with her. And he wouldn’t tell her. And +Miss Rose got awful angry, and she’s clever, is my Miss Rose, for what +does she do, Mr. Harrington, but begins praising you up so that she knew it +must make him mad, only because men can’t abide praise of another man +when it’s a woman that says it—meaning, young lady; for my Miss +Rose has my respect, however familiar she lets herself be to us that she likes. +The others may go and drown themselves. Are you took ill, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Evan, “I was only breathing.” +</p> + +<p> +“The doctors say it’s bad to take such long breaths,” +remarked artless Polly. “Perhaps my arms are pressing you?” +</p> + +<p> +It’s the best thing they can do,” murmured Evan, dejectedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and drown themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Polly screwed her lips, as if she had a pin between them, and continued: +“Miss Rose was quite sensible when she praised you as her friend; she +meant it—every word; and then sudden what does Mr. Laxley do, but say you +was something else besides friend—worse or better; and she was silent, +which made him savage, I could hear by his voice. And he said, Mr. Harrington, +‘You meant it if she did not.’ ‘No,’ says she, ‘I +know better; he’s as honest as the day.’ Out he flew and said such +things: he said, Mr. Harrington, you wasn’t fit to be Miss Rose’s +friend, even. Then she said, she heard he had told lies about you to her Mama, +and her aunts; but her Mama, my lady, laughed at him, and she at her aunts. +Then he said you—oh, abominable of him!” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” asked Evan, waking up. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, if I were to tell my Miss Rose some things of him,” Polly +went on, “she’d never so much as speak to him another +instant.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” Evan repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“I hate him!” cried Polly. “It’s Mr. Laxley that +misleads Mr. Harry, who has got his good nature, and means no more harm than he +can help. Oh, I didn’t hear what he said of you, sir. Only I know it was +abominable, because Miss Rose was so vexed, and you were her dearest +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and about the looking-glass?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was at night, Mr. Harrington, when I was undressing of her. Miss +Rose has a beautiful figure, and no need of lacing. But I’d better get +down now.” +</p> + +<p> +“For heaven’s sake, stay where you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell her she stands as if she’d been drilled for a +soldier,” Polly quietly continued. “You’re squeezing my arm +with your elbow, Mr. Harrington. It didn’t hurt me. So when I had her +nearly undressed, we were talking about this and that, and you amongst +’em—and I, you know, rather like you, sir, if you’ll not +think me too bold—she started off by asking me what was the nickname +people gave to tailors. It was one of her whims. I told her they were called +snips—I’m off!” +</p> + +<p> +Polly gave a shriek. The horse had reared as if violently stung. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Evan. “Hold hard, and go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Snips—Oh! and I told her they were called snips. It is a word that +seems to make you hate the idea. I shouldn’t like to hear my intended +called snip. Oh, he’s going to gallop!” +</p> + +<p> +And off in a gallop Polly was borne. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Evan, “well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t, Mr. Harrington; I have to press you so,” cried +Polly; “and I’m bounced so—I shall bite my tongue.” +</p> + +<p> +After a sharp stretch, the horse fell to a canter, and then trotted slowly, and +allowed Polly to finish. +</p> + +<p> +“So Miss Rose was standing sideways to the glass, and she turned her +neck, and just as I’d said ‘snip,’ I saw her saying it in the +glass; and you never saw anything so funny. It was enough to make anybody +laugh; but Miss Rose, she seemed as if she couldn’t forget how ugly it +had made her look. She covered her face with her hands, and she shuddered! It +is a word—snip! that makes you seem to despise yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Beckley was now in sight from the edge of the downs, lying in its foliage dark +under the grey sky backed by motionless mounds of vapour. Miss Wheedle to her +great surprise was suddenly though safely dropped; and on her return to the +ground the damsel instantly “knew her place,” and curtseyed +becoming gratitude for his kindness; but he was off in a fiery gallop, the gall +of Demogorgon in his soul. +</p> + +<p> +What’s that the leaves of the proud old trees of Beckley Court hiss as he +sweeps beneath them? What has suddenly cut him short? Is he diminished in +stature? Are the lackeys sneering? The storm that has passed has marvellously +chilled the air. +</p> + +<p> +His sister, the Countess, once explained to him what Demogorgon was, in the +sensation it entailed. “You are skinned alive!” said the Countess. +Evan was skinned alive. Fly, wretched young man! Summon your pride, and fly! +Fly, noble youth, for whom storms specially travel to tell you that your +mistress makes faces in the looking-glass! Fly where human lips and noses are +not scornfully distorted, and get thee a new skin, and grow and attain to thy +natural height in a more genial sphere! You, ladies and gentlemen, who may have +had a matter to conceal, and find that it is oozing out: you, whose skeleton is +seen stalking beside you, you know what it is to be breathed upon: you, too, +are skinned alive: but this miserable youth is not only flayed, he is doomed +calmly to contemplate the hideous image of himself burning on the face of her +he loves; making beauty ghastly. In vain—for he is two hours behind the +dinner-bell—Mr. Burley, the butler, bows and offers him viands and wine. +How can he eat, with the phantom of Rose there, covering her head, shuddering, +loathing him? But he must appear in company: he has a coat, if he has not a +skin. Let him button it, and march boldly. Our comedies are frequently +youth’s tragedies. We will smile reservedly as we mark Mr. Evan +Harrington step into the midst of the fair society of the drawing-room. Rose is +at the piano. Near her reclines the Countess de Saldar, fanning the languors +from her cheeks, with a word for the diplomatist on one side, a whisper for Sir +John Loring on the other, and a very quiet pair of eyes for everybody. +Providence, she is sure, is keeping watch to shield her sensitive cuticle; and +she is besides exquisitely happy, albeit outwardly composed: for, in the room +sits his Grace the Duke of Belfield, newly arrived. He is talking to her +sister, Mrs. Strike, masked by Miss Current. The wife of the Major has come +this afternoon, and Andrew Cogglesby, who brought her, chats with Lady Jocelyn +like an old acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +Evan shakes the hands of his relatives. Who shall turn over the leaves of the +fair singer’s music-book? The young men are in the billiard-room: +Drummond is engaged in converse with a lovely person with Giorgione hair, which +the Countess intensely admires, and asks the diplomatist whether he can see a +soupçon of red in it. The diplomatist’s taste is for dark beauties: the +Countess is dark. +</p> + +<p> +Evan must do duty by Rose. And now occurred a phenomenon in him. Instead of +shunning her, as he had rejoiced in doing after the Jocasta scene, ere she had +wounded him, he had a curious desire to compare her with the phantom that had +dispossessed her in his fancy. Unconsciously when he saw her, he transferred +the shame that devoured him, from him to her, and gazed coldly at the face that +could twist to that despicable contortion. +</p> + +<p> +He was in love, and subtle love will not be shamed and smothered. Love sits, we +must remember, mostly in two hearts at the same time, and the one that is first +stirred by any of the passions to wakefulness, may know more of the other than +its owner. Why had Rose covered her head and shuddered? Would the girl feel +that for a friend? If his pride suffered, love was not so downcast; but to +avenge him for the cold she had cast on him, it could be critical, and Evan +made his bearing to her a blank. +</p> + +<p> +This somehow favoured him with Rose. Sheep’s eyes are a dainty dish for +little maids, and we know how largely they indulge in it; but when they are +just a bit doubtful of the quality of the sheep, let the good animal shut his +lids forthwith, for a time. Had she not been a little unkind to him in the +morning? She had since tried to help him, and that had appeased her conscience, +for in truth he was a good young man. Those very words she mentally pronounced, +while he was thinking, “Would she feel it for a friend?” We dare +but guess at the puzzle young women present now and then, but I should say that +Evan was nearer the mark, and that the “good young man” was a sop +she threw to that within her which wanted quieting, and was thereby passably +quieted. Perhaps the good young man is offended? Let us assure him of our +disinterested graciousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Is your friend coming?” she asked, and to his reply said, +“I’m glad”; and pitched upon a new song—one that, by +hazard, did not demand his attentions, and he surveyed the company to find a +vacant seat with a neighbour. Juley Bonner was curled up on the sofa, looking +like a damsel who has lost the third volume of an exciting novel, and is +divining the climax. He chose to avoid Miss Bonner. Drummond was leaving the +side of the Giorgione lady. Evan passed leisurely, and Drummond said “You +know Mrs. Evremonde? Let me introduce you.” +</p> + +<p> +He was soon in conversation with the glorious-haired dame. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellently done, my brother!” thinks the Countess de Saldar. +</p> + +<p> +Rose sees the matter coolly. What is it to her? But she had finished with song. +Jenny takes her place at the piano; and, as Rose does not care for instrumental +music, she naturally talks and laughs with Drummond, and Jenny does not +altogether like it, even though she is not playing to the ear of William +Harvey, for whom billiards have such attractions; but, at the close of the +performance, Rose is quiet enough, and the Countess observes her sitting, +alone, pulling the petals of a flower in her lap, on which her eyes are fixed. +Is the doe wounded? The damsel of the disinterested graciousness is assuredly +restless. She starts up and goes out upon the balcony to breathe the night-air, +mayhap regard the moon, and no one follows her. +</p> + +<p> +Had Rose been guiltless of offence, Evan might have left Beckley Court the next +day, to cherish his outraged self-love. Love of woman is strongly distinguished +from pure egoism when it has got a wound: for it will not go into a corner +complaining, it will fight its duel on the field or die. Did the young lady +know his origin, and scorn him? He resolved to stay and teach her that the +presumption she had imputed to him was her own mistake. And from this Evan +graduated naturally enough the finer stages of self-deception downward. +</p> + +<p> +A lover must have his delusions, just as a man must have a skin. But here was +another singular change in Evan. After his ale-prompted speech in Fallowfield, +he was nerved to face the truth in the eyes of all save Rose. Now that the +truth had enmeshed his beloved, he turned to battle with it; he was prepared to +deny it at any moment; his burnt flesh was as sensitive as the +Countess’s. +</p> + +<p> +Let Rose accuse him, and he would say, “This is true, Miss +Jocelyn—what then?” and behold Rose confused and dumb! Let not +another dare suspect it. For the fire that had scorched him was in some sort +healing, though horribly painful; but contact with the general air was not to +be endured—was death! This, I believe, is common in cases of injury by +fire. So it befell that Evan, meeting Rose the next morning was playfully asked +by her what choice he had made between the white and the red; and he, dropping +on her the shallow eyes of a conventional smile, replied, that unable to decide +and form a choice, he had thrown both away; at which Miss Jocelyn gave him a +look in the centre of his brows, let her head slightly droop, and walked off. +</p> + +<p> +“She can look serious as well as grimace,” was all that Evan +allowed himself to think, and he strolled out on the lawn with the careless +serenity of lovers when they fancy themselves heart-free. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, whipping the piano in the drawing-room, could see him go to sit by Mrs. +Evremonde, till they were joined by Drummond, when he left her and walked with +Harry, and apparently shadowed the young gentleman’s unreflective face; +after which Harry was drawn away by the appearance of that dark star, the +Countess de Saldar, whom Rose was beginning to detest. Jenny glided by William +Harvey’s side, far off. Rose, the young Queen of Friendship, was left +deserted on her music-stool for a throne, and when she ceased to hammer the +notes she was insulted by a voice that cried from below: +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, Rose, it’s nice in the sun to hear you,” causing her +to close her performances and the instrument vigorously. +</p> + +<p> +Rose was much behind her age: she could not tell what was the matter with her. +In these little torments young people have to pass through they gain a rapid +maturity. Let a girl talk with her own heart an hour, and she is almost a +woman. Rose came down-stairs dressed for riding. Laxley was doing her the +service of smoking one of her rose-trees. Evan stood disengaged, prepared for +her summons. She did not notice him, but beckoned to Laxley drooping over a +bud, while the curled smoke floated from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“The very gracefullest of chimney-pots—is he not?” says the +Countess to Harry, whose immense guffaw fails not to apprise Laxley that +something has been said of him, for in his dim state of consciousness absence +of the power of retort is the prominent feature, and when he has the suspicion +of malicious tongues at their work, all he can do is silently to resent it. +Probably this explains his conduct to Evan. Some youths have an acute memory +for things that have shut their mouths. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess observed to Harry that his dear friend Mr. Laxley appeared, by the +cast of his face, to be biting a sour apple. +</p> + +<p> +“Grapes, you mean?” laughed Harry. “Never mind! she’ll +bite at him when he comes in for the title.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything crude will do,” rejoined the Countess. “Why are you +not courting Mrs. Evremonde, naughty Don?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! she’s occupied—castle’s in possession. +Besides—!” and Harry tried hard to look sly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and tell me about her,” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, Laxley, and Evan were standing close together. +</p> + +<p> +“You really are going alone, Rose?” said Laxley. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t I say so?—unless you wish to join us?” She +turned upon Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“I am at your disposal,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Rose nodded briefly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ll smoke the trees,” said Laxley, perceptibly +huffing. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t come, Ferdinand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only offered to fill up the gap. One does as well as another.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose flicked her whip, and then declared she would not ride at all, and, +gathering up her skirts, hurried back to the house. +</p> + +<p> +As Laxley turned away, Evan stood before him. +</p> + +<p> +The unhappy fellow was precipitated by the devil of his false position. +</p> + +<p> +“I think one of us two must quit the field; if I go I will wait for +you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh; I understand,” said Laxley. “But if it’s what I +suppose you to mean, I must decline.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg to know your grounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have tied my hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would escape under cover of superior station?” +</p> + +<p> +“Escape! You have only to unsay—tell me you have a right to demand +it.” +</p> + +<p> +The battle of the sophist victorious within him was done in a flash, as Evan +measured his qualities beside this young man’s, and without a sense of +lying, said: “I have.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke firmly. He looked the thing he called himself now. The Countess, too, +was a dazzling shield to her brother. The beautiful Mrs. Strike was a completer +vindicator of him; though he had queer associates, and talked oddly of his +family that night in Fallowfield. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir: I admit you manage to annoy me,” said Laxley. +“I can give you a lesson as well as another, if you want it.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently the two youths were seen bowing in the stiff curt style of those +cavaliers who defer a passage of temper for an appointed settlement. Harry +rushed off to them with a shout, and they separated; Laxley speaking a word to +Drummond, Evan—most judiciously, the Countess thought—joining his +fair sister Caroline, whom the Duke held in converse. +</p> + +<p> +Drummond returned laughing to the side of Mrs. Evremonde, nearing whom, the +Countess, while one ear was being filled by Harry’s eulogy of her +brother’s recent handling of Laxley, and while her intense gratification +at the success of her patient management of her most difficult subject made her +smiles no mask, heard, “Is it not impossible to suppose such a +thing?” A hush ensued—the Countess passed. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon, the Jocelyns, William Harvey, and Drummond met together to +consult about arranging the dispute; and deputations went to Laxley and to +Evan. The former demanded an apology for certain expressions that day; and an +equivalent to an admission that Mr. Harrington had said, in Fallowfield, that +he was not a gentleman, in order to escape the consequences. All the Jocelyns +laughed at his tenacity, and “gentleman” began to be bandied about +in ridicule of the arrogant lean-headed adolescent. Evan was placable enough, +but dogged; he declined to make any admission, though within himself he +admitted that his antagonist was not in the position of an impostor; which he +for one honest word among them would be exposed as being, and which a simple +exercise of resolution to fly the place would save him from being further. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn enjoyed the fun, and still more the serious way in which her +relatives regarded it. +</p> + +<p> +“This comes of Rose having friends, Emily,” said Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +There would have been a dispute to arrange between Lady Jocelyn and Mrs. +Shorne, had not her ladyship been so firmly established in her phlegmatic +philosophy. She said: “Quelle enfantillage! I dare say Rose was at the +bottom of it: she can settle it best. Defer the encounter between the boys +until they see they are in the form of donkeys. They will; and then +they’ll run on together, as long as their goddess permits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Emily,” said Mrs. Shorne, “I desire you, by all +possible means, to keep the occurrence secret from Rose. She ought not to hear +of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I dare say she ought not,” returned Lady Jocelyn; “but I +wager you she does. You can teach her to pretend not to, if you like. Ecce +signum.” +</p> + +<p> +Her ladyship pointed through the library window at Rose, who was walking with +Laxley, and showing him her pearly teeth in return for one of his jokes: an +exchange so manifestly unfair, that Lady Jocelyn’s womanhood, indifferent +as she was, could not but feel that Rose had an object in view; which was true, +for she was flattering Laxley into a consent to meet Evan half way. +</p> + +<p> +The ladies murmured and hummed of these proceedings, and of Rose’s +familiarity with Mr. Harrington; and the Countess in trepidation took Evan to +herself, and spoke to him seriously; a thing she had not done since her +residence in Beckley. She let him see that he must be on a friendly footing +with everybody in the house, or go which latter alternative Evan told her he +had decided on. “Yes,” said the Countess, “and then you give +people full warrant to say it was jealousy drove you hence; and you do but +extinguish yourself to implicate dear Rose. In love, Evan, when you run away, +you don’t live to fight another day.” +</p> + +<p> +She was commanded not to speak of love. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever it may be, my dear,” said the Countess, “Mr. Laxley +has used you ill. It may be that you put yourself at his feet”; and his +sister looked at him, sighing a great sigh. She had, with violence, stayed her +mouth concerning what she knew of the Fallowfield business, dreading to alarm +his sensitiveness; but she could not avoid giving him a little slap. It was +only to make him remember by the smart that he must always suffer when he would +not be guided by her. +</p> + +<p> +Evan professed to the Jocelyns that he was willing to apologize to Laxley for +certain expressions; determining to leave the house when he had done it. The +Countess heard and nodded. The young men, sounded on both sides, were +accordingly lured to the billiard-room, and pushed together: and when he had +succeeded in thrusting the idea of Rose from the dispute, it did seem such +folly to Evan’s common sense, that he spoke with pleasant bonhommie about +it. That done, he entered into his acted part, and towered in his conceit +considerably above these aristocratic boors, who were speechless and graceless, +but tigers for their privileges and advantages. +</p> + +<p> +It will not be thought that the Countess intended to permit her brother’s +departure. To have toiled, and yet more, to have lied and fretted her +conscience, for nothing, was as little her principle, as to quit the field of +action till she is forcibly driven from it is that of any woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Going, my dear,” she said coolly. “To-morrow? Oh! very well. +You are the judge. And this creature—the insolvent to the apple-woman, +who is coming, whom you would push here—will expose us, without a soul to +guide his conduct, for I shall not remain. And Carry will not remain. +Carry—-!” The Countess gave a semisob. “Carry must return to +her brute—” meaning the gallant Marine, her possessor. +</p> + +<p> +And the Countess, knowing that Evan loved his sister Caroline, incidentally +related to him an episode in the domestic life of Major and Mrs. Strike. +</p> + +<p> +“Greatly redounding to the credit of the noble martinet for the +discipline he upholds,” the Countess said, smiling at the stunned youth. +</p> + +<p> +“I would advise you to give her time to recover from one bruise,” +she added. “You will do as it pleases you.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan was sent rushing from the Countess to Caroline, with whom the Countess was +content to leave him. +</p> + +<p> +The young man was daintily managed. Caroline asked him to stay, as she did not +see him often, and (she brought it in at the close) her home was not very +happy. She did not entreat him, but looking resigned, her lovely face conjured +up the Major to Evan, and he thought, “Can I drive her back to her +tyrant?” For so he juggled with himself to have but another day in the +sunshine of Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew, too, threw out genial hints about the Brewery. Old Tom intended to +retire, he said, and then they would see what they would see! He silenced every +word about Lymport; called him a brewer already, and made absurd jokes, that +were serviceable stuff nevertheless to the Countess, who deplored to this one +and to that the chance existing that Evan might, by the urgent solicitations of +his brother-in-law, give up diplomacy and its honours for a brewery and lucre! +</p> + +<p> +Of course Evan knew that he was managed. The memoirs of a managed man have yet +to be written; but if he be sincere he will tell you that he knew it all the +time. He longed for the sugar-plum; he knew it was naughty to take it: he dared +not for fear of the devil, and he shut his eyes while somebody else popped it +into his mouth, and assumed his responsibility. Being man-driven or chicaned, +is different from being managed. Being managed implies being led the way this +other person thinks you should go: altogether for your own benefit, mind: you +are to see with her eyes, that you may not disappoint your own appetites: which +does not hurt the flesh, certainly; but does damage the conscience; and from +the moment you have once succumbed, that function ceases to perform its office +of moral strainer so well. +</p> + +<p> +After all, was he not happier when he wrote himself tailor, than when he +declared himself gentleman? +</p> + +<p> +So he now imagined, till Rose, wishing him “Good night” on the +balcony, and abandoning her hand with a steady sweet voice and gaze, said: +“How generous of you to forgive my friend, dear Evan!” And the +ravishing little glimpse of womanly softness in her, set his heart beating. If +he thought at all, it was that he would have sacrificed body and soul for her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS</h2> + +<p> +We do not advance very far in this second despatch, and it will be found +chiefly serviceable for the indications it affords of our General’s skill +in mining, and addiction to that branch of military science. For the moment I +must beg that a little indulgence be granted to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Purely business. Great haste. Something has happened. An event? I know +not; but events may flow from it. +</p> + +<p> +“A lady is here who has run away from the conjugal abode, and Lady +Jocelyn shelters her, and is hospitable to another, who is more concerned in +this lady’s sad fate than he should be. This may be morals, my dear: but +please do not talk of Portugal now. A fineish woman with a great deal of hair +worn as if her maid had given it one comb straight down and then rolled it up +in a hurry round one finger. Malice would say carrots. It is called gold. Mr. +Forth is in a glass house, and is wrong to cast his sneers at perfectly +inoffensive people. +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly impossible we can remain at Beckley Court together—if +not dangerous. Any means that Providence may designate, I would employ. It will +be like exorcising a demon. Always excuseable. I only ask a little more time +for stupid Evan. He might have little Bonner now. I should not object; but her +family is not so good. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, do attend. At once obtain a copy of Strike’s Company people. +You understand—prospectuses. Tell me instantly if the Captain Evremonde +in it is Captain Lawson Evremonde. Pump Strike. Excuse vulgar words. Whether he +is not Lord Laxley’s half-brother. Strike shall be of use to us. Whether +he is not mad. Captain E——’s address. Oh! when I think of +Strike—brute! and poor beautiful uncomplaining Carry and her shoulder! +But let us indeed most fervently hope that his Grace may be balm to it. We must +not pray for vengeance. It is sinful. Providence will inflict that. Always know +that Providence is quite sure to. It comforts exceedingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that Strike were altogether in the past tense! No knowing what the +Duke might do—a widower and completely subjugated. It makes my bosom +bound. The man tempts me to the wickedest Frenchy ideas. There! +</p> + +<p> +We progress with dear venerable Mrs. Bonner. Truly pious—interested in +your Louisa. She dreads that my husband will try to convert me to his creed. I +can but weep and say—never! +</p> + +<p> +“I need not say I have my circle. To hear this ridiculous boy Harry +Jocelyn grunt under my nose when he has led me unsuspectingly away from +company—Harriet! dearest! He thinks it a sigh! But there is no time for +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“My maxim in any house is—never to despise the good opinion of the +nonentities. They are the majority. I think they all look up to me. But then of +course you must fix that by seducing the stars. My diplomatist praises my +abilities—Sir John Loring my style—the rest follow and I do not +withhold my smiles, and they are happy, and I should be but that for ungrateful +Evan’s sake I sacrificed my peace by binding myself to a dreadful sort of +half-story. I know I did not quite say it. It seems as if Sir A.’s ghost +were going to haunt me. And then I have the most dreadful fears that what I +have done has disturbed him in the other world. Can it be so? It is not money +or estates we took at all, dearest! And these excellent young curates—I +almost wish it was Protestant to speak a word behind a board to them and imbibe +comfort. For after all it is nothing: and a word even from this poor thin mopy +Mr. Parsley might be relief to a poor soul in trouble. Catholics tell you that +what you do in a good cause is redeemable if not exactly right. And you know +the Catholic is the oldest Religion of the two. I would listen to the Pope, +staunch Protestant as I am, in preference to King Henry the Eighth. Though, as +a woman, I bear him no rancour, for his wives were—fools, point blank. No +man was ever so manageable. My diplomatist is getting liker and liker to him +every day. Leaner, of course, and does not habitually straddle. Whiskers and +morals, I mean. We must be silent before our prudish sister. Not a prude? We +talk diplomacy, dearest. He complains of the exclusiveness of the port of +Oporto, and would have strict alliance between Portugal and England, with +mutual privileges. I wish the alliance, and think it better to maintain the +exclusiveness. Very trifling; but what is life! +</p> + +<p> +“Adieu. One word to leave you laughing. Imagine her situation! This +stupid Miss Carrington has offended me. She has tried to pump Conning, who, I +do not doubt, gave her as much truth as I chose she should have in her well. +But the quandary of the wretched creature! She takes Conning into her +confidence—a horrible malady just covered by high-neck dress! Skin! and +impossible that she can tell her engaged—who is—guess—Mr. +George Up———! Her name is Louisa Carrington. There was a +Louisa Harrington once. Similarity of names perhaps. Of course I could not let +her come to the house; and of course Miss C. is in a state of wonderment and +bad passions, I fear. I went straight to Lady Racial, my dear. There was +nothing else for it but to go and speak. She is truly a noble +woman—serves us in every way. As she should!—much affected by sight +of Evan, and keeps aloof from Beckley Court. The finger of Providence is in +all. Adieu! but do pray think of Miss Carrington! It was foolish of her to +offend me. Drives and walks—the Duke attentive. Description of him when I +embrace you. I give amiable Sir Franks Portuguese dishes. Ah, my dear, if we +had none but men to contend against, and only women for our tools! But this is +asking for the world, and nothing less. +</p> + +<p> +“Open again,” she pursues. “Dear Carry just come in. There +are fairies, I think, where there are dukes! Where could it have come from? +Could any human being have sent messengers post to London, ordered, and had it +despatched here within this short time? You shall not be mystified! I do not +think I even hinted; but the afternoon walk I had with his Grace, on the first +day of his arrival, I did shadow it very delicately how much it was to be +feared our poor Carry could not, that she dared not, betray her liege lord in +an evening dress. Nothing more, upon my veracity! And Carry has this moment +received the most beautiful green box, containing two of the most heavenly old +lace shawls that you ever beheld. We divine it is to hide poor Carry’s +matrimonial blue mark! We know nothing. Will you imagine Carry is for not +accepting it! Priority of birth does not imply superior wits, dear—no +allusion to you. I have undertaken all. Arch looks, but nothing pointed. His +Grace will understand the exquisite expression of feminine gratitude. It is so +sweet to deal with true nobility. Carry has only to look as she always does. +One sees Strike sitting on her. Her very pliability has rescued her from being +utterly squashed long ere this! The man makes one vulgar. It would have been +not the slightest use asking me to be a Christian had I wedded Strike. But +think of the fairy presents! It has determined me not to be expelled by Mr. +Forth—quite. Tell Silva he is not forgotten. But, my dear, between us +alone, men are so selfish, that it is too evident they do not care for private +conversations to turn upon a lady’s husband: not to be risked, only now +and then. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear that the young ladies and the young gentlemen have been out +riding a race. The poor little Bonner girl cannot ride, and she says to Carry +that Rose wishes to break our brother’s neck. The child hardly wishes +that, but she is feelingless. If Evan could care for Miss Bonner, he might have +B. C.! Oh, it is not so very long a shot, my dear. I am on the spot, remember. +Old Mrs. Bonner is a most just-minded spirit. Juliana is a cripple, and her +grandmother wishes to be sure that when she departs to her Lord the poor +cripple may not be chased from this home of hers. Rose cannot +calculate—Harry is in disgrace—there is really no knowing. This is +how I have reckoned; £10,000 extra to Rose; perhaps £1000 or nothing to H.; all +the rest of ready-money—a large sum—no use guessing—to Lady +Jocelyn; and B. C. to little Bonner—it is worth £40,000. Then she sells, +or stops—permanent resident. It might be so soon, for I can see worthy +Mrs. Bonner to be breaking visibly. But young men will not see with wiser eyes +than their own. Here is Evan risking his neck for an +indifferent—there’s some word for ‘not soft.’ In short, +Rose is the cold-blooded novice, as I have always said, the most selfish of the +creatures on two legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Adieu! Would you have dreamed that Major Nightmare’s gallantry to +his wife would have called forth a gallantry so truly touching and delicate? +Can you not see Providence there? Out of Evil—the Catholics again! +</p> + +<p> +“Address. If Lord Lax—’s half-brother. If wrong in noddle. +This I know you will attend to scrupulously. Ridiculous words are sometimes the +most expressive. Once more, may Heaven bless you all! I thought of you in +church last Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +“I may tell you this: young Mr. Laxley is here. He—but it was +Evan’s utter madness was the cause, and I have not ventured a word to +him. He compelled Evan to assert his rank, and Mr. Forth’s face has been +one concentrated sneer since THEN. He must know the origin of the Cogglesbys, +or something. Now you will understand the importance. I cannot be more +explicit. Only—the man must go. +</p> + +<p> +“P.S. I have just ascertained that Lady Jocelyn is quite familiar with +Andrew’s origin!! She must think my poor Harriet an eccentric woman. Of +course I have not pretended to rank here, merely gentry. It is gentry in +reality, for had poor Papa been legitimized, he would have been a nobleman. You +know that; and between the two we may certainly claim gentry. I twiddle your +little good Andrew to assert it for us twenty times a day. Of all the dear +little manageable men! It does you infinite credit that you respect him as you +do. What would have become of me I do not know. +</p> + +<p> +“P.S. I said two shawls—a black and a white. The black not so +costly—very well. And so delicate of him to think of the mourning! But +the white, my dear, must be family—must! Old English point. Exquisitely +chaste. So different from that Brussels poor Andrew surprised you with. I know +it cost money, but this is a question of taste. The Duke reconciles me to +England and all my troubles! He is more like poor Papa than any one of the men +I have yet seen. The perfect gentleman! I do praise myself for managing an +invitation to our Carry. She has been a triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +Admire the concluding stroke. The Countess calls this letter a purely business +communication. Commercial men might hardly think so; but perhaps ladies will +perceive it. She rambles concentrically, if I may so expound her. Full of +luxurious enjoyment of her position, her mind is active, and you see her at one +moment marking a plot, the next, with a light exclamation, appeasing her +conscience, proud that she has one; again she calls up rival forms of faith, +that she may show the Protestant its little shortcomings, and that it is +slightly in debt to her (like Providence) for her constancy, notwithstanding. +The Protestant you see, does not confess, and she has to absolve herself, and +must be doing it internally while she is directing outer matters. Hence her +slap at King Henry VIII. In fact, there is much more business in this letter +than I dare to indicate; but as it is both impertinent and unpopular to dive +for any length of time beneath the surface (especially when there are few +pearls to show for it), we will discontinue our examination. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, when she had dropped the letter in the bag, returned to her +chamber, and deputed Dorothy Loring, whom she met on the stairs, to run and +request Rose to lend her her album to beguile the afternoon with; and Dorothy +dances to Rose, saying, “The Countess de Lispy-Lispy would be delighted +to look at your album all the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh what a woman that is!” says Rose. “Countess de Lazy-Lazy, +I think.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, had she been listening, would have cared little for accusations +on that head. Idlesse was fashionable: exquisite languors were a sign of +breeding; and she always had an idea that she looked more interesting at dinner +after reclining on a couch the whole of the afternoon. The great Mel and his +mate had given her robust health, and she was able to play the high-born +invalid without damage to her constitution. Anything amused her; Rose’s +album even, and the compositions of W. H., E. H., D. F., and F. L. The initials +F. L. were diminutive, and not unlike her own hand, she thought. They were +appended to a piece of facetiousness that would not have disgraced the +abilities of Mr. John Raikes; but we know that very stiff young gentlemen +betray monkey-minds when sweet young ladies compel them to disport. On the +whole, it was not a lazy afternoon that the Countess passed, and it was not +against her wish that others should think it was. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br /> +BREAK-NECK LEAP</h2> + +<p> +The August sun was in mid-sky, when a troop of ladies and cavaliers issued from +the gates of Beckley Court, and winding through the hopgardens, emerged on the +cultivated slopes bordering the downs. Foremost, on her grey cob, was Rose, +having on her right her uncle Seymour, and on her left Ferdinand Laxley. Behind +came Mrs. Evremonde, flanked by Drummond and Evan. Then followed Jenny Graine, +supported by Harry and William Harvey. In the rear came an open carriage, in +which Miss Carrington and the Countess de Saldar were borne, attended by Lady +Jocelyn and Andrew Cogglesby on horseback. The expedition had for its object +the selection of a run of ground for an amateur steeple-chase: the idea of +which had sprung from Laxley’s boasts of his horsemanship: and Rose, +quick as fire, had backed herself, and Drummond and Evan, to beat him. The +mention of the latter was quite enough for Laxley. +</p> + +<p> +“If he follows me, let him take care of his neck,” said that youth. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Ferdinand, he can beat you in anything!” exclaimed Rose, +imprudently. +</p> + +<p> +But the truth was, she was now more restless than ever. She was not distant +with Evan, but she had a feverish manner, and seemed to thirst to make him show +his qualities, and excel, and shine. Billiards, or jumping, or classical +acquirements, it mattered not—Evan must come first. He had crossed the +foils with Laxley, and disarmed him; for Mel his father had seen him trained +for a military career. Rose made a noise about the encounter, and Laxley was +eager for his opportunity, which he saw in the proposed mad gallop. +</p> + +<p> +Now Mr. George Uplift, who usually rode in buckskins whether he was after the +fox or fresh air, was out on this particular morning; and it happened that, as +the cavalcade wound beneath the down, Mr. George trotted along the ridge. He +was a fat-faced, rotund young squire—a bully where he might be, and an +obedient creature enough where he must be—good-humoured when not +interfered with; fond of the table, and brimful of all the jokes of the county, +the accent of which just seasoned his speech. He had somehow plunged into a +sort of half-engagement with Miss Carrington. At his age, and to ladies of Miss +Carrington’s age, men unhappily do not plunge head-foremost, or Miss +Carrington would have had him long before. But he was at least in for it half a +leg; and a desperate maiden, on the criminal side of thirty, may make much of +that. Previous to the visit of the Countess de Saldar, Mr. George had been in +the habit of trotting over to Beckley three or four times a week. Miss +Carrington had a little money: Mr. George was heir to his uncle. Miss +Carrington was lean and blue-eyed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George was black-eyed and obese. By everybody, except Mr. George, the match +was made: but that exception goes for little in the country, where half the +population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely devote themselves to +continuing the species. Mr. George was certain that he had not been fighting +shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had he been unfaithful. He had only +been in an extraordinary state of occupation. Messages for Lady Racial had to +be delivered, and he had become her cavalier and escort suddenly. The young +squire was bewildered; but as he was only one leg in love—if the +sentiment may be thus spoken of figuratively—his vanity in his present +office kept him from remorse or uneasiness. +</p> + +<p> +He rode at an easy pace within sight of the home of his treasure, and his back +turned to it. Presently there rose a cry from below. Mr. George looked about. +The party of horsemen hallooed: Mr. George yoicked. Rose set her horse to +gallop up; Seymour Jocelyn cried “fox,” and gave the view; hearing +which Mr. George shouted, and seemed inclined to surrender; but the fun seized +him, and, standing up in his stirrups, he gathered his coat-tails in a bunch, +and waggled them with a jolly laugh, which was taken up below, and the clamp of +hoofs resounded on the turf as Mr. George led off, after once more, with a +jocose twist in his seat, showing them the brush mockingly. Away went fox, and +a mad chase began. Seymour acted as master of the hunt. Rose, Evan, Drummond, +and Mrs. Evremonde and Dorothy, skirted to the right, all laughing, and full of +excitement. Harry bellowed the direction from above. The ladies in the +carriage, with Lady Jocelyn and Andrew, watched them till they flowed one and +all over the shoulder of the down. +</p> + +<p> +“And who may the poor hunted animal be?” inquired the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“George Uplift,” said Lady Jocelyn, pulling out her watch. “I +give him twenty minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Providence speed him!” breathed the Countess, with secret fervour. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he hasn’t a chance,” said Lady Jocelyn. “The +squire keeps wretched beasts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there not an attraction that will account for his hasty +capture?” said the Countess, looking tenderly at Miss Carrington, who sat +a little straighter, and the Countess, hating manifestations of +stiff-backedness, could not forbear adding: “I am at war with my +sympathies, which should be with the poor brute flying from his +persecutors.” +</p> + +<p> +She was in a bitter state of trepidation, or she would have thought twice +before she touched a nerve of the enamoured lady, as she knew she did in +calling her swain a poor brute, and did again by pertinaciously pursuing: +</p> + +<p> +“Does he then shun his captivity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Touching a nerve” is one of those unforgivable small offences +which, in our civilized state, produce the social vendettas and dramas that, +with savage nations, spring from the spilling of blood. Instead of an eye for +an eye, a tooth for a tooth, we demand a nerve for a nerve. “Thou hast +touched me where I am tender thee, too, will I touch.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington had been alarmed and hurt at the strange evasion of Mr. George; +nor could she see the fun of his mimicry of the fox and his flight away from +instead of into her neighbourhood. She had also, or she now thought it, +remarked that when Mr. George had been spoken of casually, the Countess had not +looked a natural look. Perhaps it was her present inflamed fancy. At any rate +the Countess was offensive now. She was positively vulgar, in consequence, to +the mind of Miss Carrington, and Miss Carrington was drawn to think of a +certain thing Ferdinand Laxley had said he had heard from the mouth of this +lady’s brother when ale was in him. Alas! how one seed of a piece of +folly will lurk and sprout to confound us; though, like the cock in the eastern +tale, we peck up zealously all but that one! +</p> + +<p> +The carriage rolled over the turf, attended by Andrew, and Lady Jocelyn, and +the hunt was seen; Mr. George some forty paces a-head; Seymour gaining on him, +Rose next. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that breasting Rose?” said Lady Jocelyn, lifting her +glass. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother-in-law, Harrington,” returned Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t ride badly,” said Lady Jocelyn. “A little +too military. He must have been set up in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Evan can do anything,” said Andrew enthusiastically. +“His father was a capital horseman, and taught him fencing, riding, and +every accomplishment. You won’t find such a young fellow, my +lady—” +</p> + +<p> +“The brother like him at all?” asked Lady Jocelyn, still eyeing the +chase. +</p> + +<p> +“Brother? He hasn’t got a brother,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn continued: “I mean the present baronet.” +</p> + +<p> +She was occupied with her glass, and did not observe the flush that took hold +of Andrew’s ingenuous cheeks, and his hurried glance at and off the quiet +eye of the Countess. Miss Carrington did observe it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Andrew dashed his face under the palm of his hand, and murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—yes! His brother-in-law isn’t much like him—ha! +ha!” +</p> + +<p> +And then the poor little man rubbed his hands, unconscious of the indignant +pity for his wretched abilities in the gaze of the Countess; and he must have +been exposed—there was a fear that the ghost of Sir Abraham would have +darkened this day, for Miss Carrington was about to speak, when Lady Jocelyn +cried: “There’s a purl! Somebody’s down.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess was unaware of the nature of a purl, but she could have sworn it +to be a piece of Providence. +</p> + +<p> +“Just by old Nat Hodges’ farm, on Squire Copping’s +ground,” cried Andrew, much relieved by the particular individual’s +misfortune. “Dear me, my lady! how old Tom and I used to jump the brook +there, to be sure! and when you were no bigger than little Miss Loring—do +you remember old Tom? We’re all fools one time in our lives!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who can it be?” said Lady Jocelyn, spying at the discomfited +horseman. “I’m afraid it’s poor Ferdinand.” +</p> + +<p> +They drove on to an eminence from which the plain was entirely laid open. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope my brother will enjoy his ride this day,” sighed the +Countess. “It will be his limit of enjoyment for a lengthened +period!” +</p> + +<p> +She perceived that Mr. George’s capture was inevitable, and her heart +sank; for she was sure he would recognize her, and at the moment she misdoubted +her powers. She dreamed of flight. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not going to leave us?” said Lady Jocelyn. “My +dear Countess, what will the future member do without you? We have your promise +to stay till the election is over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks for your extreme kind courtesy, Lady Jocelyn,” murmured the +Countess: “but my husband—the Count.” +</p> + +<p> +“The favour is yours,” returned her ladyship. “And if the +Count cannot come, you at least are at liberty?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are most kind,” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Andrew and his wife I should not dare to separate for more than a +week,” said Lady Jocelyn. “He is the great British husband. The +proprietor! ‘My wife’ is his unanswerable excuse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Andrew replied cheerily. “I don’t like division +between man and wife, I must say.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess dared no longer instance the Count, her husband. She was heard to +murmur that citizen feelings were not hers: +</p> + +<p> +“You suggested Fallowfield to Melville, did you not?” asked Lady +Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the merest suggestion,” said the Countess, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must really stay to see us through it,” said her +ladyship. “Where are they now? They must be making straight for +break-neck fence. They’ll have him there. George hasn’t pluck for +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t what?” +</p> + +<p> +It was the Countess who requested to know the name of this other piece of +Providence Mr. George Uplift was deficient in. +</p> + +<p> +“Pluck—go,” said her ladyship hastily, and telling the +coachman to drive to a certain spot, trotted on with Andrew, saying to him: +“I’m afraid we are thought vulgar by the Countess.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew considered it best to reassure her gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“The young man, her brother, is well-bred,” said Lady Jocelyn, and +Andrew was very ready to praise Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn, herself in slimmer days a spirited horsewoman, had correctly +estimated Mr. George’s pluck. He was captured by Harry and Evan close on +the leap, in the act of shaking his head at it; and many who inspected the leap +would have deemed it a sign that wisdom weighted the head that would shake long +at it; for it consisted of a post and rails, with a double ditch. +</p> + +<p> +Seymour Jocelyn, Mrs. Evremonde, Drummond, Jenny Graine, and William Harvey, +rode with Mr. George in quest of the carriage, and the captive was duly +delivered over. +</p> + +<p> +“But where’s the brush?” said Lady Jocelyn, laughing, and +introducing him to the Countess, who dropped her head, and with it her veil. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! they leave that on for my next run,” said Mr. George, bowing +civilly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to run again?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington severely asked this question; and Mr. George protested. +</p> + +<p> +“Secure him, Louisa,” said Lady Jocelyn. “See here: +what’s the matter with poor Dorothy?” +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy came slowly trotting up to them along the green lane, and thus +expressed her grief, between sobs: +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it a shame? Rose is such a tyrant. They’re going to +ride a race and a jump down in the field, and it’s break-neck leap, and +Rose won’t allow me to stop and see it, though she knows I’m just +as fond of Evan as she is; and if he’s killed I declare it will be her +fault; and it’s all for her stupid, dirty old pocket handkerchief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Break-neck fence!” said Lady Jocelyn; “that’s rather +mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do let’s go and see it, darling Aunty Joey,” pleaded the +little maid. Lady Jocelyn rode on, saying to herself: “That girl has a +great deal of devil in her.” The lady’s thoughts were of Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Black Lymport’d take the leap,” said Mr. George, following +her with the rest of the troop. “Who’s that fellow on him?” +</p> + +<p> +“His name’s Harrington,” quoth Drummond. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Harrington!” Mr. George responded; but immediately +laughed—“Harrington? ’Gad, if he takes the leap it’ll +be odd—another of the name. That’s where old Mel had his +spill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” Drummond inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Old Mel Harrington—the Lymport wonder. Old Marquis Mel,” +said Mr. George. “Haven’t ye heard of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“What! the gorgeous tailor!” exclaimed Lady Jocelyn. “How I +regret never meeting that magnificent snob! that efflorescence of sublime +imposture! I’ve seen the Regent; but one’s life doesn’t seem +complete without having seen his twin-brother. You must give us warning when +you have him down at Croftlands again, Mr. George.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Gad, he’ll have to come a long distance—poor old +Mel!” said Mr. George; and was going on, when Seymour Jocelyn stroked his +moustache to cry, “Look! Rosey’s starting ’em, by +Jove!” +</p> + +<p> +The leap, which did not appear formidable from where they stood, was four +fields distant from the point where Rose, with a handkerchief in her hand, was +at that moment giving the signal to Laxley and Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington and the Countess begged Lady Jocelyn to order a shout to be +raised to arrest them, but her ladyship marked her good sense by saying: +“Let them go, now they’re about it”; for she saw that to make +a fuss now matters had proceeded so far, was to be uncivil to the inevitable. +</p> + +<p> +The start was given, and off they flew. Harry Jocelyn, behind them, was +evidently caught by the demon, and clapped spurs to his horse to have his fling +as well, for the fun of the thing; but Rose, farther down the field, rode from +her post straight across him, to the imminent peril of a mutual overset; and +the party on the height could see Harry fuming, and Rose coolly looking him +down, and letting him understand what her will was; and her mother, and +Drummond, and Seymour who beheld this, had a common sentiment of admiration for +the gallant girl. But away went the rivals. Black Lymport was the favourite, +though none of the men thought he would be put at the fence. The excitement +became contagious. The Countess threw up her veil. Lady Jocelyn, and Seymour, +and Drummond, galloped down the lane, and Mr. George was for accompanying them, +till the line of Miss Carrington’s back gave him her unmistakeable +opinion of such a course of conduct, and he had to dally and fret by her side. +Andrew’s arm was tightly grasped by the Countess. The rivals were +crossing the second field, Laxley a little a-head. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s holding in the black mare—that fellow!” said Mr. +George. “’Gad, it looks like going at the fence. Fancy +Harrington!” +</p> + +<p> +They were now in the fourth field, a smooth shorn meadow. Laxley was two clear +lengths in advance, but seemed riding, as Mr. George remarked, more for pace +than to take the jump. The ladies kept plying random queries and suggestions: +the Countess wishing to know whether they could not be stopped by a countryman +before they encountered any danger. In the midst of their chatter, Mr. George +rose in his stirrups, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, the black mare!” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he done it?” said Andrew, wiping his poll. +</p> + +<p> +“He? No, the mare!” shouted Mr. George, and bolted off, no longer +to be restrained. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess, doubly relieved, threw herself back in the carriage, and Andrew +drew a breath, saying: “Evan has beat him—I saw that! The +other’s horse swerved right round.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” said Mrs. Evremonde, “Mr. Harrington has had a +fall. Don’t be alarmed—it may not be much.” +</p> + +<p> +“A fall!” exclaimed the Countess, equally divided between alarms of +sisterly affection and a keen sense of the romance of the thing. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington ordered the carriage to be driven round. They had not gone far +when they were met by Harry Jocelyn riding in hot haste, and he bellowed to the +coachman to drive as hard as he could, and stop opposite Brook’s farm. +</p> + +<p> +The scene on the other side of the fence would have been a sweet one to the +central figure in it had his eyes then been open. Surrounded by Lady Jocelyn, +Drummond, Seymour, and the rest, Evan’s dust-stained body was stretched +along the road, and his head was lying in the lap of Rose, who, pale, heedless +of anything spoken by those around her, and with her lips set and her eyes +turning wildly from one to the other, held a gory handkerchief to his temple +with one hand, and with the other felt for the motion of his heart. +</p> + +<p> +But heroes don’t die, you know. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS</h2> + +<p> +“You have murdered my brother, Rose Jocelyn!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say so now.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the interchange between the two that loved the senseless youth, as he +was being lifted into the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn sat upright in her saddle, giving directions about what was to be +done with Evan and the mare, impartially. +</p> + +<p> +“Stunned, and a good deal shaken, I suppose; Lymport’s knees are +terribly cut,” she said to Drummond, who merely nodded. And Seymour +remarked, “Fifty guineas knocked off her value!” One added, +“Nothing worse, I should think”; and another, “A little +damage inside, perhaps.” Difficult to say whether they spoke of Evan or +the brute. +</p> + +<p> +No violent outcries; no reproaches cast on the cold-blooded coquette; no +exclamations on the heroism of her brother! They could absolutely spare a +thought for the animal! And Evan had risked his life for this, and might die +unpitied. The Countess diversified her grief with a deadly bitterness against +the heartless Jocelyns. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, if Evan dies! will it punish Rose sufficiently? +</p> + +<p> +Andrew expressed emotion, but not of a kind the Countess liked a relative to be +seen exhibiting; for in emotion worthy Andrew betrayed to her his origin +offensively. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away and puke, if you must,” she said, clipping poor +Andrew’s word about his “dear boy.” She could not help +speaking in that way—he was so vulgar. A word of sympathy from Lady +Jocelyn might have saved her from the sourness into which her many conflicting +passions were resolving; and might also have saved her ladyship from the +rancour she had sown in the daughter of the great Mel by her selection of +epithets to characterize him. +</p> + +<p> +Will it punish Rose at all, if Evan dies? +</p> + +<p> +Rose saw that she was looked at. How could the Countess tell that Rose envied +her the joy of holding Evan in the carriage there? Rose, to judge by her face, +was as calm as glass. Not so well seen through, however. Mrs. Evremonde rode +beside her, whose fingers she caught, and twined her own with them tightly once +for a fleeting instant. Mrs. Evremonde wanted no further confession of her +state. +</p> + +<p> +Then Rose said to her mother, “Mama, may I ride to have the doctor +ready?” +</p> + +<p> +Ordinarily, Rose would have clapped heel to horse the moment the thought came. +She waited for the permission, and flew off at a gallop, waving back Laxley, +who was for joining her. +</p> + +<p> +“Franks will be a little rusty about the mare,” the Countess heard +Lady Jocelyn say; and Harry just then stooped his head to the carriage, and +said, in his blunt fashion, “After all, it won’t show much.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are not cattle!” exclaimed the frenzied Countess, within her +bosom. Alas! it was almost a democratic outcry they made her guilty of; but she +was driven past patience. And as a further provocation, Evan would open his +eyes. She laid her handkerchief over them with loving delicacy, remembering in +a flash that her own face had been all the while exposed to Mr. George Uplift; +and then the terrors of his presence at Beckley Court came upon her, and the +fact that she had not for the last ten minutes been the serene Countess de +Saldar; and she quite hated Andrew, for vulgarity in others evoked vulgarity in +her, which was the reason why she ranked vulgarity as the chief of the deadly +sins. Her countenance for Harry and all the others save poor Andrew was soon +the placid heaven-confiding sister’s again; not before Lady Jocelyn had +found cause to observe to Drummond: +</p> + +<p> +“Your Countess doesn’t ruffle well.” +</p> + +<p> +But a lady who is at war with two or three of the facts of Providence, and yet +will have Providence for her ally, can hardly ruffle well. Do not imagine that +the Countess’s love for her brother was hollow. She was assured when she +came up to the spot where he fell, that there was no danger; he had but +dislocated his shoulder, and bruised his head a little. Hearing this, she rose +out of her clamorous heart, and seized the opportunity for a small burst of +melodrama. Unhappily, Lady Jocelyn, who gave the tone to the rest, was a +Spartan in matters of this sort; and as she would have seen those dearest to +her bear the luck of the field, she could see others. When the call for active +help reached her, you beheld a different woman. +</p> + +<p> +The demonstrativeness the Countess thirsted for was afforded her by Juley +Bonner, and in a measure by her sister Caroline, who loved Evan passionately. +The latter was in riding attire, about to mount to ride and meet them, +accompanied by the Duke. Caroline had hastily tied up her hair; a rich golden +brown lump of it hung round her cheek; her limpid eyes and anxiously-nerved +brows impressed the Countess wonderfully as she ran down the steps and bent her +fine well-filled bust forward to ask the first hurried question. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess patted her shoulder. “Safe, dear,” she said aloud, as +one who would not make much of it. And in a whisper, “You look +superb.” +</p> + +<p> +I must charge it to Caroline’s beauty under the ducal radiance, that a +stream of sweet feelings entering into the Countess made her forget to tell her +sister that George Uplift was by. Caroline had not been abroad, and her skin +was not olive-hued; she was a beauty, and a majestic figure, little altered +since the day when the wooden marine marched her out of Lymport. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess stepped from the carriage to go and cherish Juliana’s +petulant distress; for that unhealthy little body was stamping with impatience +to have the story told to her, to burst into fits of pathos; and while Seymour +and Harry assisted Evan to descend, trying to laugh off the pain he endured, +Caroline stood by, soothing him with words and tender looks. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn passed him, and took his hand, saying, “Not killed this +time!” +</p> + +<p> +“At your ladyship’s service to-morrow,” he replied, and his +hand was kindly squeezed. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling Evan, you will not ride again?” Caroline cried, kissing +him on the steps; and the Duke watched the operation, and the Countess observed +the Duke. +</p> + +<p> +That Providence should select her sweetest moments to deal her wounds, was +cruel; but the Countess just then distinctly heard Mr. George Uplift ask Miss +Carrington. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that lady a Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“You perceive a likeness?” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George went “Whew!—tit-tit-tit!” with the profound +expression of a very slow mind. +</p> + +<p> +The scene was quickly over. There was barely an hour for the ladies to dress +for dinner. Leaving Evan in the doctor’s hand, and telling Caroline to +dress in her room, the Countess met Rose, and gratified her vindictiveness, +while she furthered her projects, by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Not till my brother is quite convalescent will it be adviseable that you +should visit him. I am compelled to think of him entirely now. In his present +state he is not fit to be, played with.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose, stedfastly eyeing her, seemed to swallow down something in her throat, +and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I will obey you, Countess. I hoped you would allow me to nurse +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quiet above all things, Rose Jocelyn!” returned the Countess, with +the suavity of a governess, who must be civil in her sourness. “If you +would not complete this morning’s achievement—stay away.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess declined to see that Rose’s lip quivered. She saw an +unpleasantness in the bottom of her eyes; and now that her brother’s +decease was not even remotely to be apprehended, she herself determined to +punish the cold, unimpressionable coquette of a girl. Before returning to +Caroline, she had five minutes’ conversation with Juliana, which fully +determined her to continue the campaign at Beckley Court, commence decisive +movements, and not to retreat, though fifty George Uplofts menaced her. +Consequently, having dismissed Conning on a message to Harry Jocelyn, to ask +him for a list of the names of the new people they were to meet that day at +dinner, she said to Caroline: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, I think it will be incumbent on us to depart very +quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +Much to the Countess’s chagrin and astonishment, Caroline replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall hardly be sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not sorry? Why, what now, dear one? Is it true, then, that a flagellated +female kisses the rod? Are you so eager for a repetition of Strike?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline, with some hesitation, related to her more than the Countess had +ventured to petition for in her prayers. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! how exceedingly generous!” the latter exclaimed. How very +refreshing to think that there are nobles in your England as romantic, as +courteous, as delicate as our own foreign ones! But his Grace is quite an +exceptional nobleman. Are you not touched, dearest Carry?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline pensively glanced at the reflection of her beautiful arm in the glass, +and sighed, pushing back the hair from her temples. +</p> + +<p> +“But, for mercy’s sake!” resumed the Countess, in alarm at +the sigh, “do not be too—too touched. Do, pray, preserve your wits. +You weep! Caroline, Caroline! O my goodness; it is just five-and-twenty minutes +to the first dinner-bell, and you are crying! For God’s sake, think of +your face! Are you going to be a Gorgon? And you show the marks twice as long +as any other, you fair women. Squinnying like this! Caroline, for your +Louisa’s sake, do not!” +</p> + +<p> +Hissing which, half angrily and half with entreaty, the Countess dropped on her +knees. Caroline’s fit of tears subsided. The eldest of the sisters, she +was the kindest, the fairest, the weakest. +</p> + +<p> +“Not,” said the blandishing Countess, when Caroline’s face +was clearer, “not that my best of Carrys does not look delicious in her +shower. Cry, with your hair down, and you would subdue any male creature on two +legs. And that reminds me of that most audacious Marquis de Remilla. He saw a +dirty drab of a fruit-girl crying in Lisbon streets one day, as he was riding +in the carriage of the Duchesse de Col da Rosta, and her husband and duena, and +he had a letter for her—the Duchesse. They loved! How deliver the letter? +‘Save me!’ he cried to the Duchesse, catching her hand, and +pressing his heart, as if very sick. The Duchesse felt the paper—turned +her hand over on her knee, and he withdrew his. What does my Carry think was +the excuse he tendered the Duke? This—and this gives you some idea of the +wonderful audacity of those dear Portuguese—that he—he must +precipitate himself and marry any woman he saw weep, and be her slave for the +term of his natural life, unless another woman’s hand at the same moment +restrained him! There!” and the Countess’s eyes shone brightly. +</p> + +<p> +“How excessively imbecile!” Caroline remarked, hitherto a passive +listener to these Lusitanian <i>contes</i>. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first sign she had yet given of her late intercourse with a positive +Duke, and the Countess felt it, and drew back. No more anecdotes for Caroline, +to whom she quietly said: +</p> + +<p> +“You are very English, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“But now, the Duke—his Grace,” she went on, “how did he +inaugurate?” +</p> + +<p> +“I spoke to him of Evan’s position. God forgive me!—I said +that was the cause of my looks being sad.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could have thought of nothing better,” interposed the +Countess. “Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“He said, if he might clear them he should be happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“In exquisite language, Carry, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; just as others talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum!” went the Countess, and issued again brightly from a cloud of +reflection, with the remark: “It was to seem business-like—the +commerciality of the English mind. To the point—I know. Well, you +perceive, my sweetest, that Evan’s interests are in your hands. You dare +not quit the field. In one week, I fondly trust, he will be secure. What more +did his Grace say? May we not be the repository of such delicious +secresies?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline gave tremulous indications about the lips, and the Countess jumped to +the bell and rang it, for they were too near dinner for the trace of a single +tear to be permitted. The bell and the appearance of Conning effectually +checked the flood. +</p> + +<p> +While speaking to her sister, the Countess had hesitated to mention George +Uplift’s name, hoping that, as he had no dinner-suit, he would not stop +to dinner that day, and would fall to the charge of Lady Racial once more. +Conning, however, brought in a sheet of paper on which the names of the guests +were written out by Harry, a daily piece of service he performed for the +captivating dame, and George Uplift’s name was in the list. +</p> + +<p> +“We will do the rest, Conning—retire,” she said, and then +folding Caroline in her arms, murmured, the moment they were alone, “Will +my Carry dress her hair plain to-day, for the love of her Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness! what a request!” exclaimed Caroline, throwing back her +head to see if her Louisa could be serious. +</p> + +<p> +“Most inexplicable—is it not? Will she do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Flat, dear? It makes a fright of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly. May I beg it?” +</p> + +<p> +“But why, dearest, why? If I only knew why!” +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of your Louy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Plain along the temples?” +</p> + +<p> +“And a knot behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a band along the forehead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gems, if they meet your favour.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my cheek-bones, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not too prominent, Carry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curls relieve them.” +</p> + +<p> +“The change will relieve the curls, dear one.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline looked in the glass, at the Countess, as polished a reflector, and +fell into a chair. Her hair was accustomed to roll across her shoulders in +heavy curls. The Duke would find a change of the sort singular. She should not +at all know herself with her hair done differently: and for a lovely woman to +be transformed to a fright is hard to bear in solitude, or in imagination. +</p> + +<p> +“Really!” she petitioned. +</p> + +<p> +“Really—yes, or no?” added the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“So unaccountable a whim!” Caroline looked in the glass dolefully, +and pulled up her thick locks from one cheek, letting them fall on the instant. +</p> + +<p> +“She will?” breathed the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“I really cannot,” said Caroline, with vehemence. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess burst into laughter, replying: “My poor child! it is not my +whim—it is your obligation. George Uplift dines here to-day. Now do you +divine it? Disguise is imperative for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Strike, gazing in her sister’s face, answered slowly, “George? +But how will you meet him?” she hurriedly asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have met him,” rejoined the Countess, boldly. “I defy him +to know me. I brazen him! You with your hair in my style are equally safe. You +see there is no choice. Pooh! contemptible puppy!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I never,”—Caroline was going to say she never could face +him. “I will not dine. I will nurse Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have faced him, my dear,” said the Countess, “and you +are to change your head-dress simply to throw him off his scent.” +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke the Countess tripped about, nodding her head like a girl. Triumph +in the sense of her power over all she came in contact with, rather elated the +lady. +</p> + +<p> +Do you see why she worked her sister in this roundabout fashion? She would not +tell her George Uplift was in the house till she was sure he intended to stay, +for fear of frightening her. When the necessity became apparent, she put it +under the pretext of a whim in order to see how far Caroline, whose weak +compliance she could count on, and whose reticence concerning the Duke annoyed +her, would submit to it to please her sister; and if she rebelled positively, +why to be sure it was the Duke she dreaded to shock: and, therefore, the Duke +had a peculiar hold on her: and, therefore, the Countess might reckon that she +would do more than she pleased to confess to remain with the Duke, and was +manageable in that quarter. All this she learnt without asking. I need not add, +that Caroline sighingly did her bidding. +</p> + +<p> +“We must all be victims in our turn, Carry,” said the Countess. +“Evan’s prospects—it may be, Silva’s +restoration—depend upon your hair being dressed plain to-day. Reflect on +that!” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Caroline obeyed; but she was capable of reflecting only that her face was +unnaturally lean and strange to her. +</p> + +<p> +The sisters tended and arranged one another, taking care to push their mourning +a month or two ahead and the Countess animadverted on the vulgar mind of Lady +Jocelyn, who would allow a “gentleman to sit down at a +gentlewoman’s table, in full company, in pronounced undress: and +Caroline, utterly miserable, would pretend that she wore a mask and kept +grimacing as they do who are not accustomed to paint on the cheeks, till the +Countess checked her by telling her she should ask her for that before the +Duke. +</p> + +<p> +After a visit to Evan, the sisters sailed together into the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Uniformity is sometimes a gain,” murmured the Countess, as they +were parting in the middle of the room. She saw that their fine figures, and +profiles, and resemblance in contrast, produced an effect. The Duke wore one of +those calmly intent looks by which men show they are aware of change in the +heavens they study, and are too devout worshippers to presume to disapprove. +Mr. George was standing by Miss Carrington, and he also watched Mrs. Strike. To +bewilder him yet more the Countess persisted in fixing her eyes upon his +heterodox apparel, and Mr. George became conscious and uneasy. Miss Carrington +had to address her question to him twice before he heard. Melville Jocelyn, Sir +John Loring, Sir Franks, and Hamilton surrounded the Countess, and told her +what they had decided on with regard to the election during the day; for +Melville was warm in his assertion that they would not talk to the Countess +five minutes without getting a hint worth having. +</p> + +<p> +“Call to us that man who is habited like a groom,” said the +Countess, indicating Mr. George. “I presume he is in his right place up +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whew—take care, Countess—our best man. He’s good for a +dozen,” said Hamilton. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George was brought over and introduced to the Countess de Saldar. +</p> + +<p> +“So the oldest Tory in the county is a fox?” she said, in allusion +to the hunt. Never did Caroline Strike admire her sister’s fearful genius +more than at that moment. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George ducked and rolled his hand over his chin, with “ah-um!” +and the like, ended by a dry laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you our supporter, Mr. Uplift?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tory interest, ma—um—my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you staunch and may be trusted?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Pon my honour, I think I have that reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you would not betray us if we give you any secrets? Say +‘’Pon my honour,’ again. You launch it out so +courageously.” +</p> + +<p> +The men laughed, though they could not see what the Countess was driving at. +She had for two minutes spoken as she spoke when a girl, and +George—entirely off his guard and unsuspicious—looked +unenlightened. If he knew, there were hints enough for him in her words. +</p> + +<p> +If he remained blind, they might pass as air. The appearance of the butler cut +short his protestation as to his powers of secresy. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess dismissed him. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be taken into our confidence when we require you.” And +she resumed her foreign air in a most elaborate and overwhelming bow. +</p> + +<p> +She was now perfectly satisfied that she was safe from Mr. George, and, as she +thoroughly detested the youthful squire, she chose to propagate a laugh at him +by saying with the utmost languor and clearness of voice, as they descended the +stairs: +</p> + +<p> +“After all, a very clever fox may be a very dull dog—don’t +you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Gentlemen in front of her, and behind, heard it, and at Mr. George’s +expense her reputation rose. +</p> + +<p> +Thus the genius of this born general prompted her to adopt the principle in +tactics—boldly to strike when you are in the dark as to your +enemy’s movements. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO DIGEST HIM AT DINNER</h2> + +<p> +You must know, if you would form an estimate of the Countess’s heroic +impudence, that a rumour was current in Lymport that the fair and +well-developed Louisa Harrington, in her sixteenth year, did advisedly, and +with the intention of rendering the term indefinite, entrust her guileless +person to Mr. George Uplift’s honourable charge. The rumour, unflavoured +by absolute malignity, was such; and it went on to say, that the sublime Mel, +alive to the honour of his family, followed the fugitives with a pistol, and +with a horsewhip, that he might chastise the offender according to the degree +of his offence. It was certain that he had not used the pistol: it was said +that he had used the whip. The details of the interview between Mel and Mr. +George were numerous, but at the same time various. Some declared that he put a +pistol to Mr. George’s ear, and under pressure of that persuader got him +into the presence of a clergyman, when he turned sulky; and when the pistol was +again produced, the ceremony would have been performed, had not the outraged +Church cried out for help. Some vowed that Mr. George had referred all +questions implying a difference between himself and Mel to their mutual fists +for decision. At any rate, Mr. George turned up in Fallowfield subsequently; +the fair Louisa, unhurt and with a quiet mind, in Lymport; and this amount of +truth the rumours can be reduced to—that Louisa and Mr. George had been +acquainted. Rumour and gossip know how to build: they always have some solid +foundation, however small. Upwards of twelve years had run since Louisa went to +the wife of the brewer—a period quite long enough for Mr. George to +forget any one in; and she was altogether a different creature; and, as it was +true that Mr. George was a dull one, she was, after the test she had put him +to, justified in hoping that Mel’s progeny might pass unchallenged +anywhere out of Lymport. So, with Mr. George facing her at table, the Countess +sat down, determined to eat and be happy. +</p> + +<p> +A man with the education and tastes of a young country squire is not likely to +know much of the character of women; and of the marvellous power they have of +throwing a veil of oblivion between themselves and what they don’t want +to remember, few men know much. Mr. George had thought, when he saw Mrs. Strike +leaning to Evan, and heard she was a Harrington, that she was rather like the +Lymport family; but the reappearance of Mrs. Strike, the attention of the Duke +of Belfield to her, and the splendid tactics of the Countess, which had +extinguished every thought in the thought of himself, drove Lymport out of his +mind. +</p> + +<p> +There were some dinner guests at the table—people of Fallowfield, +Beckley, and Bodley. The Countess had the diplomatist on one side, the Duke on +the other. Caroline was under the charge of Sir Franks. The Countess, almost +revelling in her position opposite Mr. George, was ambitious to lead the +conversation, and commenced, smiling at Melville: +</p> + +<p> +“We are to be spared politics to-day? I think politics and cookery do not +assimilate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you won’t teach the true Briton to agree with +you,” said Melville, shaking his head over the sums involved by this +British propensity. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Seymour. “Election dinners are a part of the +Constitution”: and Andrew laughed: “They make Radicals pay as well +as Tories, so it’s pretty square.” +</p> + +<p> +The topic was taken up, flagged, fell, and was taken up again. And then Harry +Jocelyn said: +</p> + +<p> +“I say, have you worked the flags yet? The great Mel must have his +flags.” +</p> + +<p> +The flags were in the hands of ladies, and ladies would look to the rosettes, +he was told. +</p> + +<p> +Then a lady of the name of Barrington laughed lightly, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Only, pray, my dear Harry, don’t call your uncle the ‘Great +Mel’ at the election.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! very well,” quoth Harry: “why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get him laughed at—that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! well, then, I won’t,” said Harry, whose wits were +attracted by the Countess’s visage. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Barrington turned to Seymour, her neighbour, and resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“He really would be laughed at. There was a tailor—he was called +the Great Mel—and he tried to stand for Fallowfield once. I believe he +had the support of Squire Uplift—George’s uncle—and others. +They must have done it for fun! Of course he did not get so far as the +hustings; but I believe he had flags, and principles, and all sorts of things +worked ready. He certainly canvassed.” +</p> + +<p> +“A tailor—canvassed—for Parliament?” remarked an old +Dowager, the mother of Squire Copping. “My what are we coming to +next?” +</p> + +<p> +“He deserved to get in,” quoth Aunt Bel: “After having his +principles worked ready, to eject the man was infamous.” +</p> + +<p> +Amazed at the mine she had sprung, the Countess sat through it, lamenting the +misery of owning a notorious father. Happily Evan was absent, on his peaceful +blessed bed! +</p> + +<p> +Bowing over wine with the Duke, she tried another theme, while still, like a +pertinacious cracker, the Great Mel kept banging up and down the table. +</p> + +<p> +“We are to have a feast in the open air, I hear. What you call +pic-nic.” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke believed there was a project of the sort. +</p> + +<p> +“How exquisitely they do those things in Portugal! I suppose there would +be no scandal in my telling something now. At least we are out of +Court-jurisdiction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scandal of the Court!” exclaimed his Grace, in mock horror. +</p> + +<p> +“The option is yours to listen. The Queen, when young, was sweetly +pretty; a divine complexion; and a habit of smiling on everybody. I presume +that the young Habral, son of the first magistrate of Lisbon, was also smiled +on. Most innocently, I would swear! But it operated on the wretched youth! He +spent all his fortune in the purchase and decoration of a fairy villa, +bordering on the Val das Rosas, where the Court enjoyed its rustic festivities, +and one day a storm! all the ladies hurried their young mistress to the house +where the young Habral had been awaiting her for ages. None so polished as he! +Musicians started up, the floors were ready, and torches beneath +them!—there was a feast of exquisite wines and viands sparkling. Quite +enchantment. The girl-Queen was in ecstasies. She deigned a dance with the +young Habral, and then all sat down to supper; and in the middle of it came the +cry of Fire! The Queen shrieked; the flames were seen all around; and if the +arms of the young Habral were opened to save her, or perish, could she cast a +thought on Royalty, and refuse? The Queen was saved the villa was burnt; the +young Habral was ruined, but, if I know a Portuguese, he was happy till he +died, and well remunerated! For he had held a Queen to his heart! So that was a +pic-nic!” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke slightly inclined his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Vrai Portughez derrendo,” he said. “They tell a similar +story in Spain, of one of the Queens—I forget her name. The difference +between us and your Peninsular cavaliers is, that we would do as much for +uncrowned ladies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! your Grace!” The Countess swam in the pleasure of a +nobleman’s compliment. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the story?” interposed Aunt Bel. +</p> + +<p> +An outline of it was given her. Thank heaven, the table was now rid of the +Great Mel. For how could he have any, the remotest relation with Queens and +Peninsular pic-nics? You shall hear. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn happened to catch a word or two of the story. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said she, “that’s English! Franks, you remember +the ballet divertissement they improvised at the Bodley race-ball, when the +magnificent footman fired a curtain and caught up Lady Racial, and carried +her—” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven knows where!” cried Sir Franks. “I remember it +perfectly. It was said that the magnificent footman did it on purpose to have +that pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, of course,” Hamilton took him up. “They talked of +prosecuting the magnificent footman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” followed Seymour, “and nobody could tell where the +magnificent footman bolted. He vanished into thin air.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, of course,” Melville struck in; “and the magic enveloped +the lady for some time.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point Mr. George Uplift gave a horse-laugh. He jerked in his seat +excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Bodley race-ball!” he cried; and looking at Lady Jocelyn: +“Was your ladyship there, then? Why—ha! ha! why, you have seen the +Great Mel, then! That tremendous footman was old Mel himself!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn struck both her hands on the table, and rested her large grey +eyes, full of humorous surprise, on Mr. George. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, and then the ladies and gentlemen laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Mr. George went on, “that was old Mel. I’ll +swear to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s how it began?” murmured Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George nodded at his plate discreetly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Lady Jocelyn, leaning back, and lifting her face +upward in the discursive fulness of her fancy, “I feel I am not robbed. +‘Il y a des miracles, et j’en ai vu’. One’s life seems +more perfect when one has seen what nature can do. The fellow was stupendous! I +conceive him present. Who’ll fire a house for me? Is it my deficiency of +attraction, or a total dearth of gallant snobs?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess was drowned. The muscles of her smiles were horribly stiff and +painful. Caroline was getting pale. Could it be accident that thus resuscitated +Mel, their father, and would not let the dead man die? Was not malice at the +bottom of it? The Countess, though she hated Mr. George infinitely, was +clear-headed enough to see that Providence alone was trying her. No glances +were exchanged between him and Laxley, or Drummond. +</p> + +<p> +Again Mel returned to his peace, and again he had to come forth. +</p> + +<p> +“Who was this singular man you were speaking about just now?” Mrs. +Evremonde asked. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn answered her: “The light of his age. The embodied protest +against our social prejudice. Combine—say, Mirabeau and Alcibiades, and +the result is the Lymport Tailor:—he measures your husband in the +morning: in the evening he makes love to you, through a series of pantomimic +transformations. He was a colossal Adonis, and I’m sorry he’s +dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“But did the man get into society?” said Mrs. Evremonde. “How +did he manage that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed! and what sort of a society!” the dowager Copping +interjected. “None but bachelor-tables, I can assure you. Oh! I remember +him. They talked of fetching him to Dox Hall. I said, No, thank you, Tom; this +isn’t your Vauxhall.” +</p> + +<p> +“A sharp retort,” said Lady Jocelyn, “a most conclusive +rhyme; but you’re mistaken. Many families were glad to see him, I hear. +And he only consented to be treated like a footman when he dressed like one. +The fellow had some capital points. He fought two or three duels, and behaved +like a man. Franks wouldn’t have him here, or I would have received him. +I hear that, as a conteur, he was inimitable. In short, he was a robust +Brummel, and the Regent of low life.” +</p> + +<p> +This should have been Mel’s final epitaph. +</p> + +<p> +Unhappily, Mrs. Melville would remark, in her mincing manner, that the idea of +the admission of a tailor into society seemed very unnatural; and Aunt Bel +confessed that her experience did not comprehend it. +</p> + +<p> +“As to that,” said Lady Jocelyn, “phenomena are unnatural. +The rules of society are lightened by the exceptions. What I like in this Mel +is, that though he was a snob, and an impostor, he could still make himself +respected by his betters. He was honest, so far; he acknowledged his tastes, +which were those of Franks, Melville, Seymour, and George—the tastes of a +gentleman. I prefer him infinitely to your cowardly democrat, who barks for +what he can’t get, and is generally beastly. In fact, I’m not sure +that I haven’t a secret passion for the great tailor.” +</p> + +<p> +“After all, old Mel wasn’t so bad,” Mr. George Uplift chimed +in. +</p> + +<p> +“Granted a tailor—you didn’t see a bit of it at table. +I’ve known him taken for a lord. And when he once got hold of you, you +couldn’t give him up. The squire met him first in the coach, one winter. +He took him for a Russian nobleman—didn’t find out what he was for +a month or so. Says Mel, ‘Yes, I make clothes. You find the notion +unpleasant; guess how disagreeable it is to me.’ The old squire laughed, +and was glad to have him at Croftlands as often as he chose to come. Old Mel +and I used to spar sometimes; but he’s gone, and I should like to shake +his fist again.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mr. George told the “Bath” story, and episodes in Mel’s +career as Marquis; and while he held the ear of the table, Rose, who had not +spoken a word, and had scarcely eaten a morsel during dinner, studied the +sisters with serious eyes. Only when she turned them from the Countess to Mrs. +Strike, they were softened by a shadowy drooping of the eyelids, as if for some +reason she deeply pitied that lady. +</p> + +<p> +Next to Rose sat Drummond, with a face expressive of cynical enjoyment. He +devoted uncommon attention to the Countess, whom he usually shunned and +overlooked. He invited her to exchange bows over wine, in the fashion of that +day, and the Countess went through the performance with finished grace and +ease. Poor Andrew had all the time been brushing back his hair, and making +strange deprecatory sounds in his throat, like a man who felt bound to assure +everybody at table he was perfectly happy and comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Material enough for a Sartoriad,” said Drummond to Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent. Pray write it forthwith, Drummond”, replied her +ladyship; and as they exchanged talk unintelligible to the Countess, this lady +observed to the Duke: +</p> + +<p> +“It is a relief to have buried that subject.” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke smiled, raising an eyebrow; but the persecuted Countess perceived she +had been much too hasty when Drummond added, +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make a journey to Lymport in a day or two, and master his +history.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do,” said her ladyship; and flourishing her hand, “‘I +sing the Prince of Snobs!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if it’s about old Mel, I’ll sing you material +enough,” said Mr. George. “There! you talk of it’s being +unnatural, his dining out at respectable tables. Why, I believe—upon my +honour, I believe it’s a fact—he’s supped and thrown dice +with the Regent.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn clapped her hands. “A noble culmination, Drummond! The +man’s an Epic!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think old Mel was equal to it,” Mr. George pursued. +“He gave me pretty broad hints; and this is how it was, if it really +happened, you know. Old Mel had a friend; some say he was more. Well, that was +a fellow, a great gambler. I dare say you’ve heard of him—Burley +Bennet—him that won Ryelands Park of one of the royal dukes—died +worth upwards of £100,000; and old Mel swore he ought to have had it, and would +if he hadn’t somehow offended him. He left the money to Admiral +Harrington, and he was a relation of Mel’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are we then utterly mixed up with tailors?” exclaimed Mrs. +Barrington. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, those are the facts,” said Mr. George. +</p> + +<p> +The wine made the young squire talkative. It is my belief that his suspicions +were not awake at that moment, and that, like any other young country squire, +having got a subject he could talk on, he did not care to discontinue it. The +Countess was past the effort to attempt to stop him. She had work enough to +keep her smile in the right place. +</p> + +<p> +Every dinner may be said to have its special topic, just as every age has its +marked reputation. They are put up twice or thrice, and have to contend with +minor lights, and to swallow them, and then they command the tongues of men and +flow uninterruptedly. So it was with the great Mel upon this occasion. +Curiosity was aroused about him. Aunt Bel agreed with Lady Jocelyn that she +would have liked to know the mighty tailor. Mrs. Shorne but very imperceptibly +protested against the notion, and from one to another it ran. His Grace of +Belfield expressed positive approval of Mel as one of the old school. +</p> + +<p> +“Si ce n’est pas le gentilhomme, au moins, c’est le +gentilhomme manqué,” said Lady Jocelyn. “He is to be regretted, +Duke. You are right. The stuff was in him, but the Fates were unkind. I stretch +out my hand to the pauvre diable.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think one learns more from the mock magnifico than from anything +else,” observed his Grace. +</p> + +<p> +“When the lion saw the donkey in his own royal skin,” said Aunt +Bel, “add the rhyme at your discretion—he was a wiser lion, +that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the ape that strives to copy one—he’s an animal of +judgement,” said Lady Jocelyn. “We will be tolerant to the tailor, +and the Countess must not set us down as a nation of shopkeepers: +philosophically tolerant.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess started, and ran a little broken “Oh!” affably out of +her throat, dipped her lips to her tablenapkin, and resumed her smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” pursued her ladyship; “old Mel stamps the age gone by. +The gallant adventurer tied to his shop! Alternate footman and marquis, out of +intermediate tailor! Isn’t there something fine in his buffoon imitation +of the real thing? I feel already that old Mel belongs to me. Where is the +great man buried? Where have they set the funeral brass that holds his mighty +ashes?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn’s humour was fully entered into by the men. The women smiled +vacantly, and had a common thought that it was ill-bred of her to hold forth in +that way at table, and unfeminine of any woman to speak continuously anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” cried Mr. George, who saw his own subject snapped away +from him by sheer cleverness; “old Mel wasn’t only a buffoon, my +lady, you know. Old Mel had his qualities. He was as much a +‘no-nonsense’ fellow, in his way, as a magistrate, or a +minister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or a king, or a constable,” Aunt Bel helped his illustration. +</p> + +<p> +“Or a prince, a poll-parrot, a Perigord-pie,” added Drummond, whose +gravity did not prevent Mr. George from seeing that he was laughed at. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, now, listen to this,” said Mr. George, leaning his two +hands on the table resolutely. Dessert was laid, and, with a full glass beside +him, and a pear to peel, he determined to be heard. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess’s eyes went mentally up to the vindictive heavens. She stole +a glance at Caroline, and was alarmed at her excessive pallor. Providence had +rescued Evan from this! +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I know this to be true,” Mr. George began. “When old +Mel was alive, he and I had plenty of sparring, and that—but he’s +dead, and I’ll do him justice. I spoke of Burley Bennet just now. Now, my +lady, old Burley was, I think, Mel’s half-brother, and he came, I know, +somewhere out of Drury Lane—one of the courts near the theatre—I +don’t know much of London. However, old Mel wouldn’t have that. +Nothing less than being born in St. James’s Square would content old Mel, +and he must have a Marquis for his father. I needn’t be more particular. +Before ladies—ahem! But Burley was the shrewd hand of the two. Oh-h-h! +such a card! He knew the way to get into company without false pretences. Well, +I told you, he had lots more than £100,000—some said two—and he +gave up Ryelands; never asked for it, though he won it. Consequence was, he +commanded the services of somebody pretty high. And it was he got Admiral +Harrington made a captain, posted, commodore, admiral, and K.C.B., all in seven +years! In the Army it’d have been half the time, for the H.R.H. was +stronger in that department. Now, I know old Burley promised Mel to leave him +his money, and called the Admiral an ungrateful dog. He didn’t give Mel +much at a time—now and then a twenty-pounder or so—I saw the +cheques. And old Mel expected the money, and looked over his daughters like a +turkey-cock. Nobody good enough for them. Whacking handsome gals—three! +used to be called the Three Graces of Lymport. And one day Burley comes and +visits Mel, and sees the girls. And he puts his finger on the eldest, I can +tell you. She was a spanker! She was the handsomest gal, I think, ever I saw. +For the mother’s a fine woman, and what with the mother, and what with +old Mel—” +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t enter into the mysteries of origin,” quoth Lady +Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, my lady. Oh, your servant, of course. Before ladies. A Burley +Bennet, I said. Long and short was, he wanted to take her up to London. Says +old Mel: ‘London’s a sad place.’—‘Place to make +money,’ says Burley. ‘That’s not work for a young gal,’ +says Mel. Long and short was, Burley wanted to take her, and Mel wouldn’t +let her go.” Mr. George lowered his tone, and mumbled, “Don’t +know how to explain it very well before ladies. What Burley wanted was—it +wasn’t quite honourable, you know, though there was a good deal of +spangles on it, and whether a real H.R.H., or a Marquis, or a Viscount, I +can’t say, but—the offer was tempting to a tradesman. +‘No,’ says Mel; like a chap planting his flagstaff and sticking to +it. I believe that to get her to go with him, Burley offered to make a will on +the spot, and to leave every farthing of his money and property—upon my +soul, I believe it to be true—to Mel and his family, if he’d let +the gal go. ‘No,’ says Mel. I like the old bird! And Burley got in +a rage, and said he’d leave every farthing to the sailor. Says Mel: +‘I’m a poor tradesman; but I have and I always will have the +feelings of a gentleman, and they’re more to me than hard cash, and the +honour of my daughter, sir, is dearer to me than my blood. Out of the +house!’ cries Mel. And away old Burley went, and left every penny to the +sailor, Admiral Harrington, who never noticed ’em an inch. Now, +there!” +</p> + +<p> +All had listened to Mr. George attentively, and he had slurred the apologetic +passages, and emphasized the propitiatory “before ladies” in a way +to make himself well understood a generation back. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, old Mel!” rang the voice of Lady Jocelyn, and a murmur +ensued, in the midst of which Rose stood up and hurried round the table to Mrs. +Strike, who was seen to rise from her chair; and as she did so, the +ill-arranged locks fell from their unnatural restraint down over her shoulders; +one great curl half forward to the bosom, and one behind her right ear. Her +eyes were wide, her whole face, neck, and fingers, white as marble. The +faintest tremor of a frown on her brows, and her shut lips, marked the +continuation of some internal struggle, as if with her last conscious force she +kept down a flood of tears and a wild outcry which it was death to hold. Sir +Franks felt his arm touched, and looked up, and caught her, as Rose approached. +The Duke and other gentlemen went to his aid, and as the beautiful woman was +borne out white and still as a corpse, the Countess had this dagger plunged in +her heart from the mouth of Mr. George, addressing Miss Carrington: +</p> + +<p> +“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. She’s Carry Harrington, +old Mel’s daughter, as sure as she’s flesh and blood!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF</h2> + +<p> +Running through Beckley Park, clear from the chalk, a little stream gave light +and freshness to its pasturage. Near where it entered, a bathing-house of white +marble had been built, under which the water flowed, and the dive could be +taken to a paved depth, and you swam out over a pebbly bottom into sun-light, +screened by the thick-weeded banks, loose-strife and willow-herb, and mint, +nodding over you, and in the later season long-plumed yellow grasses. Here at +sunrise the young men washed their limbs, and here since her return home +English Rose loved to walk by night. She had often spoken of the little happy +stream to Evan in Portugal, and when he came to Beckley Court, she arranged +that he should sleep in a bed-room overlooking it. The view was sweet and +pleasant to him, for all the babbling of the water was of Rose, and winding in +and out, to East, to North, it wound to embowered hopes in the lover’s +mind, to tender dreams; and often at dawn, when dressing, his restless heart +embarked on it, and sailed into havens, the phantom joys of which coloured his +life for him all the day. But most he loved to look across it when the light +fell. The palest solitary gleam along its course spoke to him rich promise. The +faint blue beam of a star chained all his longings, charmed his sorrows to +sleep. Rose like a fairy had breathed her spirit here, and it was a delight to +the silly luxurious youth to lie down, and fix some image of a flower bending +to the stream on his brain, and in the cradle of fancies that grew round it, +slide down the tide of sleep. +</p> + +<p> +From the image of a flower bending to the stream, like his own soul to the +bosom of Rose, Evan built sweet fables. It was she that exalted him, that led +him through glittering chapters of adventure. In his dream of deeds achieved +for her sake, you may be sure the young man behaved worthily, though he was +modest when she praised him, and his limbs trembled when the land whispered of +his great reward to come. The longer he stayed at Beckley the more he lived in +this world within world, and if now and then the harsh outer life smote him, a +look or a word from Rose encompassed him again, and he became sensible only of +a distant pain. +</p> + +<p> +At first his hope sprang wildly to possess her, to believe, that after he had +done deeds that would have sent ordinary men in the condition of shattered +hulks to the hospital, she might be his. Then blow upon blow was struck, and he +prayed to be near her till he died: no more. Then she, herself, struck him to +the ground, and sitting in his chamber, sick and weary, on the evening of his +mishap, Evan’s sole desire was to obtain the handkerchief he had risked +his neck for. To have that, and hold it to his heart, and feel it as a part of +her, seemed much. +</p> + +<p> +Over a length of the stream the red round harvest-moon was rising, and the +weakened youth was this evening at the mercy of the charm that encircled him. +The water curved, and dimpled, and flowed flat, and the whole body of it rushed +into the spaces of sad splendour. The clustered trees stood like temples of +darkness; their shadows lengthened supernaturally; and a pale gloom crept +between them on the sward. He had been thinking for some time that Rose would +knock at his door, and give him her voice, at least; but she did not come; and +when he had gazed out on the stream till his eyes ached, he felt that he must +go and walk by it. Those little flashes of the hurrying tide spoke to him of a +secret rapture and of a joy-seeking impulse; the pouring onward of all the +blood of life to one illumined heart, mournful from excess of love. +</p> + +<p> +Pardon me, I beg. Enamoured young men have these notions. Ordinarily Evan had +sufficient common sense and was as prosaic as mankind could wish him; but he +has had a terrible fall in the morning, and a young woman rages in his brain. +Better, indeed, and “more manly,” were he to strike and raise huge +bosses on his forehead, groan, and so have done with it. We must let him go his +own way. +</p> + +<p> +At the door he was met by the Countess. She came into the room without a word +or a kiss, and when she did speak, the total absence of any euphuism gave token +of repressed excitement yet more than her angry eyes and eager step. Evan had +grown accustomed to her moods, and if one moment she was the halcyon, and +another the petrel, it no longer disturbed him, seeing that he was a stranger +to the influences by which she was affected. The Countess rated him severely +for not seeking repose and inviting sympathy. She told him that the Jocelyns +had one and all combined in an infamous plot to destroy the race of Harrington, +and that Caroline had already succumbed to their assaults; that the Jocelyns +would repent it, and sooner than they thought for; and that the only friend the +Harringtons had in the house was Miss Bonner, whom Providence would liberally +reward. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Countess changed to a dramatic posture, and whispered aloud, +“Hush: she is here. She is so anxious. Be generous, my brother, and let +her see you!” +</p> + +<p> +“She?” said Evan, faintly. “May she come, Louisa?” He +hoped for Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I have consented to mask it,” returned the Countess. “Oh, +what do I not sacrifice for you!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned from him, and to Evan’s chagrin introduced Juliana Bonner. +</p> + +<p> +“Five minutes, remember!” said the Countess. “I must not hear +of more.” And then Evan found himself alone with Miss Bonner, and very +uneasy. This young lady had restless brilliant eyes, and a contraction about +the forehead which gave one the idea of a creature suffering perpetual +headache. She said nothing, and when their eyes met she dropped hers in a +manner that made silence too expressive. Feeling which, Evan began: +</p> + +<p> +“May I tell you that I think it is I who ought to be nursing you, not you +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Bonner replied by lifting her eyes and dropping them as before, murmuring +subsequently, “Would you do so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most certainly, if you did me the honour to select me.” +</p> + +<p> +The fingers of the young lady commenced twisting and intertwining on her lap. +Suddenly she laughed: +</p> + +<p> +“It would not do at all. You won’t be dismissed from your present +service till you’re unfit for any other.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Evan, thinking more of the unmusical laugh +than of the words. +</p> + +<p> +He received no explanation, and the irksome silence caused him to look through +the window, as an escape for his mind, at least. The waters streamed on +endlessly into the golden arms awaiting them. The low moon burnt through the +foliage. In the distance, over a reach of the flood, one tall aspen shook +against the lighted sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in pain?” Miss Bonner asked, and broke his reverie. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I am going away, and perhaps I sigh involuntarily.” +</p> + +<p> +“You like these grounds?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never been so happy in any place.” +</p> + +<p> +“With those cruel young men about you?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan now laughed. “We don’t call young men cruel, Miss +Bonner.” +</p> + +<p> +“But were they not? To take advantage of what Rose told them—it was +base!” +</p> + +<p> +She had said more than she intended, possibly, for she coloured under his +inquiring look, and added: “I wish I could say the same as you of +Beckley. Do you know, I am called Rose’s thorn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not by Miss Jocelyn herself, certainly!” +</p> + +<p> +“How eager you are to defend her. But am I not—tell me—do I +not look like a thorn in company with her?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is but the difference that ill health would make.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ill health? Oh, yes! And Rose is so much better born.” +</p> + +<p> +“To that, I am sure, she does not give a thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Rose? Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +An exclamation, properly lengthened, convinces the feelings more satisfactorily +than much logic. Though Evan claimed only the hand-kerchief he had won, his +heart sank at the sound. Miss Bonner watched him, and springing forward, said +sharply: +</p> + +<p> +“May I tell you something?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may tell me what you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, whether I offend you or not, you had better leave this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going,” said Evan. “I am only waiting to introduce your +tutor to you.” +</p> + +<p> +She kept her eyes on him, and in her voice as well there was a depth, as she +returned: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Laxley, Mr. Forth, and Harry, are going to Lymport to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan was looking at a figure, whose shadow was thrown towards the house from +the margin of the stream. +</p> + +<p> +He stood up, and taking the hand of Miss Bonner, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you. I may, perhaps, start with them. At any rate, you have done +me a great service, which I shall not forget.” +</p> + +<p> +The figure by the stream he knew to be that of Rose. He released Miss +Bonner’s trembling moist hand, and as he continued standing, she moved to +the door, after once following the line of his eyes into the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the door a noise was audible. Andrew had come to sit with his dear boy, +and the Countess had met and engaged and driven him to the other end of the +passage, where he hung remonstrating with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Van,” he said, as Evan came up to him, “I thought you +were in a profound sleep. Louisa said—” +</p> + +<p> +“Silly Andrew!” interposed the Countess, “do you not observe +he is sleep-walking now?” and she left them with a light laugh to go to +Juliana, whom she found in tears. The Countess was quite aware of the efficacy +of a little bit of burlesque lying to cover her retreat from any petty +exposure. +</p> + +<p> +Evan soon got free from Andrew. He was under the dim stars, walking to the +great fire in the East. The cool air refreshed him. He was simply going to ask +for his own, before he went, and had no cause to fear what would be thought by +any one. A handkerchief! A man might fairly win that, and carry it out of a +very noble family, without having to blush for himself. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot say whether he inherited his feeling for rank from Mel, his father, or +that the Countess had succeeded in instilling it, but Evan never took +Republican ground in opposition to those who insulted him, and never lashed his +“manhood” to assert itself, nor compared the fineness of his +instincts with the behaviour of titled gentlemen. Rather he seemed to admit the +distinction between his birth and that of a gentleman, admitting it to his own +soul, as it were, and struggled simply as men struggle against a destiny. The +news Miss Bonner had given him sufficed to break a spell which could not have +endured another week; and Andrew, besides, had told him of Caroline’s +illness. He walked to meet Rose, honestly intending to ask for his own, and +wish her good-bye. +</p> + +<p> +Rose saw him approach, and knew him in the distance. She was sitting on a lower +branch of the aspen, that shot out almost from the root, and stretched over the +intervolving rays of light on the tremulous water. She could not move to meet +him. She was not the Rose whom we have hitherto known. Love may spring in the +bosom of a young girl, like Hesper in the evening sky, a grey speck in a field +of grey, and not be seen or known, till surely as the circle advances the faint +planet gathers fire, and, coming nearer earth, dilates, and will and must be +seen and known. When Evan lay like a dead man on the ground, Rose turned upon +herself as the author of his death, and then she felt this presence within her, +and her heart all day had talked to her of it, and was throbbing now, and would +not be quieted. She could only lift her eyes and give him her hand; she could +not speak. She thought him cold, and he was; cold enough to think that she and +her cousin were not unlike in their manner, though not deep enough to reflect +that it was from the same cause. +</p> + +<p> +She was the first to find her wits: but not before she spoke did she feel, and +start to feel, how long had been the silence, and that her hand was still in +his. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you come out, Evan? It was not right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came to speak to you. I shall leave early to-morrow, and may not see +you alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are going——?” +</p> + +<p> +She checked her voice, and left the thrill of it wavering in him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rose, I am going; I should have gone before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Evan!” she grasped his hand, and then timidly retained it. +“You have not forgiven me? I see now. I did not think of any risk to you. +I only wanted you to beat. I wanted you to be first and best. If you knew how I +thank God for saving you! What my punishment would have been!” +</p> + +<p> +Till her eyes were full she kept them on him, too deep in emotion to be +conscious of it. +</p> + +<p> +He could gaze on her tears coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be happy to take the leap any day for the prize you offered. I +have come for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what, Evan?” But while she was speaking the colour mounted in +her cheeks, and she went on rapidly: +</p> + +<p> +“Did you think it unkind of me not to come to nurse you. I must tell you, +to defend myself. It was the Countess, Evan. She is offended with me—very +justly, I dare say. She would not let me come. What could I do? I had no claim +to come.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose was not aware of the import of her speech. Evan, though he felt more in +it, and had some secret nerves set tingling and dancing, was not to be moved +from his demand. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you intend to withhold it, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Withhold what, Evan? Anything that you wish for is yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“The handkerchief. Is not that mine?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose faltered a word. Why did he ask for it? Because he asked for nothing else, +and wanted no other thing save that. +</p> + +<p> +Why did she hesitate? Because it was so poor a gift, and so unworthy of him. +</p> + +<p> +And why did he insist? Because in honour she was bound to surrender it. +</p> + +<p> +And why did she hesitate still? Let her answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Evan! I would give you anything but that; and if you are going away, +I should beg so much to keep it.” +</p> + +<p> +He must have been in a singular state not to see her heart in the refusal, as +was she not to see his in the request. But Love is blindest just when the +bandage is being removed from his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will not give it me, Rose? Do you think I shall go about +boasting ‘This is Miss Jocelyn’s handkerchief, and I, poor as I am, +have won it’?” +</p> + +<p> +The taunt struck aslant in Rose’s breast with a peculiar sting. She stood +up. +</p> + +<p> +“I will give it you, Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +Turning from him she drew it forth, and handed it to him hurriedly. It was +warm. It was stained with his blood. He guessed where it had been nestling, +and, now, as if by revelation, he saw that large sole star in the bosom of his +darling, and was blinded by it and lost his senses. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose! beloved!” +</p> + +<p> +Like the flower of his nightly phantasy bending over the stream, he looked and +saw in her sweet face the living wonders that encircled his image; she +murmuring: “No, you must hate me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love you, Rose, and dare to say it—and it’s unpardonable. +Can you forgive me?” +</p> + +<p> +She raised her face to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive you for loving me?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Holy to them grew the stillness: the ripple suffused in golden moonlight: the +dark edges of the leaves against superlative brightness. Not a chirp was heard, +nor anything save the cool and endless carol of the happy waters, whose voices +are the spirits of silence. Nature seemed consenting that their hands should be +joined, their eyes intermingling. And when Evan, with a lover’s craving, +wished her lips to say what her eyes said so well, Rose drew his fingers up, +and, with an arch smile and a blush, kissed them. The simple act set his heart +thumping, and from the look of love, she saw an expression of pain pass through +him. Her fealty—her guileless, fearless truth—which the kissing of +his hand brought vividly before him, conjured its contrast as well in this that +was hidden from her, or but half suspected. Did she know—know and love +him still? He thought it might be: but that fell dead on her asking: +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I speak to Mama to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +A load of lead crushed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose!” he said; but could get no farther. +</p> + +<p> +Innocently, or with well-masked design, Rose branched off into little sweet +words about his bruised shoulder, touching it softly, as if she knew the virtue +that was in her touch, and accusing her selfish self as she caressed it: +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest Evan! you must have been sure I thought no one like you. Why did +you not tell me before? I can hardly believe it now! Do you know,” she +hurried on, “they think me cold and heartless,—am I? I must be, to +have made you run such risk; but yet I’m sure I could not have survived +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dropping her voice, Rose quoted Ruth. As Evan listened, the words were like +food from heaven poured into his spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” he kept saying to himself, “to-morrow I will +tell her all. Let her think well of me a few short hours.” +</p> + +<p> +But the passing minutes locked them closer; each had a new link—in a +word, or a speechless breath, or a touch: and to break the marriage of their +eyes there must be infinite baseness on one side, or on the other disloyalty to +love. +</p> + +<p> +The moon was a silver ball, high up through the aspen-leaves. Evan kissed the +hand of Rose, and led her back to the house. He had appeased his conscience by +restraining his wild desire to kiss her lips. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall they parted. Rose whispered, “Till death!” giving him +her hands. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT</h2> + +<p> +There is a peculiar reptile whose stroke is said to deprive men of motion. On +the day after the great Mel had stalked the dinner-table of Beckley Court, +several of the guests were sensible of the effect of this creature’s +mysterious touch, without knowing what it was that paralyzed them. Drummond +Forth had fully planned to go to Lymport. He had special reasons for making +investigations with regard to the great Mel. Harry, who was fond of Drummond, +offered to accompany him, and Laxley, for the sake of a diversion, fell into +the scheme. Mr. George Uplift was also to be of the party, and promised them +fun. But when the time came to start, not one could be induced to move: Laxley +was pressingly engaged by Rose: Harry showed the rope the Countess held him by; +Mr. George made a singular face, and seriously advised Drummond to give up the +project. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t rub that woman the wrong way,” he said, in a private +colloquy they had. “By Jingo, she’s a Tartar. She was as a gal, and +she isn’t changed, Lou Harrington. Fancy now: she knew me, and she faced +me out, and made me think her a stranger! ’Gad, I’m glad I +didn’t speak to the others. Lord’s sake, keep it quiet. Don’t +rouse that woman, now, if you want to keep a whole skin.” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond laughed at his extreme earnestness in cautioning him, and appeared to +enjoy his dread of the Countess. Mr. George would not tell how he had been +induced to change his mind. He repeated his advice with a very emphatic shrug +of the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem afraid of her,” said Drummond. +</p> + +<p> +“I am. I ain’t ashamed to confess it. She’s a regular viper, +my boy!” said Mr. George. “She and I once were pretty +thick—least said soonest mended, you know. I offended her. Wasn’t +quite up to her mark—a tailor’s daughter, you know. ’Gad, if +she didn’t set an Irish Dragoon Captain on me!—I went about in +danger of my life. The fellow began to twist his damned black moustaches the +moment he clapped eyes on me—bullied me till, upon my soul, I was almost +ready to fight him! Oh, she was a little tripping Tartar of a bantam hen then. +She’s grown since she’s been countessed, and does it peacocky. Now, +I give you fair warning, you know. She’s more than any man’s +match.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say I shall think the same when she has beaten me,” quoth +cynical Drummond, and immediately went and gave orders for his horse to be +saddled, thinking that he would tread on the head of the viper. +</p> + +<p> +But shortly before the hour of his departure, Mrs. Evremonde summoned him to +her, and showed him a slip of paper, on which was written, in an uncouth small +hand: +</p> + +<p> +“Madam: a friend warns you that your husband is coming here. Deep +interest in your welfare is the cause of an anonymous communication. The writer +wishes only to warn you in time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Evremonde told Drummond that she had received it from one of the servants +when leaving the breakfast-room. Beyond the fact that a man on horseback had +handed it to a little boy, who had delivered it over to the footman, Drummond +could learn nothing. Of course, all thought of the journey to Lymport was +abandoned. If but to excogitate a motive for the origin of the document, +Drummond was forced to remain; and now he had it, and now he lost it again; and +as he was wandering about in his maze, the Countess met him with a “Good +morning, Mr., Forth. Have I impeded your expedition by taking my friend Mr. +Harry to cavalier me to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond smilingly assured her that she had not in any way disarranged his +projects, and passed with so absorbed a brow that the Countess could afford to +turn her head and inspect him, without fear that he would surprise her in the +act. Knocking the pearly edge of her fan on her teeth, she eyed him under her +joined black lashes, and deliberately read his thoughts in the mere shape of +his back and shoulders. She read him through and through, and was unconscious +of the effective attitude she stood in for the space of two full minutes, and +even then it required one of our unhappy sex to recall her. This was Harry +Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” she said to him, with a melancholy smile, “my +one friend here!” +</p> + +<p> +Harry went through the form of kissing her hand, which he had been taught, and +practised cunningly as the first step of the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you looked so handsome, standing as you did just now,” he +remarked; and she could see how far beneath her that effective attitude had +precipitated the youth. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” she sighed, walking on, with the step of majesty in exile. +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce is the matter with everybody to-day?” cried Harry. +“I’m hanged if I can make it out. There’s the Carrington, as +you call her, I met her with such a pair of eyes, and old George looking as if +he’d been licked, at her heels; and there’s Drummond and his lady +fair moping about the lawn, and my mother positively getting +excited—there’s a miracle! and Juley’s sharpening her nails +for somebody, and if Ferdinand don’t look out, your brother’ll be +walking off with Rosey—that’s my opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” said the Countess. “You really think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they come it pretty strong together.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what constitutes the ‘come it strong,’ Mr. Harry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold of hands; you know,” the young gentleman indicated. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, then! must not we be more discreet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! but it’s different. With young people one knows what that +means.” +</p> + +<p> +“Deus!” exclaimed the Countess, tossing her head weariedly, and +Harry perceived his slip, and down he went again. +</p> + +<p> +What wonder that a youth in such training should consent to fetch and carry, to +listen and relate, to play the spy and know no more of his office than that it +gave him astonishing thrills of satisfaction, and now and then a secret sweet +reward? +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had sealed Miss Carrington’s mouth by one of her most +dexterous strokes. On leaving the dinner-table over-night, and seeing that +Caroline’s attack would preclude their instant retreat, the gallant +Countess turned at bay. A word aside to Mr. George Uplift, and then the +Countess took a chair by Miss Carrington. She did all the conversation, and +supplied all the smiles to it, and when a lady has to do that she is justified +in striking, and striking hard, for to abandon the pretence of sweetness is a +gross insult from one woman to another. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess then led circuitously, but with all the ease in the world, to the +story of a Portuguese lady, of a marvellous beauty, and who was deeply +enamoured of the Chevalier Miguel de Rasadio, and engaged to be married to him: +but, alas for her! in the insolence of her happiness she wantonly made an enemy +in the person of a most unoffending lady, and she repented it. While sketching +the admirable Chevalier, the Countess drew a telling portrait of Mr. George +Uplift, and gratified her humour and her wrath at once by strong truth to +nature in the description and animated encomiums on the individual. The +Portuguese lady, too, a little resembled Miss Carrington, in spite of her +marvellous beauty. And it was odd that Miss Carrington should give a sudden +start and a horrified glance at the Countess just when the Countess was +pathetically relating the proceeding taken by the revengeful lady on the +beautiful betrothed of the Chevalier Miguel de Rasadio: which proceeding was +nothing other than to bring to the Chevalier’s knowledge that his beauty +had a defect concealed by her apparel, and that the specks in his fruit were +not one, or two, but, Oh! And the dreadful sequel to the story the Countess +could not tell: preferring ingeniously to throw a tragic veil over it. Miss +Carrington went early to bed that night. +</p> + +<p> +The courage that mounteth with occasion was eminently the attribute of the +Countess de Saldar. After that dreadful dinner she (since the weaknesses of +great generals should not be altogether ignored), did pray for flight and total +obscurity, but Caroline could not be left in her hysteric state, and now that +she really perceived that Evan was progressing and on the point of sealing his +chance, the devoted lady resolved to hold her ground. Besides, there was the +pic-nic. The Countess had one dress she had not yet appeared in, and it was for +the picnic she kept it. That small motives are at the bottom of many +illustrious actions is a modern discovery; but I shall not adopt the modern +principle of magnifying the small motive till it overshadows my noble heroine. +I remember that the small motive is only to be seen by being borne into the +range of my vision by a powerful microscope; and if I do more than see—if +I carry on my reflections by the aid of the glass, I arrive at conclusions that +must be false. Men who dwarf human nature do this. The gods are juster. The +Countess, though she wished to remain for the pic-nic, and felt warm in +anticipation of the homage to her new dress, was still a gallant general and a +devoted sister, and if she said to herself, “Come what may, I will stay +for that pic-nic, and they shall not brow-beat me out of it,” it is that +trifling pleasures are noisiest about the heart of human nature: not that they +govern us absolutely. There is mob-rule in minds as in communities, but the +Countess had her appetites in excellent drill. This pic-nic surrendered, +represented to her defeat in all its ignominy. The largest longest-headed of +schemes ask occasionally for something substantial and immediate. So the +Countess stipulated with Providence for the pic-nic. It was a point to be +passed: “Thorough flood, thorough fire.” +</p> + +<p> +In vain poor Andrew Cogglesby, to whom the dinner had been torture, and who was +beginning to see the position they stood in at Beckley, begged to be allowed to +take them away, or to go alone. The Countess laughed him into submission. As a +consequence of her audacious spirits she grew more charming and more natural, +and the humour that she possessed, but which, like her other faculties, was +usually subordinate to her plans, gave spontaneous bursts throughout the day, +and delighted her courtiers. Nor did the men at all dislike the difference of +her manner with them, and with the ladies. I may observe that a woman who shows +a marked depression in the presence of her own sex will be thought very +superior by ours; that is, supposing she is clever and agreeable. Manhood +distinguishes what flatters it. A lady approaches. “We must be +proper,” says the Countess, and her hearty laugh dies with suddenness and +is succeeded by the maturest gravity. And the Countess can look a profound +merriment with perfect sedateness when there appears to be an equivoque in +company. Finely secret are her glances, as if under every eye-lash there lurked +the shade of a meaning. What she meant was not so clear. All this was going on, +and Lady Jocelyn was simply amused, and sat as at a play. +</p> + +<p> +“She seems to have stepped out of a book of French memoirs,” said +her ladyship. “La vie galante et devote—voila la Comtesse.” +</p> + +<p> +In contradistinction to the other ladies, she did not detest the Countess +because she could not like her. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the harm in her?” she asked. “She +doesn’t damage the men, that I can see. And a person you can laugh at and +with, is inexhaustible.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how long is she to stay here?” Mrs. Shorne inquired. Mrs. +Melville remarking: “Her visit appears to be inexhaustible.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose she’ll stay till the Election business is over,” +said Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had just driven with Melville to Fallowfield in Caroline’s +black lace shawl. +</p> + +<p> +“Upwards of four weeks longer!” Mrs. Melville interjected. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington was present. She had been formerly sharp in her condemnation of +the Countess—her affectedness, her euphuism, and her vulgarity. Now she +did not say a word, though she might have done it with impunity. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose, Emily, you see what Rose is about?” said Mrs. Melville. +“I should not have thought it adviseable to have that young man here, +myself. I think I let you know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“One young man’s as good as another,” responded her ladyship. +“I’ve my doubts of the one that’s much better. I fancy Rose +is as good a judge by this time as you or I.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Melville made an effort or two to open Lady Jocelyn’s eyes, and then +relapsed into the confident serenity inspired by evil prognostications. +</p> + +<p> +“But there really does seem some infatuation about these people!” +exclaimed Mrs. Shorne, turning to Miss Current. “Can you understand it? +The Duke, my dear! Things seem to be going on in the house, that +really—and so openly.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s one virtue,” said Miss Current, with her +imperturbable metallic voice, and face like a cold clear northern sky. +“Things done in secret throw on the outsiders the onus of raising a +scandal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t believe, then?” suggested Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Current replied: “I always wait for a thing to happen first.” +</p> + +<p> +“But haven’t you seen, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never see anything, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must be blind, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary, that’s how I keep my sight, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a part of the science of optics, and requires study,” +said Miss Current. +</p> + +<p> +Neither with the worldly nor the unworldly woman could the ladies do anything. +But they were soon to have their triumph. +</p> + +<p> +A delicious morning had followed the lovely night. The stream flowed under +Evan’s eyes, like something in a lower sphere, now. His passion took him +up, as if a genie had lifted him into mid-air, and showed him the world on a +palm of a hand; and yet, as he dressed by the window, little chinks in the +garden wall, and nectarines under their shiny leaves, and the white walks of +the garden, were stamped on his hot brain accurately and lastingly. Ruth upon +the lips of Rose: that voice of living constancy made music to him everywhere. +“Thy God shall be my God.” He had heard it all through the night. +He had not yet broken the tender charm sufficiently to think that he must tell +her the sacrifice she would have to make. When partly he did, the first excuse +he clutched at was, that he had not even kissed her on the forehead. Surely he +had been splendidly chivalrous? Just as surely he would have brought on himself +the scorn of the chivalrous or of the commonly balanced if he had been +otherwise. The grandeur of this or of any of his proceedings, then, was +forfeited, as it must needs be when we are in the false position: we can have +no glory though martyred. The youth felt it, even to the seeing of why it was; +and he resolved, in justice to the dear girl, that he would break loose from +his fetters, as we call our weakness. Behold, Rose met him descending the +stairs, and, taking his hand, sang, unabashed, by the tell-tale colour coming +over her face, a stave of a little Portuguese air that they had both been fond +of in Portugal; and he, listening to it, and looking in her eyes, saw that his +feelings in the old time had been hers. Instantly the old time gave him its +breath, the present drew back. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, now that she had given her heart out, had no idea of concealment. She +would have denied nothing to her aunts: she was ready to confide it to her +mother. Was she not proud of the man she loved? When Evan’s hand touched +hers she retained it, and smiled up at him frankly, as it were to make him glad +in her gladness. If before others his eyes brought the blood to her cheeks, she +would perhaps drop her eye-lids an instant, and then glance quickly level again +to reassure him. And who would have thought that this boisterous, boyish +creature had such depths of eye! Cold, did they call her? Let others think her +cold. The tender knowledge of her—the throbbing secret they held in +common sang at his heart. Rose made no confidante, but she attempted no +mystery. Evan should have risen to the height of the noble girl. But the dearer +and sweeter her bearing became, the more conscious he was of the dead weight he +was dragging: in truth her behaviour stamped his false position to hard print +the more he admired her for it, and he had shrinkings from the feminine part it +imposed on him to play. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a> +CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR</h2> + +<p> +An Irish retriever-pup of the Shannon breed, Pat by name, was undergoing +tuition on the sward close by the kennels, Rose’s hunting-whip being +passed through his collar to restrain erratic propensities. The particular +point of instruction which now made poor Pat hang out his tongue, and agitate +his crisp brown curls, was the performance of the “down-charge”; a +ceremony demanding implicit obedience from the animal in the midst of volatile +gambadoes, and a simulation of profound repose when his desire to be up and +bounding was mighty. Pat’s Irish eyes were watching Rose, as he lay with +his head couched between his forepaws in the required attitude. He had but half +learnt his lesson; and something in his half-humorous, half-melancholy look +talked to Rose more eloquently than her friend Ferdinand at her elbow. Laxley +was her assistant dog-breaker. Rose would not abandon her friends because she +had accepted a lover. On the contrary, Rose was very kind to Ferdinand, and +perhaps felt bound to be so to-day. To-day, also, her face was lighted; a +readiness to colour, and an expression of deeper knowledge, which she now had, +made the girl dangerous to friends. This was not Rose’s fault but there +is no doubt among the faculty that love is a contagious disease, and we ought +not to come within miles of the creatures in whom it lodges. +</p> + +<p> +Pat’s tail kept hinting to his mistress that a change would afford him +satisfaction. After a time she withdrew her wistful gaze from him, and listened +entirely to Ferdinand: and it struck her that he spoke particularly well +to-day, though she did not see so much in his eyes as in Pat’s. The +subject concerned his departure, and he asked Rose if she should be sorry. +Rose, to make him sure of it, threw a music into her voice dangerous to +friends. For she had given heart and soul to Evan, and had a sense, therefore, +of being irredeemably in debt to her old associates, and wished to be doubly +kind to them. +</p> + +<p> +Pat took advantage of the diversion to stand up quietly and have a shake. He +then began to kiss his mistress’s hand, to show that all was right on +both sides; and followed this with a playful pretence at a bite, that there +might be no subsequent misunderstanding, and then a bark and a whine. As no +attention was paid to this amount of plain-speaking, Pat made a bolt. He got no +farther than the length of the whip, and all he gained was to bring on himself +the terrible word of drill once more. But Pat had tasted liberty. Irish +rebellion against constituted authority was exhibited. Pat would not: his ears +tossed over his head, and he jumped to right and left, and looked the raggedest +rapparee that ever his ancestry trotted after. Rose laughed at his fruitless +efforts to get free; but Ferdinand meditatively appeared to catch a sentiment +in them. +</p> + +<p> +“Down-charge, Sir, will you? Ah, Pat! Pat! You’ll have to obey me, +my boy. Now, down-charge!” +</p> + +<p> +While Rose addressed the language of reason to Pat, Ferdinand slipped in a soft +word or two. Presently she saw him on one knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Pat won’t, and I will,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“But Pat shall, and you had better not,” said she. “Besides, +my dear Ferdinand,” she added, laughing, “you don’t know how +to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to prostrate on all fours, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I hope not. Do get up, Ferdinand. You’ll be seen from the +windows.” +</p> + +<p> +Instead of quitting his posture, he caught her hand, and scared her with a +declaration. +</p> + +<p> +“Of all men, you to be on your knees! and to me, Ferdinand!” she +cried, in discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I, Rose?” was this youth’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +He had got the idea that foreign cavalier manners would take with her; but it +was not so easy to make his speech correspond with his posture, and he lost his +opportunity, which was pretty. However, he spoke plain English. The interview +ended by Rose releasing Pat from drill, and running off in a hurry. Where was +Evan? She must have his consent to speak to her mother, and prevent a +recurrence of these silly scenes. +</p> + +<p> +Evan was with Caroline, his sister. +</p> + +<p> +It was contrary to the double injunction of the Countess that Caroline should +receive Evan during her absence, or that he should disturb the dear invalid +with a visit. These two were not unlike both in organization and character, and +they had not sat together long before they found each other out. Now, to +further Evan’s love-suit, the Countess had induced Caroline to continue +yet awhile in the Purgatory Beckley Court had become to her; but Evan, in +speaking of Rose, expressed a determination to leave her, and Caroline caught +at it. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you?—will you? Oh, dear Van! have you the courage? +I—look at me—you know the home I go to, and—and I think of it +here as a place to be happy in. What have our marriages done for us? Better +that we had married simple stupid men who earn their bread, and would not have +been ashamed of us! And, my dearest, it is not only that. None can tell what +our temptations are. Louisa has strength, but I feel I have none; and though, +dear, for your true interest, I would indeed sacrifice myself—I would, +Van! I would!—it is not good for you to stay,—I know it is not. For +you have Papa’s sense of honour—and oh! if you should learn to +despise me, my dear brother!” +</p> + +<p> +She kissed him; her nerves were agitated by strong mental excitement. He +attributed it to her recent attack of illness, but could not help asking, while +he caressed her: +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that? Despise you?” +</p> + +<p> +It may have been that Caroline felt then, that to speak of something was to +forfeit something. A light glimmered across the dewy blue of her beautiful +eyes. Desire to breathe it to him, and have his loving aid: the fear of +forfeiting it, evil as it was to her, and at the bottom of all, that doubt we +choose to encourage of the harm in a pleasant sin unaccomplished; these might +be read in the rich dim gleam that swept like sunlight over sea-water between +breaks of clouds. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Van! do you love her so much?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline knew too well that she was shutting her own theme with iron clasps +when she once touched on Evan’s. +</p> + +<p> +Love her? Love Rose? It became an endless carol with Evan. Caroline sighed for +him from her heart. +</p> + +<p> +“You know—you understand me; don’t you?” he said, after +a breathless excursion of his fancy. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you love her, dear. I think I have never loved any one but my +one brother.” +</p> + +<p> +His love for Rose he could pour out to Caroline; when it came to Rose’s +love for him his blood thickened, and his tongue felt guilty. He must speak to +her, he said,—tell her all. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, tell her all,” echoed Caroline. “Do, do tell her. Trust +a woman utterly if she loves you, dear. Go to her instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you bear it?” said Evan. He began to think it was for the +sake of his sisters that he had hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Bear it? bear anything rather than perpetual imposture. What have I not +borne? Tell her, and then, if she is cold to you, let us go. Let us go. I shall +be glad to. Ah, Van! I love you so.” Caroline’s voice deepened. +“I love you so, my dear. You won’t let your new love drive me out? +Shall you always love me?” +</p> + +<p> +Of that she might be sure, whatever happened. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you love me, Van, if evil befel me?” +</p> + +<p> +Thrice as well, he swore to her. +</p> + +<p> +“But if I—if I, Van Oh! my life is intolerable! Supposing I should +ever disgrace you in any way, and not turn out all you fancied me. I am very +weak and unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan kissed her confidently, with a warm smile. He said a few words of the +great faith he had in her: words that were bitter comfort to Caroline. This +brother, who might save her, to him she dared not speak. Did she wish to be +saved? She only knew that to wound Evan’s sense of honour and the high +and chivalrous veneration for her sex and pride in himself and those of his +blood, would be wicked and unpardonable, and that no earthly pleasure could +drown it. Thinking this, with her hands joined in pale dejection, Caroline sat +silent, and Evan left her to lay bare his heart to Rose. On his way to find +Rose he was stopped by the announcement of the arrival of Mr. Raikes, who +thrust a bundle of notes into his hand, and after speaking loudly of “his +curricle,” retired on important business, as he said, with a mysterious +air. “I’m beaten in many things, but not in the article +Luck,” he remarked; “you will hear of me, though hardly as a tutor +in this academy.” +</p> + +<p> +Scanning the bundle of notes, without a reflection beyond the thought that +money was in his hand; and wondering at the apparition of the curricle, Evan +was joined by Harry Jocelyn, and Harry linked his arm in Evan’s and +plunged with extraordinary spontaneity and candour into the state of his money +affairs. What the deuce he was to do for money he did not know. From the +impressive manner in which he put it, it appeared to be one of Nature’s +great problems that the whole human race were bound to set their heads together +to solve. A hundred pounds—Harry wanted no more, and he could not get it. +His uncles? they were as poor as rats; and all the spare money they could club +was going for Mel’s Election expenses. A hundred and fifty was what Harry +really wanted; but he could do with a hundred. Ferdinand, who had plenty, would +not even lend him fifty. Ferdinand had dared to hint at a debt already +unsettled, and he called himself a gentleman! +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t speak of money-matters now, would you, +Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dislike the subject, I confess,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“And so do I” Harry jumped at the perfect similarity between them. +“You can’t think how it bothers one to have to talk about it. You +and I are tremendously alike.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan might naturally suppose that a subject Harry detested, he would not +continue, but for a whole hour Harry turned it over and over with grim glances +at Jewry. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” he wound up, “I’m in a fix. I want to help +that poor girl, and one or two things—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for that you want it?” cried Evan, brightening to him. +“Accept it from me.” +</p> + +<p> +It is a thing familiar to the experience of money-borrowers, that your +“last chance” is the man who is to accommodate you; but we are +always astonished, nevertheless; and Harry was, when notes to the amount of the +largest sum named by him were placed in his hand by one whom he looked upon as +the last to lend. +</p> + +<p> +“What a trump you are, Harrington!” was all he could say; and then +he was for hurrying Evan into the house, to find pen and paper, and write down +a memorandum of the loan: but Evan insisted upon sparing him the trouble, +though Harry, with the admirable scruples of an inveterate borrower, begged +hard to be allowed to bind himself legally to repay the money. +</p> + +<p> +“’Pon my soul, Harrington, you make me remember I once doubted +whether you were one of us—rather your own fault, you know!” said +Harry. “Bury that, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Till your doubts recur,” Evan observed; and Harry burst +out, “’Gad, if you weren’t such a melancholy beggar, +you’d be the jolliest fellow I know! There, go after Rosey. Dashed if I +don’t think you’re ahead of Ferdinand, long chalks. Your style does +for girls. I like women.” +</p> + +<p> +With a chuckle and a wink, Harry swung-off. Evan had now to reflect that he had +just thrown away part of the price of his bondage to Tailordom; the mention of +Rose filled his mind. Where was she? Both were seeking one another. Rose was in +the cypress walk. He saw the star-like figure up the length of it, between the +swelling tall dark pillars, and was hurrying to her, resolute not to let one +minute of deception blacken further the soul that loved so true a soul. She saw +him, and stood smiling, when the Countess issued, shadow-like, from a side +path, and declared that she must claim her brother for a few instants. Would +her sweet Rose pardon her? Rose bowed coolly. The hearts of the lovers were +chilled, not that they perceived any malice in the Countess, but their keen +instincts felt an evil fate. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had but to tell Evan that she had met the insolvent in apples, and +recognized him under his change of fortune, and had no doubt that at least he +would amuse the company. Then she asked her brother the superfluous question, +whether he loved her, which Evan answered satisfactorily enough, as he thought; +but practical ladies require proofs. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick,” said Evan, seeing Rose vanish, “what do you want? +I’ll do anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything? Ah, but this will be disagreeable to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Name it at once. I promise beforehand.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess wanted Evan to ask Andrew to be the very best brother-in-law in +the world, and win, unknown to himself, her cheerful thanks, by lending Evan to +lend to her the sum of one hundred pounds, as she was in absolute distress for +money. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Louisa, this is a thing you might ask him yourself,” Evan +remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +“It would not become me to do so, dear,” said the Countess, +demurely; and inasmuch as she had already drawn on Andrew in her own person +pretty largely, her views of propriety were correct in this instance. +</p> + +<p> +Evan had to consent before he could be released. He ran to the end of the walk +through the portal, into the park. Rose was not to be seen. She had gone in to +dress for dinner. The opportunity might recur, but would his courage come with +it? His courage had sunk on a sudden; or it may have been that it was worst for +this young man to ask for a loan of money, than to tell his beloved that he was +basely born, vile, and unworthy, and had snared her into loving him; for when +he and Andrew were together, money was not alluded to. Andrew, however, +betrayed remarkable discomposure. He said plainly that he wanted to leave +Beckley Court, and wondered why he didn’t leave, and whether he was on +his head or his feet, and how he had been such a fool as to come. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that for me?” said sensitive Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you! You’re a young buck,” returned Andrew, evasively. +“We common-place business men—we’re out of our element; and +there’s poor Carry can’t sit down to their dinners without an +upset. I thank God I’m a Radical, Van; one man’s the same as +another to me, how he’s born, as long as he’s honest and agreeable. +But a chap like that George Uplift to look down on anybody! ’Gad, +I’ve a good mind to bring in a Bill for the Abolition of the +Squirearchy.” +</p> + +<p> +Ultimately, Andrew somehow contrived to stick a hint or two about the terrible +dinner in Evan’s quivering flesh. He did it as delicately as possible, +half begging pardon, and perspiring profusely. Evan grasped his hand, and +thanked him. Caroline’s illness was now explained to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take Caroline with me to-morrow,” he said. +“Louisa wishes to stay—there’s a pic-nic. Will you look to +her, and bring her with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Van,” replied Andrew, “stop with Louisa? Now, in +confidence, it’s as bad as a couple of wives; no disrespect to my +excellent good Harry at home; but Louisa—I don’t know how it +is—but Louisa, you lose your head, you’re in a whirl, you’re +an automaton, a teetotum! I haven’t a notion of what I’ve been +doing or saying since I came here. My belief is, I’ve been lying right +and left. I shall be found out to a certainty: Oh! if she’s made her mind +up for the pic-nic, somebody must stop. I can only tell you, Van, it’s +one perpetual vapour-bath to me. There’ll be room for two in my trousers +when I get back. I shall have to get the tailor to take them in a full +half.” +</p> + +<p> +Here occurred an opening for one of those acrid pleasantries which console us +when there is horrid warfare within. +</p> + +<p> +“You must give me the work,” said Evan, partly pleased with his +hated self for being able to jest on the subject, as a piece of preliminary +self-conquest. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” went Andrew, as if the joke were too good to be dwelt on; +“Hem”; and by way of diverting from it cleverly and naturally, he +remarked that the weather was fine. This made Evan allude to his letter written +from Lymport, upon which Andrew said: “tush! pish! humbug! nonsense! +won’t hear a word. Don’t know anything about it. Van, you’re +going to be a brewer. I say you are. You’re afraid you can’t? I +tell you, sir, I’ve got a bet on it. You’re not going to make me +lose, are you—eh? I have, and a stiff bet, too. You must and shall, so +there’s an end. Only we can’t make arrangements just yet, my boy. +Old Tom—very good old fellow—but, you know—must get old Tom +out of the way, first. Now go and dress for dinner. And Lord preserve us from +the Great Mel to-day!” Andrew mumbled as he turned away. +</p> + +<p> +Evan could not reach his chamber without being waylaid by the Countess. Had he +remembered the sister who sacrificed so much for him? “There, +there!” cried Evan, and her hand closed on the delicious golden whispers +of bank-notes. And, “Oh, generous Andrew! dear good Evan!” were the +exclamations of the gratified lady. +</p> + +<p> +There remained nearly another hundred. Evan laid out the notes, and eyed them +while dressing. They seemed to say to him, “We have you now.” He +was clutched by a beneficent or a most malignant magician. The former seemed +due to him, considering the cloud on his fortunes. This enigma might mean, that +by submitting to a temporary humiliation, for a trial of him—in fact, by +his acknowledgement of the fact, loathed though it was,—he won a secret +overlooker’s esteem, gained a powerful ally. Here was the proof, he held +the proof. He had read Arabian Tales and could believe in marvels; especially +could he believe in the friendliness of a magical thing that astounded without +hurting him. +</p> + +<p> +He, sat down in his room at night and wrote a fairly manful letter to Rose; and +it is to be said of the wretch he then saw himself, that he pardoned her for +turning from so vile a pretender. He heard a step in the passage. It was Polly +Wheedle. Polly had put her young mistress to bed, and was retiring to her own +slumbers. He made her take the letter and promise to deliver it immediately. +Would not to-morrow morning do, she asked, as Miss Rose was very sleepy. He +seemed to hesitate—he was picturing how Rose looked when very sleepy. Why +should he surrender this darling? And subtler question—why should he make +her unhappy? Why disturb her at all in her sweet sleep? +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Evan. “To-morrow will do.—No, take it +to-night, for God’s sake!” he cried, as one who bursts the spell of +an opiate. “Go at once.” The temptation had almost overcome him. +</p> + +<p> +Polly thought his proceedings queer. And what could the letter contain? A +declaration, of course. She walked slowly along the passage, meditating on +love, and remotely on its slave, Mr. Nicholas Frim. Nicholas had never written +her a letter; but she was determined that he should, some day. She wondered +what love-letters were like? Like valentines without the Cupids. Practical +valentines, one might say. Not vapoury and wild, but hot and to the point. +Delightful things! No harm in peeping at a love-letter, if you do it with the +eye of a friend. +</p> + +<p> +Polly spelt just a word when a door opened at her elbow. She dropped her candle +and curtsied to the Countess’s voice. The Countess desired her to enter, +and all in a tremble Polly crept in. Her air of guilt made the Countess thrill. +She had merely called her in to extract daily gossip. The corner of the letter +sticking up under Polly’s neck attracted her strangely, and beginning +with the familiar, “Well, child,” she talked of things interesting +to Polly, and then exhibited the pic-nic dress. It was a lovely half-mourning; +airy sorrows, gauzy griefs, you might imagine to constitute the wearer. White +delicately striped, exquisitely trimmed, and of a stuff to make the feminine +mouth water! +</p> + +<p> +Could Polly refuse to try it on, when the flattering proposal met her ears? +Blushing, shame-faced, adoring the lady who made her look adorable, Polly tried +it on, and the Countess complimented her, and made a doll of her, and turned +her this way and that way, and intoxicated her. +</p> + +<p> +“A rich husband, Polly, child! and you are a lady ready made.” +</p> + +<p> +Infamous poison to poor Polly; but as the thunder destroys small insects, +exalted schemers are to be excused for riding down their few thousands. +Moreover, the Countess really looked upon domestics as being only half-souls. +</p> + +<p> +Dressed in her own attire again, Polly felt in her pockets, and at her bosom, +and sang out: “Oh, my—Oh, where! Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +The letter was lost. The letter could not be found. The Countess grew extremely +fatigued, and had to dismiss Polly, in spite of her eager petitions to be +allowed to search under the carpets and inside the bed. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning came Evan’s great trial. There stood Rose. She turned to +him, and her eyes were happy and unclouded. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not changed?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Changed? what could change me?” +</p> + +<p> +The God of true hearts bless her! He could hardly believe it. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Rose I knew yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Evan. But you—you look as if you had not slept.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not leave me this morning, before I go, Rose? Oh, my darling! +this that you do for me is the work of an angel—nothing less! I have been +a coward. And my beloved! to feel vile is agony to me—it makes me feel +unworthy of the hand I press. Now all is clear between us. I go: I am +forgiven.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose repeated his last words, and then added hurriedly: +</p> + +<p> +“All is clear between us? Shall I speak to Mama this morning? Dear Evan! +it will be right that I should.” +</p> + +<p> +For the moment he could not understand why, but supposing a scrupulous honesty +in her, said: “Yes, tell Lady Jocelyn all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then, Evan, you will never need to go.” +</p> + +<p> +They separated. The deep-toned sentence sang in Evan’s heart. Rose and +her mother were of one stamp. And Rose might speak for her mother. To take the +hands of such a pair and be lifted out of the slough, he thought no shame: and +all through the hours of the morning the image of two angels stooping to touch +a leper, pressed on his brain like a reality, and went divinely through his +blood. +</p> + +<p> +Toward mid-day Rose beckoned to him, and led him out across the lawn into the +park, and along the borders of the stream. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan,” she said, “shall I really speak to Mama?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not yet?” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have been with Juliana and with Drummond. Look at this, +Evan.” She showed a small black speck in the palm of her hand, which +turned out, on your viewing it closely, to be a brand of the letter L. +“Mama did that when I was a little girl, because I told lies. I never +could distinguish between truth and falsehood; and Mama set that mark on me, +and I have never told a lie since. She forgives anything but that. She will be +our friend; she will never forsake us, Evan, if we do not deceive her. Oh, +Evan! it never is of any use. But deceive her, and she cannot forgive you. It +is not in her nature.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan paused before he replied: “You have only to tell her what I have +told you. You know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose gave him a flying look of pain: “Everything, Evan? What do I +know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Rose! do you compel me to repeat it?” +</p> + +<p> +Bewildered, Rose thought: “Have I slept and forgotten it?” +</p> + +<p> +He saw the persistent grieved interrogation of her eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” she sighed resignedly: “I am yours; you know that, +Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +But he was a lover, and quarrelled with her sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“It may well make you sad now, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sad? no, that does not make me sad. No; but my hands are tied. I cannot +defend you or justify myself; and induce Mama to stand by us. Oh, Evan! you +love me! why can you not open your heart to me entirely, and trust me?” +</p> + +<p> +“More?” cried Evan: “Can I trust you more?” He spoke of +the letter: Rose caught his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I never had it, Evan. You wrote it last night? and all was written in +it? I never saw it—but I know all.” +</p> + +<p> +Their eyes fronted. The gates of Rose’s were wide open, and he saw no +hurtful beasts or lurking snakes in the happy garden within, but Love, like a +fixed star. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know why I must leave, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave? Leave me? On the contrary, you must stay by me, and support me. +Why, Evan, we have to fight a battle.” +</p> + +<p> +Much as he worshipped her, this intrepid directness of soul startled +him—almost humbled him. And her eyes shone with a firm cheerful light, as +she exclaimed: “It makes me so happy to think you were the first to +mention this. You meant to be, and that’s the same thing. I heard it this +morning: you wrote it last night. It’s you I love, Evan. Your birth, and +what you were obliged to do—that’s nothing. Of course I’m +sorry for it, dear. But I’m more sorry for the pain I must have sometimes +put you to. It happened through my mother’s father being a merchant; and +that side of the family the men and women are quite sordid and unendurable; and +that’s how it came that I spoke of disliking tradesmen. I little thought +I should ever love one sprung from that class.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned to him tenderly. +</p> + +<p> +“And in spite of what my birth is, you love me, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no spite in it, Evan. I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Hard for him, while his heart was melting to caress her, the thought that he +had snared this bird of heaven in a net! Rose gave him no time for reflection, +or the moony imagining of their raptures lovers love to dwell upon. +</p> + +<p> +“You gave the letter to Polly, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, naughty Polly! I must punish you,” Rose apostrophized her. +“You might have divided us for ever. Well, we shall have to fight a +battle, you understand that. Will you stand by me?” +</p> + +<p> +Would he not risk his soul for her? +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Evan. Then—but don’t be sensitive. Oh, how +sensitive you are! I see it all now. This is what we shall have to do. We shall +have to speak to Mama to-day—this morning. Drummond has told me he is +going to speak to her, and we must be first. That’s decided. I begged a +couple of hours. You must not be offended with Drummond. He does it out of pure +affection for us, and I can see he’s right—or, at least, not quite +wrong. He ought, I think, to know that he cannot change me. Very well, we shall +win Mama by what we do. My mother has ten times my wits, and yet I manage her +like a feather. I have only to be honest and straightforward. Then Mama will +gain over Papa. Papa, of course, won’t like it. He’s quiet and +easy, but he likes blood, but he also likes peace better; and I think he loves +Rosey—as well as somebody—almost? Look, dear, there is our seat +where we—where you would rob me of my handkerchief. I can’t talk +any more.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose had suddenly fallen from her prattle, soft and short-breathed. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, dear,” she went on, “we shall have to fight the +family. Aunt Shorne will be terrible. My poor uncles! I pity them. But they +will come round. They always have thought what I did was right, and why should +they change their minds now? I shall tell them that at their time of life a +change of any kind is very unwise and bad for them. Then there is Grandmama +Bonner. She can hurt us really, if she pleases. Oh, my dear Evan! if you had +only been a curate! Why isn’t your name Parsley? Then my Grandmama the +Countess of Elburne. Well, we have a Countess on our side, haven’t we? +And that reminds me, Evan, if we’re to be happy and succeed, you must +promise one thing: you will not tell the Countess, your sister. Don’t +confide this to her. Will you promise?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan assured her he was not in the habit of pouring secrets into any bosom, the +Countess’s as little as another’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then, Evan, it’s unpleasant while it lasts, but we +shall gain the day. Uncle Melville will give you an appointment, and +then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rose,” he said, “I will do this, though I don’t +think you can know what I shall have to endure—not in confessing what I +am, but in feeling that I have brought you to my level.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does it not raise me?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“But in reality, Evan—apart from mere appearances—in reality +it does! it does!” +</p> + +<p> +“Men will not think so, Rose, nor can I. Oh, my Rose! how different you +make me. Up to this hour I have been so weak! torn two ways! You give me double +strength.” +</p> + +<p> +Then these lovers talked of distant days—compared their feelings on this +and that occasion with mutual wonder and delight. Then the old hours lived +anew. And—did you really think that, Evan? And—Oh, Rose! was that +your dream? And the meaning of that by-gone look: was it what they fancied? And +such and such a tone of voice; would it bear the wished interpretation? Thus +does Love avenge himself on the unsatisfactory Past and call out its essence. +</p> + +<p> +Could Evan do less than adore her? She knew all, and she loved him! Since he +was too shy to allude more than once to his letter, it was natural that he +should not ask her how she came to know, and how much the “all” +that she knew comprised. In his letter he had told all; the condition of his +parents, and his own. Honestly, now, what with his dazzled state of mind, his +deep inward happiness, and love’s endless delusions, he abstained from +touching the subject further. Honestly, therefore, as far as a lover can be +honest. +</p> + +<p> +So they toyed, and then Rose, setting her fingers loose, whispered: “Are +you ready?” And Evan nodded; and Rose, to make him think light of the +matter in hand, laughed: “Pluck not quite up yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, my Rose!” said Evan, and they walked to the house, not +quite knowing what they were going to do. +</p> + +<p> +On the steps they met Drummond with Mrs. Evremonde. Little imagining how heart +and heart the two had grown, and that Evan would understand him, Drummond +called to Rose playfully: “Time’s up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” Rose answered, and to Mrs. Evremonde +</p> + +<p> +“Give Drummond a walk. Poor Drummond is going silly.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan looked into his eyes calmly as he passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going, Rose?” said Mrs. Evremonde. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to give my maid Polly a whipping for losing a letter she ought to +have delivered to me last night,” said Rose, in a loud voice, looking at +Drummond. “And then going to Mama. Pleasure first—duty after. +Isn’t that the proverb, Drummond?” +</p> + +<p> +She kissed her fingers rather scornfully to her old friend. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> +MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY</h2> + +<p> +The last person thought of by her children at this period was Mrs. Mel: nor had +she been thinking much of them till a letter from Mr. Goren arrived one day, +which caused her to pass them seriously in review. Always an early bird, and +with maxims of her own on the subject of rising and getting the worm, she was +standing in a small perch in the corner of the shop, dictating accounts to Mrs. +Fiske, who was copying hurriedly, that she might earn sweet intervals for +gossip, when Dandy limped up and delivered the letter. Mrs. Fiske worked hard +while her aunt was occupied in reading it, for a great deal of fresh talk +follows the advent of the post, and may be reckoned on. Without looking up, +however, she could tell presently that the letter had been read through. Such +being the case, and no conversation coming of it, her curiosity was violent. +Her aunt’s face, too, was an index of something extraordinary. That +inflexible woman, instead of alluding to the letter in any way, folded it up, +and renewed her dictation. It became a contest between them which should show +her human nature first. Mrs. Mel had to repress what she knew; Mrs. Fiske to +control the passion for intelligence. The close neighbourhood of one anxious to +receive, and one capable of giving, waxed too much for both. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Anne, you are stupid this morning,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I am, aunt,” said Mrs. Fiske, pretending not to see which +was the first to unbend, “I don’t know what it is. The figures seem +all dazzled like. I shall really be glad when Evan comes to take his proper +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” went Mrs. Mel, and Mrs. Fiske heard her muttering. Then she +cried out: “Are Harriet and Caroline as great liars as Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske grimaced. “That would be difficult, would it not, aunt?” +</p> + +<p> +“And I have been telling everybody that my son is in town learning his +business, when he’s idling at a country house, and trying to play his +father over again! Upon my word, what with liars and fools, if you go to sleep +a minute you have a month’s work on your back.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, aunt?” Mrs. Fiske feebly inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman, I suppose! He wouldn’t take an order if it was +offered. Upon my word, when tailors think of winning heiresses it’s time +we went back to Adam and Eve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean Evan, aunt?” interposed Mrs. Fiske, who probably did +not see the turns in her aunt’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“There—read for yourself,” said Mrs. Mel, and left her with +the letter. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Fiske read that Mr. Goren had been astonished at Evan’s +non-appearance, and at his total silence; which he did not consider altogether +gentlemanly behaviour, and certainly not such as his father would have +practised. Mr. Goren regretted his absence the more as he would have found him +useful in a remarkable invention he was about to patent, being a peculiar red +cross upon shirts—a fortune to the patentee; but as Mr. Goren had no +natural heirs of his body, he did not care for that. What affected him +painfully was the news of Evan’s doings at a noble house, Beckley Court, +to wit, where, according to the report of a rich young gentleman friend, Mr. +Raikes (for whose custom Mr. Goren was bound to thank Evan), the youth who +should have been learning the science of Tailoring, had actually passed himself +off as a lord, or the son of one, or something of the kind, and had got engaged +to a wealthy heiress, and would, no doubt, marry her if not found out. Where +the chances of detection were so numerous, Mr. Goren saw much to condemn in the +idea of such a marriage. But “like father like son,” said Mr. +Goren. He thanked the Lord that an honest tradesman was not looked down upon in +this country; and, in fact, gave Mrs. Mel a few quiet digs to waken her remorse +in having missed the man that he was. +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Fiske met her aunt again she returned her the letter, and simply +remarked: “Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel nodded. She understood the implication. +</p> + +<p> +The General who had schemed so successfully to gain Evan time at Beckley Court +in his own despite and against a hundred obstructions, had now another enemy in +the field, and one who, if she could not undo her work, could punish her. By +the afternoon coach, Mrs. Mel, accompanied by Dandy her squire, was journeying +to Fallowfield, bent upon things. The faithful squire was kept by her side +rather as a security for others than for his particular services. Dandy’s +arms were crossed, and his countenance was gloomy. He had been promised a +holiday that afternoon to give his mistress, Sally, Kilne’s cook, an +airing, and Dandy knew in his soul that Sally, when she once made up her mind +to an excursion, would go, and would not go alone, and that her very force of +will endangered her constancy. He had begged humbly to be allowed to stay, but +Mrs. Mel could not trust him. She ought to have told him so, perhaps. +Explanations were not approved of by this well-intended despot, and however +beneficial her resolves might turn out for all parties, it was natural that in +the interim the children of her rule should revolt, and Dandy, picturing his +Sally flaunting on the arm of some accursed low marine, haply, kicked against +Mrs. Mel’s sovereignty, though all that he did was to shoot out his fist +from time to time, and grunt through his set teeth: “Iron!” to +express the character of her awful rule. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel alighted at the Dolphin, the landlady of which was a Mrs. Hawkshaw, a +rival of Mrs. Sockley of the Green Dragon. She was welcomed by Mrs. Hawkshaw +with considerable respect. The great Mel had sometimes slept at the Dolphin. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that black!” she sighed, indicating Mrs. Mel’s dress and +the story it told. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t give you his room, my dear Mrs. Harrington, wishing I +could! I’m sorry to say it’s occupied, for all I ought to be glad, +I dare say, for he’s an old gentleman who does you a good turn, if you +study him. But there! I’d rather have had poor dear Mr. Harrington in my +best bed than old or young—Princes or nobodies, I would—he was that +grand and pleasant.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel had her tea in Mrs. Hawkshaw’s parlour, and was entertained +about her husband up to the hour of supper, when a short step and a querulous +voice were heard in the passage, and an old gentleman appeared before them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s to carry up my trunk, ma’am? No man here?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Hawkshaw bustled out and tried to lay her hand on a man. Failing to find +the growth spontaneous, she returned and begged the old gentleman to wait a few +moments and the trunk would be sent up. +</p> + +<p> +“Parcel o’ women!” was his reply. “Regularly +bedevilled. Gets worse and worse. I’ll carry it up myself.” +</p> + +<p> +With a wheezy effort he persuaded the trunk to stand on one end, and then +looked at it. The exertion made him hot, which may account for the rage he +burst into when Mrs. Hawkshaw began flutteringly to apologize. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re sure, ma’am, sure—what are you sure of? +I’ll tell you what I am sure of—eh? This keeping clear of +men’s a damned pretence. You don’t impose upon me. Don’t +believe in your pothouse nunneries—not a bit. Just like you! when you are +virtuous it’s deuced inconvenient. Let one of the maids try? No. +Don’t believe in ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Having thus relieved his spleen the old gentleman addressed himself to further +efforts and waxed hotter. He managed to tilt the trunk over, and thus gained a +length, and by this method of progression arrived at the foot of the stairs, +where he halted, and wiped his face, blowing lustily. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel had been watching him with calm scorn all the while. She saw him +attempt most ridiculously to impel the trunk upwards by a similar process, and +thought it time to interfere. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you see you must either take it on your shoulders, or have a +help?” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman sprang up from his peculiarly tight posture to blaze round at +her. He had the words well-peppered on his mouth, but somehow he stopped, and +was subsequently content to growl: “Where’s the help in a parcel of +petticoats?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel did not consider it necessary to give him an answer. She went up two +or three steps, and took hold of one handle of the trunk, saying: “There; +I think it can be managed this way,” and she pointed for him to seize the +other end with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +He was now in that unpleasant state of prickly heat when testy old gentlemen +could commit slaughter with ecstasy. Had it been the maid holding a candle who +had dared to advise, he would have overturned her undoubtedly, and established +a fresh instance of the impertinence, the uselessness and weakness of women. +Mrs. Mel topped him by half a head, and in addition stood three steps above +him; towering like a giantess. The extreme gravity of her large face dispersed +all idea of an assault. The old gentleman showed signs of being horribly +injured: nevertheless, he put his hand to the trunk; it was lifted, and the +procession ascended the stairs in silence. +</p> + +<p> +The landlady waited for Mrs. Mel to return, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Mrs. Harrington, you are clever. That lifting that trunk’s +as good as a lock and bolt on him. You’ve as good as made him a +Dolphin—him that was one o’ the oldest Green Dragons in Fallifield. +My thanks to you most sincere.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel sent out to hear where Dandy had got to after which, she said: +“Who is the man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you, Mrs. Harrington—the oldest Green Dragon. His name, you +mean? Do you know, if I was to breathe it out, I believe he’d jump out of +the window. He’d be off, that you might swear to. Oh, such a whimsical! +not ill-meaning—quite the contrary. Study his whims, and you’ll +never want. There’s Mrs. Sockley—she’s took ill. He +won’t go there—that’s how I’ve caught him, my +dear—but he pays her medicine, and she looks to him the same. He hate a +sick house: but he pity a sick woman. Now, if I can only please him, I can +always look on him as half a Dolphin, to say the least; and perhaps to-morrow +I’ll tell you who he is, and what, but not to-night; for there’s +his supper to get over, and that, they say, can be as bad as the busting of one +of his own vats. Awful!” +</p> + +<p> +“What does he eat?” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“A pair o’ chops. That seem simple, now, don’t it? And yet +they chops make my heart go pitty-pat.” +</p> + +<p> +“The commonest things are the worst done,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t that; but they must be done his particular way, do you +see, Mrs. Harrington. Laid close on the fire, he say, so as to keep in the +juice. But he ups and bounces in a minute at a speck o’ black. So, one +thing or the other, there you are: no blacks, no juices, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Toast the chops,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +The landlady of the Dolphin accepted this new idea with much enlightenment, but +ruefully declared that she was afraid to go against his precise instructions. +Mrs. Mel then folded her hands, and sat in quiet reserve. She was one of those +numerous women who always know themselves to be right. She was also one of +those very few whom Providence favours by confounding dissentients. She was +positive the chops would be ill-cooked: but what could she do? She was not in +command here; so she waited serenely for the certain disasters to enthrone her. +Not that the matter of the chops occupied her mind particularly: nor could she +dream that the pair in question were destined to form a part of her history, +and divert the channel of her fortunes. Her thoughts were about her own +immediate work; and when the landlady rushed in with the chops under a cover, +and said: “Look at ’em, dear Mrs. Harrington!” she had +forgotten that she was again to be proved right by the turn of events. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the chops!” she responded. “Send them while they are +hot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send ’em! Why you don’t think I’d have risked their +cooling? I have sent ’em; and what do he do but send ’em travelling +back, and here they be; and what objections his is I might study till I was +blind, and I shouldn’t see ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I suppose not,” said Mrs. Mel. “He won’t eat +’em?” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t eat anything: but his bed-room candle immediately. And +whether his sheets are aired. And Mary says he sniffed at the chops; and that +gal really did expect he’d fling them at her. I told you what he was. Oh, +dear!” +</p> + +<p> +The bell was heard ringing in the midst of the landlady’s lamentations. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to him yourself,” said Mrs. Mel. “No Christian man should +go to sleep without his supper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but he ain’t a common Christian,” returned Mrs. +Hawkshaw. +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman was in a hurry to know when his bed-room candle was coming +up, or whether they intended to give him one at all that night; if not, let +them say so, as he liked plain-speaking. The moment Mrs. Hawkshaw touched upon +the chops, he stopped her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Go about your business, ma’am. You can’t cook ’em. I +never expected you could: I was a fool to try you. It requires at least ten +years’ instruction before a man can get a woman to cook his chop as he +likes it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what was your complaint, sir?” said Mrs. Hawkshaw, +imploringly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right!” and he rubbed his hands, and brightened his +eyes savagely. “That’s the way. Opportunity for gossip! +Thing’s well done—down it goes: you know that. You can’t have +a word over it—eh? Thing’s done fit to toss on a dungheap, aha! +Then there’s a cackle! My belief is, you do it on purpose. Can’t be +such rank idiots. You do it on purpose. All done for gossip!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir, no!” The landlady half curtsied. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ma’am, yes!” The old gentleman bobbed his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, sir!” The landlady shook hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it, ma’am, I swear you do.” +</p> + +<p> +Symptoms of wrath here accompanied the declaration; and, with a sigh and a very +bitter feeling, Mrs. Hawkshaw allowed him to have the last word. Apparently +this—which I must beg to call the lady’s morsel—comforted his +irascible system somewhat; for he remained in a state of composure eight +minutes by the clock. And mark how little things hang together. Another word +from the landlady, precipitating a retort from him, and a gesture or muttering +from her; and from him a snapping outburst, and from her a sign that she held +out still; in fact, had she chosen to battle for that last word, as in other +cases she might have done, then would he have exploded, gone to bed in the +dark, and insisted upon sleeping: the consequence of which would have been to +change this history. Now while Mrs. Hawkshaw was upstairs, Mrs. Mel called the +servant, who took her to the kitchen, where she saw a prime loin of mutton; off +which she cut two chops with a cunning hand: and these she toasted at a gradual +distance, putting a plate beneath them, and a tin behind, and hanging the chops +so that they would turn without having to be pierced. The bell rang twice +before she could say the chops were ready. The first time, the maid had to tell +the old gentleman she was taking up his water. Her next excuse was, that she +had dropped her candle. The chops ready—who was to take them? +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Mrs. Harrington, you are so clever, you ought, if I might be so +bold as say so; you ought to end it yourself,” said the landlady. +“I can’t ask him to eat them: he was all but on the busting point +when I left him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that there candle did for him quite,” said Mary, the maid. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it’s chops cooked for nothing,” added the +landlady. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel saw them endangered. The maid held back: the landlady feared. +</p> + +<p> +“We can but try,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I wish, mum, you’d face him, ’stead o’ me,” +said Mary; “I do dread that old bear’s den.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, I will go,” said Mrs. Mel. “Has he got his ale? Better +draw it fresh, if he drinks any.” +</p> + +<p> +And upstairs she marched, the landlady remaining below to listen for the +commencement of the disturbance. An utterance of something certainly followed +Mrs. Mel’s entrance into the old bear’s den. Then silence. Then +what might have been question and answer. Then—was Mrs. Mel assaulted? +and which was knocked down? It really was a chair being moved to the table. The +door opened. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am; do what you like,” the landlady heard. Mrs. Mel +descended, saying: “Send him up some fresh ale.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have made him sit down obedient to those chops?” cried the +landlady. “Well might poor dear Mr. Harrington—pleasant man as he +was!—say, as he used to say, ‘There’s lovely women in the +world, Mrs. Hawkshaw,’ he’d say, ‘and there’s +Duchesses,’ he’d say, ‘and there’s they that can sing, +and can dance, and some,’ he says, ‘that can cook.’ But +he’d look sly as he’d stoop his head and shake it. ‘Roll +’em into one,’ he says, ‘and not any of your grand ladies can +match my wife at home.’ +</p> + +<p> +And, indeed, Mrs. Harrington, he told me he thought so many a time in the great +company he frequented.” +</p> + +<p> +Perfect peace reigning above, Mrs. Hawkshaw and Mrs. Mel sat down to supper +below; and Mrs. Hawkshaw talked much of the great one gone. His relict did not +care to converse about the dead, save in their practical aspect as ghosts; but +she listened, and that passed the time. By-and-by, the old gentleman rang, and +sent a civil message to know if the landlady had ship’s rum in the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear! here’s another trouble,” cried the poor woman. +“No—none!” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, yes,” said Mrs. Mel, and called Dandy, and charged him to run +down the street to the square, and ask for the house of Mr. Coxwell, the +maltster, and beg of him, in her name, a bottle of his ship’s rum. +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t you tumble down and break the bottle, Dandy. Accidents +with spirit-bottles are not excused.” +</p> + +<p> +Dandy went on the errand, after an energetic grunt. +</p> + +<p> +In due time he returned with the bottle, whole and sound, and Mr. +Coxwell’s compliments. Mrs. Mel examined the cork to see that no process +of suction had been attempted, and then said: +</p> + +<p> +“Carry it up to him, Dandy. Let him see there’s a man in the house +besides himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my dear,” the landlady turned to her, “it seems natural +to you to be mistress where you go. I don’t at all mind, for ain’t +it my profit? But you do take us off our legs.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the landlady, warmed by gratitude, told her that the old gentleman was the +great London brewer, who brewed there with his brother, and brewed for himself +five miles out of Fallowfield, half of which and a good part of the +neighbourhood he owned, and his name was Mr. Tom Cogglesby. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Mrs. Mel. “And his brother is Mr. Andrew.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” said the landlady. “And because he took it +into his head to go and to choose for himself, and be married, no getting his +brother, Mr. Tom, to speak to him. Why not, indeed? If there’s to be no +marrying, the sooner we lay down and give up, the better, I think. But +that’s his way. He do hate us women, Mrs. Harrington. I have heard he was +crossed. Some say it was the lady of Beckley Court, who was a Beauty, when he +was only a poor cobbler’s son.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel breathed nothing of her relationship to Mr. Tom, but continued from +time to time to express solicitude about Dandy. They heard the door open, and +old Tom laughing in a capital good temper, and then Dandy came down, evidently +full of ship’s rum. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s pumped me!” said Dandy, nodding heavily at his +mistress. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel took him up to his bed-room, and locked the door. On her way back she +passed old Tom’s chamber, and his chuckles were audible to her. +</p> + +<p> +“They finished the rum,” said Mrs. Hawkshaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall rate him for that to-morrow,” said Mrs. Mel. “Giving +that poor beast liquor!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rate Mr. Tom! Oh! Mrs. Harrington! Why, he’ll snap your head off +for a word.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel replied that her head would require a great deal of snapping to come +off. +</p> + +<p> +During this conversation they had both heard a singular intermittent noise +above. Mrs. Hawkshaw was the first to ask: +</p> + +<p> +“What can it be? More trouble with him? He’s in his bed-room +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mad with drink, like Dandy, perhaps,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark!” cried the landlady. “Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that Old Tom was bouncing about in an extraordinary manner. Now came +a pause, as if he had sworn to take his rest: now the room shook and the +windows rattled. +</p> + +<p> +“One’d think, really, his bed was a frying-pan, and him a live fish +in it,” said the landlady. “Oh—there, again! My goodness! +have he got a flea?” +</p> + +<p> +The thought was alarming. Mrs. Mel joined in: +</p> + +<p> +“Or a ———” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t! don’t, my dear!” she was cut short. “Oh! +one o’ them little things’d be ruin to me. To think o’ that! +Hark at him! It must be. And what’s to do? I’ve sent the maids to +bed. We haven’t a man. If I was to go and knock at his door, and +ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better try and get him to be quiet somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I dare say I shall make him fire out fifty times worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Hawkshaw stipulated that Mrs. Mel should stand by her, and the two women +went up-stairs and stood at Old Tom’s door. There they could hear him +fuming and muttering imprecations, and anon there was an interval of silence, +and then the room was shaken, and the cursings recommenced. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be a fight he’s having with a flea,” said the +landlady. “Oh! pray heaven, it is a flea. For a flea, my +dear—gentlemen may bring that theirselves; but a b——, +that’s a stationary, and born of a bed. Don’t you hear? The other +thing’d give him a minute’s rest; but a flea’s hop-hop-off +and on. And he sound like an old gentleman worried by a flea. What are you +doing?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel had knocked at the door. The landlady waited breathlessly for the +result. It appeared to have quieted Old Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” said Mrs. Mel, severely. +</p> + +<p> +The landlady implored her to speak him fair, and reflect on the desperate +things he might attempt. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter? Can anything be done for you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tom Cogglesby’s reply comprised an insinuation so infamous regarding +women when they have a solitary man in their power, that it cannot be placed on +record. +</p> + +<p> +“Is anything the matter with your bed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything? Yes; anything is the matter, ma’am. Hope twenty live +geese inside it’s enough—eh? Bed, do you call it? It’s the +rack! It’s damnation! Bed? Ha!” +</p> + +<p> +After delivering this, he was heard stamping up and down the room. +</p> + +<p> +“My very best bed!” whispered the landlady. “Would it please +you, sir, to change—I can give you another?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a man of experiments, ma’am—’specially +in strange houses.” +</p> + +<p> +“So very, very sorry!” +</p> + +<p> +“What the deuce!” Old Tom came close to the door. “You +whimpering! You put a man in a beast of a bed—you drive him half +mad—and then begin to blubber! Go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am so sorry, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t go away, ma’am, I shall think your intentions +are improper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my goodness!” cried poor Mrs. Hawkshaw. “What can one do +with him?” Mrs. Mel put Mrs. Hawkshaw behind her. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you dressed?” she called out. +</p> + +<p> +In this way Mrs. Mel tackled Old Tom. He was told that should he consent to +cover himself decently, she would come into his room and make his bed +comfortable. And in a voice that dispersed armies of innuendoes, she bade him +take his choice, either to rest quiet or do her bidding. Had Old Tom found his +master at last, and in one of the hated sex? Breathlessly Mrs. Hawkshaw waited +his answer, and she was an astonished woman when it came. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, ma’am. Wait a couple of minutes. Do as you like.” +</p> + +<p> +On their admission to the interior of the chamber, Old Tom was exhibited in his +daily garb, sufficiently subdued to be civil and explain the cause of his +discomfort. Lumps in his bed: he was bruised by them. He supposed he +couldn’t ask women to judge for themselves—they’d be +shrieking—but he could assure them he was blue all down his back. Mrs. +Mel and Mrs. Hawkshaw turned the bed about, and punched it, and rolled it. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” went Old Tom, “what’s the good of that? +That’s just how I found it. Moment I got into bed geese began to put up +their backs.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel seldom indulged in a joke, and then only when it had a proverbial +cast. On the present occasion, the truth struck her forcibly, and she said: +</p> + +<p> +“One fool makes many, and so, no doubt, does one goose.” +</p> + +<p> +Accompanied by a smile the words would have seemed impudent; but spoken as a +plain fact, and with a grave face, it set Old Tom blinking like a small boy ten +minutes after the whip. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” she pursued, speaking to him as to an old child, “look +here. This is how you manage. Knead down in the middle of the bed. Then jump +into the hollow. Lie there, and you needn’t wake till morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom came to the side of the bed. He had prepared himself for a wretched +night, an uproar, and eternal complaints against the house, its inhabitants, +and its foundations; but a woman stood there who as much as told him that +digging his fist into the flock and jumping into the hole—into that hole +under his, eyes—was all that was wanted! that he had been making a noise +for nothing, and because he had not the wit to hit on a simple contrivance! +Then, too, his jest about the geese—this woman had put a stop to that! He +inspected the hollow cynically. A man might instruct him on a point or two: Old +Tom was not going to admit that a woman could. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, very well; thank you, ma’am; that’s your idea. +I’ll try it. Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” returned Mrs. Mel. “Don’t forget to jump +into the middle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Head foremost, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“As you weigh,” said Mrs. Mel, and Old Tom trumped his lips, +silenced if not beaten. Beaten, one might almost say, for nothing more was +heard of him that night. +</p> + +<p> +He presented himself to Mrs. Mel after breakfast next morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Slept well, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! then you did as I directed you,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“Those chops, too, very good. I got through ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eating, like scratching, only wants a beginning,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! you’ve got your word, then, as well as everybody else. +Where’s your Dandy this morning, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Locked up. You ought to be ashamed to give that poor beast liquor. He +won’t get fresh air to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! May I ask you where you’re going to-day, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to Beckley.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I, ma’am. What d’ ye say, if we join company. Care for +insinuations?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want a conveyance of some sort,” returned Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“Object to a donkey, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if he’s strong and will go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Old Tom; and while he spoke a donkey-cart stopped in +front of the Dolphin, and a well-dressed man touched his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out of that damned bad habit, will you?” growled Old Tom. What +do you mean by wearing out the brim o’ your hat in that way? Help this +woman in.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel helped herself to a part of the seat. +</p> + +<p> +“We are too much for the donkey,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, that’s right. What I have, ma’am, is good. I can’t +pretend to horses, but my donkey’s the best. Are you going to cry about +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. When he’s tired I shall either walk or harness you,” +said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +This was spoken half-way down the High Street of Fallowfield. Old Tom looked +full in her face, and bawled out: +</p> + +<p> +“Deuce take it. Are you a woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have borne three girls and one boy,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a husband?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! that’s an opening, but ’tain’t an answer. +I’m off to Beckley on a marriage business. I’m the son of a +cobbler, so I go in a donkey-cart. No damned pretences for me. I’m going +to marry off a young tailor to a gal he’s been playing the lord to. If +she cares for him she’ll take him: if not, they’re all the luckier, +both of ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the tailor’s name?” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a woman,” returned Old Tom. “Now, come, ma’am, +don’t you feel ashamed of being in a donkeycart?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ashamed of men, sometimes,” said Mrs. Mel; “never +of animals.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Shamed o’ me, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! well! I’m a man with no pretences. Do you like ’em? How +have you brought up your three girls and one boy? No pretences—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel did not answer, and Old Tom jogged the reins and chuckled, and asked +his donkey if he wanted to be a racer. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you take me for a gentleman, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say you are, sir, at heart. Not from your manner of +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean appearances, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I judge by the disposition.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do, ma’am? Then, deuce take it, if you are a woman, +you’re ——” Old Tom had no time to conclude. +</p> + +<p> +A great noise of wheels, and a horn blown, caused them both to turn their +heads, and they beheld a curricle descending upon them vehemently, and a +fashionably attired young gentleman straining with all his might at the reins. +The next instant they were rolling on the bank. About twenty yards ahead the +curricle was halted and turned about to see the extent of the mischief done. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, a thousand times, my worthy couple,” cried the sonorous +Mr. Raikes. “What we have seen we swear not to divulge. Franco and +Fred—your pledge!” +</p> + +<p> +“We swear!” exclaimed this couple. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly the cheeks of Mr. John Raikes flushed. He alighted from the box, +and rushing up to Old Tom, was shouting, “My bene—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want my toe on your plate?” Old Tom stopped him with. +</p> + +<p> +The mysterious words completely changed the aspect of Mr. John Raikes. He bowed +obsequiously and made his friend Franco step down and assist in the task of +reestablishing the donkey, who fortunately had received no damage. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> +EXHIBITS ROSE’S GENERALSHIP; EVAN’S PERFORMANCE ON THE SECOND +FIDDLE; AND THE WRETCHEDNESS OF THE COUNTESS</h2> + +<p> +We left Rose and Evan on their way to Lady Jocelyn. At the library-door Rose +turned to him, and with her chin archly lifted sideways, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you feel; you feel foolish.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the sense of honour, and of the necessity of acting the part it imposes on +him, may be very strong in a young man; but certainly, as a rule, the sense of +ridicule is more poignant, and Evan was suffering horrid pangs. We none of us +like to play second fiddle. To play second fiddle to a young woman is an +abomination to us all. But to have to perform upon that instrument to the +darling of our hearts—would we not rather die? nay, almost rather end the +duet precipitately and with violence. Evan, when he passed Drummond into the +house, and quietly returned his gaze, endured the first shock of this strange +feeling. There could be no doubt that he was playing second fiddle to Rose. And +what was he about to do? Oh, horror! to stand like a criminal, and say, or +worse, have said for him, things to tip the ears with fire! To tell the young +lady’s mother that he had won her daughter’s love, and +meant—what did he mean? He knew not. Alas! he was second fiddle; he could +only mean what she meant. Evan loved Rose deeply and completely, but noble +manhood was strong in him. You may sneer at us, if you please, ladies. We have +been educated in a theory, that when you lead off with the bow, the order of +Nature is reversed, and it is no wonder therefore, that, having stript us of +one attribute, our fine feathers moult, and the majestic cock-like march which +distinguishes us degenerates. You unsex us, if I may dare to say so. Ceasing to +be men, what are we? If we are to please you rightly, always allow us to play +First. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Evan did feel foolish. Whether Rose saw it in his walk, or had a loving +feminine intuition of it, and was aware of the golden rule I have just laid +down, we need not inquire. She hit the fact, and he could only stammer, and bid +her open the door. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said, after a slight hesitation, “it will be better +that I should speak to Mama alone, I see. Walk out on the lawn, dear, and wait +for me. And if you meet Drummond, don’t be angry with him. Drummond is +very fond of me, and of course I shall teach him to be fond of you. He only +thinks... what is not true, because he does not know you. I do thoroughly, and +there, you see, I give you my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan drew the dear hand humbly to his lips. Rose then nodded meaningly, and let +her eyes dwell on him, and went in to her mother to open the battle. +</p> + +<p> +Could it be that a flame had sprung up in those grey eyes latterly? Once they +were like morning before sunrise. How soft and warm and tenderly transparent +they could now be! Assuredly she loved him. And he, beloved by the noblest girl +ever fashioned, why should he hang his head, and shrink at the thought of human +faces, like a wretch doomed to the pillory? He visioned her last glance, and +lightning emotions of pride and happiness flashed through his veins. The +generous, brave heart! Yes, with her hand in his, he could stand at +bay—meet any fate. Evan accepted Rose because he believed in her love, +and judged it by the strength of his own; her sacrifice of her position he +accepted, because in his soul he knew he should have done no less. He mounted +to the level of her nobleness, and losing nothing of the beauty of what she +did, it was not so strange to him. +</p> + +<p> +Still there was the baleful reflection that he was second fiddle to his +beloved. No harmony came of it in his mind. How could he take an initiative? He +walked forth on the lawn, where a group had gathered under the shade of a +maple, consisting of Drummond Forth, Mrs. Evremonde, Mrs. Shorne, Mr. George +Uplift, Seymour Jocelyn, and Ferdinand Laxley. A little apart Juliana Bonner +was walking with Miss Carrington. Juliana, when she saw him, left her +companion, and passing him swiftly, said, “Follow me presently into the +conservatory.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan strolled near the group, and bowed to Mrs. Shorne, whom he had not seen +that morning. +</p> + +<p> +The lady’s acknowledgement of his salute was constrained, and but a shade +on the side of recognition. They were silent till he was out of earshot. He +noticed that his second approach produced the same effect. In the conservatory +Juliana was awaiting him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not to give you roses I called you here, Mr. Harrington,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not if I beg one?” he responded. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but you do not want them from... It depends on the person.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pluck this,” said Evan, pointing to a white rose. +</p> + +<p> +She put her fingers to the stem. +</p> + +<p> +“What folly!” she cried, and turned from it. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you afraid that I shall compromise you?” asked Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“You care for me too little for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Miss Bonner!” +</p> + +<p> +“How long did you know Rose before you called her by her Christian +name?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan really could not remember, and was beginning to wonder what he had been +called there for. The little lady had feverish eyes and fingers, and seemed to +be burning to speak, but afraid. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you had gone,” she dropped her voice, “without +wishing me good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly should not do that, Miss Bonner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Formal!” she exclaimed, half to herself. “Miss Bonner thanks +you. Do you think I wish you to stay? No friend of yours would wish it. You do +not know the selfishness—brutal!—of these people of birth, as they +call it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have met with nothing but kindness here,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Then go while you can feel that,” she answered; “for it +cannot last another hour. Here is the rose.” She broke it from the stem +and handed it to him. “You may wear that, and they are not so likely to +call you an adventurer, and names of that sort. I am hardly considered a lady +by them.” +</p> + +<p> +An adventurer! The full meaning of the phrase struck Evan’s senses when +he was alone. Miss Bonner knew something of his condition, evidently. Perhaps +it was generally known, and perhaps it was thought that he had come to win Rose +for his worldly advantage! The idea was overwhelmingly new to him. Up started +self-love in arms. He would renounce her. +</p> + +<p> +It is no insignificant contest when love has to crush self-love utterly. At +moments it can be done. Love has divine moments. There are times also when Love +draws part of his being from self-love, and can find no support without it. +</p> + +<p> +But how could he renounce her, when she came forth to him,—smiling, +speaking freshly and lightly, and with the colour on her cheeks which showed +that she had done her part? How could he retract a step? +</p> + +<p> +“I have told Mama, Evan. That’s over. She heard it first from +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Evan, if you are going to be sensitive, I’ll run away. You +that fear no danger, and are the bravest man I ever knew! I think you are +really trembling. She will speak to Papa, and then—and then, I suppose, +they will both ask you whether you intend to give me up, or no. I’m +afraid you’ll do the former.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother—Lady Jocelyn listened to you, Rose? You told her +all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what does she think of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thinks you very handsome and astonishing, and me very idiotic and +natural, and that there is a great deal of bother in the world, and that my +noble relatives will lay the blame of it on her. No, dear, not all that; but +she talked very sensibly to me, and kindly. You know she is called a +philosopher: nobody knows how deep-hearted she is, though. My mother is true as +steel. I can’t separate the kindness from the sense, or I would tell you +all she said. When I say kindness, I don’t mean any ‘Oh, my +child,’ and tears, and kisses, and maundering, you know. You +mustn’t mind her thinking me a little fool. You want to know what she +thinks of you. She said nothing to hurt you, Evan, and we have gained ground so +far, and now we’ll go and face our enemies. Uncle Mel expects to hear +about your appointment, in a day or two, and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Rose!” Evan burst out. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why must I owe everything to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, dear? Why, because, if you do, it’s very much better than +your owing it to anybody else. Proud again?” +</p> + +<p> +Not proud: only second fiddle. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, dear Evan, when two people love, there is no such thing as +owing between them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose, I have been thinking. It is not too late. I love you, God knows! I +did in Portugal: I do now—more and more. But Oh, my bright angel!” +he ended the sentence in his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Well? but—what?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan sounded down the meaning of his “but.” Stripped of the usual +heroics, it was, “what will be thought of me?” not a small matter +to any of us. He caught a distant glimpse of the little bit of bare +selfishness, and shrank from it. +</p> + +<p> +“Too late,” cried Rose. “The battle has commenced now, and, +Mr. Harrington, I will lean on your arm, and be led to my dear friends yonder. +Do they think that I am going to put on a mask to please them? Not for anybody! +What they are to know they may as well know at once.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked in Evan’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hesitate?” +</p> + +<p> +He felt the contrast between his own and hers; between the niggard spirit of +the beggarly receiver, and the high bloom of the exalted giver. Nevertheless, +he loved her too well not to share much of her nature, and wedding it suddenly, +he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Rose; tell me, now. If you were to see the place where I was born, could +you love me still?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you were to hear me spoken of with contempt—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who dares?” cried Rose. “Never to me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Contempt of what I spring from, Rose. Names used... Names are used +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush!—names!” said Rose, reddening. “How cowardly that +is! Have you finished? Oh, faint heart! I suppose I’m not a fair lady, or +you wouldn’t have won me. Now, come. Remember, Evan, I conceal nothing; +and if anything makes you wretched here, do think how I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +In his own firm belief he had said everything to arrest her in her course, and +been silenced by transcendent logic. She thought the same. +</p> + +<p> +Rose made up to the conclave under the maple. +</p> + +<p> +The voices hushed as they approached. +</p> + +<p> +“Capital weather,” said Rose. “Does Harry come back from +London to-morrow—does anybody know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not aware,” Laxley was heard to reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to speak a word to you, Rose,” said Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“With the greatest pleasure, my dear aunt”: and Rose walked after +her. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Rose,” Mrs. Shorne commenced, “your conduct requires +that I should really talk to you most seriously. You are probably not aware of +what you are doing: Nobody likes ease and natural familiarity more than I do. I +am persuaded it is nothing but your innocence. You are young to the +world’s ways, and perhaps a little too headstrong, and vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Conceited and wilful,” added Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“If you like the words better. But I must say—I do not wish to +trouble your father—you know he cannot bear worry—but I must say, +that if you do not listen to me, he must be spoken to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not Mama?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should naturally select my brother first. No doubt you understand +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any distant allusion to Mr. Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pertness will not avail you, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you want me to do secretly what I am doing openly?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must and shall remember you are a Jocelyn, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only half, my dear aunt!” +</p> + +<p> +“And by birth a lady, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I ought to look under my eyes, and blush, and shrink, whenever I +come near a gentleman, aunt!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my dear. No doubt you will do what is most telling. Since you have +spoken of this Mr. Harrington, I must inform you that I have it on certain +authority from two or three sources, that he is the son of a small shopkeeper +at Lymport.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne watched the effect she had produced. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, aunt?” cried Rose. “And do you know this to be +true?” +</p> + +<p> +“So when you talk of gentlemen, Rose, please be careful whom you +include.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mustn’t include poor Mr. Harrington? Then my Grandpapa Bonner is +out of the list, and such numbers of good worthy men?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne understood the hit at the defunct manufacturer. She said: +“You must most distinctly give me your promise, while this young +adventurer remains here—I think it will not be long—not to be +compromising yourself further, as you now do. Or—indeed I must—I +shall let your parents perceive that such conduct is ruin to a young girl in +your position, and certainly you will be sent to Elburne House for the +winter.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose lifted her hands, crying: “Ye Gods!—as Harry says. But +I’m very much obliged to you, my dear aunt. Concerning Mr. Harrington, +wonderfully obliged. Son of a small——! Is it a t-t-tailor, +aunt?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is—I have heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is much worse. Cloth is viler than cotton! And don’t they +call these creatures sn-snips? Some word of that sort?” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes little difference what they are called.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, aunt, I sincerely thank you. As this subject seems to interest +you, go and see Mama, now. She can tell you a great deal more: and, if you want +her authority, come back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose then left her aunt in a state of extreme indignation. It was a clever move +to send Mrs. Shorne to Lady Jocelyn. They were antagonistic, and, rational as +Lady Jocelyn was, and with her passions under control, she was unlikely to side +with Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +Now Rose had fought against herself, and had, as she thought, conquered. In +Portugal Evan’s half insinuations had given her small suspicions, which +the scene on board the Jocasta had half confirmed: and since she came to +communicate with her own mind, she bore the attack of all that rose against +him, bit by bit. She had not been too blind to see the unpleasantness of the +fresh facts revealed to her. They did not change her; on the contrary, drew her +to him faster—and she thought she had completely conquered whatever could +rise against him. But when Juliana Bonner told her that day that Evan was not +only the son of the thing, but the thing himself, and that his name could be +seen any day in Lymport, and that he had come from the shop to Beckley, poor +Rosey had a sick feeling that almost sank her. For a moment she looked back +wildly to the doors of retreat. Her eyes had to feed on Evan, she had to taste +some of the luxury of love, before she could gain composure, and then her +arrogance towards those she called her enemies did not quite return. +</p> + +<p> +“In that letter you told me all—all—all, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, all—religiously.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, why did I miss it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would it give you pleasure?” +</p> + +<p> +She feared to speak, being tender as a mother to his sensitiveness. The +expressive action of her eyebrows sufficed. She could not bear concealment, or +doubt, or a shadow of dishonesty; and he, gaining force of soul to join with +hers, took her hands and related the contents of the letter fully. She was pale +when he had finished. It was some time before she was able to get free from the +trammels of prejudice, but when she did, she did without reserve, saying: +“Evan, there is no man who would have done so much.” These little +exaltations and generosities bind lovers tightly. He accepted the credit she +gave him, and at that we need not wonder. It helped him further to accept +herself, otherwise could he—his name known to be on a +shop-front—have aspired to her still? But, as an unexampled man, princely +in soul, as he felt, why, he might kneel to Rose Jocelyn. So they listened to +one another, and blinded the world by putting bandages on their eyes, after the +fashion of little boys and girls. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the fair being who had brought these two from the ends of the social +scale into this happy tangle, the beneficent Countess, was wretched. When you +are in the enemy’s country you are dependent on the activity and zeal of +your spies and scouts, and the best of these—Polly Wheedle, to +wit—had proved defective, recalcitrant even. And because a letter had +been lost in her room! as the Countess exclaimed to herself, though Polly gave +her no reasons. The Countess had, therefore, to rely chiefly upon personal +observation, upon her intuitions, upon her sensations in the proximity of the +people to whom she was opposed; and from these she gathered that she was, to +use the word which seemed fitting to her, betrayed. Still to be sweet, still to +smile and to amuse,—still to give her zealous attention to the business +of the diplomatist’s Election, still to go through her church-services +devoutly, required heroism; she was equal to it, for she had remarkable +courage; but it was hard to feel no longer at one with Providence. Had not +Providence suggested Sir Abraham to her? killed him off at the right moment in +aid of her? And now Providence had turned, and the assistance she had formerly +received from that Power, and given thanks for so profusely, was the cause of +her terror. It was absolutely as if she had been borrowing from a Jew, and were +called upon to pay fifty-fold interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan!” she writes in a gasp to Harriet. “We must pack up and +depart. Abandon everything. He has disgraced us all, and ruined himself. +Impossible that we can stay for the pic-nic. We are known, dear. Think of my +position one day in this house! Particulars when I embrace you. I dare not +trust a letter here. If Evan had confided in me! He is impenetrable. He will be +low all his life, and I refuse any more to sully myself in attempting to lift +him. For Silva’s sake I must positively break the connection. Heaven +knows what I have done for this boy, and will support me in the feeling that I +have done enough. My conscience at least is safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Like many illustrious Generals, the Countess had, for the hour, lost heart. We +find her, however, the next day, writing: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Harriet! what trials for sisterly affection! Can I +possibly—weather the gale, as the old L—— sailors used to +say? It is dreadful. I fear I am by duty bound to stop on. Little Bonner thinks +Evan quite a duke’s son, has been speaking to her Grandmama, and to-day, +this morning, the venerable old lady quite as much as gave me to understand +that an union between our brother and her son’s child would sweetly +gratify her, and help her to go to her rest in peace. Can I chase that spark of +comfort from one so truly pious? Dearest Juliana! I have anticipated +Evan’s feeling for her, and so she thinks his conduct cold. Indeed, I +told her, point blank, he loved her. That, you know, is different from saying, +dying of love, which would have been an untruth. But, Evan, of course! No +getting him! Should Juliana ever reproach me, I can assure the child that any +man is in love with any woman—which is really the case. It is, you dear +humdrum! what the dictionary calls ‘nascent.’ I never liked the +word, but it stands for a fact.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess here exhibits the weakness of a self-educated intelligence. She +does not comprehend the joys of scholarship in her employment of Latinisms. It +will be pardoned to her by those who perceive the profound piece of feminine +discernment which precedes it. +</p> + +<p> +“I do think I shall now have courage to stay out the pic-nic,” she +continues. “I really do not think all is known. Very little can be known, +or I am sure I could not feel as I do. It would burn me up. George +Up— does not dare; and his most beautiful lady-love had far better not. +Mr. Forth may repent his whispers. But, Oh! what Evan may do! Rose is almost +detestable. Manners, my dear? Totally deficient! +</p> + +<p> +“An ally has just come. Evan’s good fortune is most miraculous. His +low friend turns out to be a young Fortunatus; very original, sparkling, and in +my hands to be made much of. I do think he will—for he is most +zealous—he will counteract that hateful Mr. Forth, who may soon have work +enough. Mr. Raikes (Evan’s friend) met a mad captain in Fallowfield! +Dear Mr. Raikes is ready to say anything; not from love of falsehood, but +because he is ready to think it. He has confessed to me that Evan told him! +Louisa de Saldar has changed his opinion, and much impressed this eccentric +young gentleman. Do you know any young girl who wants a fortune, and would be +grateful? +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest! I have decided on the pic-nic. Let your conscience be clear, +and Providence cannot be against you. So I feel. Mr. Parsley spoke very +beautifully to that purpose last Sunday in the morning service. A little too +much through his nose, perhaps; but the poor young man’s nose is a great +organ, and we will not cast it in his teeth more than nature has done. I said +so to my diplomatist, who was amused. If you are sparklingly vulgar with the +English, you are aristocratic. Oh! what principle we women require in the +thorny walk of life. I can show you a letter when we meet that will astonish +humdrum. Not so diplomatic as the writer thought! Mrs. Melville (sweet woman!) +must continue to practise civility; for a woman who is a wife, my dear, in +verity she lives in a glass house, and let her fling no stones. ‘Let him +who is without sin.’ How beautiful that Christian sentiment! I hope I +shall be pardoned, but it always seems to me that what we have to endure is +infinitely worse than any other suffering, for you find no comfort for the +children of T——s in Scripture, nor any defence of their dreadful +position. Robbers, thieves, Magdalens! but, no! the unfortunate offspring of +that class are not even mentioned: at least, in my most diligent perusal of the +Scriptures, I never lighted upon any remote allusion; and we know the Jews did +wear clothing. Outcasts, verily! And Evan could go, and write—but I have +no patience with him. He is the blind tool of his mother, and anybody’s +puppet.” +</p> + +<p> +The letter concludes, with horrid emphasis: +</p> + +<p> +“The Madre in Beckley! Has sent for Evan from a low public-house! I have +intercepted the messenger. Evan closeted with Sir Franks. Andrew’s +horrible old brother with Lady Jocelyn. The whole house, from garret to +kitchen, full of whispers!” +</p> + +<p> +A prayer to Providence closes the communication. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> +TOM COGGLESEY’S PROPOSITION</h2> + +<p> +The appearance of a curricle and a donkey-cart within the gates of Beckley +Court, produced a sensation among the men of the lower halls, and a couple of +them rushed out, with the left calf considerably in advance, to defend the +house from violation. Toward the curricle they directed what should have been a +bow, but was a nod. Their joint attention was then given to the donkey-cart, in +which old Tom Cogglesby sat alone, bunchy in figure, bunched in face, his +shrewd grey eyes twinkling under the bush of his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Oy, sir—you! my man!” exclaimed the tallest of the pair, +resolutely. “This won’t do. Don’t you know driving this sort +of conveyance slap along the gravel ’ere, up to the pillars, ’s +unparliamentary? Can’t be allowed. Now, right about!” +</p> + +<p> +This address, accompanied by a commanding elevation of the dexter hand, seemed +to excite Mr. Raikes far more than Old Tom. He alighted from his perch in +haste, and was running up to the stalwart figure, crying, “Fellow!” +when, as you tell a dog to lie down, Old Tom called out, “Be quiet, +Sir!” and Raikes halted with prompt military obedience. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of the curricle acting satellite to the donkey-cart staggered the two +footmen. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you lords?” sang out Old Tom. +</p> + +<p> +A burst of laughter from the friends of Mr. Raikes, in the curricle, helped to +make the powdered gentlemen aware of a sarcasm, and one with no little dignity +replied that they were not lords. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Then come and hold my donkey.” +</p> + +<p> +Great irresolution was displayed at the injunction, but having consulted the +face of Mr. Raikes, one fellow, evidently half overcome by what was put upon +him, with the steps of Adam into exile, descended to the gravel, and laid his +hand on the donkey’s head. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold hard!” cried Old Tom. “Whisper in his ear. He’ll +know your language.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I have the felicity of assisting you to terra firma?” +interposed Mr. Raikes, with the bow of deferential familiarity. +</p> + +<p> +“Done that once too often,” returned Old Tom, jumping out. +“There. What’s the fee? There’s a crown for you that +ain’t afraid of a live donkey; and there’s a sixpenny bit for you +that are—to keep up your courage; and when he’s dead you shall have +his skin—to shave by.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent!” shouted Raikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Thomas!” he addressed a footman, “hand in my card. Mr. John +Feversham Raikes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And tell my lady, Tom Cogglesby’s come,” added the owner of +that name. +</p> + +<p> +We will follow Tom Cogglesby, as he chooses to be called. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn rose on his entering the library, and walking up to him, +encountered him with a kindly full face. +</p> + +<p> +“So I see you at last, Tom?” she said, without releasing his hand; +and Old Tom mounted patches of red in his wrinkled cheeks, and blinked, and +betrayed a singular antiquated bashfulness, which ended, after a mumble of +“Yes, there he was, and he hoped her ladyship was well,” by his +seeking refuge in a chair, where he sat hard, and fixed his attention on the +leg of a table. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Tom, do you find much change in me?” she was woman enough to +continue. +</p> + +<p> +He was obliged to look up. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t say I do, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you see the grey hairs, Tom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better than a wig,” rejoined he. +</p> + +<p> +Was it true that her ladyship had behaved rather ill to Old Tom in her youth? +Excellent women have been naughty girls, and young Beauties will have their +train. It is also very possible that Old Tom had presumed upon trifles, and +found it difficult to forgive her his own folly. +</p> + +<p> +“Preferable to a wig? Well, I would rather see you with your natural +thatch. You’re bent, too. You look as if you had kept away from Beckley a +little too long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Told you, my lady, I should come when your daughter was +marriageable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oho! that’s it? I thought it was the Election! +</p> + +<p> +“Election be ——— hem!—beg pardon, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Swear, Tom, if it relieves you. I think it bad to check an oath or a +sneeze.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m come to see you on business, my lady, or I shouldn’t +have troubled you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Malice?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see I don’t bear any, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! if you had only sworn roundly twenty-five years ago, what a much +younger man you would have been! and a brave capital old friend whom I should +not have missed all that time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” cried Old Tom, varying his eyes rapidly between her +ladyship’s face and the floor, “you acknowledge I had reason +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mais, cela va sans dire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cobblers’ sons ain’t scholars, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are not all in the habit of throwing their fathers in our teeth, I +hope!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom wriggled in his chair. “Well, my lady, I’m not going to +make a fool of myself at my time o’ life. Needn’t be alarmed now. +You’ve got the bell-rope handy and a husband on the premises.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn smiled, stood up, and went to him. “I like an honest +fist,” she said, taking his. “We’re not going to be doubtful +friends, and we won’t snap and snarl. That’s for people +who’re independent of wigs, Tom. I find, for my part, that a little grey +on the top of any head cools the temper amazingly. I used to be rather hot +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“You could be peppery, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now I’m cool, Tom, and so must you be; or, if you fight, it must +be in my cause, as you did when you thrashed that saucy young carter. Do you +remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll sit ye down, my lady, I’ll just tell you what +I’m come for,” said Old Tom, who plainly showed that he did +remember, and was alarmingly softened by her ladyship’s retention of the +incident. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn returned to her place. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got a marriageable daughter, my lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we may call her so,” said Lady Jocelyn, with a composed +glance at the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“’Gaged to be married to any young chap?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must put the question to her, Tom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! I don’t want to see her.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Lady Jocelyn looked slightly relieved. Old Tom continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Happen to have got a little money—not so much as many a +lord’s got, I dare say; such as ’tis, there ’tis. Young +fellow I know wants a wife, and he shall have best part of it. Will that suit +ye, my lady?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn folded her hands. “Certainly; I’ve no objection. What +it has to do with me I can’t perceive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ahem!” went Old Tom. “It won’t hurt your daughter to +be married now, will it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my daughter is the destined bride of your ‘young +fellow,’” said Lady Jocelyn. “Is that how it’s to +be?” +</p> + +<p> +“She”—Old Tom cleared his throat “she won’t marry +a lord, my lady; but she—’hem—if she don’t mind +that—’ll have a deuced sight more hard cash than many lord’s +son’d give her, and a young fellow for a husband, sound in wind and limb, +good bone and muscle, speaks grammar and two or three languages, +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” cried Lady Jocelyn. “I hope this is not a prize young +man? If he belongs, at his age, to the unco quid, I refuse to take him for a +son-in-law, and I think Rose will, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom burst out vehemently: “He’s a damned good young fellow, +though he isn’t a lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Lady Jocelyn, “I’ve no doubt you’re +in earnest, Tom. It’s curious, for this morning Rose has come to me and +given me the first chapter of a botheration, which she declares is to end in +the common rash experiment. What is your ‘young fellow’s’ +name? Who is he? What is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t take my guarantee, my lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose—if she marries—must have a name, you know?” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom hit his knee. “Then there’s a pill for ye to swallow, for +he ain’t the son of a lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s swallowed, Tom. What is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the son of a tradesman, then, my lady.” And Old Tom +watched her to note the effect he had produced. +</p> + +<p> +“More’s the pity,” was all she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“And he’ll have his thousand a year to start with; and he’s a +tailor, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +Her ladyship opened her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Harrington’s his name, my lady. Don’t know whether you ever +heard of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn flung herself back in her chair. “The queerest thing I ever +met!” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“Thousand a year to start with,” Old Tom went on, “and if she +marries—I mean if he marries her, I’ll settle a thousand per ann. +on the first baby-boy or gal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum! Is this gross collusion, Mr. Tom?” Lady Jocelyn inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“What does that mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you spoken of this before to any one?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t, my lady. Decided on it this morning. Hem! you got a +son, too. He’s fond of a young gal, or he ought to be. I’ll settle +him when I’ve settled the daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Harry is strongly attached to a dozen, I believe,” said his +mother. “Well, Tom, we’ll think of it. I may as well tell you: Rose +has just been here to inform me that this Mr. Harrington has turned her head, +and that she has given her troth, and all that sort of thing. I believe such +was not to be laid to my charge in my day.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were open enough, my lady,” said Old Tom. “She’s +fond of the young fellow? She’ll have a pill to swallow! poor young +woman!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom visibly chuckled. Lady Jocelyn had a momentary temptation to lead him +out, but she did not like the subject well enough to play with it. +</p> + +<p> +“Apparently Rose has swallowed it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Goose, shears, cabbage, and all!” muttered Old Tom. “Got a +stomach!—she knows he’s a tailor, then? The young fellow told her? +He hasn’t been playing the lord to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as he’s concerned, I think he has been tolerably honest, +Tom, for a man and a lover.” +</p> + +<p> +“And told her he was born and bound a tailor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose certainly heard it from him.” +</p> + +<p> +Slapping his knee, Old Tom cried: “Bravo!” For though one part of +his nature was disappointed, and the best part of his plot disarranged, he +liked Evan’s proceeding and felt warm at what seemed to him Rose’s +scorn of rank. +</p> + +<p> +“She must be a good gal, my lady. She couldn’t have got it from +t’ other side. Got it from you. Not that you—” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Lady Jocelyn, apprehending him. “I’m afraid +I have no Republican virtues. I’m afraid I should have rejected the pill. +Don’t be angry with me,” for Old Tom looked sour again; “I +like birth and position, and worldly advantages, and, notwithstanding +Rose’s pledge of the instrument she calls her heart, and in spite of your +offer, I shall, I tell you honestly, counsel her to have nothing to do +with—” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything less than lords,” Old Tom struck in. “Very well. +Are you going to lock her up, my lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Nor shall I whip her with rods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave her free to her choice?” +</p> + +<p> +“She will have my advice. That I shall give her. And I shall take care +that before she makes a step she shall know exactly what it leads to. Her +father, of course, will exercise his judgement.” (Lady Jocelyn said this +to uphold the honour of Sir Franks, knowing at the same time perfectly well +that he would be wheedled by Rose.) “I confess I like this Mr. +Harrington. But it’s a great misfortune for him to have had a notorious +father. A tailor should certainly avoid fame, and this young man will have to +carry his father on his back. He’ll never throw the great Mel off.” +</p> + +<p> +Tom Cogglesby listened, and was really astonished at her ladyship’s calm +reception of his proposal. +</p> + +<p> +“Shameful of him! shameful!” he muttered perversely: for it would +have made him desolate to have had to change his opinion of her ladyship after +cherishing it, and consoling himself with it, five-and-twenty years. Fearing +the approach of softness, he prepared to take his leave. +</p> + +<p> +“Now—your servant, my lady. I stick to my word, mind: and if your +people here are willing, I—I’ve got a candidate up for +Fall’field—I’ll knock him down, and you shall sneak in your +Tory. Servant, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom rose to go. Lady Jocelyn took his hand cordially, though she could not +help smiling at the humility of the cobbler’s son in his manner of +speaking of the Tory candidate. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you stop with us a few days?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not, I thank ye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you see Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t. Not till she’s married.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Tom, we’re friends now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not aware I’ve ever done you any harm, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look me in the face.” +</p> + +<p> +The trial was hard for him. Though she had been five-and-twenty years a wife, +she was still very handsome: but he was not going to be melted, and when the +perverse old fellow obeyed her, it was with an aspect of resolute disgust that +would have made any other woman indignant. Lady Jocelyn laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Tom, your brother Andrew’s here, and makes himself +comfortable with us. We rode by Brook’s farm the other day. Do you +remember Copping’s pond—how we dragged it that night? What days we +had!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom tugged once or twice at his imprisoned fist, while these youthful +frolics of his too stupid self and the wild and beautiful Miss Bonner were +being recalled. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember!” he said savagely, and reaching the door hurled out: +“And I remember the Bull-dogs, too! servant, my lady.” With which +he effected a retreat, to avoid a ringing laugh he heard in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn had not laughed. She had done no more than look and smile kindly +on the old boy. It was at the Bull-dogs, a fall of water on the borders of the +park, that Tom Cogglesby, then a hearty young man, had been guilty of his +folly: had mistaken her frank friendliness for a return of his passion, and his +stubborn vanity still attributed her rejection of his suit to the fact of his +descent from a cobbler, or, as he put it, to her infernal worship of rank. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Tom!” said her ladyship, when alone. “He’s +rough at the rind, but sound at the core.” She had no idea of the long +revenge Old Tom cherished, and had just shaped into a plot to be equal with her +for the Bull-dogs. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br /> +PRELUDE TO AN ENGAGEMENT</h2> + +<p> +Money was a strong point with the Elburne brood. The Jocelyns very properly +respected blood; but being, as Harry, their youngest representative, termed +them, poor as rats, they were justified in considering it a marketable stuff; +and when they married they married for money. The Hon. Miss Jocelyn had +espoused a manufacturer, who failed in his contract, and deserved his death. +The diplomatist, Melville, had not stepped aside from the family traditions in +his alliance with Miss Black, the daughter of a bold bankrupt, educated in +affluence; and if he touched nothing but £5000 and some very pretty ringlets, +that was not his fault. Sir Franks, too, mixed his pure stream with gold. As +yet, however, the gold had done little more than shine on him; and, belonging +to expectancy, it might be thought unsubstantial. Beckley Court was in the +hands of Mrs. Bonner, who, with the highest sense of duty toward her only +living child, was the last to appreciate Lady Jocelyn’s entire absence of +demonstrative affection, and severely reprobated her daughter’s +philosophic handling of certain serious subjects. Sir Franks, no doubt, came +better off than the others; her ladyship brought him twenty thousand pounds, +and Harry had ten in the past tense, and Rose ten in the future; but living, as +he had done, a score of years anticipating the demise of an incurable invalid, +he, though an excellent husband and father, could scarcely be taught to imagine +that the Jocelyn object of his bargain was attained. He had the semblance of +wealth, without the personal glow which absolute possession brings. It was his +habit to call himself a poor man, and it was his dream that Rose should marry a +rich one. Harry was hopeless. He had been his Grandmother’s pet up to the +years of adolescence: he was getting too old for any prospect of a military +career: he had no turn for diplomacy, no taste for any of the walks open to +blood and birth, and was in headlong disgrace with the fountain of goodness at +Beckley Court, where he was still kept in the tacit understanding that, should +Juliana inherit the place, he must be at hand to marry her instantly, after the +fashion of the Jocelyns. They were an injured family; for what they gave was +good, and the commercial world had not behaved honourably to them. Now, +Ferdinand Laxley was just the match for Rose. Born to a title and fine estate, +he was evidently fond of her, and there had been a gentle hope in the bosom of +Sir Franks that the family fatality would cease, and that Rose would marry both +money and blood. +</p> + +<p> +From this happy delusion poor Sir Franks was awakened to hear that his daughter +had plighted herself to the son of a tradesman: that, as the climax to their +evil fate, she who had some blood and some money of her own—the only +Jocelyn who had ever united the two—was desirous of wasting herself on +one who had neither. The idea was so utterly opposed to the principles Sir +Franks had been trained in, that his intellect could not grasp it. He listened +to his sister, Mrs. Shorne: he listened to his wife; he agreed with all they +said, though what they said was widely diverse: he consented to see and speak +to Evan, and he did so, and was much the most distressed. For Sir Franks liked +many things in life, and hated one thing alone—which was +“bother.” A smooth world was his delight. Rose knew this, and her +instruction to Evan was: “You cannot give me up—you will go, but +you cannot give me up while I am faithful to you: tell him that.” She +knew that to impress this fact at once on the mind of Sir Franks would be a +great gain; for in his detestation of bother he would soon grow reconciled to +things monstrous: and hearing the same on both sides, the matter would assume +an inevitable shape to him. Mr. Second Fiddle had no difficulty in declaring +the eternity of his sentiments; but he toned them with a despair Rose did not +contemplate, and added also his readiness to repair, in any way possible, the +evil done. He spoke of his birth and position. Sir Franks, with a gentlemanly +delicacy natural to all lovers of a smooth world, begged him to see the main +and the insurmountable objection. Birth was to be desired, of course, and +position, and so forth: but without money how can two young people marry? +Evan’s heart melted at this generous way of putting it. He said he saw +it, he had no hope: he would go and be forgotten: and begged that for any +annoyance his visit might have caused Sir Franks and Lady Jocelyn, they would +pardon him. Sir Franks shook him by the hand, and the interview ended in a +dialogue on the condition of the knees of Black Lymport, and on horseflesh in +Portugal and Spain. +</p> + +<p> +Following Evan, Rose went to her father and gave him a good hour’s +excitement, after which the worthy gentleman hurried for consolation to Lady +Jocelyn, whom he found reading a book of French memoirs, in her usual attitude, +with her feet stretched out and her head thrown back, as in a distant survey of +the lively people screening her from a troubled world. Her ladyship read him a +piquant story, and Sir Franks capped it with another from memory; whereupon her +ladyship held him wrong in one turn of the story, and Sir Franks rose to get +the volume to verify, and while he was turning over the leaves, Lady Jocelyn +told him incidentally of old Tom Cogglesby’s visit and proposal. Sir +Franks found the passage, and that her ladyship was right, which it did not +move her countenance to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said he, finding it no use to pretend there was no bother in +the world, “here’s a pretty pickle! Rose says she will have that +fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum!” replied her ladyship. “And if she keeps her mind a +couple of years, it will be a wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very bad for her this sort of thing—talked about,” muttered +Sir Franks. “Ferdinand was just the man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes; I suppose it’s her mistake to think brains an absolute +requisite,” said Lady Jocelyn, opening her book again, and scanning down +a column. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks, being imitative, adopted a similar refuge, and the talk between +them was varied by quotations and choice bits from the authors they had +recourse to. Both leaned back in their chairs, and spoke with their eyes on +their books. +</p> + +<p> +“Julia’s going to write to her mother,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Very filial and proper,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be a horrible hubbub, you know, Emily.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most probably. I shall get the blame; ‘cela se +conçoit’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young Harrington goes the day after to-morrow. Thought it better not to +pack him off in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“And just before the pic-nic; no, certainly. I suppose it would look +odd.” +</p> + +<p> +“How are we to get rid of the Countess?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? This Bautru is amusing, Franks; but he’s nothing to Vandy. +“Homme incomparable!” On the whole I find Menage rather dull. The +Countess? what an accomplished liar that woman is! She seems to have stepped +out of Tallemant’s Gallery. Concerning the Countess, I suppose you had +better apply to Melville.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where the deuce did this young Harrington get his breeding from?” +</p> + +<p> +“He comes of a notable sire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but there’s no sign of the snob in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I exonerate him from the charge of ‘adventuring’ after +Rose. George Uplift tells me—I had him in just now—that the mother +is a woman of mark and strong principle. She has probably corrected the too +luxuriant nature of Mel in her offspring. That is to say in this one. +‘Pour les autres, je ne dis pas’. Well, the young man will go; and +if Rose chooses to become a monument of constancy, we can do nothing. I shall +give my advice; but as she has not deceived me, and she is a reasonable being, +I shan’t interfere. Putting the case at the worst, they will not want +money. I have no doubt Tom Cogglesby means what he says, and will do it. So +there we will leave the matter till we hear from Elburne House.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks groaned at the thought. +</p> + +<p> +“How much does he offer to settle on them?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand a year on the marriage, and the same amount to the first +child. I daresay the end would be that they would get all.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks nodded, and remained with one eye-brow pitiably elevated above the +level of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything but a tailor!” he exclaimed presently, half to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a prejudice against that craft,” her ladyship acquiesced. +“Béranger—let me see—your favourite Frenchman, Franks, +wasn’t it his father?—no, his grandfather. ‘Mon pauvre et +humble grandpère,’ I think, was a tailor. Hum! the degrees of the thing, +I confess, don’t affect me. One trade I imagine to be no worse than +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ferdinand’s allowance is about a thousand,” said Sir Franks, +meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“And won’t be a farthing more till he comes to the title,” +added her ladyship. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” resumed Sir Franks, “it’s a horrible +bother!” +</p> + +<p> +His wife philosophically agreed with him, and the subject was dropped. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn felt with her husband, more than she chose to let him know, and +Sir Franks could have burst into anathemas against fate and circumstances, more +than his love of a smooth world permitted. He, however, was subdued by her +calmness; and she, with ten times the weight of brain, was manoeuvred by the +wonderful dash of General Rose Jocelyn. For her ladyship, thinking, “I +shall get the blame of all this,” rather sided insensibly with the +offenders against those who condemned them jointly; and seeing that Rose had +been scrupulously honest and straightforward in a very delicate matter, this +lady was so constituted that she could not but applaud her daughter in her +heart. A worldly woman would have acted, if she had not thought, differently; +but her ladyship was not a worldly woman. +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s bearing and character had, during his residence at Beckley Court, +become so thoroughly accepted as those of a gentleman, and one of their own +rank, that, after an allusion to the origin of his breeding, not a word more +was said by either of them on that topic. Besides, Rose had dignified him by +her decided conduct. +</p> + +<p> +By the time poor Sir Franks had read himself into tranquillity, Mrs. Shorne, +who knew him well, and was determined that he should not enter upon his usual +negociations with an unpleasantness: that is to say, to forget it, joined them +in the library, bringing with her Sir John Loring and Hamilton Jocelyn. Her +first measure was to compel Sir Franks to put down his book. Lady Jocelyn +subsequently had to do the same. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what have you done, Franks?” said Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“Done?” answered the poor gentleman. “What is there to be +done? I’ve spoken to young Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spoken to him! He deserves horsewhipping! Have you not told him to quit +the house instantly?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn came to her husband’s aid: “It wouldn’t do, I +think, to kick him out. In the first place, he hasn’t deserved it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not deserved it, Emily!—the commonest, low, vile, adventuring +tradesman!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the second place,” pursued her ladyship, “it’s not +adviseable to do anything that will make Rose enter into the young +woman’s sublimities. It’s better not to let a lunatic see that you +think him stark mad, and the same holds with young women afflicted with the +love-mania. The sound of sense, even if they can’t understand it, +flatters them so as to keep them within bounds. Otherwise you drive them into +excesses best avoided.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Emily,” said Mrs. Shorne, “you speak almost, one +would say, as an advocate of such unions.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must know perfectly well that I entirely condemn them,” +replied her ladyship, who had once, and once only, delivered her opinion of the +nuptials of Mr. and Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +In self-defence, and to show the total difference between the cases, Mrs. +Shorne interjected: “An utterly penniless young adventurer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; there’s money,” remarked Sir Franks. +</p> + +<p> +“Money is there?” quoth Hamilton, respectfully. +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s wit,” added Sir John, “if he has half his +sister’s talent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Astonishing woman!” Hamilton chimed in; adding, with a shrug, +“But, egad!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we don’t want him to resemble his sister,” said Lady +Jocelyn. “I acknowledge she’s amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Amusing, Emily!” Mrs. Shorne never encountered her +sister-in-law’s calmness without indignation. “I could not rest in +the house with such a person, knowing her what she is. A vile adventuress, as I +firmly believe. What does she do all day with your mother? Depend upon it, you +will repent her visit in more ways than one.” +</p> + +<p> +“A prophecy?” asked Lady Jocelyn, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +On the grounds of common sense, on the grounds of propriety, and consideration +of what was due to themselves, all agreed to condemn the notion of Rose casting +herself away on Evan. Lady Jocelyn agreed with Mrs. Shorne; Sir Franks with his +brother, and Sir John. But as to what they were to do, they were divided. Lady +Jocelyn said she should not prevent Rose from writing to Evan, if she had the +wish to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“Folly must come out,” said her ladyship. “It’s a +combustible material. I won’t have her health injured. She shall go into +the world more. She will be presented at Court, and if it’s necessary to +give her a dose or two to counteract her vanity, I don’t object. This +will wear off, or, ‘si c’est veritablement une grande passion, eh +bien’ we must take what Providence sends us.” +</p> + +<p> +“And which we might have prevented if we had condescended to listen to +the plainest worldly wisdom,” added Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Lady Jocelyn, equably, “you know, you and I, +Julia, argue from two distinct points. Girls may be shut up, as you propose. I +don’t think nature intended to have them the obverse of men. I’m +sure their mothers never designed that they should run away with footmen, +riding-masters, chance curates, as they occasionally do, and wouldn’t if +they had points of comparison. My opinion is that Prospero was just saved by +the Prince of Naples being wrecked on his island, from a shocking mis-alliance +between his daughter and the son of Sycorax. I see it clearly. Poetry conceals +the extreme probability, but from what I know of my sex, I should have no +hesitation in turning prophet also, as to that.” +</p> + +<p> +What could Mrs. Shorne do with a mother who talked in this manner? Mrs. +Melville, when she arrived to take part in the conference, which gradually +swelled to a family one, was equally unable to make Lady Jocelyn perceive that +her plan of bringing up Rose was, in the present result of it, other than +unlucky. +</p> + +<p> +Now the two Generals—Rose Jocelyn and the Countess de Saldar—had +brought matters to this pass; and from the two tactical extremes: the former by +openness and dash; the latter by subtlety, and her own interpretations of the +means extended to her by Providence. I will not be so bold as to state which of +the two I think right. Good and evil work together in this world. If the +Countess had not woven the tangle, and gained Evan time, Rose would never have +seen his blood,—never have had her spirit hurried out of all shows and +forms and habits of thought, up to the gates of existence, as it were, where +she took him simply as God created him and her, and clave to him. Again, had +Rose been secret, when this turn in her nature came, she would have forfeited +the strange power she received from it, and which endowed her with decision to +say what was in her heart, and stamp it lastingly there. The two Generals were +quite antagonistic, but no two, in perfect ignorance of one another’s +proceedings, ever worked so harmoniously toward the main result. The Countess +was the skilful engineer: Rose the General of cavalry. And it did really seem +that, with Tom Cogglesby and his thousands in reserve, the victory was about to +be gained. The male Jocelyns, an easy race, decided that, if the worst came to +the worst, and Rose proved a wonder, there was money, which was something. +</p> + +<p> +But social prejudice was about to claim its champion. Hitherto there had been +no General on the opposite side. Love, aided by the Countess, had engaged an +inert mass. The champion was discovered in the person of the provincial Don +Juan, Mr. Harry Jocelyn. Harry had gone on a mysterious business of his own to +London. He returned with a green box under his arm, which, five minutes after +his arrival, was entrusted to Conning, in company with a genial present for +herself, of a kind not perhaps so fit for exhibition; at least they both +thought so, for it was given in the shades. Harry then went to pay his respects +to his mother, who received him with her customary ironical tolerance. His +father, to whom he was an incarnation of bother, likewise nodded to him and +gave him a finger. Duty done, Harry looked round him for pleasure, and observed +nothing but glum faces. Even the face of John Raikes was heavy. He had been +hovering about the Duke and Miss Current for an hour, hoping the Countess would +come and give him a promised introduction. The Countess stirred not from above, +and Jack drifted from group to group on the lawn, and grew conscious that +wherever he went he brought silence with him. His isolation made him humble, +and when Harry shook his hand, and said he remembered Fallowfield and the fun +there, Mr. Raikes thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +Harry made his way to join his friend Ferdinand, and furnished him with the +latest London news not likely to appear in the papers. Laxley was distant and +unamused. From the fact, too, that Harry was known to be the Countess’s +slave, his presence produced the same effect in the different circles about the +grounds, as did that of John Raikes. Harry began to yawn and wish very ardently +for his sweet lady. She, however, had too fine an instinct to descend. +</p> + +<p> +An hour before dinner, Juliana sent him a message that she desired to see him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jove! I hope that girl’s not going to be blowing hot again,” +sighed the conqueror. +</p> + +<p> +He had nothing to fear from Juliana. The moment they were alone she asked him, +“Have you heard of it?” +</p> + +<p> +Harry shook his head and shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +“They haven’t told you? Rose has engaged herself to Mr. Harrington, +a tradesman, a tailor!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! have you got hold of that story?” said Harry. “But +I’m sorry for old Ferdy. He was fond of Rosey. Here’s another +bother!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t believe me, Harry?” +</p> + +<p> +Harry was mentally debating whether, in this new posture of affairs, his friend +Ferdinand would press his claim for certain moneys lent. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I believe you,” he said. “Harrington has the knack with +you women. Why, you made eyes at him. It was a toss-up between you and Rosey +once.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana let this accusation pass. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a tradesman. He has a shop in Lymport, I tell you, Harry, and his +name on it. And he came here on purpose to catch Rose. And now he has caught +her, he tells her. And his mother is now at one of the village inns, waiting to +see him. Go to Mr. George Uplift; he knows the family. Yes, the Countess has +turned your head, of course; but she has schemed, and schemed, and told such +stories—God forgive her!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl had to veil her eyes in a spasm of angry weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come! Juley!” murmured her killing cousin. Harry boasted an +extraordinary weakness at the sight of feminine tears. “I say! Juley! you +know if you begin crying I’m done for, and it isn’t fair.” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped his arm on her waist to console her, and generously declared to her +that he always had been very fond of her. These scenes were not foreign to the +youth. Her fits of crying, from which she would burst in a frenzy of contempt +at him, had made Harry say stronger things; and the assurances of profound +affection uttered in a most languid voice will sting the hearts of women. +</p> + +<p> +Harry still went on with his declarations, heating them rapidly, so as to bring +on himself the usual outburst and check. She was longer in coming to it this +time, and he had a horrid fear, that instead of dismissing him fiercely, and so +annulling his words, the strange little person was going to be soft and hold +him to them. There were her tears, however, which she could not stop. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, Juley, look. I do, upon my honour, yes—there, +don’t cry any more—I do love you.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry held his breath in awful suspense. Juliana quietly disengaged her waist, +and looking at him, said, “Poor Harry! You need not lie any more to +please me.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was Harry’s astonishment, that he exclaimed, +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a lie! I say, I do love you.” And for an instant he +thought and hoped that he did love her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, Harry, I don’t love you,” said Juliana; which +revealed to our friend that he had been mistaken in his own emotions. +Nevertheless, his vanity was hurt when he saw she was sincere, and he listened +to her, a moody being. This may account for his excessive wrath at Evan +Harrington after Juliana had given him proofs of the truth of what she said. +</p> + +<p> +But the Countess was Harrington’s sister! The image of the Countess swam +before him. Was it possible? Harry went about asking everybody he met. The +initiated were discreet; those who had the whispers were open. A bare truth is +not so convincing as one that discretion confirms. Harry found the detestable +news perfectly true. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop it by all means if you can,” said his father. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, try a fall with Rose,” said his mother. +</p> + +<p> +“And I must sit down to dinner to-day with a confounded fellow, the son +of a tailor, who’s had the impudence to make love to my sister!” +cried Harry. “I’m determined to kick him out of the +house!—half.” +</p> + +<p> +“To what is the modification of your determination due?” Lady +Jocelyn inquired, probably suspecting the sweet and gracious person who divided +Harry’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +Her ladyship treated her children as she did mankind generally, from her +intellectual eminence. Harry was compelled to fly from her cruel shafts. He +found comfort with his Aunt Shorne, and she as much as told Harry that he was +the head of the house, and must take up the matter summarily. It was expected +of him. Now was the time for him to show his manhood. +</p> + +<p> +Harry could think of but one way to do that. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and if I do—all up with the old lady,” he said, and had +to explain that his Grandmama Bonner would never leave a penny to a fellow who +had fought a duel. +</p> + +<p> +“A duel!” said Mrs. Shorne. “No, there are other ways. Insist +upon his renouncing her. And Rose—treat her with a high hand, as becomes +you. Your mother is incorrigible, and as for your father, one knows him of old. +This devolves upon you. Our family honour is in your hands, Harry.” +</p> + +<p> +Considering Harry’s reputation, the family honour must have got low: +Harry, of course, was not disposed to think so. He discovered a great deal of +unused pride within him, for which he had hitherto not found an agreeable vent. +He vowed to his aunt that he would not suffer the disgrace, and while still +that blandishing olive-hued visage swam before his eyes, he pledged his word to +Mrs. Shorne that he would come to an understanding with Harrington that night. +</p> + +<p> +“Quietly,” said she. “No scandal, pray.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind how I do it,” returned Harry, manfully. “How +am I to do it, then?” he added, suddenly remembering his debt to Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne instructed him how to do it quietly, and without fear of scandal. +The miserable champion replied that it was very well for her to tell him to say +this and that, but—and she thought him demented—he must, previous +to addressing Harrington in those terms, have money. +</p> + +<p> +“Money!” echoed the lady. “Money!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, money!” he iterated doggedly, and she learnt that he had +borrowed a sum of Harrington, and the amount of the sum. +</p> + +<p> +It was a disastrous plight, for Mrs. Shorne was penniless. +</p> + +<p> +She cited Ferdinand Laxley as a likely lender. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m deep with him already,” said Harry, in apparent +dejection. +</p> + +<p> +“How dreadful are these everlasting borrowings of yours!” exclaimed +his aunt, unaware of a trifling incongruity in her sentiments. “You must +speak to him without—pay him by-and-by. We must scrape the money +together. I will write to your grandfather.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; speak to him! How can I when I owe him? I can’t tell a fellow +he’s a blackguard when I owe him, and I can’t speak any other way. +I ain’t a diplomatist. Dashed if I know what to do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Juliana,” murmured his aunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t ask her, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne combated the one prominent reason for the objection: but there were +two. Harry believed that he had exhausted Juliana’s treasury. Reproaching +him further for his wastefulness, Mrs. Shorne promised him the money should be +got, by hook or by crook, next day. +</p> + +<p> +“And you will speak to this Mr. Harrington to-night, Harry? No allusion +to the loan till you return it. Appeal to his sense of honour.” +</p> + +<p> +The dinner-bell assembled the inmates of the house. Evan was not among them. He +had gone, as the Countess said aloud, on a diplomatic mission to Fallowfield, +with Andrew Cogglesby. The truth being that he had finally taken Andrew into +his confidence concerning the letter, the annuity, and the bond. Upon which +occasion Andrew had burst into a laugh, and said he could lay his hand on the +writer of the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Trust Old Tom for plots, Van! He’ll blow you up in a twinkling, +the cunning old dog! He pretends to be hard—he’s as soft as I am, +if it wasn’t for his crotchets. We’ll hand him back the cash, and +that’s ended. And—eh? what a dear girl she is! Not that I’m +astonished. My Harry might have married a lord—sit at top of any table in +the land! And you’re as good as any man. +</p> + +<p> +That’s my opinion. But I say she’s a wonderful girl to see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Chattering thus, Andrew drove with the dear boy into Fallowfield. Evan was +still in his dream. To him the generous love and valiant openness of Rose, +though they were matched in his own bosom, seemed scarcely human. Almost as +noble to him were the gentlemanly plainspeaking of Sir Franks and Lady +Jocelyn’s kind commonsense. But the more he esteemed them, the more +unbounded and miraculous appeared the prospect of his calling their daughter by +the sacred name, and kneeling with her at their feet. Did the dear heavens have +that in store for him? The horizon edges were dimly lighted. +</p> + +<p> +Harry looked about under his eye-lids for Evan, trying at the same time to +compose himself for the martyrdom he had to endure in sitting at table with the +presumptuous fellow. The Countess signalled him to come within the presence. As +he was crossing the room, Rose entered, and moved to meet him, with: “Ah, +Harry! back again! Glad to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry gave her a blunt nod, to which she was inattentive. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” whispered the Countess, after he pressed the tips of her +fingers. “Have you brought back the grocer?” +</p> + +<p> +Now this was hard to stand. Harry could forgive her her birth, and pass it +utterly by if she chose to fall in love with him; but to hear the grocer +mentioned, when he knew of the tailor, was a little too much, and what Harry +felt his ingenuous countenance was accustomed to exhibit. The Countess saw it. +She turned her head from him to the diplomatist, and he had to remain like a +sentinel at her feet. He did not want to be thanked for the green box: still he +thought she might have favoured him with one of her much-embracing smiles: +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, after wine, when he was warm, and had almost forgotten the +insult to his family and himself, the Countess snubbed him. It was unwise on +her part, but she had the ghastly thought that facts were oozing out, and were +already half known. She was therefore sensitive tenfold to appearances; savage +if one failed to keep up her lie to her, and was guilty of a shadow of +difference of behaviour. The pic-nic over, our General would evacuate Beckley +Court, and shake the dust off her shoes, and leave the harvest of what she had +sown to Providence. Till then, respect, and the honours of war! So the Countess +snubbed him, and he being full of wine, fell into the hands of Juliana, who had +witnessed the little scene. +</p> + +<p> +“She has made a fool of others as well as of you,” said Juliana. +</p> + +<p> +“How has she?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. Do you want to make her humble and crouch to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see Harrington,” said Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“He will not return to-night from Fallowfield. He has gone there to get +Mr. Andrew Cogglesby’s brother to do something for him. You won’t +have such another chance of humbling them both—both! I told you his +mother is at an inn here. The Countess has sent Mr. Harrington to Fallowfield +to be out of the way, and she has told her mother all sorts of +falsehoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know all that?” quoth Harry. “By Jove, Juley! +talk about plotters! No keeping anything from you, ever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. The mother is here. She must be a vulgar woman. Oh! if you +could manage, Harry, to get this woman to come—you could do it so easily! +while they are at the pie-nic tomorrow. It would have the best effect on Rose. +She would then understand! And the Countess!” +</p> + +<p> +“I could send the old woman a message!” cried Harry, rushing into +the scheme, inspired by Juliana’s fiery eyes. “Send her a sort of +message to say where we all were.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let her know that her son is here, in some way,” Juley resumed. +</p> + +<p> +“And, egad! what an explosion!” pursued Harry. “But, +suppose—” +</p> + +<p> +“No one shall know, if you leave it to me—if you do just as I tell +you, Harry. You won’t be treated as you were this evening after that, if +you bring down her pride. And, Harry, I hear you want money—I can give +you some.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a perfect trump, Juley!” exclaimed her enthusiastic +cousin. “But, no; I can’t take it. I must kiss you, though.” +</p> + +<p> +He put a kiss upon her cheek. Once his kisses had left a red waxen stamp; she +was callous to these compliments now. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you do what I advise you to-morrow?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +After a slight hesitation, during which the olive-hued visage flitted faintly +in the distances of his brain, Harry said: +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do Rose good, and make Harrington cut. Yes! I declare I +will.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they parted. Juliana went to her bed-room, and flung herself upon the bed +hysterically. As the tears came thick and fast, she jumped up to lock the door, +for this outrageous habit of crying had made her contemptible in the eyes of +Lady Jocelyn, and an object of pity to Rose. Some excellent and noble natures +cannot tolerate disease, and are mystified by its ebullitions. It was very sad +to see the slight thin frame grasped by those wan hands to contain the violence +of the frenzy that possessed her! the pale, hapless face rigid above the +torment in her bosom! She had prayed to be loved like other girls, and her +readiness to give her heart in return had made her a by-word in the house. She +went to the window and leaned out on the casement, looking towards Fallowfield +over the downs, weeping bitterly, with a hard shut mouth. One brilliant star +hung above the ridge, and danced on her tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Will he forgive me?” she murmured. “Oh, my God! I wish we +were dead together!” +</p> + +<p> +Her weeping ceased, and she closed the window, and undressed as far away from +the mirror as she could get; but its force was too much for her, and drew her +to it. Some undefined hope had sprung in her suddenly. With nervous slow steps +she approached the glass, and first brushing back the masses of black hair from +her brow, looked as for some new revelation. Long and anxiously she perused her +features: the wide bony forehead; the eyes deep-set and rounded with the +scarlet of recent tears, the thin nose—sharp as the dead; the weak +irritable mouth and sunken cheeks. She gazed like a spirit disconnected from +what she saw. Presently a sort of forlorn negative was indicated by the motion +of her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I can pardon him,” she said, and sighed. “How could he love +such a face!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"></a> +CHAPTER XXX.<br /> +THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART I.</h2> + +<p> +At the South-western extremity of the park, with a view extending over wide +meadows and troubled mill waters, yellow barn-roofs and weather-gray old +farm-walls, two grassy mounds threw their slopes to the margin of the stream. +Here the bull-dogs held revel. The hollow between the slopes was crowned by a +bending birch, which rose three-stemmed from the root, and hung a noiseless +green shower over the basin of green it shadowed. Beneath it the interminable +growl sounded pleasantly; softly shot the sparkle of the twisting water, and +you might dream things half-fulfilled. Knots of fern were about, but the tops +of the mounds were firm grass, evidently well rolled, and with an eye to airy +feet. Olympus one eminence was called, Parnassus the other. Olympus a little +overlooked Parnassus, but Parnassus was broader and altogether better adapted +for the games of the Muses. Round the edges of both there was a well-trimmed +bush of laurel, obscuring only the feet of the dancers from the observing gods. +For on Olympus the elders reclined. Great efforts had occasionally been made to +dispossess and unseat them, and their security depended mainly on a hump in the +middle of the mound which defied the dance. +</p> + +<p> +Watteau-like groups were already couched in the shade. There were ladies of all +sorts: town-bred and country-bred: farmers’ daughters and daughters of +peers: for this pic-nic, as Lady Jocelyn, disgusting the Countess, would call +it, was in reality a “fête champêtre”, given annually, to which the +fair offspring of the superior tenants were invited the brothers and fathers +coming to fetch them in the evening. It struck the eye of the Countess de +Saldar that Olympus would be a fitting throne for her, and a point whence her +shafts might fly without fear of a return. Like another illustrious General at +Salamanca, she directed a detachment to take possession of the height. Courtly +Sir John Loring ran up at once, and gave the diplomatist an opportunity to +thank her flatteringly for gaining them two minutes to themselves. Sir John +waved his handkerchief in triumph, welcoming them under an awning where carpets +and cushions were spread, and whence the Countess could eye the field. She was +dressed ravishingly; slightly in a foreign style, the bodice being peaked at +the waist, as was then the Portuguese persuasion. The neck, too, was +deliciously veiled with fine lace—and thoroughly veiled, for it was a +feature the Countess did not care to expose to the vulgar daylight. Off her +gentle shoulders, as it were some fringe of cloud blown by the breeze this +sweet lady opened her bosom to, curled a lovely black lace scarf: not +Caroline’s. If she laughed, the tinge of mourning lent her laughter new +charms. If she sighed, the exuberant array of her apparel bade the spectator be +of good cheer. Was she witty, men surrendered reason and adored her. Only when +she entered the majestic mood, and assumed the languors of greatness, and +recited musky anecdotes of her intimacy with it, only then did mankind, as +represented at Beckley Court, open an internal eye and reflect that it was +wonderful in a tailor’s daughter. And she felt that mankind did so +reflect. Her instincts did not deceive her. She knew not how much was known; in +the depths of her heart she kept low the fear that possibly all might be known; +and succeeding in this, she said to herself that probably nothing was known +after all. George Uplift, Miss Carrington, and Rose, were the three she +abhorred. Partly to be out of their way, and to be out of the way of chance +shots (for she had heard names of people coming that reminded her of +Dubbins’s, where, in past days, there had been on one awful occasion a +terrific discovery made), the Countess selected Olympus for her station. It was +her last day, and she determined to be happy. Doubtless, she was making a +retreat, but have not illustrious Generals snatched victory from their +pursuers? Fair, then, sweet, and full of grace, the Countess moved. As the +restless shifting of colours to her motions was the constant interchange of her +semisorrowful manner and ready archness. Sir John almost capered to please her, +and the diplomatist in talking to her forgot his diplomacy and the craft of his +tongue. +</p> + +<p> +It was the last day also of Caroline and the Duke. The Countess clung to +Caroline and the Duke more than to Evan and Rose. She could see the first +couple walking under an avenue of limes, and near them that young man or +monkey, Raikes, as if in ambush. Twice they passed him, and twice he doffed his +hat and did homage. +</p> + +<p> +“A most singular creature!” exclaimed the Countess. “It is my +constant marvel where my brother discovered such a curiosity. Do notice +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That man? Raikes?” said the diplomatist. “Do you know he is +our rival? Harry wanted an excuse for another bottle last night, and proposed +the ‘Member’ for Fallowfield. Up got this Mr. Raikes and returned +thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” the Countess negligently interjected in a way she had caught +from Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Cogglesby’s nominee, apparently.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it all,” said the Countess. “We need have no +apprehension. He is docile. My brother-in-law’s brother, you see, is most +eccentric. We can manage him best through this Mr. Raikes, for a personal +application would be ruin. He quite detests our family, and indeed all the +aristocracy.” +</p> + +<p> +Melville’s mouth pursed, and he looked very grave. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John remarked: “He seems like a monkey just turned into a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“And doubtful about the tail,” added the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +The image was tolerably correct, but other causes were at the bottom of the air +worn by John Raikes. The Countess had obtained an invitation for him, with +instructions that he should come early, and he had followed them so implicitly +that the curricle was flinging dust on the hedges between Fallowfield and +Beckley but an hour or two after the chariot of Apollo had mounted the heavens, +and Mr. Raikes presented himself at the breakfast table. Fortunately for him +the Countess was there. After the repast she introduced him to the Duke: and he +bowed to the Duke, and the Duke bowed to him: and now, to instance the peculiar +justness in the mind of Mr. Raikes, he, though he worshipped a coronet and +would gladly have recalled the feudal times to a corrupt land, could not help +thinking that his bow had beaten the Duke’s and was better. He would +rather not have thought so, for it upset his preconceptions and threatened a +revolution in his ideas. For this reason he followed the Duke, and tried, if +possible, to correct, or at least chasten the impressions he had of possessing +a glaring advantage over the nobleman. The Duke’s second notice of him +was hardly a nod. “Well!” Mr. Raikes reflected, “if this is +your Duke, why, egad! for figure and style my friend Harrington beats him +hollow.” And Raikes thought he knew who could conduct a conversation with +superior dignity and neatness. The torchlight of a delusion was extinguished in +him, but he did not wander long in that gloomy cavernous darkness of the +disenchanted, as many of us do, and as Evan had done, when after a week at +Beckley Court he began to examine of what stuff his brilliant father, the great +Mel, was composed. On the contrary, as the light of the Duke dwindled, Raikes +gained in lustre. “In fact,” he said, “there’s nothing +but the title wanting.” He was by this time on a level with the Duke in +his elastic mind. +</p> + +<p> +Olympus had been held in possession by the Countess about half an hour, when +Lady Jocelyn mounted it, quite unconscious that she was scaling a fortified +point. The Countess herself fired off the first gun at her. +</p> + +<p> +“It has been so extremely delightful up alone here, Lady Jocelyn: to look +at everybody below! I hope many will not intrude on us!” +</p> + +<p> +“None but the dowagers who have breath to get up,” replied her +ladyship, panting. “By the way, Countess, you hardly belong to us yet. +You dance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, I do not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, then you are in your right place. A dowager is a woman who +doesn’t dance: and her male attendant is—what is he? We will call +him a fogy.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn directed a smile at Melville and Sir John, who both protested that +it was an honour to be the Countess’s fogy. +</p> + +<p> +Rose now joined them, with Laxley morally dragged in her wake. +</p> + +<p> +“Another dowager and fogy!” cried the Countess, musically. +“Do you not dance, my child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till the music strikes up,” rejoined Rose. “I suppose we +shall have to eat first.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the Hamlet of the pic-nic play, I believe,” said her +mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you dance, don’t you, Countess?” Rose inquired, +for the sake of amiable conversation. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess’s head signified: “Oh, no! quite out of the +question”: she held up a little bit of her mournful draperies, adding: +“Besides, you, dear child, know your company, and can select; I do not, +and cannot do so. I understand we have a most varied assembly!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose shut her eyes, and then looked at her mother. Lady Jocelyn’s face +was undisturbed; but while her eyes were still upon the Countess, she drew her +head gently back, imperceptibly. If anything, she was admiring the lady; but +Rose could be no placid philosophic spectator of what was to her a horrible +assumption and hypocrisy. For the sake of him she loved, she had swallowed a +nauseous cup bravely. The Countess was too much for her. She felt sick to think +of being allied to this person. She had a shuddering desire to run into the +ranks of the world, and hide her head from multitudinous hootings. With a pang +of envy she saw her friend Jenny walking by the side of William Harvey, happy, +untried, unoffending: full of hope, and without any bitter draughts to swallow! +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Bel now came tripping up gaily. +</p> + +<p> +“Take the alternative, ‘douairiere or demoiselle’?” +cried Lady Jocelyn. “We must have a sharp distinction, or Olympus will be +mobbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Entre les deux, s’il vous plait,” responded Aunt Bel. +“Rose, hurry down, and leaven the mass. I see ten girls in a bunch. +It’s shocking. Ferdinand, pray disperse yourself. Why is it, Emily, that +we are always in excess at pic-nics? Is man dying out?” +</p> + +<p> +“From what I can see,” remarked Lady Jocelyn, “Harry will be +lost to his species unless some one quickly relieves him. He’s already +half eaten up by the Conley girls. Countess, isn’t it your duty to rescue +him?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess bowed, and murmured to Sir John: +</p> + +<p> +“A dismissal!” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear my fascinations, Lady Jocelyn, may not compete with those fresh +young persons.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ‘fresh young persons,’” laughed Sir John for +the ladies in question were romping boisterously with Mr. Harry. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess inquired for the names and condition of the ladies, and was told +that they sprang from Farmer Conley, a well-to-do son of the soil, who farmed +about a couple of thousand acres between Fallowfield and Beckley, and bore a +good reputation at the county bank. +</p> + +<p> +“But I do think,” observed the Countess, “it must indeed be +pernicious for any youth to associate with that class of woman. A deterioration +of manners!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked at her mother again. She thought “Those girls would scorn to +marry a tradesman’s son!” +</p> + +<p> +The feeling grew in Rose that the Countess lowered and degraded her. Her +mother’s calm contemplation of the lady was more distressing than if she +had expressed the contempt Rose was certain, according to her young ideas, Lady +Jocelyn must hold. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Countess had been considering that she would like to have a word or two +with Mr. Harry, and kissing her fingers to the occupants of Olympus, and fixing +her fancy on the diverse thoughts of the ladies and gentlemen, deduced from a +rapturous or critical contemplation of her figure from behind, she descended +the slope. +</p> + +<p> +Was it going to be a happy day? The well-imagined opinions of the gentleman on +her attire and style, made her lean to the affirmative; but Rose’s demure +behaviour, and something—something would come across her hopes. She had, +as she now said to herself, stopped for the pic-nic, mainly to give Caroline a +last opportunity of binding the Duke to visit the Cogglesby saloons in London. +Let Caroline cleverly contrive this, as she might, without any compromise, and +the stay at Beckley Court would be a great gain. Yes, Caroline was still with +the Duke; they were talking earnestly. The Countess breathed a short appeal to +Providence that Caroline might not prove a fool. Overnight she had said to +Caroline: “Do not be so English. Can one not enjoy friendship with a +nobleman without wounding one’s conscience or breaking with the world? My +dear, the Duke visiting you, you cow that infamous Strike of yours. He will be +utterly obsequious! I am not telling you to pass the line. The contrary. But we +continentals have our grievous reputation because we dare to meet as +intellectual beings, and defy the imputation that ladies and gentlemen are no +better than animals.” +</p> + +<p> +It sounded very lofty to Caroline, who, accepting its sincerity, replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot do things by halves. I cannot live a life of deceit. A life of +misery—not deceit.” +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon, pitying her poor English nature, the Countess gave her advice, and +this advice she now implored her familiars to instruct or compel Caroline to +follow. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess’s garment was plucked at. She beheld little Dorothy Loring +glancing up at her with the roguish timidity of her years. +</p> + +<p> +“May I come with you?” asked the little maid, and went off into a +prattle: “I spent that five shillings—I bought a shilling’s +worth of sweet stuff, and nine penn’orth of twine, and a shilling for +small wax candles to light in my room when I’m going to bed, because I +like plenty of light by the looking-glass always, and they do make the room so +hot! My Jane declared she almost fainted, but I burnt them out! Then I only had +very little left for a horse to mount my doll on; and I wasn’t going to +get a screw, so I went to Papa, and he gave me five shillings. And, oh, do you +know, Rose can’t bear me to be with you. Jealousy, I suppose, for +you’re very agreeable. And, do you know, your Mama is coming to-day? +I’ve got a Papa and no Mama, and you’ve got a Mama and no Papa. +Isn’t it funny? But I don’t think so much of it, as you’re +grown up. Oh, I’m quite sure she is coming, because I heard Harry telling +Juley she was, and Juley said it would be so gratifying to you.” +</p> + +<p> +A bribe and a message relieved the Countess of Dorothy’s attendance on +her. +</p> + +<p> +What did this mean? Were people so base as to be guilty of hideous plots in +this house? Her mother coming! The Countess’s blood turned deadly chill. +Had it been her father she would not have feared, but her mother was so vilely +plain of speech; she never opened her mouth save to deliver facts: which was to +the Countess the sign of atrocious vulgarity. +</p> + +<p> +But her mother had written to say she would wait for Evan in Fallowfield! The +Countess grasped at straws. Did Dorothy hear that? And if Harry and Juliana +spoke of her mother, what did that mean? That she was hunted, and must stand at +bay! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Papa! Papa! why did you marry a Dawley?” she exclaimed, +plunging to what was, in her idea, the root of the evil. +</p> + +<p> +She had no time for outcries and lamentations. It dawned on her that this was +to be a day of battle. Where was Harry? Still in the midst of the Conley +throng, apparently pooh-poohing something, to judge by the twist of his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess delicately signed for him to approach her. The extreme delicacy of +the signal was at least an excuse for Harry to perceive nothing. It was +renewed, and Harry burst into a fit of laughter at some fun of one of the +Conley girls. The Countess passed on, and met Juliana pacing by herself near +the lower gates of the park. She wished only to see how Juliana behaved. The +girl looked perfectly trustful, as much so as when the Countess was pouring in +her ears the tales of Evan’s growing but bashful affection for her. +</p> + +<p> +“He will soon be here,” whispered the Countess. “Has he told +you he will come by this entrance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Juliana. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not look well, sweet child.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking that you did not, Countess?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, indeed, yes! With reason, alas! All our visitors have by this time +arrived, I presume?” +</p> + +<p> +“They come all day.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess hastened away from one who, when roused, could be almost as clever +as herself, and again stood in meditation near the joyful Harry. This time she +did not signal so discreetly. Harry could not but see it, and the Conley girls +accused him of cruelty to the beautiful dame, which novel idea stung Harry with +delight, and he held out to indulge in it a little longer. His back was half +turned, and as he talked noisily, he could not observe the serene and resolute +march of the Countess toward him. The youth gaped when he found his arm taken +prisoner by the insertion of a small deliciously-gloved and perfumed hand +through it. “I must claim you for a few moments,” said the +Countess, and took the startled Conley girls one and all in her beautiful smile +of excuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you compromise me thus, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +These astounding words were spoken out of the hearing of the Conley girls. +</p> + +<p> +“Compromise you!” muttered Harry. +</p> + +<p> +Masterly was the skill with which the Countess contrived to speak angrily and +as an injured woman, while she wore an indifferent social countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“I repeat, compromise me. No, Mr. Harry Jocelyn, you are not the +jackanapes you try to make people think you: you understand me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess might accuse him, but Harry never had the ambition to make people +think him that: his natural tendency was the reverse: and he objected to the +application of the word jackanapes to himself, and was ready to contest the +fact of people having that opinion at all. However, all he did was to repeat: +“Compromise!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is not open unkindness to me compromising me?” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you dare to do it to a strange lady? Would you have the impudence +to attempt it with any woman here but me? No, I am innocent; it is my +consolation; I have resisted you, but you by this cowardly behaviour place +me—and my reputation, which is more—at your mercy. Noble behaviour, +Mr. Harry Jocelyn! I shall remember my young English gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +The view was totally new to Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“I really had no idea of compromising you,” he said. “Upon my +honour, I can’t see how I did it now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oblige me by walking less in the neighbourhood of those fat-faced +glaring farm-girls,” the Countess spoke under her breath; “and +don’t look as if you were being whipped. The art of it is +evident—you are but carrying on the game.—Listen. If you permit +yourself to exhibit an unkindness to me, you show to any man who is a judge, +and to every woman, that there has been something between us. You know my +innocence—yes! but you must punish me for having resisted you thus +long.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry swore he never had such an idea, and was much too much of a man and a +gentleman to behave in that way.—And yet it seemed wonderfully clever! +And here was the Countess saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Take your reward, Mr. Harry Jocelyn. You have succeeded; I am your +humble slave. I come to you and sue for peace. To save my reputation I endanger +myself. This is generous of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I such a clever fellow?” thought the young gentleman. +“Deuced lucky with women”: he knew that: still a fellow must be +wonderfully, miraculously, clever to be able to twist and spin about such a +woman as this in that way. He did not object to conceive that he was the fellow +to do it. Besides, here was the Countess de Saldar—worth five hundred of +the Conley girls—almost at his feet! +</p> + +<p> +Mollified, he said: “Now, didn’t you begin it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Evasion!” was the answer. “It would be such pleasure to you +so see a proud woman weep! And if yesterday, persecuted as I am, with dreadful +falsehoods abroad respecting me and mine, if yesterday I did seem cold to your +great merits, is it generous of you to take this revenge?” +</p> + +<p> +Harry began to scent the double meaning in her words. She gave him no time to +grow cool over it. She leaned, half abandoned, on his arm. Arts feminine and +irresistible encompassed him. It was a fatal mistake of Juliana’s to +enlist Harry Jocelyn against the Countess de Saldar. He engaged, still without +any direct allusion to the real business, to move heaven and earth to undo all +that he had done, and the Countess implied an engagement to do—what? more +than she intended to fulfil. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later she was alone with Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“Tie yourself to the Duke at the dinner,” she said, in the forcible +phrase she could use when necessary. “Don’t let them scheme to +separate you. Never mind looks—do it!” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline, however, had her reasons for desiring to maintain appearances. The +Countess dashed at her hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a plot to humiliate us in the most abominable way. The whole +family have sworn to make us blush publicly. Publicly blush! They have written +to Mama to come and speak out. Now will you attend to me, Caroline? You do not +credit such atrocity? I know it to be true.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never can believe that Rose would do such a thing,” said +Caroline. “We can hardly have to endure more than has befallen us +already.” +</p> + +<p> +Her speech was pensive, as of one who had matter of her own to ponder over. A +swift illumination burst in the Countess’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“No? Have you, dear, darling Carry? not that I intend that you should! +but to-day the Duke would be such ineffable support to us. May I deem you have +not been too cruel to-day? You dear silly English creature, ‘Duck,’ +I used to call you when I was your little Louy. All is not yet lost, but I will +save you from the ignominy if I can. I will!” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline denied nothing—confirmed nothing, just as the Countess had +stated nothing. Yet they understood one another perfectly. Women have a subtler +language than ours: the veil pertains to them morally as bodily, and they see +clearer through it. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had no time to lose. Wrath was in her heart. She did not lend all +her thoughts to self-defence. +</p> + +<p> +Without phrasing a word, or absolutely shaping a thought in her head, she +slanted across the sun to Mr. Raikes, who had taken refreshment, and in +obedience to his instinct, notwithstanding his enormous pretensions, had +commenced a few preliminary antics. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Mr. Raikes!” she said, drawing him aside, “not before +dinner!” +</p> + +<p> +“I really can’t contain the exuberant flow!” returned that +gentleman. “My animal spirits always get the better of me,” he +added confidentially. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you devote your animal spirits to my service for half an +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yours, Countess, from the ‘os frontis’ to the chine!” +was the exuberant rejoinder. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess made a wry mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Your curricle is in Beckley?” +</p> + +<p> +“Behold!” said Jack. “Two juveniles, not half so blest as I, +do from the seat regard the festive scene o’er yon park palings. They are +there, even Franko and Fred. I’m afraid I promised to get them in at a +later period of the day. Which sadly sore my conscience doth disturb! But what +is to be done about the curricle, my Countess?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Raikes,” said the Countess, smiling on him fixedly, “you +are amusing; but in addressing me, you must be precise, and above all things +accurate. I am not your Countess!” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed profoundly. “Oh, that I might say my Queen!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess replied: “A conviction of your lunacy would prevent my +taking offence, though I might wish you enclosed and guarded.” +</p> + +<p> +Without any further exclamations, Raikes acknowledged a superior. +</p> + +<p> +“And, now, attend to me,” said the Countess. “Listen: +</p> + +<p> +You go yourself, or send your friends instantly to Fallowfield. Bring with you +that girl and her child. Stop: there is such a person. Tell her she is to be +spoken to about the prospects of the poor infant. I leave that to your +inventive genius. Evan wishes her here. Bring her, and should you see the mad +captain who behaves so oddly, favour him with a ride. He says he dreams his +wife is here, and he will not reveal his name! Suppose it should be my own +beloved husband! I am quite anxious.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess saw him go up to the palings and hold a communication with his +friends Franko and Fred. One took the whip, and after mutual flourishes, drove +away. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” mused the Countess, “if Captain Evremonde should +come!” It would break up the pic-nic. Alas! the Countess had surrendered +her humble hopes of a day’s pleasure. But if her mother came as well, +what a diversion that would be! If her mother came before the Captain, his +arrival would cover the retreat; if the Captain preceded her, she would not be +noticed. Suppose her mother refrained from coming? In that case it was a pity, +but the Jocelyns had brought it on themselves. +</p> + +<p> +This mapping out of consequences followed the Countess’s deeds, and did +not inspire them. Her passions sharpened her instincts, which produced her +actions. The reflections ensued: as in nature, the consequences were all seen +subsequently! Observe the difference between your male and female Generals. +</p> + +<p> +On reflection, too, the Countess praised herself for having done all that could +be done. She might have written to her mother: but her absence would have been +remarked: her messenger might have been overhauled and, lastly, Mrs. +Mel—“Gorgon of a mother!” the Countess cried out: for Mrs. +Mel was like a Fate to her. She could remember only two occasions in her whole +life when she had been able to manage her mother, and then by lying in such a +way as to distress her conscience severely. +</p> + +<p> +“If Mama has conceived this idea of coming, nothing will impede her. My +prayers will infuriate her!” said the Countess, and she was sure that she +had acted both rightly and with wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +She put on her armour of smiles: she plunged into the thick of the enemy. Since +they would not allow her to taste human happiness—she had asked but for +the pic-nic! a small truce! since they denied her that, rather than let them +triumph by seeing her wretched, she took into her bosom the joy of demons. She +lured Mr. George Uplift away from Miss Carrington, and spoke to him strange +hints of matrimonial disappointments, looking from time to time at that +apprehensive lady, doating on her terrors. And Mr. George seconded her by his +clouded face, for he was ashamed not to show that he did not know Louisa +Harrington in the Countess de Saldar, and had not the courage to declare that +he did. The Countess spoke familiarly, but without any hint of an ancient +acquaintance between them. “What a post her husband’s got!” +thought Mr. George, not envying the Count. He was wrong: she was an admirable +ally. All over the field the Countess went, watching for her mother, praying +that if she did come, Providence might prevent her from coming while they were +at dinner. How clearly Mrs. Shorne and Mrs. Melville saw her vulgarity now! By +the new light of knowledge, how certain they were that they had seen her +ungentle training in a dozen little instances. +</p> + +<p> +“She is not well-bred, ‘cela se voit’,” said Lady +Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“Bred! it’s the stage! How could such a person be bred?” said +Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +Accept in the Countess the heroine who is combating class-prejudices, and +surely she is pre-eminently noteworthy. True, she fights only for her family, +and is virtually the champion of the opposing institution misplaced. That does +not matter: the Fates may have done it purposely: by conquering she establishes +a principle. A Duke adores her sister, the daughter of the house her brother, +and for herself she has many protestations in honour of her charms: nor are +they empty ones. She can confound Mrs. Melville, if she pleases to, by exposing +an adorer to lose a friend. Issuing out of Tailordom, she, a Countess, has done +all this; and it were enough to make her glow, did not little evils, and +angers, and spites, and alarms so frightfully beset her. +</p> + +<p> +The sun of the pic-nic system is dinner. Hence philosophers may deduce that the +pic-nic is a British invention. There is no doubt that we do not shine at the +pic-nic until we reflect the face of dinner. To this, then, all who were not +lovers began seriously to look forward, and the advance of an excellent county +band, specially hired to play during the entertainment, gave many of the guests +quite a new taste for sweet music; and indeed we all enjoy a thing infinitely +more when we see its meaning. +</p> + +<p> +About this time Evan entered the lower park-gates with Andrew. The first object +he encountered was John Raikes in a state of great depression. He explained his +case: +</p> + +<p> +“Just look at my frill! Now, upon my honour, you know, I’m +good-tempered; I pass their bucolic habits, but this is beyond bearing. I was +near the palings there, and a fellow calls out, ‘Hi! will you help the +lady over?’ Holloa! thinks I, an adventure! However, I advised him to +take her round to the gates. The beast burst out laughing. ‘Now, +then,’ says he, and I heard a scrambling at the pales, and up came the +head of a dog. ‘Oh! the dog first,’ says I. ‘Catch by the +ears,’ says he. I did so. ‘Pull,’ says he. ‘’Gad, +pull indeed!’, The beast gave a spring and came slap on my chest, with +his dirty wet muzzle on my neck! I felt instantly it was the death of my frill, +but gallant as you know me, I still asked for the lady. ‘If you will +please, or as it meet your favour, to extend your hand to me!’ I confess +I did think it rather odd, the idea of a lady coming in that way over the +palings! but my curst love of adventure always blinds me. It always misleads my +better sense, Harrington. Well, instead of a lady, I see a fellow—he may +have been a lineal descendant of Cedric the Saxon. ‘Where’s the +lady?’ says I. ‘Lady?’ says he, and stares, and then laughs: +‘Lady! why,’ he jumps over, and points at his beast of a dog, +‘don’t you know a bitch when you see one?’ I was in the most +ferocious rage! If he hadn’t been a big burly bully, down he’d have +gone. ‘Why didn’t you say what it was?’ I roared. +‘Why,’ says he, ‘the word isn’t considered +polite!’ I gave him a cut there. I said, ‘I rejoice to be +positively assured that you uphold the laws and forms of civilization, +sir.’ My belief is he didn’t feel it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The thrust sinned in its shrewdness,” remarked Evan, ending a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” went Mr. Raikes, more contentedly: “after all, what +are appearances to the man of wit and intellect? Dress, and women will approve +you: but I assure you they much prefer the man of wit in his slouched hat and +stockings down. I was introduced to the Duke this morning. It is a curious +thing that the seduction of a Duchess has always been one of my dreams.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Andrew Cogglesby fell into a fit of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Your servant,” said Mr. Raikes, turning to him. And then he +muttered “Extraordinary likeness! Good Heavens! Powers!” +</p> + +<p> +From a state of depression, Mr. Raikes—changed into one of bewilderment. +Evan paid no attention to him, and answered none of his hasty undertoned +questions. Just then, as they were on the skirts of the company, the band +struck up a lively tune, and quite unconsciously, the legs of Raikes, affected, +it may be, by supernatural reminiscences, loosely hornpiped. It was but a +moment: he remembered himself the next: but in that fatal moment eyes were on +him. He never recovered his dignity in Beckley Court: he was fatally mercurial. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the joke against this poor fellow?” asked Evan of Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, Van. You’ll roar. Old Tom again. We’ll see +by-and-by, after the champagne. He—this young Raikes-ha! ha!—but I +can’t tell you.” And Andrew went away to Drummond, to whom he was +more communicative. Then he went to Melville, and one or two others, and the +eyes of many became concentrated on Raikes, and it was observed as a singular +sign that he was constantly facing about, and flushing the fiercest red. Once +he made an effort to get hold of Evan’s arm and drag him away, as one who +had an urgent confession to be delivered of, but Evan was talking to Lady +Jocelyn, and other ladies, and quietly disengaged his arm without even turning +to notice the face of his friend. Then the dinner was announced, and men saw +the dinner. The Countess went to shake her brother’s hand, and with a +very gratulatory visage, said through her half-shut teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“If Mama appears, rise up and go away with her, before she has time to +speak a word.” An instant after Evan found himself seated between Mrs. +Evremonde and one of the Conley girls. The dinner had commenced. The first half +of the Battle of the Bull-dogs was as peaceful as any ordinary pic-nic, and +promised to the general company as calm a conclusion. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br /> +THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.</h2> + +<p> +If it be a distinct point of wisdom to hug the hour that is, then does dinner +amount to a highly intellectual invitation to man, for it furnishes the +occasion; and Britons are the wisest of their race, for more than all others +they take advantage of it. In this Nature is undoubtedly our guide, seeing that +he who, while feasting his body allows to his soul a thought for the morrow, is +in his digestion curst, and becomes a house of evil humours. Now, though the +epicure may complain of the cold meats, a dazzling table, a buzzing company, +blue sky, and a band of music, are incentives to the forgetfulness of troubles +past and imminent, and produce a concentration of the faculties. They may not +exactly prove that peace is established between yourself and those who object +to your carving of the world, but they testify to an armistice. +</p> + +<p> +Aided by these observations, you will understand how it was that the Countess +de Saldar, afflicted and menaced, was inspired, on taking her seat, to give so +graceful and stately a sweep to her dress that she was enabled to conceive +woman and man alike to be secretly overcome by it. You will not refuse to +credit the fact that Mr. Raikes threw care to the dogs, heavy as was that +mysterious lump suddenly precipitated on his bosom; and you will think it not +impossible that even the springers of the mine about to explode should lose +their subterranean countenances. A generous abandonment to one idea prevailed. +As for Evan, the first glass of champagne rushed into reckless nuptials with +the music in his head, bringing Rose, warm almost as life, on his heart. +Sublime are the visions of lovers! He knew he must leave her on the morrow; he +feared he might never behold her again; and yet he tasted bliss, for it seemed +within the contemplation of the Gods that he should dance with his darling +before dark—haply waltz with her! Oh, heaven! he shuts his eyes, blinded. +The band wheels off meltingly in a tune all cadences, and twirls, and risings +and sinkings, and passionate outbursts trippingly consoled. Ah! how sweet to +waltz through life with the right partner. And what a singular thing it is to +look back on the day when we thought something like it! Never mind: there may +be spheres where it is so managed—doubtless the planets have their +Hanwell and Bedlam. +</p> + +<p> +I confess that the hand here writing is not insensible to the effects of that +first glass of champagne. The poetry of our Countess’s achievements waxes +rich in manifold colours: I see her by the light of her own pleas to +Providence. I doubt almost if the hand be mine which dared to make a hero play +second fiddle, and to his beloved. I have placed a bushel over his light, +certainly. Poor boy! it was enough that he should have tailordom on his +shoulders: I ought to have allowed him to conquer Nature, and so come out of +his eclipse. This shall be said of him: that he can play second fiddle without +looking foolish, which, for my part, I call a greater triumph than if he were +performing the heroics we are more accustomed to. He has steady eyes, can gaze +at the right level into the eyes of others, and commands a tongue which is +neither struck dumb nor set in a flutter by any startling question. The best +instances to be given that he does not lack merit are that the Jocelyns, whom +he has offended by his birth, cannot change their treatment of him, and that +the hostile women, whatever they may say, do not think Rose utterly insane. At +any rate, Rose is satisfied, and her self-love makes her a keen critic. The +moment Evan appeared, the sickness produced in her by the Countess passed, and +she was ready to brave her situation. With no mock humility she permitted Mrs. +Shorne to place her in a seat where glances could not be interchanged. She was +quite composed, calmly prepared for conversation with any one. Indeed, her +behaviour since the hour of general explanation had been so perfectly +well-contained, that Mrs. Melville said to Lady Jocelyn: +</p> + +<p> +“I am only thinking of the damage to her. It will pass over—this +fancy. You can see she is not serious. It is mere spirit of opposition. She +eats and drinks just like other girls. You can see that the fancy has not taken +such very strong hold of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t agree with you,” replied her ladyship. “I +would rather have her sit and sigh by the hour, and loathe roast beef. That +would look nearer a cure.” +</p> + +<p> +“She has the notions of a silly country girl,” said Mrs. Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” Lady Jocelyn replied. “A season in London will +give her balance.” +</p> + +<p> +So the guests were tolerably happy, or at least, with scarce an exception, open +to the influences of champagne and music. Perhaps Juliana was the wretchedest +creature present. She was about to smite on both cheeks him she loved, as well +as the woman she despised and had been foiled by. Still she had the consolation +that Rose, seeing the vulgar mother, might turn from Evan: a poor distant hope, +meagre and shapeless like herself. Her most anxious thoughts concerned the +means of getting money to lockup Harry’s tongue. She could bear to meet +the Countess’s wrath, but not Evan’s offended look. Hark to that +Countess! +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you denominate this a pic-nic, Lady Jocelyn? It is in verity a +fête!” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we ought to lie down à la Grecque to come within the +term,” was the reply. “On the whole, I prefer plain English for +such matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this is assuredly too sumptuous for a pic-nic, Lady Jocelyn. From +what I can remember, pic-nic implies contribution from all the guests. It is +true I left England a child!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. George Uplift could not withhold a sharp grimace: The Countess had +throttled the inward monitor that tells us when we are lying, so grievously had +she practised the habit in the service of her family. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Melville, “I have heard of that fashion, and +very stupid it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Extremely vulgar,” murmured Miss Carrington. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” Lady Jocelyn observed; “but good fun. I have been +to pic-nics, in my day. I invariably took cold pie and claret. I clashed with +half-a-dozen, but all the harm we did was to upset the dictum that there can be +too much of a good thing. I know for certain that the bottles were left +empty.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this woman,” thought the Countess, “this woman, with a +soul so essentially vulgar, claims rank above me!” The reflection +generated contempt of English society, in the first place, and then a +passionate desire for self-assertion. +</p> + +<p> +She was startled by a direct attack which aroused her momentarily lulled +energies. +</p> + +<p> +A lady, quite a stranger, a dry simpering lady, caught the Countess’s +benevolent passing gaze, and leaning forward, said: “I hope her ladyship +bears her affliction as well as can be expected?” +</p> + +<p> +In military parlance, the Countess was taken in flank. Another would have +asked—What ladyship? To whom do you allude, may I beg to inquire? The +Countess knew better. Rapid as light it shot through her that the relict of Sir +Abraham was meant, and this she divined because she was aware that devilish +malignity was watching to trip her. +</p> + +<p> +A little conversation happening to buzz at the instant, the Countess merely +turned her chin to an angle, agitated her brows very gently, and crowned the +performance with a mournful smile. All that a woman must feel at the demise of +so precious a thing as a husband, was therein eloquently expressed: and at the +same time, if explanations ensued, there were numerous ladyships in the world, +whom the Countess did not mind afflicting, should she be hard pressed. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew him so well!” resumed the horrid woman, addressing anybody. +“It was so sad! so unexpected! but he was so subject to affection of the +throat. And I was so sorry I could not get down to him in time. I had not seen +him since his marriage, when I was a girl!—and to meet one of his +children!—But, my dear, in quinsey, I have heard that there is nothing on +earth like a good hearty laugh.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes hearing this, sucked down the flavour of a glass of champagne, and +with a look of fierce jollity, interposed, as if specially charged by +Providence to make plain to the persecuted Countess his mission and business +there: “Then our vocation is at last revealed to us! Quinsey-doctor! I +remember when a boy, wandering over the paternal mansion, and envying the life +of a tinker, which my mother did not think a good omen in me. But the traps of +a Quinsey-doctor are even lighter. Say twenty good jokes, and two or three of a +practical kind. A man most enviable!” +</p> + +<p> +“It appears,” he remarked aloud to one of the Conley girls, +“that quinsey is needed before a joke is properly appreciated.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like fun,” said she, but had not apparently discovered it. +</p> + +<p> +What did that odious woman mean by perpetually talking about Sir Abraham? The +Countess intercepted a glance between her and the hated Juliana. She felt it +was a malignant conspiracy: still the vacuous vulgar air of the woman told her +that most probably she was but an instrument, not a confederate, and was only +trying to push herself into acquaintance with the great: a proceeding scorned +and abominated by the Countess, who longed to punish her for her insolent +presumption. The bitterness of her situation stung her tenfold when she +considered that she dared not. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the champagne became as regular in its flow as the Bull-dogs, and the +monotonous bass of these latter sounded through the music, like life behind the +murmur of pleasure, if you will. The Countess had a not unfeminine weakness for +champagne, and old Mr. Bonner’s cellar was well and choicely stocked. But +was this enjoyment to the Countess?—this dreary station in the +background! “May I emerge?” she as much as implored Providence. +</p> + +<p> +The petition was infinitely tender. She thought she might, or it may be that +nature was strong, and she could not restrain herself. +</p> + +<p> +Taking wine with Sir John, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“This bowing! Do you know how amusing it is deemed by us Portuguese? Why +not embrace? as the dear Queen used to say to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am decidedly of Her Majesty’s opinion,” observed Sir John, +with emphasis, and the Countess drew back into a mingled laugh and blush. +</p> + +<p> +Her fiendish persecutor gave two or three nods. “And you know the +Queen!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She had to repeat the remark: whereupon the Countess murmured, +“Intimately.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, we have lost a staunch old Tory in Sir Abraham,” said the +lady, performing lamentation. +</p> + +<p> +What did it mean? Could design lodge in that empty-looking head with its crisp +curls, button nose, and diminishing simper? Was this pic-nic to be made as +terrible to the Countess by her putative father as the dinner had been by the +great Mel? The deep, hard, level look of Juliana met the Countess’s smile +from time to time, and like flimsy light horse before a solid array of +infantry, the Countess fell back, only to be worried afresh by her perfectly +unwitting tormentor. +</p> + +<p> +“His last days?—without pain? Oh, I hope so!” came after a +lapse of general talk. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t we getting a little funereal, Mrs. Perkins?” Lady +Jocelyn asked, and then rallied her neighbours. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Carrington looked at her vexedly, for the fiendish Perkins was checked, +and the Countess in alarm, about to commit herself, was a pleasant sight to +Miss Carrington. +</p> + +<p> +“The worst of these indiscriminate meetings is that there is no +conversation,” whispered the Countess, thanking Providence for the +relief. +</p> + +<p> +Just then she saw Juliana bend her brows at another person. This was George +Uplift, who shook his head, and indicated a shrewd-eyed, thin, middle-aged man, +of a lawyer-like cast; and then Juliana nodded, and George Uplift touched his +arm, and glanced hurriedly behind for champagne. The Countess’s eyes +dwelt on the timid young squire most affectionately. You never saw a fortress +more unprepared for dread assault. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” was heard, terrific. But the proper pause had evidently not +yet come, and now to prevent it the Countess strained her energies and tasked +her genius intensely. Have you an idea of the difficulty of keeping up the ball +among a host of ill-assorted, stupid country people, who have no open topics, +and can talk of nothing continuously but scandal of their neighbours, and who, +moreover, feel they are not up to the people they are mixing with? Darting upon +Seymour Jocelyn, the Countess asked touchingly for news of the partridges. It +was like the unlocking of a machine. Seymour was not blythe in his reply, but +he was loud and forcible; and when he came to the statistics—oh, then you +would have admired the Countess!—for comparisons ensued, braces were +enumerated, numbers given were contested, and the shooting of this one jeered +at, and another’s sure mark respectfully admitted. And how lay the +coveys? And what about the damage done by last winter’s floods? And was +there good hope of the pheasants? Outside this latter the Countess hovered. +Twice the awful “Hem!” was heard. She fought on. She kept them at +it. If it flagged she wished to know this or that, and finally thought that, +really, she should like herself to try one shot. The women had previously been +left behind. This brought in the women. Lady Jocelyn proposed a female +expedition for the morrow. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I used to be something of a shot, formerly,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You peppered old Tom once, my lady,” remarked Andrew, and her +ladyship laughed, and that foolish Andrew told the story, and the Countess, to +revive her subject, had to say: “May I be enrolled to shoot?” +though she detested and shrank from fire-arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Here are two!” said the hearty presiding dame. “Ladies, +apply immediately to have your names put down.” +</p> + +<p> +The possibility of an expedition of ladies now struck Seymour vividly, and said +he: “I’ll be secretary”; and began applying to the ladies for +permission to put down their names. Many declined, with brevity, muttering, +either aloud or to themselves, “unwomanly”; varied by +“unladylike”: some confessed cowardice; some a horror of the noise +close to their ears; and there was the plea of nerves. But the names of +half-a-dozen ladies were collected, and then followed much laughter, and +musical hubbub, and delicate banter. So the ladies and gentlemen fell one and +all into the partridge pit dug for them by the Countess: and that horrible +“Hem!” equal in force and terror to the roar of artillery preceding +the charge of ten thousand dragoons, was silenced—the pit appeared +impassable. Did the Countess crow over her advantage? Mark her: the +lady’s face is entirely given up to partridges. “English sports are +so much envied abroad,” she says: but what she dreads is a reflection, +for that leads off from the point. A portion of her mind she keeps to combat +them in Lady Jocelyn and others who have the tendency: the rest she divides +between internal-prayers for succour, and casting about for another popular +subject to follow partridges. Now, mere talent, as critics say when they are +lighting candles round a genius, mere talent would have hit upon pheasants as +the natural sequitur, and then diverged to sports—a great theme, for it +ensures a chorus of sneers at foreigners, and so on probably to a discussion of +birds and beasts best adapted to enrapture the palate of man. Stories may +succeed, but they are doubtful, and not to be trusted, coming after cookery. +After an exciting subject which has made the general tongue to wag, and just +enough heated the brain to cause it to cry out for spiced food—then start +your story: taking care that it be mild; for one too marvellous stops the tide, +the sense of climax being strongly implanted in all bosoms. So the Countess +told an anecdote—one of Mel’s. Mr. George Uplift was quite familiar +with it, and knew of one passage that would have abashed him to relate +“before ladies.” The sylph-like ease with which the Countess +floated over this foul abysm was miraculous. Mr. George screwed his eye-lids +queerly, and closed his jaws with a report, completely beaten. The anecdote was +of the character of an apologue, and pertained to game. This was, as it +happened, a misfortune; for Mr. Raikes had felt himself left behind by the +subject; and the stuff that was in this young man being naturally ebullient, he +lay by to trip it, and take a lead. His remarks brought on him a shrewd cut +from the Countess, which made matters worse; for a pun may also breed puns, as +doth an anecdote. The Countess’s stroke was so neat and perfect that it +was something for the gentlemen to think over; and to punish her for giving way +to her cleverness and to petty vexation, “Hem!” sounded once more, +and then: “May I ask you if the present Baronet is in England?” +</p> + +<p> +Now Lady Jocelyn perceived that some attack was directed against her guest. She +allowed the Countess to answer: +</p> + +<p> +“The eldest was drowned in the Lisbon waters.” +</p> + +<p> +And then said: “But who is it that persists in serving up the funeral +baked meats to us?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne spoke for her neighbour: “Mr. Farnley’s cousin was the +steward of Sir Abraham Harrington’s estates.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess held up her head boldly. There is a courageous exaltation of the +nerves known to heroes and great generals in action when they feel sure that +resources within themselves will spring up to the emergency, and that over +simple mortals success is positive. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a great respect for Sir Abraham,” Mr. Farnley explained, +“very great. I heard that this lady” (bowing to the Countess) +“was his daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn’s face wore an angry look, and Mrs. Shorne gave her the +shade of a shrug and an expression implying, “I didn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan was talking to Miss Jenny Graine at the moment rather earnestly. With a +rapid glance at him, to see that his ears were closed, the Countess breathed: +</p> + +<p> +“Not the elder branch!—Cadet!” +</p> + +<p> +The sort of noisy silence produced by half-a-dozen people respirating deeply +and moving in their seats was heard. The Countess watched Mr. Farnley’s +mystified look, and whispered to Sir John: “Est-ce qu’il comprenne +le Français, lui?” +</p> + +<p> +It was the final feather-like touch to her triumph. She saw safety and a clear +escape, and much joyful gain, and the pleasure of relating her sufferings in +days to come. This vista was before her when, harsh as an execution bell, +telling her that she had vanquished man, but that Providence opposed her, +“Mrs. Melchisedec Harrington!” was announced to Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +Perfect stillness reigned immediately, as if the pic-nic had heard its doom. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I will go to her,” said her ladyship, whose first thought was +to spare the family. “Andrew, come and give me your arm.” +</p> + +<p> +But when she rose Mrs. Mel was no more than the length of an arm from her +elbow. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of the horrible anguish she was enduring, the Countess could not +help criticizing her mother’s curtsey to Lady Jocelyn. Fine, but a shade +too humble. Still it was fine; all might not yet be lost. +</p> + +<p> +“Mama!” she softly exclaimed, and thanked heaven that she had not +denied her parent. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel did not notice her or any of her children. There was in her bosom a +terrible determination to cast a devil out of the one she best loved. For this +purpose, heedless of all pain to be given, or of impropriety, she had come to +speak publicly, and disgrace and humiliate, that she might save him from the +devils that had ruined his father. +</p> + +<p> +“My lady,” said the terrible woman, thanking her in reply to an +invitation that she should be seated, “I have come for my son. I hear he +has been playing the lord in your house, my lady. I humbly thank your ladyship +for your kindness to him, but he is nothing more than a tailor’s son, and +is bound a tailor himself that his father may be called an honest man. I am +come to take him away.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel seemed to speak without much effort, though the pale flush of her +cheeks showed that she felt what she was doing. Juliana was pale as death, +watching Rose. Intensely bright with the gem-like light of her gallant spirit, +Rose’s eyes fixed on Evan. He met them. The words of Ruth passed through +his heart. But the Countess, who had given Rose to Evan, and the Duke to +Caroline, where was her supporter? The Duke was entertaining Caroline with no +less dexterity, and Rose’s eyes said to Evan: “Feel no shame that I +do not feel!” but the Countess stood alone. It is ever thus with genius! +to quote the numerous illustrious authors who have written of it. +</p> + +<p> +What mattered it now that in the dead hush Lady Jocelyn should assure her +mother that she had been misinformed, and that Mrs. Mel was presently quieted, +and made to sit with others before the fruits and wines? All eyes were +hateful—the very thought of Providence confused her brain. Almost reduced +to imbecility, the Countess imagined, as a reality, that Sir Abraham had borne +with her till her public announcement of relationship, and that then the +outraged ghost would no longer be restrained, and had struck this blow. +</p> + +<p> +The crushed pic-nic tried to get a little air, and made attempts at +conversation. Mrs. Mel sat upon the company with the weight of all tailordom. +</p> + +<p> +And now a messenger came for Harry. Everybody was so zealously employed in the +struggle to appear comfortable under Mrs. Mel, that his departure was hardly +observed. The general feeling for Evan and his sisters, by their superiors in +rank, was one of kindly pity. Laxley, however, did not behave well. He put up +his glass and scrutinized Mrs. Mel, and then examined Evan, and Rose thought +that in his interchange of glances with any one there was a lurking revival of +the scene gone by. She signalled with her eyebrows for Drummond to correct him, +but Drummond had another occupation. Andrew made the diversion. He whispered to +his neighbour, and the whisper went round, and the laugh; and Mr. Raikes grew +extremely uneasy in his seat, and betrayed an extraordinary alarm. But he also +was soon relieved. A messenger had come from Harry to Mrs. Evremonde, bearing a +slip of paper. This the lady glanced at, and handed it to Drummond. A +straggling pencil had traced these words: +</p> + +<p> +“Just running by S.W. gates—saw the Captain coming +in—couldn’t stop to stop him—tremendous +hurry—important. Harry J.” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond sent the paper to Lady Jocelyn. After her perusal of it a scout was +despatched to the summit of Olympus, and his report proclaimed the advance in +the direction of the Bull-dogs of a smart little figure of a man in white hat +and white trousers, who kept flicking his legs with a cane. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Evremonde rose and conferred with her ladyship an instant, and then +Drummond took her arm quietly, and passed round Olympus to the East, and Lady +Jocelyn broke up the sitting. +</p> + +<p> +Juliana saw Rose go up to Evan, and make him introduce her to his mother. She +turned lividly white, and went to a corner of the park by herself, and cried +bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn, Sir Franks, and Sir John, remained by the tables, but before the +guests were out of ear-shot, the individual signalled from Olympus presented +himself. +</p> + +<p> +“There are times when one can’t see what else to do but to +lie,” said her ladyship to Sir Franks, “and when we do lie the only +way is to lie intrepidly.” +</p> + +<p> +Turning from her perplexed husband, she exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Lawson?” +</p> + +<p> +Captain Evremonde lifted his hat, declining an intimacy. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my wife, madam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you just come from the Arctic Regions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have come for my wife, madam!” +</p> + +<p> +His unsettled grey eyes wandered restlessly on Lady Jocelyn’s face. The +Countess standing near the Duke, felt some pity for the wife of that +cropped-headed, tight-skinned lunatic at large, but deeper was the +Countess’s pity for Lady Jocelyn, in thinking of the account she would +have to render on the Day of Judgement, when she heard her ladyship +reply— +</p> + +<p> +“Evelyn is not here.” +</p> + +<p> +Captain Evremonde bowed profoundly, trailing his broad white hat along the +sward. +</p> + +<p> +“Do me the favour to read this, madam,” he said, and handed a +letter to her. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn raised her brows as she gathered the contents of the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Ferdinand’s handwriting!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I accuse no one, madam,—I make no accusation. I have every respect +for you, madam,—you have my esteem. I am sorry to intrude, madam, an +intrusion is regretted. My wife runs away from her bed, madam, and I have the +law, madam, the law is with the husband. No force!” He lashed his cane +sharply against his white legs. “The law, madam. No brute force!” +His cane made a furious whirl, cracking again on his legs, as he reiterated, +“The law!” +</p> + +<p> +“Does the law advise you to strike at a tangent all over the country in +search for her?” inquired Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +Captain Evremonde became ten times more voluble and excited. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel was heard by the Countess to say: “Her ladyship does not know +how to treat madmen.” +</p> + +<p> +Nor did Sir Franks and Sir John. They began expostulating with him. +</p> + +<p> +“A madman gets madder when you talk reason to him,” said Mrs. Mel. +</p> + +<p> +And now the Countess stepped forward to Lady Jocelyn, and hoped she would not +be thought impertinent in offering her opinion as to how this frantic person +should be treated. The case indeed looked urgent. Many gentlemen considered +themselves bound to approach and be ready in case of need. Presently the +Countess passed between Sir Franks and Sir John, and with her hand put up, as +if she feared the furious cane, said: +</p> + +<p> +“You will not strike me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Strike a lady, madam?” The cane and hat were simultaneously +lowered. +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Jocelyn permits me to fetch for you a gentleman of the law. Or will +you accompany me to him?” +</p> + +<p> +In a moment, Captain Evremonde’s manners were subdued and civilized, and +in perfectly sane speech he thanked the Countess and offered her his arm. The +Countess smilingly waved back Sir John, who motioned to attend on her, and away +she went with the Captain, with all the glow of a woman who feels that she is +heaping coals of fire on the heads of her enemies. +</p> + +<p> +Was she not admired now? +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my honour,” said Lady Jocelyn, “they are a remarkable +family,” meaning the Harringtons. +</p> + +<p> +What farther she thought she did not say, but she was a woman who looked to +natural gifts more than the gifts of accidents; and Evan’s chance stood +high with her then. So the battle of the Bull-dogs was fought, and cruelly as +the Countess had been assailed and wounded, she gained a victory; yea, though +Demogorgon, aided by the vindictive ghost of Sir Abraham, took tangible shape +in the ranks opposed to her. True, Lady Jocelyn, forgetting her own recent +intrepidity, condemned her as a liar; but the fruits of the Countess’s +victory were plentiful. Drummond Forth, fearful perhaps of exciting unjust +suspicions in the mind of Captain Evremonde, disappeared altogether. Harry was +in a mess which threw him almost upon Evan’s mercy, as will be related. +And, lastly, Ferdinand Laxley, that insufferable young aristocrat, was thus +spoken to by Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“This letter addressed to Lawson, telling him that his wife is here, is +in your handwriting, Ferdinand. I don’t say you wrote it—I +don’t think you could have written it. But, to tell you the truth, I have +an unpleasant impression about it, and I think we had better shake hands and +not see each other for some time.” +</p> + +<p> +Laxley, after one denial of his guilt, disdained to repeat it. He met her +ladyship’s hand haughtily, and, bowing to Sir Franks, turned on his heel. +</p> + +<p> +So, then, in glorious complete victory, the battle of the Bull-dogs ended! +</p> + +<p> +Of the close of the pic-nic more remains to be told. +</p> + +<p> +For the present I pause, in observance of those rules which demand that after +an exhibition of consummate deeds, time be given to the spectator to digest +what has passed before him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br /> +IN WHICH EVAN’S LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN</h2> + +<p> +The dowagers were now firmly planted on Olympus. Along the grass lay the warm +strong colours of the evening sun, reddening the pine-stems and yellowing the +idle aspen-leaves. For a moment it had hung in doubt whether the pic-nic could +survive the two rude shocks it had received. Happily the youthful element was +large, and when the band, refreshed by chicken and sherry, threw off +half-a-dozen bars of one of those irresistible waltzes that first catch the +ear, and then curl round the heart, till on a sudden they invade and will have +the legs, a rush up Parnassus was seen, and there were shouts and laughter and +commotion, as over other great fields of battle the corn will wave gaily and +mark the reestablishment of nature’s reign. +</p> + +<p> +How fair the sight! Approach the twirling couples. They talk as they whirl. +“Fancy the run-away tailor!” is the male’s remark, and he +expects to be admired for it, and is. +</p> + +<p> +“That make-up Countess—his sister, you know—didn’t you +see her? she turned green,” says Creation’s second effort, almost +occupying the place of a rib. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t there a run-away wife, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, you mustn’t be naughty!” +</p> + +<p> +They laugh and flatter one another. The power to give and take flattery to any +amount is the rare treasure of youth. +</p> + +<p> +Undoubtedly they are a poetical picture; but some poetical pictures talk dreary +prose; so we will retire. +</p> + +<p> +Now, while the dancers carried on their business, and distance lent them +enchantment, Rose stood by Juliana, near an alder which hid them from the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t accuse you,” she was saying; “but who could +have done this but you? Ah, Juley! you will never get what you want if you plot +for it. I thought once you cared for Evan. If he had loved you, would I not +have done all that I could for you both? I pardon you with all my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your pardon!” was the angry answer. “I have done more +for you, Rose. He is an adventurer, and I have tried to open your eyes and make +you respect your family. You may accuse me of what you like, I have my +conscience.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the friendship of the Countess,” added Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Juliana’s figure shook as if she had been stung. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and be happy—don’t stay here and taunt me,” she +said, with a ghastly look. “I suppose he can lie like his sister, and has +told you all sorts of tales.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word—not a word!” cried Rose. “Do you think my +lover could tell a lie?” +</p> + +<p> +The superb assumption of the girl, and the true portrait of Evan’s +character which it flashed upon Juliana, were to the latter such intense pain, +that she turned like one on the rack, exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“You think so much of him? You are so proud of him? Then, yes! I love him +too, ugly, beastly as I am to look at! Oh, I know what you think! I loved him +from the first, and I knew all about him, and spared him pain. I did not wait +for him to fall from a horse. I watched every chance of his being exposed. I +let them imagine he cared for me. Drummond would have told what he knew long +before—only he knew there would not be much harm in a tradesman’s +son marrying me. And I have played into your hands, and now you taunt +me!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose remembered her fretful unkindness to Evan on the subject of his birth, +when her feelings toward him were less warm. Dwelling on that alone, she put +her arms round Juliana’s stiffening figure, and said: “I dare say I +am much more selfish than you. Forgive me, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +Staring at her, Juliana replied, “Now you are acting.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rose, with a little effort to fondle her; “I only +feel that I love you better for loving him.” +</p> + +<p> +Generous as her words sounded, and were, Juliana intuitively struck to the root +of them, which was comfortless. For how calm in its fortune, how strong in its +love, must Rose’s heart be, when she could speak in this unwonted way! +</p> + +<p> +“Go, and leave me, pray,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Rose kissed her burning cheek. “I will do as you wish, dear. Try and know +me better, and be sister Juley as you used to be. I know I am thoughtless, and +horribly vain and disagreeable sometimes. Do forgive me. I will love you +truly.” +</p> + +<p> +Half melting, Juliana pressed her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“We are friends?” said Rose. “Good-bye”; and her +countenance lighted, and she moved away, so changed by her happiness! Juliana +was jealous of a love strong as she deemed her own to overcome obstacles. She +called to her: “Rose! Rose, you will not take advantage of what I have +told you, and repeat it to any one?” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Rose turned with a glance of full contempt over her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“To whom?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“To any one.” +</p> + +<p> +“To him? He would not love me long if I did!” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana burst into fresh tears, but Rose walked into the sunbeams and the +circle of the music. +</p> + +<p> +Mounting Olympus, she inquired whether Ferdinand was within hail, as they were +pledged to dance the first dance together. A few hints were given, and then +Rose learnt that Ferdinand had been dismissed. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is he?” she cried with her accustomed impetuosity. +“Mama!—of course you did not accuse him—but, Mama! could you +possibly let him go with the suspicion that you thought him guilty of writing +an anonymous letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” Lady Jocelyn replied. “Only the handwriting was +so extremely like, and he was the only person who knew the address and the +circumstances, and who could have a motive—though I don’t quite see +what it is—I thought it as well to part for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s sophistry!” said Rose. “You accuse or you +exonerate. Nobody can be half guilty. If you do not hold him innocent you are +unjust!” Lady Jocelyn rejoined: “Yes? It’s singular what a +stock of axioms young people have handy for their occasions.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose loudly announced that she would right this matter. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t think where Rose gets her passion for hot water,” +said her mother, as Rose ran down the ledge. +</p> + +<p> +Two or three young gentlemen tried to engage her for a dance. She gave them +plenty of promises, and hurried on till she met Evan, and, almost out of +breath, told him the shameful injustice that had been done to her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Mama is such an Epicurean! I really think she is worse than Papa. This +disgraceful letter looks like Ferdinand’s writing, and she tells him so; +and, Evan! will you believe that instead of being certain it’s impossible +any gentleman could do such a thing, she tells Ferdinand she shall feel more +comfortable if she doesn’t see him for some time? Poor Ferdinand! He has +had so much to bear!” +</p> + +<p> +Too sure of his darling to be envious now of any man she pitied, Evan said, +“I would forfeit my hand on his innocence!” +</p> + +<p> +“And so would I,” echoed Rose. “Come to him with me, dear. Or +no,” she added, with a little womanly discretion, “perhaps it would +not be so well—you’re not very much cast down by what happened at +dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“My darling! I think of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of me, dear? Concealment is never of any service. What there is to be +known people may as well know at once. They’ll gossip for a month, and +then forget it. Your mother is dreadfully outspoken, certainly; but she has +better manners than many ladies—I mean people in a position: you +understand me? But suppose, dear, this had happened, and I had said nothing to +Mama, and then we had to confess? Ah, you’ll find I’m wiser than +you imagine, Mr. Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t I submitted to somebody’s lead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but with a sort of ‘under protest.’ I saw it by the +mouth. Not quite natural. You have been moody ever since—just a little. I +suppose it’s our manly pride. But I’m losing time. Will you promise +me not to brood over that occurrence? Think of me. Think everything of me. I am +yours; and, dearest, if I love you, need you care what anybody else thinks? We +will soon change their opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care so little,” said Evan, somewhat untruthfully, “that +till you return I shall go and sit with my mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she has gone. She made her dear old antiquated curtsey to Mama and +the company. ‘If my son has not been guilty of deception, I will leave +him to your good pleasure, my lady.’ That’s what she said. Mama +likes her, I know. But I wish she didn’t mouth her words so precisely: it +reminds me of—” the Countess, Rose checked herself from saying. +“Good-bye. Thank heaven! the worst has happened. Do you know what I +should do if I were you, and felt at all distressed? I should keep +repeating,” Rose looked archly and deeply up under his eyelids, +“‘I am the son of a tradesman, and Rose loves me,’ over and +over, and then, if you feel ashamed, what is it of?” +</p> + +<p> +She nodded adieu, laughing at her own idea of her great worth; an idea very +firmly fixed in her fair bosom, notwithstanding. Mrs. Melville said of her, +“I used to think she had pride.” Lady Jocelyn answered, “So +she has. The misfortune is that it has taken the wrong turning.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan watched the figure that was to him as that of an angel—no less! She +spoke so frankly to them as she passed: or here and there went on with a light +laugh. It seemed an act of graciousness that she should open her mouth to one! +And, indeed, by virtue of a pride which raised her to the level of what she +thought it well to do, Rose was veritably on higher ground than any present. +She no longer envied her friend Jenny, who, emerging from the shades, allured +by the waltz, dislinked herself from William’s arm, and whispered +exclamations of sorrow at the scene created by Mr. Harrington’s mother. +Rose patted her hand, and said: “Thank you, Jenny dear but don’t be +sorry. I’m glad. It prevents a number of private explanations.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, dear!” Jenny suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! of course, I should like to lay my whip across the shoulders of the +person who arranged the conspiracy,” said Rose. “And afterwards I +don’t mind returning thanks to him, or her, or them.” +</p> + +<p> +William cried out, “I’m always on your side, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ll be Jenny’s bridesmaid,” rejoined Rose, +stepping blithely away from them. +</p> + +<p> +Evan debated whither to turn when Rose was lost to his eyes. He had no heart +for dancing. Presently a servant approached, and said that Mr. Harry +particularly desired to see him. From Harry’s looks at table, Evan judged +that the interview was not likely to be amicable. He asked the direction he was +to take, and setting out with long strides, came in sight of Raikes, who walked +in gloom, and was evidently labouring under one of his mountains of melancholy. +He affected to be quite out of the world; but finding that Evan took the hint +in his usual prosy manner, was reduced to call after him, and finally to run +and catch him. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you one single spark of curiosity?” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“What about?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, about my amazing luck! You haven’t asked a question. A matter +of course.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan complimented him by asking a question: saying that Jack’s luck +certainly was wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful, you call it,” said Jack, witheringly. “And +what’s more wonderful is, that I’d give up all for quiet quarters +in the Green Dragon. I knew I was prophetic. I knew I should regret that +peaceful hostelry. Diocletian, if you like. I beg you to listen. I can’t +walk so fast without danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, speak out, man. What’s the matter with you?” cried +Evan, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +Jack shook his head: “I see a total absence of sympathy,” he +remarked. “I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then stand out of the way.” +</p> + +<p> +Jack let him pass, exclaiming, with cold irony, “I will pay homage to a +loftier Nine!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes could not in his soul imagine that Evan was really so little +inquisitive concerning a business of such importance as the trouble that +possessed him. He watched his friend striding off, incredulously, and then +commenced running in pursuit. +</p> + +<p> +“Harrington, I give in; I surrender; you reduce me to prose. Thy nine +have conquered my nine!—pardon me, old fellow. I’m immensely upset. +This is the first day in my life that I ever felt what indigestion is. Egad, +I’ve got something to derange the best digestion going! +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Harrington. What happened to you today, I declare I think +nothing of. You owe me your assistance, you do, indeed; for if it hadn’t +been for the fearful fascinations of your sister—that divine +Countess—I should have been engaged to somebody by this time, and +profited by the opportunity held out to me, and which is now gone. I’m +disgraced. I’m known. And the worst of it is, I must face people. I +daren’t turn tail. Did you ever hear of such a dilemma?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” quoth Evan, “what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Raikes turned pale. “Then you haven’t heard of it?” +“Not a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all for me to tell. I called on Messrs. Grist. I dined +at the Aurora afterwards. Depend upon it, Harrington, we’re led by a +star. I mean, fellows with anything in them are. I recognized our Fallowfield +host, and thinking to draw him out, I told our mutual histories. Next day I +went to these Messrs. Grist. They proposed the membership for Fallowfield, +five hundred a year, and the loan of a curricle, on condition. It’s +singular, Harrington; before anybody knew of the condition I didn’t care +about it a bit. It seemed to me childish. Who would think of minding wearing a +tin plate? But now!—the sufferings of Orestes—what are they to +mine? He wasn’t tied to his Furies. They did hover a little above him; +but as for me, I’m scorched; and I mustn’t say where: my mouth is +locked; the social laws which forbid the employment of obsolete words arrest my +exclamations of despair. What do you advise?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan stared a moment at the wretched object, whose dream of meeting a +beneficent old gentleman had brought him to be the sport of a cynical farceur. +He had shivers on his own account, seeing something of himself magnified, and +he loathed the fellow, only to feel more acutely what a stigma may be. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a case I can’t advise in,” he said, as gently as +he could. “I should be off the grounds in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then I’m where I was before I met the horrid old brute!” +Raikes moaned. +</p> + +<p> +“I told him over a pint of port—and noble stuff is that Aurora +port!—I told him—I amused him till he was on the point of +bursting—I told him I was such a gentleman as the world hadn’t +seen—minus money. So he determined to launch me. He said I should lead +the life of such a gentleman as the world had not yet seen—on that simple +condition, which appeared to me childish, a senile whim; rather an indulgence +of his.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan listened to the tribulations of his friend as he would to those of a +doll—the sport of some experimental child. By this time he knew something +of old Tom Cogglesby, and was not astonished that he should have chosen John +Raikes to play one of his farces on. Jack turned off abruptly the moment he saw +they were nearing human figures, but soon returned to Evan’s side, as if +for protection. +</p> + +<p> +“Hoy! Harrington!” shouted Harry, beckoning to him. “Come, +make haste! I’m in a deuce of a mess.” +</p> + +<p> +The two Wheedles—Susan and Polly—were standing in front of him, and +after his call to Evan, he turned to continue some exhortation or appeal to the +common sense of women, largely indulged in by young men when the mischief is +done. +</p> + +<p> +“Harrington, do speak to her. She looks upon you as a sort of parson. I +can’t make her believe I didn’t send for her. Of course, she knows +I’m fond of her. My dear fellow,” he whispered, “I shall be +ruined if my grandmother hears of it. Get her away, please. Promise +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan took her hand and asked for the child. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite well, sir,” faltered Susan. +</p> + +<p> +“You should not have come here.” +</p> + +<p> +Susan stared, and commenced whimpering: “Didn’t you wish it, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she’s always thinking of being made a lady of,” cried +Polly. “As if Mr. Harry was going to do that. It wants a gentleman to do +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“The carriage came for me, sir, in the afternoon,” said Susan, +plaintively, “with your compliments, and would I come. I +thought—” +</p> + +<p> +“What carriage?” asked Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes, who was ogling Polly, interposed grandly, “Mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you sent in my name for this girl to come here?” Evan turned +wrathfully on him. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Harrington, when you hit you knock down. The wise require but +one dose of experience. The Countess wished it, and I did dispatch.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Countess!” Harry exclaimed; “Jove! do you mean to say +that the Countess—” +</p> + +<p> +“De Saldar,” added Jack. “In Britain none were worthy +found.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry gave a long whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave at once,” said Evan to Susan. “Whatever you may want +send to me for. And when you think you can meet your parents, I will take you +to them. Remember that is what you must do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make her give up that stupidness of hers, about being made a lady of, +Mr. Harrington,” said the inveterate Polly. +</p> + +<p> +Susan here fell a-weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“I would go, sir,” she said. “I’m sure I would obey +you: but I can’t. I can’t go back to the inn. They’re +beginning to talk about me, because—because I +can’t—can’t pay them, and I’m ashamed.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan looked at Harry. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot,” the latter mumbled, but his face was crimson. He put +his hands in his pockets. “Do you happen to have a note or so?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +Evan took him aside and gave him what he had; and this amount, without +inspection or reserve, Harry offered to Susan. She dashed his hand impetuously +from her sight. +</p> + +<p> +“There, give it to me,” said Polly. “Oh, Mr. Harry! what a +young man you are!” +</p> + +<p> +Whether from the rebuff, or the reproach, or old feelings reviving, Harry was +moved to go forward, and lay his hand on Susan’s shoulder and mutter +something in her ear that softened her. +</p> + +<p> +Polly thrust the notes into her bosom, and with a toss of her nose, as who +should say, “Here’s nonsense they’re at again,” tapped +Susan on the other shoulder, and said imperiously: “Come, Miss!” +</p> + +<p> +Hurrying out a dozen sentences in one, Harry ended by suddenly kissing +Susan’s cheek, and then Polly bore her away; and Harry, with great +solemnity, said to Evan: +</p> + +<p> +“’Pon my honour, I think I ought to! I declare I think I love that +girl. What’s one’s family? Why shouldn’t you button to the +one that just suits you? That girl, when she’s dressed, and in good trim, +by Jove! nobody’d know her from a born lady. And as for grammar, +I’d soon teach her that.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry began to whistle: a sign in him that he was thinking his hardest. +</p> + +<p> +“I confess to being considerably impressed by the maid Wheedle,” +said Raikes. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you throw yourself away on her?” Evan inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Apparently forgetting how he stood, Mr. Raikes replied: +</p> + +<p> +“You ask, perhaps, a little too much of me. One owes consideration to +one’s position. In the world’s eyes a matrimonial slip outweighs a +peccadillo. No. To much the maid might wheedle me, but to Hymen! She’s +decidedly fresh and pert—the most delicious little fat lips and cocky +nose; but cease we to dwell on her, or of us two, to! one will be +undone.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry burst into a laugh: “Is this the T.P. for Fallowfield?” +</p> + +<p> +“M.P. I think you mean,” quoth Raikes, serenely; but a curious +glance being directed on him, and pursuing him pertinaciously, it was as if the +pediment of the lofty monument he topped were smitten with violence. He +stammered an excuse, and retreated somewhat as it is the fashion to do from the +presence of royalty, followed by Harry’s roar of laughter, in which Evan +cruelly joined. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious powers!” exclaimed the victim of ambition, +“I’m laughed at by the son of a tailor!” and he edged once +more into the shade of trees. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange sight for Harry’s relatives to see him arm-in-arm with +the man he should have been kicking, challenging, denouncing, or whatever the +code prescribes: to see him talking to this young man earnestly, clinging to +him affectionately, and when he separated from him, heartily wringing his hand. +Well might they think that there was something extraordinary in these +Harringtons. Convicted of Tailordom, these Harringtons appeared to shine with +double lustre. How was it? They were at a loss to say. They certainly could say +that the Countess was egregiously affected and vulgar; but who could be +altogether complacent and sincere that had to fight so hard a fight? In this +struggle with society I see one of the instances where success is entirely to +be honoured and remains a proof of merit. For however boldly antagonism may +storm the ranks of society, it will certainly be repelled, whereas affinity +cannot be resisted; and they who, against obstacles of birth, claim and keep +their position among the educated and refined, have that affinity. It is, on +the whole, rare, so that society is not often invaded. I think it will have to +front Jack Cade again before another Old Mel and his progeny shall appear. You +refuse to believe in Old Mel? You know not nature’s cunning. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Shorne, Mrs. Melville, Miss Carrington, and many of the guests who +observed Evan moving from place to place, after the exposure, as they called +it, were amazed at his audacity. There seemed such a quietly superb air about +him. He would not look out of his element; and this, knowing what they knew, +was his offence. He deserved some commendation for still holding up his head, +but it was love and Rose who kept the fires of his heart alive. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had sunk. The figures on the summit of Parnassus were seen bobbing in +happy placidity against the twilight sky. The sun had sunk, and many of Mr. +Raikes’ best things were unspoken. Wandering about in his gloom, he heard +a feminine voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will trust you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not repent it,” was answered. +</p> + +<p> +Recognizing the Duke, Mr. Raikes cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“A-hem, your Grace! This is how the days should pass. I think we should +diurnally station a good London band on high, and play his Majesty to +bed—the sun. My opinion is, it would improve the crops. I’m not, as +yet, a landed proprietor—” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke stepped aside with him, and Raikes addressed no one for the next +twenty minutes. When he next came forth Parnassus was half deserted. It was +known that old Mrs. Bonner had been taken with a dangerous attack, and under +this third blow the pic-nic succumbed. Simultaneously with the messenger that +brought the news to Lady Jocelyn, one approached Evan, and informed him that +the Countess de Saldar urgently entreated him to come to the house without +delay. He also wished to speak a few words to her, and stepped forward briskly. +He had no prophetic intimations of the change this interview would bring upon +him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII.<br /> +THE HERO TAKES HIS RANK IN THE ORCHESTRA</h2> + +<p> +The Countess was not in her dressing-room when Evan presented himself. She was +in attendance on Mrs. Bonner, Conning said; and the primness of Conning was a +thing to have been noticed by any one save a dreamy youth in love. Conning +remained in the room, keeping distinctly aloof. Her duties absorbed her, but a +presiding thought mechanically jerked back her head from time to time: being +the mute form of, “Well, I never!” in Conning’s rank of life +and intellectual capacity. Evan remained quite still in a chair, and Conning +was certainly a number of paces beyond suspicion, when the Countess appeared, +and hurling at the maid one of those feminine looks which contain huge quartos +of meaning, vented the cold query: +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, why did you not come to me, as you were commanded?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not aware, my lady,” Conning drew up to reply, and performed +with her eyes a lofty rejection of the volume cast at her, and a threat of +several for offensive operations, if need were. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess spoke nearer to what she was implying “You know I object to +this: it is not the first time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would your ladyship please to say what your ladyship means?” +</p> + +<p> +In return for this insolent challenge to throw off the mask, the Countess felt +justified in punishing her by being explicit. “Your irregularities are +not of yesterday,” she said, kindly making use of a word of double +signification still. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, my lady.” Conning accepted the word in its blackest +meaning. “I am obliged to you. If your ladyship is to be believed, my +character is not worth much. But I can make distinctions, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +Something very like an altercation was continued in a sharp, brief undertone; +and then Evan, waking up to the affairs of the hour, heard Conning say: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not ask your ladyship to give me a character.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess answering with pathos: “It would, indeed, be to give you +one.” +</p> + +<p> +He was astonished that the Countess should burst into tears when Conning had +departed, and yet more so that his effort to console her should bring a bolt of +wrath upon himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Evan, now see what you have done for us—do, and rejoice at +it. The very menials insult us. You heard what that creature said? She can make +distinctions. Oh! I could beat her. They know it: all the servants know it: I +can see it in their faces. I feel it when I pass them. The insolent wretches +treat us as impostors; and this Conning—to defy me! Oh! it comes of my +devotion to you. I am properly chastized. I passed Rose’s maid on the +stairs, and her reverence was barely perceptible.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan murmured that he was very sorry, adding, foolishly: “Do you really +care, Louisa, for what servants think and say?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess sighed deeply: “Oh! you are too thickskinned! Your mother +from top to toe! It is too dreadful! What have I done to deserve it? Oh, Evan, +Evan!” +</p> + +<p> +Her head dropped in her lap. There was something ludicrous to Evan in this +excess of grief on account of such a business; but he was tender-hearted and +wrought upon to declare that, whether or not he was to blame for his +mother’s intrusion that afternoon, he was ready to do what he could to +make up to the Countess for her sufferings: whereat the Countess sighed again: +asked him what he possibly could do, and doubted his willingness to accede to +the most trifling request. +</p> + +<p> +“No; I do in verity believe that were I to desire you to do aught for +your own good alone, you would demur, Van.” +</p> + +<p> +He assured her that she was mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“And if once or twice, I have run counter to you, Louisa—” +</p> + +<p> +“Abominable language!” cried the Countess, stopping her ears like a +child. “Do not excruciate me so. You laugh! My goodness! what will you +come to!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan checked his smile, and, taking her hand, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I must tell you; that, on the whole, I see nothing to regret in what has +happened to-day. You may notice a change in the manners of the servants and +some of the country squiresses, but I find none in the bearing of the real +ladies, the true gentlemen, to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because the change is too fine for you to perceive it,” interposed +the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose, then, and her mother, and her father!” Evan cried +impetuously. +</p> + +<p> +“As for Lady Jocelyn!” the Countess shrugged: +</p> + +<p> +“And Sir Franks!” her head shook: “and Rose, Rose is, simply +self-willed; a ‘she will’ or ‘she won’t’ sort of +little person. No criterion! Henceforth the world is against us. We have to +struggle with it: it does not rank us of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your feeling on the point is so exaggerated, my dear Louisa”, said +Evan, “one can’t bring reason to your ears. The tattle we shall +hear we shall outlive. I care extremely for the good opinion of men, but I +prefer my own; and I do not lose it because my father was in trade.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your own name, Evan Harrington, is on a shop,” the Countess +struck in, and watched him severely from under her brow, glad to mark that he +could still blush. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, heaven!” she wailed to increase the effect, “on a shop! +a brother of mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Louisa. It may not last... I did it—is it not better that a +son should blush, than cast dishonour on his father’s memory?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ridiculous boy-notion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose has pardoned it, Louisa—cannot you? I find that the naturally +vulgar and narrow-headed people, and cowards who never forego mean advantages, +are those only who would condemn me and my conduct in that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have joy in your fraction of the world left to you!” +exclaimed his female-elder. +</p> + +<p> +Changeing her manner to a winning softness, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Let me also belong to the very small party! You have been really +romantic, and most generous and noble; only the shop smells! But, never mind, +promise me you will not enter it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“You do hope that you will not officiate? Oh, Evan the eternal +contemplation of gentlemen’s legs! think of that! Think of yourself +sculptured in that attitude!” Innumerable little prickles and stings shot +over Evan’s skin. +</p> + +<p> +“There—there, Louisa!” he said, impatiently; “spare +your ridicule. We go to London to-morrow, and when there I expect to hear that +I have an appointment, and that this engagement is over.” He rose and +walked up and down the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not be prepared to go to-morrow,” remarked the Countess, +drawing her figure up stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! well, if you can stay, Andrew will take charge of you, I dare +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my dear, Andrew will not—a nonentity cannot—you +must.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible, Louisa,” said Evan, as one who imagines he is uttering +a thing of little consequence. “I promised Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You promised Rose that you would abdicate and retire? Sweet, loving +girl!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“You will stay with me, Evan.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really can’t,” he said in his previous careless tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and sit down,” cried the Countess, imperiously. “The +first trifle is refused. It does not astonish me. I will honour you now by +talking seriously to you. I have treated you hitherto as a child. Or, +no—” she stopped her mouth; “it is enough if I tell you, +dear, that poor Mrs. Bonner is dying, and that she desires my attendance on her +to refresh her spirit with readings on the Prophecies, and Scriptural converse. +No other soul in the house can so soothe her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, stay,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Unprotected in the midst of enemies! Truly!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Louisa, if you can call Lady Jocelyn an enemy, you must read +the Scriptures by a false light.” +</p> + +<p> +“The woman is an utter heathen!” interjected the Countess. +“An infidel can be no friend. She is therefore the reverse. Her opinions +embitter her mother’s last days. But now you will consent to remain with +me, dear Van!” +</p> + +<p> +An implacable negative responded to the urgent appeal of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” he said, for a diversion, “did you know of a +girl stopping at an inn in Fallowfield?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know a barmaid?” the Countess’s eyes and mouth were wide at +the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you send Raikes for her to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mr. Raikes—ah, Evan! that creature reminds me, you have no +sense of contrast. For a Brazilian ape—he resembles, if he is not truly +one—what contrast is he to an English gentleman! His proximity and +acquaintance—rich as he may be—disfigure you. Study +contrast!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan had to remind her that she had not answered him: whereat she exclaimed: +“One would really think you had never been abroad. Have you not evaded +me, rather?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess commenced fanning her languid brows, and then pursued: “Now, +my dear brother, I may conclude that you will acquiesce in my moderate wishes. +You remain. My venerable friend cannot last three days. She is on the brink of +a better world! I will confide to you that it is of the utmost importance we +should be here, on the spot, until the sad termination! That is what I summoned +you for. You are now at liberty. Ta-ta, as soon as you please.” +</p> + +<p> +She had baffled his little cross-examination with regard to Raikes, but on the +other point he was firm. She would listen to nothing: she affected that her +mandate had gone forth, and must be obeyed; tapped with her foot, fanned +deliberately, and was a consummate queen, till he turned the handle of the +door, when her complexion deadened, she started up, trembling, and tripping +towards him, caught him by the arm, and said: “Stop! After all that I +have sacrificed for you! As well try to raise the dead as a Dawley from the +dust he grovels in! Why did I consent to visit this place? It was for you. I +came, I heard that you had disgraced yourself in drunkenness at Fallowfield, +and I toiled to eclipse that, and I did. Young Jocelyn thought you were what +you are: I could spit the word at you! and I dazzled him to give you time to +win this minx, who will spin you like a top if you get her. That Mr. Forth knew +it as well, and that vile young Laxley. They are gone! Why are they gone? +Because they thwarted me—they crossed your interests—I said they +should go. George Uplift is going to-day. The house is left to us; and I +believe firmly that Mrs. Bonner’s will contains a memento of the effect +of our frequent religious conversations. So you would leave now? I suspect +nobody, but we are all human, and Wills would not have been tampered with for +the first time. Besides,” and the Countess’s imagination warmed +till she addressed her brother as a confederate, “we shall then see to +whom Beckley Court is bequeathed. Either way it may be yours. Yours! and you +suffer their plots to drive you forth. Do you not perceive that Mama was +brought here to-day on purpose to shame us and cast us out? We are surrounded +by conspiracies, but if our faith is pure who can hurt us? If I had not that +consolation—would that you had it, too!—would it be endurable to me +to see those menials whispering and showing their forced respect? As it is, I +am fortified to forgive them. I breathe another atmosphere. Oh, Evan! you did +not attend to Mr. Parsley’s beautiful last sermon. The Church should have +been your vocation.” +</p> + +<p> +From vehemence the Countess had subsided to a mournful gentleness. She had been +too excited to notice any changes in her brother’s face during her +speech, and when he turned from the door, and still eyeing her fixedly, led her +to a chair, she fancied from his silence that she had subdued and convinced +him. A delicious sense of her power, succeeded by a weary reflection that she +had constantly to employ it, occupied her mind, and when presently she looked +up from the shade of her hand, it was to agitate her head pitifully at her +brother. +</p> + +<p> +“All this you have done for me, Louisa,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Evan,—all!” she fell into his tone. +</p> + +<p> +“And you are the cause of Laxley’s going? Did you know anything of +that anonymous letter?” +</p> + +<p> +He was squeezing her hand—with grateful affection, as she was deluded to +imagine. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, dear,—a little,” her conceit prompted her to admit. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you write it?” +</p> + +<p> +He gazed intently into her eyes, and as the question shot like a javelin, she +tried ineffectually to disengage her fingers; her delusion waned; she took +fright, but it was too late; he had struck the truth out of her before she +could speak. Her spirit writhed like a snake in his hold. Innumerable things +she was ready to say, and strove to; the words would not form on her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I will be answered, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +The stern manner he had assumed gave her no hope of eluding him. With an inward +gasp, and a sensation of nakedness altogether new to her, dismal, and alarming, +she felt that she could not lie. Like a creature forsaken of her staunchest +friend, she could have flung herself to the floor. The next instant her natural +courage restored her. She jumped up and stood at bay. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I did.” +</p> + +<p> +And now he was weak, and she was strong, and used her strength. +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote it to save you. Yes. Call on your Creator, and be my judge, if +you dare. Never, never will you meet a soul more utterly devoted to you, Evan. +This Mr. Forth, this Laxley, I said, should go, because they were resolved to +ruin you, and make you base. They are gone. The responsibility I take on +myself. Nightly—during the remainder of my days—I will pray for +pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his head to ask sombrely: “Is your handwriting like +Laxley’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems so,” she answered, with a pitiful sneer for one who could +arrest her exaltation to inquire about minutiae. “Right or wrong, it is +done, and if you choose to be my judge, think whether your own conscience is +clear. Why did you come here? Why did you stay? You have your free +will,—do you deny that? Oh, I will take the entire blame, but you must +not be a hypocrite, Van. You know you were aware. We had no confidences. I was +obliged to treat you like a child; but for you to pretend to suppose that roses +grow in your path—oh, that is paltry! You are a hypocrite or an imbecile, +if that is your course.” +</p> + +<p> +Was he not something of the former? The luxurious mist in which he had been +living, dispersed before his sister’s bitter words, and, as she designed +he should, he felt himself her accomplice. But, again, reason struggled to +enlighten him; for surely he would never have done a thing so disproportionate +to the end to be gained! It was the unconnected action of his brain that thus +advised him. No thoroughly-fashioned, clear-spirited man conceives wickedness +impossible to him: but wickedness so largely mixed with folly, the best of us +may reject as not among our temptations. Evan, since his love had dawned, had +begun to talk with his own nature, and though he knew not yet how much it would +stretch or contract, he knew that he was weak and could not perform moral +wonders without severe struggles. The cynic may add, if he likes—or +without potent liquors. +</p> + +<p> +Could he be his sister’s judge? It is dangerous for young men to be too +good. They are so sweeping in their condemnations, so sublime in their +conceptions of excellence, and the most finished Puritan cannot out-do their +demands upon frail humanity. Evan’s momentary self-examination saved him +from this, and he told the Countess, with a sort of cold compassion, that he +himself dared not blame her. +</p> + +<p> +His tone was distinctly wanting in admiration of her, but she was somewhat +over-wrought, and leaned her shoulder against him, and became immediately his +affectionate, only too-zealous, sister; dearly to be loved, to be forgiven, to +be prized: and on condition of inserting a special petition for pardon in her +orisons, to live with a calm conscience, and to be allowed to have her own way +with him during the rest of her days. +</p> + +<p> +It was a happy union—a picture that the Countess was lured to admire in +the glass. +</p> + +<p> +Sad that so small a murmur should destroy it for ever! +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried the Countess, bursting from his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Go?” she emphasized with the hardness of determined unbelief, as +if plucking the words, one by one, out of her reluctant ears. “Go to Lady +Jocelyn, and tell her I wrote the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can do no less, I fear,” said Evan, eyeing the floor and +breathing a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I did hear you correctly? Oh, you must be mad—idiotic! There, +pray go away, Evan. Come in the morning. You are too much for my nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan rose, putting out his hand as if to take hers and plead with her. She +rejected the first motion, and repeated her desire for him to leave her; +saying, cheerfully— +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, dear; I dare say we shan’t meet till the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t let this injustice continue a single night, +Louisa?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +She was deep in the business of arrangeing a portion of her attire. +</p> + +<p> +“Go-go; please,” she responded. +</p> + +<p> +Lingering, he said: “If I go, it will be straight to Lady Jocelyn.” +</p> + +<p> +She stamped angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Only go!” and then she found him gone, and she stooped lower to +the glass, to mark if the recent agitation were observable under her eyes. +There, looking at herself, her heart dropped heavily in her bosom. She ran to +the door and hurried swiftly after Evan, pulling him back speechlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Lady Jocelyn.” +</p> + +<p> +The unhappy victim of her devotion stood panting. +</p> + +<p> +“If you go, I—I take poison!” It was for him now to be +struck; but he was suffering too strong an anguish to be susceptible to mock +tragedy. The Countess paused to study him. She began to fear her brother. +“I will!” she reiterated wildly, without moving him at all. And the +quiet inflexibility of his face forbade the ultimate hope which lies in giving +men a dose of hysterics when they are obstinate. She tried by taunts and angry +vituperations to make him look fierce, if but an instant, to precipitate her +into an exhibition she was so well prepared for. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan! what! after all my love, my confidence in you—I need not +have told you—to expose us! Brother? would you? Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not let this last another hour,” said Evan, firmly, at the +same time seeking to caress her. She spurned his fruitless affection, feeling, +nevertheless, how cruel was her fate; for, with any other save a brother, she +had arts at her disposal to melt the manliest resolutions. The glass showed her +that her face was pathetically pale; the tones of her voice were rich and +harrowing. What did they avail with a brother? “Promise me,” she +cried eagerly, “promise me to stop here—on this spot—till I +return.” +</p> + +<p> +The promise was extracted. The Countess went to fetch Caroline. Evan did not +count the minutes. One thought was mounting in his brain—the scorn of +Rose. He felt that he had lost her. Lost her when he had just won her! He felt +it, without realizing it. The first blows of an immense grief are dull, and +strike the heart through wool, as it were. The belief of the young in their +sorrow has to be flogged into them, on the good old educational principle. +Could he do less than this he was about to do? Rose had wedded her noble nature +to him, and it was as much her spirit as his own that urged him thus to forfeit +her, to be worthy of her by assuming unworthiness. +</p> + +<p> +There he sat neither conning over his determination nor the cause for it, +revolving Rose’s words about Laxley, and nothing else. The words were so +sweet and so bitter; every now and then the heavy smiting on his heart set it +quivering and leaping, as the whip starts a jaded horse. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the Countess was participating in a witty conversation in the +drawing-room with Sir John and the Duke, Miss Current, and others; and it was +not till after she had displayed many graces, and, as one or two ladies +presumed to consider, marked effrontery, that she rose and drew Caroline away +with her. Returning to her dressing-room, she found that Evan had faithfully +kept his engagement; he was on the exact spot where she had left him. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline came to him swiftly, and put her hand to his forehead that she might +the better peruse his features, saying, in her mellow caressing voice: +“What is this, dear Van, that you will do? Why do you look so +wretched?” +</p> + +<p> +“Has not Louisa told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“She has told me something, dear, but I don’t know what it is. That +you are going to expose us? What further exposure do we need? I’m sure, +Van, my pride—what I had—is gone. I have none left!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan kissed her brows warmly. An explanation, full of the Countess’s +passionate outcries of justification, necessity, and innocence in higher than +fleshly eyes, was given, and then the three were silent. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Van,” Caroline commenced, deprecatingly, “my darling! +of what use—now! Whether right or wrong, why should you, why should you, +when the thing is done, dear?—think!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, too, would let another suffer under an unjust +accusation?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“But, dearest, it is surely your duty to think of your family first. Have +we not been afflicted enough? Why should you lay us under this fresh +burden?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it’s better to bear all now than a life of remorse,” +answered Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“But this Mr. Laxley—I cannot pity him; he has behaved so +insolently to you throughout! Let him suffer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lady Jocelyn,” said Evan, “has been unintentionally unjust +to him, and after her kindness—apart from the right or wrong—I will +not—I can’t allow her to continue so.” +</p> + +<p> +“After her kindness!” echoed the Countess, who had been fuming at +Caroline’s weak expostulations. “Kindness! Have I not done ten +times for these Jocelyns what they have done for us? O mio Deus! why, I have +bestowed on them the membership for Fallowfield: I have saved her from being a +convicted liar this very day. Worse! for what would have been talked of the +morals of the house, supposing the scandal. Oh! indeed I was tempted to bring +that horrid mad Captain into the house face to face with his flighty doll of a +wife, as I, perhaps, should have done, acting by the dictates of my conscience. +I lied for Lady Jocelyn, and handed the man to a lawyer, who withdrew him. And +this they owe to me! Kindness? They have given us bed and board, as the people +say. I have repaid them for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray be silent, Louisa,” said Evan, getting up hastily, for the +sick sensation Rose had experienced came over him. His sister’s plots, +her untruth, her coarseness, clung to him and seemed part of his blood. He now +had a personal desire to cut himself loose from the wretched entanglement +revealed to him, whatever it cost. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really, truly going?” Caroline exclaimed, for he was near +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“At a quarter to twelve at night!” sneered the Countess, still +imagining that he, like herself, must be partly acting. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Van, is it—dearest, think! is it manly for a brother to go +and tell of his sister? And how would it look?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan smiled. “Is it that that makes you unhappy? Louisa’s name will +not be mentioned—be sure of that.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline was stooping forward to him. Her figure straightened: “Good +Heaven, Evan! you are not going to take it on yourself? Rose!—she will +hate you.” +</p> + +<p> +“God help me!” he cried internally. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Evan, darling! consider, reflect!” She fell on her knees, +catching his hand. “It is worse for us that you should suffer, dearest! +Think of the dreadful meanness and baseness of what you will have to +acknowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” sighed the youth, and his eyes, in his extreme pain, turned +to the Countess reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Think, dear,” Caroline hurried on, “he gains nothing for +whom you do this—you lose all. It is not your deed. You will have to +speak an untruth. Your ideas are wrong—wrong, I know they are. You will +have to lie. But if you are silent, the little, little blame that may attach to +us will pass away, and we shall be happy in seeing our brother happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are talking to Evan as if he had religion,” said the Countess, +with steady sedateness. And at that moment, from the sublimity of his pagan +virtue, the young man groaned for some pure certain light to guide him: the +question whether he was about to do right made him weak. He took +Caroline’s head between his two hands, and kissed her mouth. The act +brought Rose to his senses insufferably, and she—his Goddess of truth and +his sole guiding light—spurred him afresh. +</p> + +<p> +“My family’s dishonour is mine, Caroline. Say nothing +more—don’t think of me. I go to Lady Jocelyn tonight. To-morrow we +leave, and there’s the end. Louisa, if you have any new schemes for my +welfare, I beg you to renounce them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gratitude I never expected from a Dawley!” the Countess retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Louisa! he is going!” cried Caroline; “kneel to him with +me: stop him: Rose loves him, and he is going to make her hate him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t talk reason to one who’s mad,” said the +Countess, more like the Dawley she sprang from than it would have pleased her +to know. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling! My own Evan! it will kill me,” Caroline exclaimed, and +passionately imploring him, she looked so hopelessly beautiful, that Evan was +agitated, and caressed her, while he said, softly: “Where our honour is +not involved I would submit to your smallest wish.” +</p> + +<p> +“It involves my life—my destiny!” murmured Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +Could he have known the double meaning in her words, and what a saving this +sacrifice of his was to accomplish, he would not have turned to do it feeling +abandoned of heaven and earth. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess stood rigidly as he went forth. Caroline was on her knees, +sobbing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIV.<br /> +A PAGAN SACRIFICE</h2> + +<p> +Three steps from the Countess’s chamber door, the knot of Evan’s +resolution began to slacken. The clear light of his simple duty grew cloudy and +complex. His pride would not let him think that he was shrinking, but cried out +in him, “Will you be believed?” and whispered that few would +believe him guilty of such an act. Yet, while something said that full surely +Lady Jocelyn would not, a vague dread that Rose might, threw him back on the +luxury of her love and faith in him. He found himself hoping that his statement +would be laughed at. Then why make it? +</p> + +<p> +No: that was too blind a hope. Many would take him at his word; all—all +save Lady Jocelyn! Rose the first! Because he stood so high with her now he +feared the fall. Ah, dazzling pinnacle! our darlings shoot us up on a wondrous +juggler’s pole, and we talk familiarly to the stars, and are so much +above everybody, and try to walk like creatures with two legs, forgetting that +we have but a pin’s point to stand on up there. Probably the absence of +natural motion inspires the prophecy that we must ultimately come down: our +unused legs wax morbidly restless. Evan thought it good that Rose should lift +her head to look at him; nevertheless, he knew that Rose would turn from him +the moment he descended from his superior station. Nature is wise in her young +children, though they wot not of it, and are always trying to rush away from +her. They escape their wits sooner than their instincts. +</p> + +<p> +But was not Rose involved in him, and part of him? Had he not sworn never to +renounce her? What was this but a betrayal? +</p> + +<p> +Go on, young man: fight your fight. The little imps pluck at you: the big giant +assails you: the seductions of the soft-mouthed siren are not wanting. Slacken +the knot an instant, and they will all have play. And the worst is, that you +may be wrong, and they may be right! For is it, can it be proper for you to +stain the silvery whiteness of your skin by plunging headlong into yonder +pitch-bath? Consider the defilement! Contemplate your hideous aspect on issuing +from that black baptism! +</p> + +<p> +As to the honour of your family, Mr. Evan Harrington, pray, of what sort of +metal consists the honour of a tailor’s family? +</p> + +<p> +One little impertinent imp ventured upon that question on his own account. The +clever beast was torn back and strangled instantaneously by his experienced +elders, but not before Evan’s pride had answered him. Exalted by Love, he +could dread to abase himself and strip off his glittering garments; lowered by +the world, he fell back upon his innate worth. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, he was called on to prove it; he was on his way to prove it. Surrendering +his dearest and his best, casting aside his dreams, his desires, his +aspirations, for this stern duty, he at least would know that he made himself +doubly worthy of her who abandoned him, and the world would scorn him by reason +of his absolute merit. Coming to this point, the knot of his resolve tightened +again; he hugged it with the furious zeal of a martyr. +</p> + +<p> +Religion, the lack of which in him the Countess deplored, would have guided him +and silenced the internal strife. But do not despise a virtue purely Pagan. The +young who can act readily up to the Christian light are happier, doubtless: but +they are led, they are passive: I think they do not make such capital +Christians subsequently. They are never in such danger, we know; but some in +the flock are more than sheep. The heathen ideal it is not so very easy to +attain, and those who mount from it to the Christian have, in my humble +thought, a firmer footing. +</p> + +<p> +So Evan fought his hard fight from the top of the stairs to the bottom. A +Pagan, which means our poor unsupported flesh, is never certain of his victory. +Now you will see him kneeling to his Gods, and anon drubbing them; or he makes +them fight for him, and is complacent at the issue. Evan had ceased to pick his +knot with one hand and pull it with the other: but not finding Lady Jocelyn +below, and hearing that she had retired for the night, he mounted the stairs, +and the strife recommenced from the bottom to the top. Strange to say, he was +almost unaware of any struggle going on within him. The suggestion of the +foolish little imp alone was loud in the heart of his consciousness; the rest +hung more in his nerves than in his brain. He thought: “Well, I will +speak it out to her in the morning”; and thought so sincerely, while an +ominous sigh of relief at the reprieve rose from his over-burdened bosom. +</p> + +<p> +Hardly had the weary deep breath taken flight, when the figure of Lady Jocelyn +was seen advancing along the corridor, with a lamp in her hand. She trod +heavily, in a kind of march, as her habit was; her large fully-open grey eyes +looking straight ahead. She would have passed him, and he would have let her +pass, but seeing the unusual pallor on her face, his love for this lady moved +him to step forward and express a hope that she had no present cause for +sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing her mother’s name, Lady Jocelyn was about to return a +conventional answer. Recognizing Evan, she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Mr. Harrington! Yes, I fear it’s as bad as it can be. She can +scarcely outlive the night.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he stood alone: his chance was gone. How could he speak to her in her +affliction? Her calm sedate visage had the beauty of its youth, when lighted by +the animation that attends meetings or farewells. In her bow to Evan, he beheld +a lovely kindness more unique, if less precious, than anything he had ever seen +on the face of Rose. Half exultingly, he reflected that no opportunity would be +allowed him now to teach that noble head and truest of human hearts to turn +from him: the clear-eyed morrow would come: the days of the future would be +bright as other days! +</p> + +<p> +Wrapped in the comfort of his cowardice, he started to see Lady Jocelyn +advancing to him again. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Harrington,” she said, “Rose tells me you leave us early +in the morning. I may as well shake your hand now. We part very good friends. I +shall always be glad to hear of you.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan pressed her hand, and bowed. “I thank you, madam,” was all he +could answer. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be better if you don’t write to Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was rather that of a request than an injunction. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no right to do so, my lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“She considers that you have: I wish her to have, a fair trial.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice quavered. The philosophic lady thought it time to leave him. +</p> + +<p> +“So good-bye. I can trust you without extracting a promise. If you ever +have need of a friend, you know you are at liberty to write to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are tired, my lady?” He put this question more to dally with +what he ought to be saying. +</p> + +<p> +“Tolerably. Your sister, the Countess, relieves me in the night. I fancy +my mother finds her the better nurse of the two.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn’s face lighted in its gracious pleasant way, as she just +inclined her head: but the mention of the Countess and her attendance on Mrs. +Bonner had nerved Evan: the contrast of her hypocrisy and vile scheming with +this most open, noble nature, acted like a new force within him. He begged Lady +Jocelyn’s permission to speak with her in private. Marking his fervid +appearance, she looked at him seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it really important?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot rest, madam, till it is spoken.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, it doesn’t pertain to the delirium? We may sleep upon +that.” +</p> + +<p> +He divined her sufficiently to answer: “It concerns a piece of injustice +done by you, madam, and which I can help you to set right.” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn stared somewhat. “Follow me into my dressing-room,” +she said, and led the way. +</p> + +<p> +Escape was no longer possible. He was on the march to execution, and into the +darkness of his brain danced John Raikes, with his grotesque tribulations. It +was the harsh savour of reality that conjured up this flighty being, who +probably never felt a sorrow or a duty. The farce Jack lived was all that +Evan’s tragic bitterness could revolve, and seemed to be the only light +in his mind. You might have seen a smile on his mouth when he was ready to ask +for a bolt from heaven to crush him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said her ladyship, and he found that the four walls enclosed +them, “what have I been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +She did not bid him be seated. Her brevity influenced him to speak to the +point. +</p> + +<p> +“You have dismissed Mr. Laxley, my lady: he is innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,”—a whirl of sensations beset the wretched youth, +“because I am guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +His words had run ahead of his wits; and in answer to Lady Jocelyn’s +singular exclamation he could but simply repeat them. +</p> + +<p> +Her head drew back; her face was slightly raised; she looked, as he had seen +her sometimes look at the Countess, with a sort of speculative amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“And why do you come to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“For the reason that I cannot allow you to be unjust, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth was your motive?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan stood silent, flinching from her frank eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well!” Her ladyship dropped into a chair, and thumped +her knees. +</p> + +<p> +There was lawyer’s blood in Lady Jocelyn’s veins: she had the +judicial mind. A confession was to her a confession. She tracked actions up to +a motive; but one who came voluntarily to confess needed no sifting. She had +the habit of treating things spoken as facts. +</p> + +<p> +“You absolutely wrote that letter to Mrs. Evremonde’s +husband!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan bowed, to avoid hearing his own lie. +</p> + +<p> +“You discovered his address and wrote to him, and imitated Mr. +Laxley’s handwriting, to effect the purpose you may have had?” +</p> + +<p> +Her credulity did require his confirmation of it, and he repeated: “It is +my deed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum! And you sent that premonitory slip of paper to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Mrs. Evremonde?” +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody else was the author of that, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is all on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, Mr. Harrington, I can only say that it’s quite right +you should quit this house to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Her ladyship commenced rocking in her chair, and then added: “May I ask, +have you madness in your family? No? Because when one can’t discern a +motive, it’s natural to ascribe certain acts to madness. Had Mrs. +Evremonde offended you? or Ferdinand—but one only hears of such practices +towards fortunate rivals, and now you have come to undo what you did! I must +admit, that taking the monstrousness of the act and the inconsequence of your +proceedings together, the whole affair becomes more incomprehensible to me than +it was before. Would it be unpleasant to you to favour me with +explanations?” +</p> + +<p> +She saw the pain her question gave him, and, passing it, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you need not be told that Rose must hear of this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Evan, “she must hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what that’s equivalent to? But, if you like, I will not +speak to her till you have left us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Instantly,” cried Evan. “Now—to-night! I would not +have her live a minute in a false estimate of me.” +</p> + +<p> +Had Lady Jocelyn’s intellect been as penetrating as it was masculine, she +would have taken him and turned him inside out in a very short time; for one +who would bear to see his love look coldly on him rather than endure a +minute’s false estimate of his character, and who could yet stoop to +concoct a vile plot, must either be mad or simulating the baseness for some +reason or other. She perceived no motive for the latter, and she held him to be +sound in the head, and what was spoken from the mouth she accepted. Perhaps, +also, she saw in the complication thus offered an escape for Rose, and was the +less inclined to elucidate it herself. But if her intellect was baffled, her +heart was unerring. A man proved guilty of writing an anonymous letter would +not have been allowed to stand long in her room. She would have shown him to +the door of the house speedily; and Evan was aware in his soul that he had not +fallen materially in her esteem. He had puzzled and confused her, and partly +because she had the feeling that this young man was entirely trustworthy, and +because she never relied on her feelings, she let his own words condemn him, +and did not personally discard him. In fact, she was a veritable philosopher. +She permitted her fellows to move the world on as they would, and had no other +passions in the contemplation of the show than a cultured audience will usually +exhibit. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange,—most strange! I thought I was getting old!” she +said, and eyed the culprit as judges generally are not wont to do. “It +will be a shock to Rose. I must tell you that I can’t regret it. I would +not have employed force with her, but I should have given her as strong a taste +of the world as it was in my power to give. Girls get their reason from +society. But, come! if you think you can make your case out better to her, you +shall speak to her first yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lady,” said Evan, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“You would rather not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I suppose, she’ll want to speak to you when she knows +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can take death from her hands, but I cannot slay myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The language was natural to his condition, though the note was pitched high. +Lady Jocelyn hummed till the sound of it was over, and an idea striking her, +she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, by the way, have you any tremendous moral notions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I have, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“People act on that mania sometimes, I believe. Do you think it an +outrage on decency for a wife to run away from a mad husband whom they +won’t shut up, and take shelter with a friend? Is that the cause? Mr. +Forth is an old friend of mine. I would trust my daughter with him in a desert, +and stake my hand on his honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lady Jocelyn!” cried Evan. “Would to God you might ever +have said that of me! Madam, I love you. I shall never see you again. I shall +never meet one to treat me so generously. I leave you, blackened in +character—you cannot think of me without contempt. I can never hope that +this will change. But, for your kindness let me thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +And as speech is poor where emotion is extreme—and he knew his own to be +especially so—he took her hand with petitioning eyes, and dropping on one +knee, reverentially kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn was human enough to like to be appreciated. She was a veteran +Pagan, and may have had the instinct that a peculiar virtue in this young one +was the spring of his conduct. She stood up and said: “Don’t forget +that you have a friend here.” +</p> + +<p> +The poor youth had to turn his head from her. +</p> + +<p> +“You wish that I should tell Rose what you have told me at once, Mr. +Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my lady; I beg that you will do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” +</p> + +<p> +And the queer look Lady Jocelyn had been wearing dimpled into absolute wonder. +A stranger to Love’s cunning, she marvelled why he should desire to +witness the scorn Rose would feel for him. +</p> + +<p> +“If she’s not asleep, then, she shall hear it now,” said her +ladyship. “You understand that it will be mentioned to no other +person.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except to Mr. Laxley, madam, to whom I shall offer the satisfaction he +may require. But I will undertake that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you think proper on that matter,” remarked her +philosophical ladyship, who held that man was a fighting animal, and must not +have his nature repressed. +</p> + +<p> +She lighted him part of the way, and then turned off to Rose’s chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Would Rose believe it of him? Love combated his dismal foreboding. Strangely, +too, now that he had plunged into his pitch-bath, the guilt seemed to cling to +him, and instead of hoping serenely, or fearing steadily, his spirit fell in a +kind of abject supplication to Rose, and blindly trusted that she would still +love even if she believed him base. In his weakness he fell so low as to pray +that she might love that crawling reptile who could creep into a house and +shrink from no vileness to win her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"></a> +CHAPTER XXXV.<br /> +ROSE WOUNDED</h2> + +<p> +The light of morning was yet cold along the passages of the house when Polly +Wheedle, hurrying to her young mistress, met her loosely dressed and with a +troubled face. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, Polly? I was coming to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, Miss Rose! and I was coming to you. Miss Bonner’s gone back to +her convulsions again. She’s had them all night. Her hair won’t +last till thirty, if she keeps on giving way to temper, as I tell her: and I +know that from a barber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tush, you stupid Polly! Does she want to see me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t suspect that, Miss. But you quiet her best, and I +thought I’d come to you. But, gracious!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose pushed past her without vouchsafing any answer to the look in her face, +and turned off to Juliana’s chamber, where she was neither welcomed nor +repelled. Juliana said she was perfectly well, and that Polly was foolishly +officious: whereupon Rose ordered Polly out of the room, and said to Juliana, +kindly: “You have not slept, dear, and I have not either. I am so +unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether Rose intended by this communication to make Juliana eagerly attentive, +and to distract her from her own affair, cannot be said, but something of the +effect was produced. +</p> + +<p> +“You care for him, too,” cried Rose, impetuously. “Tell me, +Juley: do you think him capable of any base action? Do you think he would do +what any gentleman would be ashamed to own? Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana looked at Rose intently, but did not reply. +</p> + +<p> +Rose jumped up from the bed. “You hesitate, Juley? What? Could you think +so?” +</p> + +<p> +Young women after a common game are shrewd. Juliana may have seen that Rose was +not steady on the plank she walked, and required support. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said, turning her cheek to her pillow. +</p> + +<p> +“What an answer!” Rose exclaimed. “Have you no opinion? What +did you say yesterday? It’s silent as the grave with me: but if you do +care for him, you must think one thing or the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not, then—no,” said Juliana. +</p> + +<p> +Repeating the languid words bitterly, Rose continued: +</p> + +<p> +“What is it to love without having faith in him you love? You make my +mind easier.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana caught the implied taunt, and said, fretfully: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ill. You’re so passionate. You don’t tell me what +it is. How can I answer you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Rose, moving to the door, wondering why she had +spoken at all: but when Juliana sprang forward, and caught her by the dress to +stop her, and with a most unwonted outburst of affection, begged of her to tell +her all, the wound in Rose’s breast began to bleed, and she was glad to +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Juley, do you—can you believe that he wrote that letter which poor +Ferdinand was—accused of writing?” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana appeared to muse, and then responded: “Why should he do such a +thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“O my goodness, what a girl!” Rose interjected. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, to please you, Rose, of course I think he is too +honourable.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do think so, Juley? But if he himself confessed it—what then? +You would not believe him, would you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, then I can’t say. Why should he condemn himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you would know—you would know that he was a man to suffer +death rather than be guilty of the smallest baseness. His birth—what is +that!” Rose filliped her fingers: “But his acts—what he is +himself you would be sure of, would you not? Dear Juley! Oh, for heaven’s +sake, speak out plainly to me.” +</p> + +<p> +A wily look had crept over Juliana’s features. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” she said, in a tone that belied it, and drawing Rose +to her bosom, the groan she heard there was passing sweet to her. +</p> + +<p> +“He has confessed it to Mama,” sobbed Rose. “Why did he not +come to me first? He has confessed it—the abominable thing has come out +of his own mouth. He went to her last night...” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana patted her shoulders regularly as they heaved. When words were +intelligible between them, Juliana said: +</p> + +<p> +“At least, dear, you must admit that he has redeemed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Redeemed it? Could he do less?” Rose dried her eyes vehemently, as +if the tears shamed her. “A man who could have let another suffer for his +crime—I could never have lifted my head again. I think I would have cut +off this hand that plighted itself to him! As it is, I hardly dare look at +myself. But you don’t think it, dear? You know it to be false! false! +false!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should Mr. Harrington confess it?” said Juliana. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t speak his name!” cried Rose. +</p> + +<p> +Her cousin smiled. “So many strange things happen,” she said, and +sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t sigh: I shall think you believe it!” cried Rose. An +appearance of constrained repose was assumed. Rose glanced up, studied for an +instant, and breathlessly uttered: “You do, you do believe it, +Juley?” +</p> + +<p> +For answer, Juliana hugged her with much warmth, and recommenced the patting. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say it’s a mistake,” she remarked. “He may have +been jealous of Ferdinand. You know I have not seen the letter. I have only +heard of it. In love, they say, you ought to excuse... And the want of +religious education! His sister...” +</p> + +<p> +Rose interrupted her with a sharp shudder. Might it not be possible that one +who had the same blood as the Countess would stoop to a momentary vileness. +</p> + +<p> +How changed was Rose from the haughty damsel of yesterday! +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think my lover could tell a lie?” “He—would not +love me long if <i>I</i> did!” +</p> + +<p> +These phrases arose and rang in Juliana’s ears while she pursued the task +of comforting the broken spirit that now lay prone on the bed, and now +impetuously paced the room. Rose had come thinking the moment Juliana’s +name was mentioned, that here was the one to fortify her faith in Evan: one +who, because she loved, could not doubt him. She moaned in a terror of +distrust, loathing her cousin: not asking herself why she needed support. And +indeed she was too young for much clear self-questioning, and her blood was +flowing too quickly for her brain to perceive more than one thing at a time. +</p> + +<p> +“Does your mother believe it?” said Juliana, evading a direct +assault. +</p> + +<p> +“Mama? She never doubts what you speak,” answered Rose, +disconsolately. +</p> + +<p> +“She does?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat Juliana looked most grave, and Rose felt that it was hard to breathe. +</p> + +<p> +She had grown very cold and calm, and Juliana had to be expansive unprovoked. +</p> + +<p> +“Believe nothing, dear, till you hear it from his own lips. If he can +look in your face and say that he did it... well, then! But of course he +cannot. It must be some wonderful piece of generosity to his rival.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I thought, Juley! so I thought,” cried Rose, at the new light, +and Juliana smiled contemptuously, and the light flickered and died, and all +was darker than before in the bosom of Rose. She had borne so much that this +new drop was poison. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it must be that, if it is anything,” Juliana pursued. +“You were made to be happy, Rose. And consider, if it is true, people of +very low birth, till they have lived long with other people, and if they have +no religion, are so very likely to do things. You do not judge them as you do +real gentlemen, and one must not be too harsh—I only wish to prepare you +for the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +A dim form of that very idea had passed through Rose, giving her small comfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him tell you with his own lips that what he has told your mother is +true, and then, and not till then, believe him,” Juliana concluded, and +they kissed kindly, and separated. Rose had suddenly lost her firm step, but no +sooner was Juliana alone than she left the bed, and addressed her visage to the +glass with brightening eyes, as one who saw the glimmer of young hope therein. +</p> + +<p> +“She love him! Not if he told me so ten thousand times would I believe +it! and before he has said a syllable she doubts him. Asking me in that frantic +way! as if I couldn’t see that she wanted me to help her to her faith in +him, as she calls it. Not name his name? Mr. Harrington! I may call him Evan: +some day!” +</p> + +<p> +Half-uttered, half-mused, the unconscious exclamations issued from her, and for +many a weary day since she had dreamed of love, and studied that which is said +to attract the creature, she had not been so glowingly elated or looked so much +farther in the glass than its pale reflection. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVI.<br /> +BEFORE BREAKFAST</h2> + +<p> +Cold through the night the dark-fringed stream had whispered under Evan’s +eyes, and the night breeze voiced “Fool, fool!” to him, not without +a distant echo in his heart. By symbols and sensations he knew that Rose was +lost to him. There was no moon: the water seemed aimless, passing on carelessly +to oblivion. Now and then, the trees stirred and talked, or a noise was heard +from the pastures. He had slain the life that lived in them, and the great +glory they were to bring forth, and the end to which all things moved. Had less +than the loss of Rose been involved, the young man might have found himself +looking out on a world beneath notice, and have been sighing for one more +worthy of his clouded excellence but the immense misery present to him in the +contemplation of Rose’s sad restrained contempt, saved him from the silly +elation which is the last, and generally successful, struggle of human nature +in those who can so far master it to commit a sacrifice. The loss of that brave +high young soul—Rose, who had lifted him out of the mire with her own +white hands: Rose, the image of all that he worshipped: Rose, so closely wedded +to him that to be cut away from her was to fall like pallid clay from the +soaring spirit: surely he was stunned and senseless when he went to utter the +words to her mother! Now that he was awake, and could feel his self-inflicted +pain, he marvelled at his rashness and foolishness, as perhaps numerous mangled +warriors have done for a time, when the battle-field was cool, and they were +weak, and the uproar of their jarred nerves has beset them, lying uncherished. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees he grew aware of a little consolatory touch, like the point of a +needle, in his consciousness. Laxley would certainly insult him! In that case +he would not refuse to fight him. The darkness broke and revealed this happy +prospect, and Evan held to it an hour, and could hardly reject it when better +thoughts conquered. For would it not be sweet to make the strength of his arm +respected? He took a stick, and ran his eye musingly along the length, trifling +with it grimly. The great Mel had been his son’s instructor in the +chivalrous science of fence, and a <i>maître d’armes</i> in Portugal had +given him polish. In Mel’s time duels with swords had been occasionally +fought, and Evan looked on the sword as the weapon of combat. Face to face with +his adversary—what then were birth or position? Action!—action! he +sighed for it, as I have done since I came to know that his history must be +morally developed. A glow of bitter pleasure exalted him when, after hot +passages, and parryings and thrusts, he had disarmed Ferdinand Laxley, and +bestowing on him his life, said: “Accept this worthy gift of the son of a +tailor!” and he wiped his sword, haply bound up his wrist, and stalked +off the ground, the vindicator of man’s natural dignity. And then he +turned upon himself with laughter, discovering a most wholesome power, barely +to be suspected in him yet; but of all the children of glittering Mel and his +solid mate, Evan was the best mixed compound of his parents. +</p> + +<p> +He put the stick back in its corner and eyed his wrist, as if he had really +just gone through the pretty scene he had just laughed at. It was nigh upon +reality, for it suggested the employment of a handkerchief, and he went to a +place and drew forth one that had the stain of his blood on it, and the name of +Rose at one end. The beloved name was half-blotted by the dull-red mark, and at +that sight a strange tenderness took hold of Evan. His passions became dead and +of old date. This, then, would be his for ever! Love, for whom earth had been +too small, crept exultingly into a nut-shell. He clasped the treasure on his +breast, and saw a life beyond his parting with her. +</p> + +<p> +Strengthened thus, he wrote by the morning light to Laxley. The letter was +brief, and said simply that the act of which Laxley had been accused, Evan +Harrington was responsible for. The latter expressed regret that Laxley should +have fallen under a false charge, and, at the same time, indicated that if +Laxley considered himself personally aggrieved, the writer was at his disposal. +</p> + +<p> +A messenger had now to be found to convey it to the village-inn. Footmen were +stirring about the house, and one meeting Evan close by his door, observed with +demure grin, that he could not find the gentleman’s nether-garments. The +gentleman, it appeared, was Mr. John Raikes, who according to report, had been +furnished with a bed at the house, because of a discovery, made at a late +period over-night, that farther the gentleman could not go. Evan found him +sleeping soundly. How much the poor youth wanted a friend! Fortune had given +him instead a born buffoon; and it is perhaps the greatest evil of a position +like Evan’s, that, with cultured feelings, you are likely to meet with +none to know you. Society does not mix well in money-pecking spheres. Here, +however, was John Raikes, and Evan had to make the best of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” yawned Jack, awakened; “I was dreaming I was Napoleon +Bonaparte’s right-hand man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to be mine for half-an-hour,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Without replying, the distinguished officer jumped out of bed at a bound, +mounted a chair, and peered on tip-toe over the top, from which, with a glance +of self-congratulation, he pulled the missing piece of apparel, sighed +dejectedly as he descended, while he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Safe! but no distinction can compensate a man for this state of +intolerable suspicion of everybody. I assure you, Harrington, I wouldn’t +be Napoleon himself—and I have always been his peculiar admirer—to +live and be afraid of my valet! I believe it will develop cancer sooner or +later in me. I feel singular pains already. Last night, after crowning +champagne with ale, which produced a sort of French Revolution in my +interior—by the way, that must have made me dream of Napoleon last night, +with my lower members in revolt against my head, I had to sit and cogitate for +hours on a hiding-place for these—call them what you will. Depend upon +it, Harrington, this world is no such funny affair as we fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it is true, that you could let a man play pranks on you,” +said Evan. “I took it for one of your jokes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as I can’t believe that you’re a tailor,” +returned Jack. “It’s not a bit more extraordinary.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Jack, if you cause yourself to be contemptible——” +</p> + +<p> +“Contemptible!” cried Jack. “This is not the tone I like. +Contemptible! why it’s my eccentricity among my equals. If I dread the +profane vulgar, that only proves that I’m above them. <i>Odi</i>, etc. +Besides, Achilles had his weak point, and egad, it was when he faced about! By +Jingo! I wish I’d had that idea yesterday. I should have behaved +better.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan could see that the creature was beginning to rely desperately on his +humour. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said, “be a man to-day. Throw off your motley. +When I met you that night so oddly, you had been acting like a worthy fellow, +trying to earn your bread in the best way you could—” +</p> + +<p> +“And precisely because I met you, of all men, I’ve been going round +and round ever since,” said Jack. “A clown or pantaloon would have +given me balance. Say no more. You couldn’t help it. We met because we +were the two extremes.” +</p> + +<p> +Sighing, “What a jolly old inn!” Raikes rolled himself over in the +sheets, and gave two or three snug jolts indicative of his determination to be +comfortable while he could. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you intend to carry on this folly, Jack?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, sacrifice,” was the answer. “I feel it as much as you +possibly could, Mr. Harrington. Hear the facts,” Jack turned round again. +“Why did I consent to this absurdity? Because of my ambition. That old +fellow, whom I took to be a clerk of Messrs. Grist, said: ‘You want to +cut a figure in the world—you’re armed now.’ A sort of +Fortunatus’s joke. It was his way of launching me. But did he think I +intended this for more than a lift? I his puppet? He, sir, was my tool! Well, I +came. All my efforts were strained to shorten the period of penance. I had the +best linen, and put on captivating manners. I should undoubtedly have won some +girl of station, and cast off my engagement like an old suit, but just +mark!—now mark how Fortune tricks us! After the pic-nic yesterday, the +domestics of the house came to clear away, and the band being there, I stopped +them and bade them tune up, and at the same time seizing the maid Wheedle, away +we flew. We danced, we whirled, we twirled. Ale upon this! My head was lost. +‘Why don’t it last for ever?’ says I. ‘I wish it +did,’ says she. The naivete enraptured me. ‘Oooo!’ I cried, +hugging her, and then, you know, there was no course open to a man of honour +but to offer marriage and make a lady of her. I proposed: she accepted me, and +here I am, eternally tied to this accurst insignia, if I’m to keep my +promise! Isn’t that a sacrifice, friend H.? There’s no course open +to me. The poor girl is madly in love. She called me a ‘rattle!’ As +a gentleman, I cannot recede.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan got up and burst into damnable laughter at this burlesque of himself. +Telling the fellow the service he required, and receiving a groaning assurance +that the letter should, without loss of time, be delivered in proper style, the +egoist, as Jack heartily thought him, fell behind his; knitted brows, and, +after musing abstractedly, went forth to light upon his fate. +</p> + +<p> +But a dread of meeting had seized both Rose and Evan. She had exhausted her +first sincerity of unbelief in her interview with Juliana: and he had begun to +consider what he could say to her. More than the three words “I did +it,” would not be possible; and if she made him repeat them, facing her +truthful eyes, would he be man enough to strike her bared heart twice? And, ah! +the sullen brute he must seem, standing before her dumb, hearing her sigh, +seeing her wretched effort not to show how unwillingly her kind spirit despised +him. The reason for the act—she would ask for that! Rose would not be so +philosophic as her mother. She would grasp at every chance to excuse the deed. +He cried out against his scheming sister in an agony, and while he did so, +encountered Miss Carrington and Miss Bonner in deep converse. Juliana pinched +her arm, whereupon Miss Carrington said: “You look merry this morning, +Mr. Harrington”: for he was unawares smiling at the image of himself in +the mirror of John Raikes. That smile, transformed to a chuckling grimace, +travelled to Rose before they met. +</p> + +<p> +Why did she not come to him? +</p> + +<p> +A soft voice at his elbow made his blood stop. It was Caroline. She kissed him, +answering his greeting: “Is it good morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said he. “By the way, don’t forget that +the coach leaves early.” +</p> + +<p> +“My darling Evan! you make me so happy. For it was really a mistaken +sense of honour. For what can at all excuse a falsehood, you know, Evan!” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline took his arm, and led him into the sun, watching his face at times. +Presently she said: “I want just to be assured that you thought more +wisely than when you left us last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“More wisely?” Evan turned to her with a playful smile. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear brother! you did not do what you said you would do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever known me not to do what I said I would do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Evan! Good heaven! you did it? Then how can you remain here an instant? +Oh, no, no!—say no, darling!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Louisa?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“She is in her room. She will never appear at breakfast, if she knows +this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps more solitude would do her good,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember, if this should prove true, think how you punish her!” +</p> + +<p> +On that point Evan had his own opinion. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall never have to punish you in this way, my love,” he +said fondly, and Caroline dropped her eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think that I am blaming her,” he added, trying to feel +as honestly as he spoke. “I was mad to come here. I see it all now. Let +us keep to our place. We are all the same before God till we disgrace +ourselves.” Possibly with that sense of shame which some young people +have who are not professors of sounding sentences, or affected by missionary +zeal, when they venture to breathe the holy name, Evan blushed, and walked on +humbly silent. Caroline murmured: “Yes, yes! oh, brother!” and her +figure drew to him as if for protection. Pale, she looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you always love me, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom else have I to love?” +</p> + +<p> +“But always—always? Under any circumstances?” +</p> + +<p> +“More and more, dear. I always have, and shall. I look to you now. I have +no home but in your heart now.” +</p> + +<p> +She was agitated, and he spoke warmly to calm her. +</p> + +<p> +The throb of deep emotion rang in her rich voice. “I will live any life +to be worthy of your love, Evan,” and she wept. +</p> + +<p> +To him they were words and tears without a history. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing further passed between them. Caroline went to the Countess: Evan waited +for Rose. The sun was getting high. The face of the stream glowed like metal. +Why did she not come? She believed him guilty from the mouth of another? If so, +there was something less for him to lose. And now the sacrifice he had made did +whisper a tale of mortal magnificence in his ears: feelings that were not his +noblest stood up exalted. He waited till the warm meadow-breath floating past +told that the day had settled into heat, and then he waited no more, but +quietly walked into the house with the strength of one who has conquered more +than human scorn. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVII.<br /> +THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY</h2> + +<p> +Never would the Countess believe that brother of hers, idiot as by nature he +might be, and heir to unnumbered epithets, would so far forget what she had +done for him, as to drag her through the mud for nothing: and so she told +Caroline again and again, vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +It was about ten minutes before the time for descending to the breakfast-table. +She was dressed, and sat before the glass, smoothing her hair, and applying the +contents of a pot of cold cream to her forehead between-whiles. With perfect +sincerity she repeated that she could not believe it. She had only trusted Evan +once since their visit to Beckley; and that this once he should, when treated +as a man, turn traitor to their common interests, and prove himself an utter +baby, was a piece of nonsense her great intelligence indignantly rejected. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if true,” she answered Caroline’s assurances finally, +“if true, he is not his father’s son!” +</p> + +<p> +By which it may be seen that she had indeed taken refuge in the Castle of +Negation against the whole army of facts. +</p> + +<p> +“He is acting, Carry. He is acting the ideas of his ridiculous empty +noddle!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Caroline, mournfully, “he is not. I have never +known Evan to lie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must forget the whipping he once had from his +mother—little dolt! little selfish pig! He obtains his reputation +entirely from his abominable selfishness, and then stands tall, and asks us to +admire him. He bursts with vanity. But if you lend your credence to it, Carry, +how, in the name of goodness, are you to appear at the breakfast? +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to ask you whether you would come,” said Caroline, +coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“If I can get my hair to lie flat by any means at all, of course!” +returned the Countess. “This dreadful horrid country pomade! Why did we +not bring a larger stock of the Andalugian Regenerator? Upon my honour, my +dear, you use a most enormous quantity; I must really tell you that.” +</p> + +<p> +Conning here entered to say that Mr. Evan had given orders for the boxes to be +packed and everything got ready to depart by half-past eleven o’clock, +when the fly would call for them and convey them to Fallowfield in time to +meet the coach for London. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess turned her head round to Caroline like an astonished automaton. +</p> + +<p> +“Given orders!” she interjected. +</p> + +<p> +“I have very little to get ready,” remarked Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“Be so good as to wait outside the door one instant,” said the +Countess to Conning, with particular urbanity. +</p> + +<p> +Conning heard a great deal of vigorous whispering within, and when summoned to +re-appear, a note was handed to her to convey to Mr. Harrington immediately. He +was on the lawn; read it, and wrote back three hasty lines in pencil. +</p> + +<p> +“Louisa. You have my commands to quit this house, at the hour named, this +day. You will go with me. E. H.” +</p> + +<p> +Conning was again requested to wait outside the Countess’s door. She was +the bearer of another note. Evan read it likewise; tore it up, and said that +there was no answer. +</p> + +<p> +The Castle of Negation held out no longer. Ruthless battalions poured over the +walls, blew up the Countess’s propriety, made frightful ravages in her +complexion. Down fell her hair. +</p> + +<p> +“You cannot possibly go to breakfast,” said Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“I must! I must!” cried the Countess. “Why, my dear, if he +has done it—wretched creature! don’t you perceive that, by +withholding our presences, we become implicated with him?” And the +Countess, from a burst of frenzy, put this practical question so shrewdly, that +Caroline’s wits succumbed to her. +</p> + +<p> +“But he has not done it; he is acting!” she pursued, restraining +her precious tears for higher purposes, as only true heroines can. +“Thinks to frighten me into submission!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not think Evan is right in wishing us to leave, +after—after—” Caroline humbly suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, before my venerable friend has departed this life,” the +Countess took her up. “No, I do not. If he is a fool, I am not. No, +Carry: I do not jump into ditches for nothing. I will have something tangible +for all that I have endured. We are now tailors in this place, remember. If +that stigma is affixed to us, let us at least be remunerated for it. +Come.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline’s own hard struggle demanded all her strength yet she appeared +to hesitate. “You will surely not disobey Evan, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Disobey?” The Countess amazedly dislocated the syllables. +“Why, the boy will be telling you next that he will not permit the Duke +to visit you! Just your English order of mind, that +cannot—brutes!—conceive of friendship between high-born men and +beautiful women. Beautiful as you truly are, Carry, five years more will tell +on you. But perhaps my dearest is in a hurry to return to her Maxwell? At least +he thwacks well!” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline’s arm was taken. The Countess loved an occasional rhyme when a +point was to be made, and went off nodding and tripping till the time for +stateliness arrived, near the breakfast-room door. She indeed was acting. At +the bottom of her heart there was a dismal rage of passions: hatred of those +who would or might look tailor in her face: terrors concerning the possible +re-visitation of the vengeful Sir Abraham: dread of Evan and the efforts to +despise him: the shocks of many conflicting elements. Above it all her +countenance was calmly, sadly sweet: even as you may behold some majestic +lighthouse glimmering over the tumult of a midnight sea. +</p> + +<p> +An unusual assemblage honoured the breakfast that morning. The news of Mrs. +Bonner’s health was more favourable. How delighted was the Countess to +hear that! Mrs. Bonner was the only firm ground she stood on there, and after +receiving and giving gentle salutes, she talked of Mrs. Bonner, and her +night-watch by the sick bed, in a spirit of doleful hope. This passed off the +moments till she could settle herself to study faces. Decidedly, every lady +present looked glum, with the single exception of Miss Current. Evan was by +Lady Jocelyn’s side. Her ladyship spoke to him; but the Countess observed +that no one else did. To herself, however, the gentlemen were as attentive as +ever. Evan sat three chairs distant from her. +</p> + +<p> +If the traitor expected his sister to share in his disgrace, by noticing him, +he was in error. On the contrary, the Countess joined the conspiracy to exclude +him, and would stop a mild laugh if perchance he looked up. Presently Rose +entered. She said “Good morning” to one or two, and glided into a +seat. +</p> + +<p> +That Evan was under Lady Jocelyn’s protection soon became generally +apparent, and also that her ladyship was angry: an exhibition so rare with her +that it was the more remarked. Rose could see that she was a culprit in her +mother’s eyes. She glanced from Evan to her. Lady Jocelyn’s mouth +shut hard. The girl’s senses then perceived the something that was afloat +at the table; she thought with a pang of horror: “Has Juliana +told?” Juliana smiled on her; but the aspect of Mrs. Shorne, and of Miss +Carrington, spoke for their knowledge of that which must henceforth be the +perpetual reproof to her headstrong youth. +</p> + +<p> +“At what hour do you leave us?” said Lady Jocelyn to Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“When I leave the table, my lady. The fly will call for my sisters at +half-past eleven.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no necessity for you to start in advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going over to see my mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose burned to speak to him now. Oh! why had she delayed! Why had she swerved +from her good rule of open, instant explanations? But Evan’s heart was +stern to his love. Not only had she, by not coming, shown her doubt of +him,—she had betrayed him! +</p> + +<p> +Between the Countess, Melville, Sir John, and the Duke, an animated dialogue +was going on, over which Miss Current played like a lively iris. They could not +part with the Countess. Melville said he should be left stranded, and numerous +pretty things were uttered by other gentlemen: by the women not a word. +Glancing from certain of them lingeringly to her admirers, the Countess smiled +her thanks, and then Andrew, pressed to remain, said he was willing and happy, +and so forth; and it seemed that her admirers had prevailed over her +reluctance, for the Countess ended her little protests with a vanquished bow. +Then there was a gradual rising from table. Evan pressed Lady Jocelyn’s +hand, and turning from her bent his head to Sir Franks, who, without offering +an exchange of cordialities, said, at arm’s length: “Good-bye, +sir.” Melville also gave him that greeting stiffly. Harry was perceived +to rush to the other end of the room, in quest of a fly apparently. Poor +Caroline’s heart ached for her brother, to see him standing there in the +shadow of many faces. But he was not left to stand alone. Andrew quitted the +circle of Sir John, Seymour Jocelyn, Mr. George Uplift, and others, and linked +his arm to Evan’s. Rose had gone. While Evan looked for her despairingly +to say his last word and hear her voice once more, Sir Franks said to his wife: +</p> + +<p> +“See that Rose keeps up-stairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to speak to her,” was her ladyship’s answer, and she +moved to the door. +</p> + +<p> +Evan made way for her, bowing. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be ready at half-past eleven, Louisa,” he said, with calm +distinctness, and passed from that purgatory. +</p> + +<p> +Now honest Andrew attributed the treatment Evan met with to the exposure of +yesterday. He was frantic with democratic disgust. +</p> + +<p> +“Why the devil don’t they serve me like that; eh? ’Cause I +got a few coppers! There, Van! I’m a man of peace; but if you’ll +call any man of ’em out I’ll stand your second—’pon my +soul, I will. They must be cowards, so there isn’t much to fear. Confound +the fellows, I tell ’em every day I’m the son of a cobbler, and +egad, they grow civiller. What do they mean? Are cobblers ranked over +tailors?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps that’s it,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Hang your gentlemen!” Andrew cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us have breakfast first,” uttered a melancholy voice near them +in the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Jack!” said Evan. “Where have you been?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know the breakfast-room,” Jack returned, “and +the fact is, my spirits are so down, I couldn’t muster up courage to ask +one of the footmen. I delivered your letter. Nothing hostile took place. I +bowed fiercely to let him know what he might expect. That generally stops it. +You see, I talk prose. I shall never talk anything else!” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew recommenced his jests of yesterday with Jack. The latter bore them +patiently, as one who had endured worse. +</p> + +<p> +“She has rejected me!” he whispered to Evan. “Talk of the +ingratitude of women! Ten minutes ago I met her. She perked her eyebrows at +me!—tried to run away. ‘Miss Wheedle’: I said. ‘If you +please, I’d rather not,’ says she. To cut it short, the sacrifice I +made to her was the cause. It’s all over the house. She gave the most +excruciating hint. Those low-born females are so horribly indelicate. I stood +confounded.” +</p> + +<p> +Commending his new humour, Evan persuaded him to breakfast immediately, and +hunger being one of Jack’s solitary incitements to a sensible course of +conduct, the disconsolate gentleman followed its dictates. “Go with him, +Andrew,” said Evan. “He is here as my friend, and may be made +uncomfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,—ha! ha! I’ll follow the poor chap,” said +Andrew. “But what is it all about? Louisa won’t go, you know. Has +the girl given you up because she saw your mother, Van? I thought it was all +right. Why the deuce are you running away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve just seen that I ought never to have come, I +suppose,” Evan replied, controlling the wretched heaving of his chest. +</p> + +<p> +“But Louisa won’t go, Van.” +</p> + +<p> +“Understand, my dear Andrew, that I know it to be quite imperative. Be +ready yourself with Caroline. Louisa will then make her choice. Pray help me in +this. We must not stay a minute more than is necessary in this house.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an awful duty,” breathed Andrew, after a pause. +“I see nothing but hot water at home. Why—but it’s no use +asking questions. My love to your mother. I say, Van,—now isn’t +Lady Jocelyn a trump?” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless her!” said Evan. And the moisture in Andrew’s eyes +affected his own. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s the staunchest piece of woman-goods I ever—I know a +hundred cases of her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know one, and that’s enough,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Not a sign of Rose! Can Love die without its dear farewell on which it feeds, +away from the light, dying by bits? In Evan’s heart Love seemed to die, +and all the pangs of a death were there as he trod along the gravel and stepped +beneath the gates of Beckley Court. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the gallant Countess was not in any way disposed to retreat on account +of Evan’s defection. The behaviour toward him at the breakfast-table +proved to her that he had absolutely committed his egregious folly, and as no +General can have concert with a fool, she cut him off from her affections +resolutely. Her manifest disdain at his last speech, said as much to everybody +present. Besides, the lady was in her element here, and compulsion is required +to make us relinquish our element. Lady Jocelyn certainly had not expressly +begged of her to remain: the Countess told Melville so, who said that if she +required such an invitation she should have it, but that a guest to whom they +were so much indebted, was bound to spare them these formalities. +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess turned piteously to the diplomatist’s wife. +</p> + +<p> +She answered, retiringly: “Indeed I cannot say.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon this, the Countess accepted Melville’s arm, and had some thoughts of +punishing the woman. +</p> + +<p> +They were seen parading the lawn. Mr. George Uplift chuckled singularly. +</p> + +<p> +“Just the old style,” he remarked, but corrected the inadvertence +with a “hem!” committing himself more shamefully the instant after. +“I’ll wager she has the old Dip. down on his knee before she +cuts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bet can’t be taken,” observed Sir John Loring. “It +requires a spy.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry, however, had heard the remark, and because he wished to speak to her, +let us hope, and reproach her for certain things when she chose to be +disengaged, he likewise sallied out, being forlorn as a youth whose sweet +vanity is much hurt. +</p> + +<p> +The Duke had paired off with Mrs. Strike. The lawn was fair in sunlight where +they walked. The air was rich with harvest smells, and the scent of autumnal +roses. Caroline was by nature luxurious and soft. The thought of that drilled +figure to which she was returning in bondage, may have thrown into bright +relief the polished and gracious nobleman who walked by her side, shadowing +forth the chances of a splendid freedom. Two lovely tears fell from her eyes. +The Duke watched them quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, they make me jealous?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline answered him with a faint smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Reassure me, my dear lady; you are not going with your brother this +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Grace, I have no choice!” +</p> + +<p> +“May I speak to you as your warmest friend? From what I hear, it appears +to be right that your brother should not stay. To the best of my ability I will +provide for him: but I sincerely desire to disconnect you from those who are +unworthy of you. Have you not promised to trust in me? Pray, let me be your +guide.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline replied to the heart of his words: “I dare not.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has changed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not changed, but awakened,” said Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +The Duke paced on in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me if I comprehend nothing of such a change,” he resumed. +“I asked you to sacrifice much; all that I could give in return I +offered. Is it the world you fear?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the world to such as I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you consider it a duty to deliver yourself bound to that man +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven pardon me, my lord, I think of that too little!” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke’s next question: “Then what can it be?” stood in his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Caroline’s touch quivered on his arm, “Do not +suppose me frivolous, ungrateful, or—or cowardly. For myself you have +offered more happiness than I could have hoped for. To be allied to one so +generous, I could bear anything. Yesterday you had my word: give it me back +to-day!” +</p> + +<p> +Very curiously the Duke gazed on her, for there was evidence of internal +torture across her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“I may at least beg to know the cause for this request?” +</p> + +<p> +She quelled some throbbing in her bosom. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He waited, and she said: “There is one—if I offended him, I could +not live. If now I followed my wishes, he would lose his faith in the last +creature that loves him. He is unhappy. I could bear what is called disgrace, +my lord—I shudder to say it—I could sin against heaven; but I dare +not do what would make him despise me.” +</p> + +<p> +She was trembling violently; yet the nobleman, in his surprise, could not +forbear from asking who this person might be, whose influence on her righteous +actions was so strong. +</p> + +<p> +“It is my brother, my lord,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Still more astonished, “Your brother!” the Duke exclaimed. +“My dearest lady, I would not wound you; but is not this a delusion? We +are so placed that we must speak plainly. Your brother I have reason to feel +sure is quite unworthy of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unworthy? My brother Evan? Oh! he is noble, he is the best of +men!” +</p> + +<p> +“And how, between yesterday and to-day, has he changed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is that yesterday I did not know him, and to-day I do.” +</p> + +<p> +Her brother, a common tradesman, a man guilty of forgery and the utmost +baseness—all but kicked out of the house! The Duke was too delicate to +press her further. Moreover, Caroline had emphasized the +“yesterday” and “to-day,” showing that the interval +which had darkened Evan to everybody else, had illumined him to her. He +employed some courtly eloquence, better unrecorded; but if her firm resolution +perplexed him, it threw a strange halo round the youth from whom it sprang. +</p> + +<p> +The hour was now eleven, and the Countess thought it full time to retire to her +entrenchment in Mrs. Bonner’s chamber. She had great things still to do: +vast designs were in her hand awaiting the sanction of Providence. Alas! that +little idle promenade was soon to be repented. She had joined her sister, +thinking it safer to have her upstairs till they were quit of Evan. The Duke +and the diplomatist loitering in the rear, these two fair women sailed across +the lawn, conscious, doubtless, over all their sorrows and schemes, of the +freight of beauty they carried. +</p> + +<p> +What meant that gathering on the steps? It was fortuitous, like everything +destined to confound us. There stood Lady Jocelyn with Andrew, fretting his +pate. Harry leant against a pillar, Miss Carrington, Mrs. Shorne, and Mrs. +Melville, supported by Mr. George Uplift, held watchfully by. Juliana, with +Master Alec and Miss Dorothy, were in the background. +</p> + +<p> +Why did our General see herself cut off from her stronghold, as by a hostile +band? She saw it by that sombre light in Juliana’s eyes, which had shown +its ominous gleam whenever disasters were on the point of unfolding. +</p> + +<p> +Turning to Caroline, she said: “Is there a back way?” +</p> + +<p> +Too late! Andrew called. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, Louisa, Just time, and no more. Carry, are you +packed?” +</p> + +<p> +This in reality was the first note of the retreat from Beckley; and having +blown it, the hideous little trumpeter burst into scarlet perspirations, +mumbling to Lady Jocelyn: “Now, my lady, mind you stand by me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess walked straight up to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Andrew! this sun is too powerful for you. I beg you, withdraw into +the shade of the house.” +</p> + +<p> +She was about to help him with all her gentleness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes. All right, Louisa,” rejoined Andrew. “Come, go and +pack. The fly’ll be here, you know—too late for the coach, if you +don’t mind, my lass. Ain’t you packed yet?” +</p> + +<p> +The horrible fascination of vulgarity impelled the wretched lady to answer: +“Are we herrings?” And then she laughed, but without any +accompaniment. +</p> + +<p> +“I am now going to dear Mrs. Bonner,” she said, with a tender +glance at Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother is sleeping,” her ladyship remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Carry, my darling!” cried Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline looked at her sister. The Countess divined Andrew’s shameful +trap. +</p> + +<p> +“I was under an engagement to go and canvass this afternoon,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my dear Louisa, we’ve settled that in here this +morning,” said Andrew. “Old Tom only stuck up a puppet to play +with. We’ve knocked him over, and march in victorious—eh, my +lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed the Countess, “if Mr. Raikes shall indeed +have listened to my inducements!” +</p> + +<p> +“Deuce a bit of inducements!” returned Andrew. “The +fellow’s ashamed of himself—ha! ha! Now then, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +While they talked, Juliana had loosed Dorothy and Alec, and these imps were +seen rehearsing a remarkable play, in which the damsel held forth a hand and +the cavalier advanced and kissed it with a loud smack, being at the same time +reproached for his lack of grace. +</p> + +<p> +“You are so English!” cried Dorothy, with perfect languor, and a +malicious twitter passed between two or three. Mr. George spluttered +indiscreetly. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess observed the performance. Not to convert the retreat into a total +rout, she, with that dark flush which was her manner of blushing, took formal +leave of Lady Jocelyn, who, in return, simply said: “Good-bye, +Countess.” Mrs. Strike’s hand she kindly shook. +</p> + +<p> +The few digs and slaps and thrusts at gloomy Harry and prim Miss Carrington and +boorish Mr. George, wherewith the Countess, torn with wrath, thought it +necessary to cover her retreat, need not be told. She struck the weak alone: +Juliana she respected. Masterly tactics, for they showed her power, gratified +her vengeance, and left her unassailed. On the road she had Andrew to tear to +pieces. O delicious operation! And O shameful brother to reduce her to such +joys! And, O Providence! may a poor desperate soul, betrayed through her +devotion, unremunerated for her humiliation and absolute hard work, accuse +thee? The Countess would have liked to. She felt it to be the instigation of +the devil, and decided to remain on the safe side still. +</p> + +<p> +Happily for Evan, she was not ready with her packing by half-past eleven. It +was near twelve when he, pacing in front of the inn, observed Polly Wheedle, +followed some yards in the rear by John Raikes, advancing towards him. Now +Polly had been somewhat delayed by Jack’s persecutions, and Evan +declining to attend to the masked speech of her mission, which directed him to +go at once down a certain lane in the neighbourhood of the park, some minutes +were lost. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Harrington,” said Polly, “it’s Miss Rose: +she’s had leave from her Ma. Can you stop away, when it’s quite +proper?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan hesitated. Before he could conquer the dark spirit, lo, Rose appeared, +walking up the village street. Polly and her adorer fell back. +</p> + +<p> +Timidly, unlike herself, Rose neared him. +</p> + +<p> +“I have offended you, Evan. You would not come to me: I have come to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to be able to say good-bye to you, Rose,” was his pretty +response. +</p> + +<p> +Could she have touched his hand then, the blood of these lovers rushing to one +channel must have made all clear. At least he could hardly have struck her true +heart with his miserable lie. But that chance was lost: they were in the +street, where passions have no play. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, Evan,—it is not true.” +</p> + +<p> +He, refining on his misery, thought, She would not ask it if she trusted me: +and answered her: “You have heard it from your mother, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I will not believe it from any lips but yours, Evan. Oh, speak, +speak!” +</p> + +<p> +It pleased him to think: How could one who loved me believe it even then? +</p> + +<p> +He said: “It can scarcely do good to make me repeat it, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, seeing her dear bosom heave quickly, he was tempted to fall on his +knees to her with a wild outcry of love. The chance was lost. The inexorable +street forbade it. +</p> + +<p> +There they stood in silence, gasping at the barrier that divided them. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a noise was heard. “Stop! stop!” cried the voice of John +Raikes. “When a lady and gentleman are talking together, sir, do you lean +your long ears over them—ha?” +</p> + +<p> +Looking round, Evan beheld Laxley a step behind, and Jack rushing up to him, +seizing his collar, and instantly undergoing ignominious prostration for his +heroic defence of the privacy of lovers. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand aside”; said Laxley, imperiously. “Rosey so +you’ve come for me. Take my arm. You are under my protection.” +</p> + +<p> +Another forlorn “Is it true?” Rose cast toward Evan with her eyes. +He wavered under them. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you receive my letter?” he demanded of Laxley. +</p> + +<p> +“I decline to hold converse with you,” said Laxley, drawing +Rose’s hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You will meet me to-day or to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am in the habit of selecting my own company.” +</p> + +<p> +Rose disengaged her hand. Evan grasped it. No word of farewell was uttered. Her +mouth moved, but her eyes were hard shut, and nothing save her hand’s +strenuous pressure, equalling his own, told that their parting had been spoken, +the link violently snapped. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. John Raikes had been picked up and pulled away by Polly. She now rushed to +Evan: “Good-bye, and God bless you, dear Mr. Harrington. I’ll find +means of letting you know how she is. And he shan’t have her, +mind!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose was walking by Laxley’s side, but not leaning on his arm. Evan +blessed her for this. Ere she was out of sight the fly rolled down the street. +She did not heed it, did not once turn her head. Ah, bitter unkindness! +</p> + +<p> +When Love is hurt, it is self-love that requires the opiate. Conning gave it +him in the form of a note in a handwriting not known to him. It said: +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“I do not believe it, and nothing will ever make me.<br/> +“JULIANA.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan could not forget these words. They coloured his farewell to Beckley: the +dear old downs, the hopgardens, the long grey farms walled with clipped yew, +the home of his lost love! He thought of them through weary nights when the +ghostly image with the hard shut eyelids and the quivering lips would rise and +sway irresolutely in air till a shape out of the darkness extinguished it. +Pride is the God of Pagans. Juliana had honoured his God. The spirit of Juliana +seemed to pass into the body of Rose, and suffer for him as that ghostly image +visibly suffered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br /> +IN WHICH WE HAVE TO SEE IN THE DARK</h2> + +<p> +So ends the fourth act of our comedy. +</p> + +<p> +After all her heroism and extraordinary efforts, after, as she feared, +offending Providence—after facing Tailordom—the Countess was rolled +away in a dingy fly unrewarded even by a penny, for what she had gone through. +For she possessed eminently the practical nature of her sex; and though she +would have scorned, and would have declined to handle coin so base, its absence +was upbraidingly mentioned in her spiritual outcries. Not a penny! +</p> + +<p> +Nor was there, as in the miseries of retreat she affected indifferently to +imagine, a Duke fished out of the ruins of her enterprise, to wash the mud off +her garments and edge them with radiance. Caroline, it became clear to her, had +been infected by Evan’s folly. Caroline, she subsequently learnt, had +likewise been a fool. Instead of marvelling at the genius that had done so much +in spite of the pair of fools that were the right and left wing of her battle +array, the simple-minded lady wept. She wanted success, not genius. Admiration +she was ever ready to forfeit for success. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did she say to the tailors of earth: “Weep, for I sought to +emancipate you from opprobrium by making one of you a gentleman; I fought for a +great principle and have failed.” Heroic to the end, she herself shed all +the tears; took all the sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Where was consolation? Would any Protestant clergyman administer comfort to +her? Could he? might he do so? He might listen, and quote texts; but he would +demand the harsh rude English for everything; and the Countess’s +confessional thoughts were all innuendoish, aerial; too delicate to live in our +shameless tongue. Confession by implication, and absolution; she could know +this to be what she wished for, and yet not think it. She could see a haven of +peace in that picture of the little brown box with the sleekly reverend figure +bending his ear to the kneeling Beauty outside, thrice ravishing as she +half-lifts the veil of her sins and her visage!—yet she started alarmed +to hear it whispered that the fair penitent was the Countess de Saldar; +urgently she prayed that no disgraceful brother might ever drive her to that! +</p> + +<p> +Never let it be a Catholic priest!—she almost fashioned her petition into +words. Who was to save her? Alas! alas! in her dire distress—in her sense +of miserable pennilessness, she clung to Mr. John Raikes, of the curricle, the +mysteriously rich young gentleman; and on that picture, with Andrew roguishly +contemplating it, and Evan, with feelings regarding his sister that he liked +not to own, the curtain commiseratingly drops. +</p> + +<p> +As in the course of a stream you come upon certain dips, where, but here and +there, a sparkle or a gloom of the full flowing water is caught through +deepening foliage, so the history that concerns us wanders out of day for a +time, and we must violate the post and open written leaves to mark the turn it +takes. +</p> + +<p> +First we have a letter from Mr. Goren to Mrs. Mel, to inform her that her son +has arrived and paid his respects to his future instructor in the branch of +science practised by Mr. Goren. +</p> + +<p> +“He has arrived at last,” says the worthy tradesman. “His +appearance in the shop will be highly gentlemanly, and when he looks a little +more pleasing, and grows fond of it, nothing will be left to be desired. The +ladies, his sisters, have not thought proper to call. I had hopes of the custom +of Mr. Andrew Cogglesby. Of course you wish him to learn tailoring +thoroughly?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel writes back, thanking Mr. Goren, and saying that she had shown the +letter to inquiring creditors, and that she does wish her son to learn his +business from the root. This produces a second letter from Mr. Goren, which +imparts to her that at the root of the tree, of tailoring the novitiate must +sit no less than six hours a day with his legs crossed and doubled under him, +cheerfully plying needle and thread; and that, without this probation, to +undergo which the son resolutely objects, all hope of his climbing to the top +of the lofty tree, and viewing mankind from an eminence, must be surrendered. +</p> + +<p> +“If you do not insist, my dear Mrs. Harrington, I tell you candidly, your +son may have a shop, but he will be no tailor.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel understands her son and his state of mind well enough not to insist, +and is resigned to the melancholy consequence. +</p> + +<p> +Then Mr. Goren discovers an extraordinary resemblance between Evan and his +father: remarking merely that the youth is not the gentleman his father was in +a shop, while he admits, that had it been conjoined to business habits, he +should have envied his departed friend. +</p> + +<p> +He has soon something fresh to tell; and it is that young Mr. Harrington is +treating him cavalierly. That he should penetrate the idea or appreciate the +merits of Mr. Goren’s Balance was hardly to be expected at present: the +world did not, and Mr. Goren blamed no young man for his ignorance. Still a +proper attendance was requisite. Mr. Goren thought it very singular that young +Mr. Harrington should demand all the hours of the day for his own purposes, up +to half-past four. He found it difficult to speak to him as a master, and +begged that Mrs. Harrington would, as a mother. +</p> + +<p> +The reply of Mrs. Mel is dashed with a trifle of cajolery. She has heard from +her son, and seeing that her son takes all that time from his right studies, to +earn money wherewith to pay debts of which Mr. Goren is cognizant, she trusts +that their oldest friend will overlook it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Goren rejoins that he considers that he need not have been excluded from +young Mr. Harrington’s confidence. Moreover, it is a grief to him that +the young gentleman should refrain from accepting any of his suggestions as to +the propriety of requesting some, at least, of his rich and titled acquaintance +to confer on him the favour of their patronage. “Which they would not +repent,” adds Mr. Goren, “and might learn to be very much obliged +to him for, in return for kindnesses extended to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding all my efforts, you see, the poor boy is thrust into the shop. +There he is, without a doubt. He sleeps under Mr. Goren’s roof: he (since +one cannot be too positive in citing the punishment of such a Pagan) stands +behind a counter: he (and, oh! choke, young loves, that have hovered around +him! shrink from him in natural horror, gentle ladies!) handles the shears. It +is not my fault. He would be a Pagan. +</p> + +<p> +If you can think him human enough still to care to know how he feels it, I must +tell you that he feels it hardly at all. After a big blow, a very little one +scarcely counts. What are outward forms and social ignominies to him whose +heart has been struck to the dust? His Gods have fought for him, and there he +is! He deserves no pity. +</p> + +<p> +But he does not ask it of you, the callous Pagan! Despise him, if you please, +and rank with the Countess, who despises him most heartily. Dipping further +into the secrets of the post, we discover a brisk correspondence between +Juliana Bonner and Mrs. Strike. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand thanks to you, my dear Miss Bonner,” writes the latter +lady. “The unaffected interest you take in my brother touches me deeply. +I know him to be worthy of your good opinion. Yes, I will open my heart to you, +dearest Juliana; and it shall, as you wish, be quite secret between us. Not to +a soul! +</p> + +<p> +“He is quite alone. My sisters Harriet and Louisa will not see him, and I +can only do so by stealth. His odd other little friend sometimes drives me out +on Sundays, to a place where I meet him; and the Duke of Belfield kindly lends +me his carriage. Oh, that we might never part! I am only happy with him! +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, do not doubt him, Juliana, for anything he does! You say, that now +the Duke has obtained for him the Secretaryship to my husband’s Company, +he should not stoop to that other thing, and you do not understand why. I will +tell you. Our poor father died in debt, and Evan receives money which enables +him by degrees to liquidate these debts, on condition that he consents to be +what <i>I</i> dislike as much as you can. He bears it; you can have no idea of +his pride! He is too proud to own to himself that it debases him—too +proud to complain. It is a tangle—a net that drags him down to it: but +whatever he is outwardly, he is the noblest human being in the world to me, and +but for him, oh, what should I be? Let me beg you to forgive it, if you can. My +darling has no friends. Is his temper as sweet as ever? I can answer that. Yes, +only he is silent, and looks—when you look into his eyes—colder, as +men look when they will not bear much from other men. +</p> + +<p> +“He has not mentioned her name. I am sure she has not written. +</p> + +<p> +“Pity him, and pray for him.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana then makes a communication, which draws forth the following:— +</p> + +<p> +“Mistress of all the Beckley property—dearest, dearest Juliana! Oh! +how sincerely I congratulate you! The black on the letter alarmed me so, I +could hardly open it, my fingers trembled so; for I esteem you all at Beckley; +but when I had opened and read it, I was recompensed. You say you are sorry for +Rose. But surely what your Grandmama has done is quite right. It is just, in +every sense. But why am I not to tell Evan? I am certain it would make him very +happy, and happiness of any kind he needs so much! I will obey you, of course, +but I cannot see why. Do you know, my dear child, you are extremely mysterious, +and puzzle me. Evan takes a pleasure in speaking of you. You and Lady Jocelyn +are his great themes. Why is he to be kept ignorant of your good fortune? The +spitting of blood is bad. You must winter in a warm climate. I do think that +London is far better for you in the late Autumn than Hampshire. May I ask my +sister Harriet to invite you to reside with her for some weeks? Nothing, I +know, would give her greater pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana answers this— +</p> + +<p> +“If you love me—I sometimes hope that you do—but the feeling +of being loved is so strange to me that I can only believe it at +times—but, Caroline—there, I have mustered up courage to call you +by your Christian name at last—Oh, dear Caroline! if you do love me, do +not tell Mr. Harrington. I go on my knees to you to beg you not to tell him a +word. I have no reasons indeed not any; but I implore you again never even to +hint that I am anything but the person he knew at Beckley. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose has gone to Elburne House, where Ferdinand, her friend, is to meet +her. She rides and sings the same, and keeps all her colour. +</p> + +<p> +“She may not, as you imagine, have much sensibility. Perhaps not enough. +I am afraid that Rose is turning into a very worldly woman! +</p> + +<p> +“As to what you kindly say about inviting me to London, I should like it, +and I am my own mistress. Do you know, I think I am older than your brother! I +am twenty-three. Pray, when you write, tell me if he is older than that. But +should I not be a dreadful burden to you? Sometimes I have to keep to my +chamber whole days and days. When that happens now, I think of you entirely. +See how I open my heart to you. You say that you do to me. I wish I could +really think it.” +</p> + +<p> +A postscript begs Caroline “not to forget about the ages.” +</p> + +<p> +In this fashion the two ladies open their hearts, and contrive to read one +another perfectly in their mutual hypocrisies. +</p> + +<p> +Some letters bearing the signatures of Mr. John Raikes, and Miss Polly Wheedle, +likewise pass. Polly inquires for detailed accounts of the health and doings of +Mr. Harrington. Jack replies with full particulars of her own proceedings, and +mild corrections of her grammar. It is to be noted that Polly grows much +humbler to him on paper, which being instantly perceived by the mercurial one, +his caressing condescension to her is very beautiful. She is taunted with Mr. +Nicholas Frim, and answers, after the lapse of a week, that the aforesaid can +be nothing to her, as he “went in a passion to church last Sunday and got +married.” It appears that they had quarrelled, “because I danced +with you that night.” To this Mr. Raikes rejoins in a style that would be +signified by “ahem!” in language, and an arrangement of the shirt +collar before the looking-glass, in action. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIX.<br /> +IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM</h2> + +<p> +There was peace in Mr. Goren’s shop. Badgered Ministers, bankrupt +merchants, diplomatists with a headache—any of our modern grandees under +difficulties, might have envied that peace over which Mr. Goren presided: and +he was an enviable man. He loved his craft, he believed that he had not +succeeded the millions of antecedent tailors in vain; and, excepting that +trifling coquetry with shirt-fronts, viz., the red crosses, which a shrewd +rival had very soon eclipsed by representing nymphs triangularly posed, he +devoted himself to his business from morning to night; as rigid in demanding +respect from those beneath him, as he was profuse in lavishing it on his +patrons. His public boast was, that he owed no man a farthing; his secret +comfort, that he possessed two thousand pounds in the Funds. But Mr. Goren did +not stop here. Behind these external characteristics he nursed a passion. Evan +was astonished and pleased to find in him an enthusiastic fern-collector. Not +that Mr. Harrington shared the passion, but the sight of these brown roots +spread out, ticketed, on the stained paper, after supper, when the shutters +were up and the house defended from the hostile outer world; the old man poring +over them, and naming this and that spot where, during his solitary Saturday +afternoon and Sunday excursions, he had lighted on the rare samples exhibited +this contrast of the quiet evening with the sordid day humanized Mr. Goren to +him. He began to see a spirit in the rigid tradesman not so utterly dissimilar +to his own, and he fancied that he, too, had a taste for ferns. Round Beckley +how they abounded! +</p> + +<p> +He told Mr. Goren so, and Mr. Goren said: +</p> + +<p> +“Some day we’ll jog down there together, as the saying goes.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Goren spoke of it as an ordinary event, likely to happen in the days to +come: not as an incident the mere mention of which, as being probable, stopped +the breath and made the pulses leap. +</p> + +<p> +For now Evan’s education taught him to feel that he was at his lowest +degree. Never now could Rose stoop to him. He carried the shop on his back. She +saw the brand of it on his forehead. Well! and what was Rose to him, beyond a +blissful memory, a star that he had once touched? Self-love kept him strong by +day, but in the darkness of night came his misery; wakening from tender dreams, +he would find his heart sinking under a horrible pressure, and then the fair +fresh face of Rose swam over him; the hours of Beckley were revived; with +intolerable anguish he saw that she was blameless—that he alone was to +blame. Yet worse was it when his closed eyelids refused to conjure up the +sorrowful lovely nightmare, and he lay like one in a trance, +entombed—wretched Pagan! feeling all that had been blindly; when the Past +lay beside him like a corpse that he had slain. +</p> + +<p> +These nightly torments helped him to brave what the morning brought. Insensibly +also, as Time hardened his sufferings, Evan asked himself what the shame of his +position consisted in. He grew stiff-necked. His Pagan virtues stood up one by +one to support him. Andrew, courageously evading the interdict that forbade him +to visit Evan, would meet him by appointment at City taverns, and flatly +offered him a place in the Brewery. Evan declined it, on the pretext that, +having received Old Tom’s money for the year, he must at least work out +that term according to the conditions. Andrew fumed and sneered at Tailordom. +Evan said that there was peace in Mr. Goren’s shop. His sharp senses +discerned in Andrew’s sneer a certain sincerity, and he revolted against +it. Mr John Raikes, too, burlesqued Society so well, that he had the +satisfaction of laughing at his enemy occasionally. The latter gentleman was +still a pensioner, flying about town with the Countess de Saldar, in deadly +fear lest that fascinating lady should discover the seat of his fortune; happy, +notwithstanding. In the mirror of Evan’s little world, he beheld the +great one from which he was banished. +</p> + +<p> +Now the dusk of a winter’s afternoon was closing over London, when a +carriage drew up in front of Mr. Goren’s shop, out of which, to Mr. +Goren’s chagrin, a lady stepped, with her veil down. The lady entered, +and said that she wished to speak to Mr. Harrington. Mr. Goren made way for her +to his pupil; and was amazed to see her fall into his arms, and hardly +gratified to hear her say: “Pardon me, darling, for coming to you in this +place.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan asked permission to occupy the parlour. +</p> + +<p> +“My place,” said Mr. Goren, with humble severity, over his +spectacles, “is very poor. Such as it is, it is at the lady’s +service.” +</p> + +<p> +Alone with her, Evan was about to ease his own feelings by remarking to the +effect that Mr. Goren was human like the rest of us, but Caroline cried, with +unwonted vivacity: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know; but I thought only of you. I have such news for you! +You will and must pardon my coming—that’s my first thought, +sensitive darling that you are!” She kissed him fondly. “Juliana +Bonner is in town, staying with us!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that your news?” asked Evan, pressing her against his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear love—but still! You have no idea what her +fortune—Mrs. Bonner has died and left her—but I mustn’t tell +you. Oh, my darling! how she admires you! She—she could recompense you; +if you would! We will put that by, for the present. Dear! the Duke has begged +you, through me, to accept—I think it’s to be a sort of bailiff to +his estates—I don’t know rightly. It’s a very honourable +post, that gentlemen take: and the income you are to have, Evan, will be near a +thousand a year. Now, what do I deserve for my news?” +</p> + +<p> +She put up her mouth for another kiss, out of breath. +</p> + +<p> +“True?” looked Evan’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“True!” she said, smiling, and feasting on his bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +After the bubbling in his brain had a little subsided, Evan breathed as a man +on whom fresh air is blown. Were not these tidings of release? His ridiculous +pride must nevertheless inquire whether Caroline had been begging this for him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, dear—indeed!” Caroline asserted with more than natural +vehemence. “It’s something that you yourself have done that has +pleased him. I don’t know what. Only he says, he believes you are a man +to be trusted with the keys of anything—and so you are. You are to call +on him to-morrow. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +While Evan was replying, her face became white. She had heard the Major’s +voice in the shop. His military step advanced, and Caroline, exclaiming, +“Don’t let me see him!” bustled to a door. Evan nodded, and +she slipped through. The next moment he was facing the stiff marine. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, young man,” the Major commenced, and, seating himself, +added, “be seated. I want to talk to you seriously, sir. You didn’t +think fit to wait till I had done with the Directors today. You’re +devilishly out in your discipline, whatever you are at two and two. I suppose +there’s no fear of being intruded on here? None of your acquaintances +likely to be introducing themselves to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is not one that I would introduce to you,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +The Major nodded a brief recognition of the compliment, and then, throwing his +back against the chair, fired out: “Come, sir, is this your doing?” +</p> + +<p> +In military phrase, Evan now changed front. His first thought had been that the +Major had come for his wife. He perceived that he himself was the special +object of his visitation. +</p> + +<p> +“I must ask you what you allude to,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not at your office, but you will speak to me as if there was +some distinction between us,” said the Major. “My having married +your sister does not reduce me to the ranks, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +The Major drummed his knuckles on the table, after this impressive delivery. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem!” he resumed. “Now, sir, understand, before you speak a +word, that I can see through any number of infernal lies. I see that +you’re prepared for prevarication. By George! it shall come out of you, +if I get it by main force. The Duke compelled me to give you that appointment +in my Company. Now, sir, did you, or did you not, go to him and deliberately +state to him that you believed the affairs of the Company to be in a bad +condition—infamously handled, likely to involve his honour as a +gentleman? I ask you, sir, did you do this, or did you not do it?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan waited till the sharp rattle of the Major’s close had quieted. +</p> + +<p> +“If I am to answer the wording of your statement, I may say that I did +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good; very good; that will do. Are you aware that the Duke has sent +in his resignation as a Director of our Company?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hear of it first from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Confound your familiarity!” cried the irritable officer, rising. +“Am I always to be told that I married your sister? Address me, sir, as +becomes your duty.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan heard the words “beggarly tailor” mumbled “out of the +gutters,” and “cursed connection.” He stood in the attitude +of attention, while the Major continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Now, young man, listen to these facts. You came to me this day last +week, and complained that you did not comprehend some of our transactions and +affairs. I explained them to your damned stupidity. You went away. Three days +after that, you had an interview with the Duke. Stop, sir! What the devil do +you mean by daring to speak while I am speaking? You saw the Duke, I say. Now, +what took place at that interview?” +</p> + +<p> +The Major tried to tower over Evan powerfully, as he put this query. They were +of a common height, and to do so, he had to rise on his toes, so that the +effect was but momentary. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I am not bound to reply,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, sir; that will do.” The Major’s fingers were +evidently itching for an absent rattan. “Confess it or not, you are +dismissed from your post. Do you hear? You are kicked in the street. A beggarly +tailor you were born, and a beggarly tailor you will die.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must beg you to stop, now,” said Evan. “I told you that I +was not bound to reply: but I will. If you will sit down, Major Strike, you +shall hear what you wish to know.” +</p> + +<p> +This being presently complied with, though not before a glare of the +Major’s eyes had shown his doubt whether it might not be construed into +insolence, Evan pursued: +</p> + +<p> +“I came to you and informed you that I could not reconcile the +cash-accounts of the Company, and that certain of the later proceedings +appeared to me to jeopardize its prosperity. Your explanations did not satisfy +me. I admit that you enjoined me to be silent. But the Duke, as a Director, had +as strong a right to claim me as his servant, and when he questioned me as to +the position of the Company, I told him what I thought, just as I had told +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You told him we were jobbers and swindlers, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Duke inquired of me whether I would, under the circumstances, while +proceedings were going on which I did not approve of, take the responsibility +of allowing my name to remain—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha! ha!” the Major burst out. This was too good a joke. The +name of a miserable young tailor!” Go on, sir, go on!” He swallowed +his laughter like oil on his rage. +</p> + +<p> +“I have said sufficient.” +</p> + +<p> +Jumping up, the Major swore by the Lord, that he had said sufficient. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, look you here, young man.” He squared his finger before Evan, +eyeing him under a hard frown, “You have been playing your game again, as +you did down at that place in Hampshire. I heard of it—deserved to be +shot, by heaven! You think you have got hold of the Duke, and you throw me +over. You imagine, I dare say, that I will allow my wife to be talked about to +further your interests—you self-seeking young dog! As long as he lent the +Company his name, I permitted a great many things. Do you think me a blind +idiot, sir? But now she must learn to be satisfied with people who’ve got +no titles, or carriages, and who can’t give hundred guinea compliments. +You’re all of a piece—a set of....” +</p> + +<p> +The Major paused, for half a word was on his mouth which had drawn lightning to +Evan’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Not to be baffled, he added: “But look you, sir. I may be ruined. I dare +say the Company will go to the dogs—every ass will follow a Duke. But, +mark, this goes on no more. I will be no woman’s tally. Mind, sir, I take +excellent care that you don’t traffic in your sister!” +</p> + +<p> +The Major delivered this culminating remark with a well-timed deflection of his +forefinger, and slightly turned aside when he had done. +</p> + +<p> +You might have seen Evan’s figure rocking, as he stood with his eyes +steadily levelled on his sister’s husband. +</p> + +<p> +The Major, who, whatever he was, was physically no coward, did not fail to +interpret the look, and challenge it. +</p> + +<p> +Evan walked to the door, opened it, and said, between his teeth, “You +must go at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, sir, eh? what’s this?” exclaimed the warrior but the +door was open, Mr. Goren was in the shop; the scandal of an assault in such a +house, and the consequent possibility of his matrimonial alliance becoming +bruited in the newspapers, held his arm after it had given an involuntary jerk. +He marched through with becoming dignity, and marched out into the street; and +if necks unelastic and heads erect may be taken as the sign of a proud soul and +of nobility of mind, my artist has the Major for his model. +</p> + +<p> +Evan displayed no such a presence. He returned to the little parlour, shut and +locked the door to the shop, and forgetting that one was near, sat down, +covered his eyes, and gave way to a fit of tearless sobbing. With one foot in +the room Caroline hung watching him. A pain that she had never known wrung her +nerves. His whole manhood seemed to be shaken, as if by regular pulsations of +intensest misery. She stood in awe of the sight till her limbs failed her, and +then staggering to him she fell on her knees, clasping his, passionately +kissing them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"></a> +CHAPTER XL.<br /> +IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Raikes and his friend Frank Remand, surnamed Franko, to suit the +requirements of metre, in which they habitually conversed, were walking +arm-in-arm along the drive in Society’s Park on a fine frosty Sunday +afternoon of midwinter. The quips and jokes of Franko were lively, and he +looked into the carriages passing, as if he knew that a cheerful countenance is +not without charms for their inmates. Raikes’ face, on the contrary, was +barren and bleak. Being of that nature that when a pun was made he must +perforce outstrip it, he fell into Franko’s humour from time to time, but +albeit aware that what he uttered was good, and by comparison transcendent, he +refused to enjoy it. Nor when Franko started from his arm to declaim a passage, +did he do other than make limp efforts to unite himself to Franko again. A +further sign of immense depression in him was that instead of the creative, it +was the critical faculty he exercised, and rather than reply to Franko in his +form of speech, he scanned occasional lines and objected to particular phrases. +He had clearly exchanged the sanguine for the bilious temperament, and was fast +stranding on the rocky shores of prose. Franko bore this very well, for he, +like Raikes in happier days, claimed all the glances of lovely woman as his +own, and on his right there flowed a stream of Beauties. At last he was +compelled to observe: “This change is sudden: wherefore so downcast? With +tigrine claw thou mangiest my speech, thy cheeks are like December’s +pippin, and thy tongue most sour!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then of it make a farce!” said Raikes, for the making of farces +was Franko’s profession. “Wherefore so downcast! What a line! +There! let’s walk on. Let us the left foot forward stout advance. I care +not for the herd.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis love!” cried Franko. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, an’ it be!” Jack gloomily returned. +</p> + +<p> +“For ever cruel is the sweet Saldar?” +</p> + +<p> +Raikes winced at this name. +</p> + +<p> +“A truce to banter, Franko!” he said sternly: but the subject was +opened, and the wound. +</p> + +<p> +“Love!” he pursued, mildly groaning. “Suppose you adored a +fascinating woman, and she knew—positively knew—your manly +weakness, and you saw her smiling upon everybody, and she told you to be happy, +and egad, when you came to reflect, you found that after three months’ +suit you were nothing better than her errand-boy? A thing to boast of, is it +not, quotha?” +</p> + +<p> +“Love’s yellow-fever, jealousy, methinks,” Franko commenced +in reply; but Raikes spat at the emphasized word. +</p> + +<p> +“Jealousy!—who’s jealous of clergymen and that crew? Not I, +by Pluto! I carried five messages to one fellow with a coat-tail straight to +his heels, last week. She thought I should drive my curricle—I +couldn’t afford an omnibus! I had to run. When I returned to her I was +dirty. She made remarks!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thy sufferings are severe—but such is woman!” said Franko. +“’Gad, it’s a good idea, though.” He took out a +note-book and pencilled down a point or two. Raikes watched the process +sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“My tragedy is, then, thy farce!” he exclaimed. “Well, be it +so! I believe I shall come to song-writing again myself shortly—beneath +the shield of Catnach I’ll a nation’s ballads frame. I’ve +spent my income in four months, and now I’m living on my curricle. I +underlet it. It’s like trade—it’s as bad as poor old +Harrington, by Jove! But that isn’t the worst, Franko!” Jack +dropped his voice: “I believe I’m furiously loved by a poor country +wench.” +</p> + +<p> +“Morals!” was Franko’s most encouraging reproof. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t think I’ve even kissed her,” rejoined +Raikes, who doubted because his imagination was vivid. “It’s my +intellect that dazzles her. I’ve got letters—she calls me clever. +By Jove! since I gave up driving I’ve had thoughts of rushing down to her +and making her mine in spite of home, family, fortune, friends, name, +position—everything! I have, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +Franko looked naturally astonished at this amount of self-sacrifice. “The +Countess?” he shrewdly suggested. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I’d rather be my Polly’s prince,<br/> +Than yon great lady’s errand-boy!” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Raikes burst into song. +</p> + +<p> +He stretched out his hand, as if to discard all the great ladies who were +passing. By the strangest misfortune ever known, the direction taken by his +fingers was toward a carriage wherein, beautifully smiling opposite an +elaborately reverend gentleman of middle age, the Countess de Saldar was +sitting. This great lady is not to be blamed for deeming that her errand-boy +was pointing her out vulgarly on a public promenade. Ineffable disdain curled +off her sweet olive visage. She turned her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go down to that girl to-night,” said Raikes, with +compressed passion. And then he hurried Franko along to the bridge, where, +behold, the Countess alighted with the gentleman, and walked beside him into +the gardens. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow her,” said Raikes, in agitation. “Do you see her? by +yon long-tailed raven’s side? Follow her, Franko! See if he kisses her +hand—anything! and meet me here in half an hour. I’ll have +evidence!” +</p> + +<p> +Franko did not altogether like the office, but Raikes’ dinners, singular +luck, and superiority in the encounter of puns, gave him the upper hand with +his friend, and so Franko went. +</p> + +<p> +Turning away from the last glimpse of his Countess, Raikes crossed the bridge, +and had not strolled far beneath the bare branches of one of the long green +walks, when he perceived a gentleman with two ladies leaning on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, there,” moralized this youth; “now, what do you say to +that? Do you call that fair? He can’t be happy, and it’s not in +nature for them to be satisfied. And yet, if I went up and attempted to please +them all by taking one away, the probabilities are that he would knock me down. +Such is life! We won’t be made comfortable!” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, he passed them with indifference, for it was merely the principle +he objected to; and, indeed, he was so wrapped in his own conceptions, that his +name had to be called behind him twice before he recognized Evan Harrington, +Mrs. Strike, and Miss Bonner. The arrangement he had previously thought good, +was then spontaneously adopted. Mrs. Strike reposed her fair hand upon his arm, +and Juliana, with a timid glance of pleasure, walked ahead in Evan’s +charge. Close neighbourhood between the couples was not kept. The genius of Mr. +Raikes was wasted in manoeuvres to lead his beautiful companion into places +where he could be seen with her, and envied. It was, perhaps, more flattering +that she should betray a marked disposition to prefer solitude in his society. +But this idea illumined him only near the moment of parting. Then he saw it; +then he groaned in soul, and besought Evan to have one more promenade, saying, +with characteristic cleverness in the masking of his real thoughts: “It +gives us an appetite, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +In Evan’s face and Juliana’s there was not much sign that any +protraction of their walk together would aid this beneficent process of nature. +He took her hand gently, and when he quitted it, it dropped. +</p> + +<p> +“The Rose, the Rose of Beckley Court!” Raikes sang aloud. +“Why, this is a day of meetings. Behold John Thomas in the rear—a +tower of plush and powder! Shall I rush—shall I pluck her from the aged +stem?” +</p> + +<p> +On the gravel-walk above them Rose passed with her aristocratic grandmother, +muffled in furs. She marched deliberately, looking coldly before her. +Evan’s face was white, and Juliana, whose eyes were fixed on him, +shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m chilled,” she murmured to Caroline. “Let us +go.” Caroline eyed Evan with a meaning sadness. +</p> + +<p> +“We will hurry to our carriage,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +They were seen to make a little circuit so as not to approach Rose; after whom, +thoughtless of his cruelty, Evan bent his steps slowly, halting when she +reached her carriage. He believed—rather, he knew that she had seen him. +There was a consciousness in the composed outlines of her face as she passed: +the indifference was too perfect. Let her hate him if she pleased. It +recompensed him that the air she wore should make her appearance more womanly; +and that black dress and crape-bonnet, in some way, touched him to mournful +thoughts of her that helped a partial forgetfulness of wounded self. +</p> + +<p> +Rose had driven off. He was looking at the same spot, where Caroline’s +hand waved from her carriage. Juliana was not seen. Caroline requested her to +nod to him once, but she would not. She leaned back hiding her eyes, and moving +a petulant shoulder at Caroline’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he offended you, my child?” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana answered harshly: +</p> + +<p> +“No-no.” +</p> + +<p> +The wheels rolled on, and Caroline tried other subjects, knowing possibly that +they would lead Juliana back to this of her own accord. +</p> + +<p> +“You saw how she treated him?” the latter presently said, without +moving her hand from before her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, dear. He forgives her, and will forget it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she clenched her long thin hand, “I pray that I may not +die before I have made her repent it. She shall!” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana looked glitteringly in Caroline’s face, and then fell a-weeping, +and suffered herself to be folded and caressed. The storm was long subsiding. +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest! you are better now?” said Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +She whispered: “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“My brother has only to know you, dear—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! That’s past.” Juliana stopped her; and, on a deep +breath that threatened to break to sobs, she added in a sweeter voice than was +common to her, “Ah, why—why did you tell him about the Beckley +property?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline vainly strove to deny that she had told him. Juliana’s head +shook mournfully at her; and now Caroline knew what Juliana meant when she +begged so earnestly that Evan should be kept ignorant of her change of fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Some days after this the cold struck Juliana’s chest, and she sickened. +The three sisters held a sitting to consider what it was best to do with her. +Caroline proposed to take her to Beckley without delay. Harriet was of opinion +that the least they could do was to write to her relatives and make them +instantly aware of her condition. +</p> + +<p> +But the Countess said “No,” to both. Her argument was, that Juliana +being independent, they were by no means bound to “bundle” her, in +her state, back to a place where she had been so shamefully maltreated: that +here she would live, while there she would certainly die: that absence of +excitement was her medicine, and that here she had it. Mrs. Andrew, feeling +herself responsible as the young lady’s hostess, did not acquiesce in the +Countess’s views till she had consulted Juliana; and then apologies for +giving trouble were breathed on the one hand; sympathy, condolences, and +professions of esteem, on the other. Juliana said, she was but slightly ill, +would soon recover. Entreated not to leave them before she was thoroughly +re-established, and to consent to be looked on as one of the family, she +sighed, and said it was the utmost she could hope. Of course the ladies took +this compliment to themselves, but Evan began to wax in importance. The +Countess thought it nearly time to acknowledge him, and supported the idea by a +citation of the doctrine, that to forgive is Christian. It happened, however, +that Harriet, who had less art and more will than her sisters, was inflexible. +She, living in a society but a few steps above Tailordom, however magnificent +in expenditure and resources, abhorred it solemnly. From motives of prudence, +as well as personal disgust, she continued firm in declining to receive her +brother. She would not relent when the Countess pointed out a dim, a dazzling +prospect, growing out of Evan’s proximity to the heiress of Beckley +Court; she was not to be moved when Caroline suggested that the specific for +the frail invalid was Evan’s presence. As to this, Juliana was +sufficiently open, though, as she conceived, her art was extreme. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know why I stay to vex and trouble you?” she asked +Caroline. “Well, then, it is that I may see your brother united to you +all: and then I shall go, happy.” +</p> + +<p> +The pretext served also to make him the subject of many conversations. Twice a +week a bunch of the best flowers that could be got were sorted and arranged by +her, and sent namelessly to brighten Evan’s chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“I may do such a thing as this, you know, without incurring blame,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of a love so humble in its strength and affluence, sent Caroline to +Evan on a fruitless errand. What availed it, that accused of giving lead to his +pride in refusing the heiress, Evan should declare that he did not love her? He +did not, Caroline admitted as possible, but he might. He might learn to love +her, and therefore he was wrong in wounding her heart. She related flattering +anecdotes. She drew tearful pictures of Juliana’s love for him: and +noticing how he seemed to prize his bouquet of flowers, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you love them for themselves, or the hand that sent them?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan blushed, for it had been a struggle for him to receive them, as he +thought, from Rose in secret. The flowers lost their value; the song that had +arisen out of them, “Thou livest in my memory,” ceased. But they +came still. How many degrees from love gratitude may be, I have not reckoned. I +rather fear it lies on the opposite shore. From a youth to a girl, it may yet +be very tender; the more so, because their ages commonly exclude such a +sentiment, and nature seems willing to make a transition stage of it. Evan +wrote to Juliana. Incidentally he expressed a wish to see her. Juliana was +under doctor’s interdict: but she was not to be prevented from going when +Evan wished her to go. They met in the park, as before, and he talked to her +five minutes through the carriage window. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it worth the risk, my poor child?” said Caroline, pityingly. +</p> + +<p> +Juliana cried: “Oh! I would give anything to live!” +</p> + +<p> +A man might have thought that she made no direct answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think I am patient? Don’t you think I am very +patient?” she asked Caroline, winningly, on their way home. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline could scarcely forbear from smiling at the feverish anxiety she showed +for a reply that should confirm her words and hopes. +</p> + +<p> +“So we must all be!” she said, and that common-place remark caused +Juliana to exclaim: “Prisoners have lived in a dungeon, on bread and +water, for years!” +</p> + +<p> +Whereat Caroline kissed her so tenderly that Juliana tried to look surprised, +and failing, her thin lips quivered; she breathed a soft “hush,” +and fell on Caroline’s bosom. +</p> + +<p> +She was transparent enough in one thing; but the flame which burned within her +did not light her through. +</p> + +<p> +Others, on other matters, were quite as transparent to her. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline never knew that she had as much as told her the moral suicide Evan had +committed at Beckley; so cunningly had she been probed at intervals with little +casual questions; random interjections, that one who loved him could not fail +to meet; petty doubts requiring elucidations. And the Countess, kind as her +sentiments had grown toward the afflicted creature, was compelled to proclaim +her densely stupid in material affairs. For the Countess had an itch of the +simplest feminine curiosity to know whether the dear child had any notion of +accomplishing a certain holy duty of the perishable on this earth, who might +possess worldly goods; and no hints—not even plain speaking, would do. +Juliana did not understand her at all. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess exhibited a mourning-ring on her finger, Mrs. Bonner’s +bequest to her. +</p> + +<p> +“How fervent is my gratitude to my excellent departed friend for this! A +legacy, however trifling, embalms our dear lost ones in the memory!” +</p> + +<p> +It was of no avail. Juliana continued densely stupid. Was she not worse? The +Countess could not, “in decency,” as she observed, reveal to her +who had prompted Mrs. Bonner so to bequeath the Beckley estates as to +“ensure sweet Juliana’s future”; but ought not Juliana to +divine it?—Juliana at least had hints sufficient. +</p> + +<p> +Cold Spring winds were now blowing. Juliana had resided no less than two months +with the Cogglesbys. She was entreated still to remain, and she did. From Lady +Jocelyn she heard not a word of remonstrance; but from Miss Carrington and Mrs. +Shorne she received admonishing letters. Finally, Mr. Harry Jocelyn presented +himself. In London, and without any of that needful subsistence which a young +gentleman feels the want of in London more than elsewhere, Harry began to have +thoughts of his own, without any instigation from his aunts, about devoting +himself to business. So he sent his card up to his cousin, and was graciously +met in the drawing-room by the Countess, who ruffled him and smoothed him, and +would possibly have distracted his soul from business had his circumstances +been less straitened. Juliana was declared to be too unwell to see him that +day. He called a second time, and enjoyed a similar greeting. His third visit +procured him an audience alone with Juliana, when, at once, despite the +warnings of his aunts, the frank fellow plunged, “medias res”. Mrs. +Bonner had left him totally dependent on his parents and his chances. +</p> + +<p> +“A desperate state of things, isn’t it, Juley? I think I shall go +for a soldier—common, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Instead of shrieking out against such a debasement of his worth and gentility, +as was to be expected, Juliana said: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what Mr. Harrington thought of doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“He! If he’d had the pluck he would.” +</p> + +<p> +“His duty forbade it, and he did not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Duty! a confounded tailor! What fools we were to have him at +Beckley!” +</p> + +<p> +“Has the Countess been unkind to you Harry?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen her to-day, and don’t want to. It’s my +little dear old Juley I came for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Harry!” she thanked him with eyes and hands. “Come +often, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, ain’t you coming back to us, Juley?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet. They are very kind to me here. How is Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, quite jolly. She and Ferdinand are thick again. Balls every night. +She dances like the deuce. They want me to go; but I ain’t the sort of +figure for those places, and besides, I shan’t dance till I can lead you +out.” +</p> + +<p> +A spur of laughter at Harry’s generous nod brought on Juliana’s +cough. Harry watched her little body shaken and her reddened eyes. Some real +emotion—perhaps the fear which healthy young people experience at the +sight of deadly disease—made Harry touch her arm with the softness of a +child’s touch. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be alarmed, Harry,” she said. “It’s +nothing—only Winter. I’m determined to get well.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” quoth he, recovering. “I know +you’ve got pluck, or you wouldn’t have stood that operation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see: when was that?” she asked slyly. +</p> + +<p> +Harry coloured, for it related to a time when he had not behaved prettily to +her. +</p> + +<p> +“There, Juley, that’s all forgotten. I was a fool—a +scoundrel, if you like. I’m sorry for it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want money, Harry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, money!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you repaid Mr. Harrington yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“There—no, I haven’t. Bother it! that fellow’s +name’s always on your tongue. I’ll tell you what, Juley—but +it’s no use. He’s a low, vulgar adventurer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Harry,” said Juliana, softly; “don’t bring your +aunts with you when you come to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then I’ll tell you, Juley. It’s enough that he’s +a beastly tailor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite enough,” she responded; “and he is neither a fool nor +a scoundrel.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry’s memory for his own speech was not quick. When Juliana’s +calm glance at him called it up, he jumped from his chair, crying: “Upon +my honour, I’ll tell you what, Juley! If I had money to pay him +to-morrow, I’d insult him on the spot.” +</p> + +<p> +Juliana meditated, and said: “Then all your friends must wish you to +continue poor.” +</p> + +<p> +This girl had once been on her knees to him. She had looked up to him with +admiring love, and he had given her a crumb or so occasionally, thinking her +something of a fool, and more of a pest; but now he could not say a word to her +without being baffled in an elderly-sisterly tone exasperating him so far that +he positively wished to marry her, and coming to the point, offered himself +with downright sincerity, and was rejected. Harry left in a passion. Juliana +confided the secret to Caroline, who suggested interested motives, which +Juliana would not hear of. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the Countess, when Caroline mentioned the case to her, +“of course the poor thing cherishes her first offer. She would believe a +curate to be disinterested! But mind that Evan has due warning when she is to +meet him. Mind that he is dressed becomingly.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline asked why. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, my dear, she is enamoured of his person. These little unhealthy +creatures are always attracted by the person. She thinks it to be Evan’s +qualities. I know better: it is his person. Beckley Court may be lost by a +shabby coat!” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess had recovered from certain spiritual languors into which she had +fallen after her retreat. Ultimate victory hung still in the balance. Oh! if +Evan would only marry this little sufferer, who was so sure to die within a +year! or, if she lived (for marriage has often been as a resurrection to some +poor female invalids), there was Beckley Court, a splendid basis for future +achievements. Reflecting in this fashion, the Countess pardoned her brother. +Glowing hopes hung fresh lamps in her charitable breast. She stepped across the +threshold of Tailordom, won Mr. Goren’s heart by her condescension, and +worked Evan into a sorrowful mood concerning the invalid. Was not Juliana his +only active friend? In return, he said things which only required a little +colouring to be very acceptable to her. +</p> + +<p> +The game waxed exciting again. The enemy (the Jocelyn party) was alert, but +powerless. The three sisters were almost wrought to perform a sacrifice far +exceeding Evan’s. They nearly decided to summon him to the house: but the +matter being broached at table one evening, Major Strike objected to it so +angrily that they abandoned it, with the satisfactory conclusion that if they +did wrong it was the Major’s fault. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Juliana had much on her conscience. She knew Evan to be innocent, and +she allowed Rose to think him guilty. Could she bring her heart to join them? +That was not in her power: but desiring to be lulled by a compromise, she +devoted herself to make his relatives receive him; and on days of bitter winds +she would drive out to meet him, answering all expostulations +with—“I should not go if he were here.” +</p> + +<p> +The game waxed hot. It became a question whether Evan should be admitted to the +house in spite of the Major. Juliana now made an extraordinary move. Having the +Count with her in the carriage one day, she stopped in front of Mr. +Goren’s shop, and Evan had to come out. The Count returned home extremely +mystified. Once more the unhappy Countess was obliged to draw bills on the +fabulous; and as she had recommenced the system, which was not without its +fascinations to her, Juliana, who had touched the spring, had the full benefit +of it. The Countess had deceived her before—what of that? She spoke +things sweet to hear. Who could be false that gave her heart food on which it +lived? +</p> + +<p> +One night Juliana returned from her drive alarmingly ill. She was watched +through the night by Caroline and the Countess alternately. In the morning the +sisters met. +</p> + +<p> +“She has consented to let us send for a doctor,” said Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“Her chief desire seems to be a lawyer,” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but the doctor must be sent for first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed! But it behoves us to previse that the doctor does not kill +her before the lawyer comes.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline looked at Louisa, and said: “Are you ignorant?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—what?” cried the Countess eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan has written to tell Lady Jocelyn the state of her health, +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“And that naturally has aggravated her malady!” The Countess +cramped her long fingers. “The child heard it from him yesterday! Oh, I +could swear at that brother!” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped into a chair and sat rigid and square-jawed, a sculpture of +unutterable rage. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon Lady Jocelyn arrived. The doctor was there—the lawyer +had gone. Without a word of protest Juliana accompanied her ladyship to Beckley +Court. Here was a blow! +</p> + +<p> +But Andrew was preparing one more mighty still. What if the Cogglesby Brewery +proved a basis most unsound? Where must they fall then? Alas! on that point +whence they sprang. If not to Perdition—Tailordom! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"></a> +CHAPTER XLI.v + +REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY</h2> + +<p> +A lively April day, with strong gusts from the Southwest, and long sweeping +clouds, saluted the morning coach from London to Lymport. Thither Tailordom +triumphant was bearing its victim at a rattling pace, to settle him, and seal +him for ever out of the ranks of gentlemen: Society, meantime, howling +exclusion to him in the background: “Out of our halls, degraded youth: +The smiles of turbaned matrons: the sighs of delicate maids; genial wit, +educated talk, refined scandal, vice in harness, dinners sentineled by stately +plush: these, the flavour of life, are not for you, though you stole a taste of +them, wretched impostor! Pay for it with years of remorse!” +</p> + +<p> +The coach went rushing against the glorious high wind. It stirred his blood, +freshened his cheeks, gave a bright tone of zest to his eyes, as he cast them +on the young green country. Not banished from the breath of heaven, or from +self-respect, or from the appetite for the rewards that are to follow duties +done! Not banished from the help that is always reached to us when we have +fairly taken the right road: and that for him is the road to Lymport. Let the +kingdom of Gilt Gingerbread howl as it will! We are no longer children, but +men: men who have bitten hard at experience, and know the value of a tooth: who +have had our hearts bruised, and cover them with armour: who live not to feed, +but look to food that we may live! What matters it that yonder high-spiced +kingdom should excommunicate such as we are? We have rubbed off the gilt, and +have assumed the command of our stomachs. We are men from this day! +</p> + +<p> +Now, you would have thought Evan’s companions, right and left of him, +were the wretches under sentence, to judge from appearances. In contrast with +his look of insolent pleasure, Andrew, the moment an eye was on him, exhibited +the cleverest impersonation of the dumps ever seen: while Mr. Raikes was from +head to foot nothing better than a moan made visible. Nevertheless, they both +agreed to rally Evan, and bid him be of good cheer. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be down, Van; don’t be down, my boy,” said +Andrew, rubbing his hands gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“I? do I look it?” Evan answered, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Capital acting!” exclaimed Raikes. “Try and keep it +up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope you’re acting too,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +Raikes let his chest fall like a collapsing bellows. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of five minutes, he remarked: “I’ve been sitting on it +the whole morning! There’s violent inflammation, I’m persuaded. +Another hour, and I jump slap from the summit of the coach!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan turned to Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he’ll be let off?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Raikes? Can’t say. You see, Van, it depends upon how Old Tom +has taken his bad luck. Ahem! Perhaps he’ll be all the stricter; and as a +man of honour, Mr. Raikes, you see, can’t very well—” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! I wish I wasn’t a man of honour!” Raikes +interposed, heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Van, Old Tom’s circumstances”—Andrew ducked, +to smother a sort of laughter—“are now such that he’d be glad +of the money to let him off, no doubt; but Mr. Raikes has spent it, I +can’t lend it, and you haven’t got it, and there we all are. At the +end of the year he’s free, and he—ha! ha! I’m not a bit the +merrier for laughing, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Catching another glimpse of Evan’s serious face, Andrew fell into louder +laughter; checking it with doleful solemnity. +</p> + +<p> +Up hill and down hill, and past little homesteads shining with yellow crocuses; +across wide brown heaths, whose outlines raised in Evan’s mind the night +of his funeral walk, and tossed up old feelings dead as the whirling dust. At +last Raikes called out: +</p> + +<p> +“The towers of Fallowfield; heigho!” +</p> + +<p> +And Andrew said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now then, Van: if Old Tom’s anywhere, he’s here. You get +down at the Dragon, and don’t you talk to me, but let me go in. +It’ll be just the hour he dines in the country. Isn’t it a shame of +him to make me face every man of the creditors—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan gave Andrew’s hand an affectionate squeeze, at which Andrew had to +gulp down something—reciprocal emotion, doubtless. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark,” said Raikes, as the horn of the guard was heard. +“Once that sound used to set me caracoling before an abject multitude. I +did wonders. All London looked on me! It had more effect on me than champagne. +Now I hear it—the whole charm has vanished! I can’t see a single +old castle. Would you have thought it possible that a small circular bit of tin +on a man’s person could produce such changes in him?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a donkey to wear it,” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“I pledged my word as a gentleman, and thought it small, for the +money!” said Raikes. “This is the first coach I ever travelled on, +without making the old whip burst with laughing. I’m not myself. +I’m haunted. I’m somebody else.” +</p> + +<p> +The three passengers having descended, a controversy commenced between Evan and +Andrew as to which should pay. Evan had his money out; Andrew dashed it behind +him; Evan remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you mustn’t pay for us two, Andrew. I would have let you do +it once, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stuff!” cried Andrew. “I ain’t paying—it’s +the creditors of the estate, my boy!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan looked so ingenuously surprised and hurt at his lack of principle, that +Andrew chucked a sixpence at a small boy, saying, +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t let me have my own way, Van, I’ll shy my purse +after it. What do you mean, sir, by treating me like a beggar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our friend Harrington can’t humour us,” quoth Raikes. +“For myself, I candidly confess I prefer being paid for”; and he +leaned contentedly against one of the posts of the inn till the filthy dispute +was arranged to the satisfaction of the ignobler mind. There Andrew left them, +and went to Mrs. Sockley, who, recovered from her illness, smiled her usual +placid welcome to a guest. +</p> + +<p> +“You know me, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes! The London Mr. Cogglesby!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, ma’am, look here. I’ve come for my brother. Don’t +be alarmed. No danger as yet. But, mind! if you attempt to conceal him from his +lawful brother, I’ll summon here the myrmidons of the law.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sockley showed a serious face. +</p> + +<p> +“You know his habits, Mr. Cogglesby; and one doesn’t go against any +one of his whimsies, or there’s consequences: but the house is open to +you, sir. I don’t wish to hide him.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew accepted this intelligent evasion of Tom Cogglesby’s orders as +sufficient, and immediately proceeded upstairs. A door shut on the first +landing. Andrew went to this door and knocked. No answer. He tried to open it, +but found that he had been forestalled. After threatening to talk business +through the key-hole, the door was unlocked, and Old Tom appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“So! now you’re dogging me into the country. Be off; make an +appointment. Saturday’s my holiday. You know that.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew pushed through the doorway, and, by way of an emphatic reply and a +silencing one, delivered a punch slap into Old Tom’s belt. +</p> + +<p> +“Confound you, Nan!” said Old Tom, grimacing, but friendly, as if +his sympathies had been irresistibly assailed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s done, Tom! I’ve done it. Won my bet, now,” Andrew +exclaimed. “The women—poor creatures! What a state they’re +in. I pity ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom pursed his lips, and eyed his brother incredulously, but with curious +eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord! what a face I’ve had to wear!” Andrew continued, +and while he sank into a chair and rubbed his handkerchief over his crisp hair, +Old Tom let loose a convinced and exulting, “ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you may laugh. I’ve had all the bother,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Serve ye right—marrying such cattle,” Old Tom snapped at +him. +</p> + +<p> +“They believe we’re bankrupt—owe fifty thousand clear, +Tom!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Brewery stock and household furniture to be sold by general auction, +Friday week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a place for any of us to poke our heads into. I talked about +‘pitiless storms’ to my poor Harry—no shelter to be had +unless we go down to Lymport, and stop with their brother in shop!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom did enjoy this. He took a great gulp of air for a tremendous burst of +laughter, and when this was expended and reflection came, his features screwed, +as if the acidest of flavours had ravished his palate. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, Nan! Didn’t think you were man enough. Ha! ha! Nan—I +say—eh? how did ye get on behind the curtains?” +</p> + +<p> +The tale, to guess by Andrew’s face, appeared to be too strongly infused +with pathos for revelation. +</p> + +<p> +“Will they go, Nan, eh? d’ ye think they’ll go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where else can they go, Tom? They must go there, or on the parish, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll all troop down to the young tailor—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“They can’t sleep in the parks, Tom.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. They can’t get into Buckingham Palace, +neither—’cept as housemaids. ’Gad, they’re howling like +cats, I’d swear—nuisance to the neighbourhood—ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom’s cruel laughter made Andrew feel for the unhappy ladies. He +stuck his forehead, and leaned forward, saying: “I don’t +know—’pon my honour, I don’t know—can’t think +we’ve—quite done right to punish ’em so.” +</p> + +<p> +This acted like cold water on Old Tom’s delight. He pitched it back in +the shape of a doubt of what Andrew had told him. Whereupon Andrew defied him +to face three miserable women on the verge of hysterics; and Old Tom, beginning +to chuckle again, rejoined that it would bring them to their senses, and +emancipate him. +</p> + +<p> +“You may laugh, Mr. Tom,” said Andrew; “but if poor Harry +should find me out, deuce a bit more home for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom looked at him keenly, and rapped the table. “Swear you did it, +Nan.” +</p> + +<p> +“You promise you’ll keep the secret,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Never make promises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there’s a pretty life for me! I did it for that poor dear +boy. You were only up to one of your jokes—I see that. Confound you, Old +Tom, you’ve been making a fool of me.” +</p> + +<p> +The flattering charge was not rejected by Old Tom, who now had his brother to +laugh at as well. Andrew affected to be indignant and desperate. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d had a heart, Tom, you’d have saved the poor fellow +without any bother at all. What do you think? When I told him of our +smash—ha! ha! it isn’t such a bad joke—well, I went to him, +hanging my head, and he offered to arrange our affairs—that +is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Damned meddlesome young dog!” cried Old Tom, quite in a rage. +</p> + +<p> +“There—you’re up in a twinkling,” said Andrew. +“Don’t you see he believed it, you stupid Old Tom? Lord! to hear +him say how sorry he was, and to see how glad he looked at the chance of +serving us!” +</p> + +<p> +“Serving us!” Tom sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” went Andrew. “Yes. There. You’re a deuced deal +prouder than fifty peers. You’re an upside-down old despot!” +</p> + +<p> +No sharper retort rising to Old Tom’s lips, he permitted his +brother’s abuse of him to pass, declaring that bandying words was not his +business, he not being a Parliament man. +</p> + +<p> +“How about the Major, Nan? He coming down, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Major!” cried Andrew. “Lucky if he keeps his commission. +Coming down? No. He’s off to the Continent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Find plenty of scamps there to keep him company,” added Tom. +“So he’s broke—eh? ha! ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tom,” said Andrew, seriously, “I’ll tell you all about +it, if you’ll swear not to split on me, because it would really upset +poor Harry so. She’d think me such a beastly hypocrite, I couldn’t +face her afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lose what pluck you have—eh?” Tom jerked out his hand, and +bade his brother continue. +</p> + +<p> +Compelled to trust in him without a promise, Andrew said: “Well, then, +after we’d arranged it, I went back to Harry, and begged her to have poor +Van at the house: told her what I hoped you’d do for him about getting +him into the Brewery. She’s very kind, Tom, ’pon my honour she is. +She was willing, only—” +</p> + +<p> +“Only—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she was so afraid it’d hurt her sisters to see him +there.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom saw he was in for excellent fun, and wouldn’t spoil it for the +world. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Nan?” +</p> + +<p> +“So I went to Caroline. She was easy enough; and she went to the +Countess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and she—?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was willing, too, till Lady Jocelyn came and took Miss Bonner home +to Beckley, and because Evan had written to my lady to fetch her, the +Countess—she was angry. That was all. Because of that, you know. But yet +she agreed. But when Miss Bonner had gone, it turned out that the Major was the +obstacle. They were all willing enough to have Evan there, but the Major +refused. I didn’t hear him. I wasn’t going to ask him. I +mayn’t be a match for three women, but man to man, eh, Tom? You’d +back me there? So Harry said the Major’d make Caroline miserable, if his +wishes were disrespected. By George, I wish I’d known, then. Don’t +you think it odd, Tom, now? There’s a Duke of Belfield the fellow had +hooked into his Company; and—through Evan I heard—the Duke had his +name struck off. After that, the Major swore at the Duke once or twice, and +said Caroline wasn’t to go out with him. Suddenly, he insists that she +shall go. Days the poor thing kept crying! One day, he makes her go. She +hasn’t the spirit of my Harry or the Countess. By good luck, Van, who was +hunting ferns for some friends of his, met them on Sunday in Richmond Park, and +Van took her away from the Duke. But, Tom, think of Van seeing a fellow +watching her wherever she went, and hearing the Duke’s coachman tell that +fellow he had orders to drive his master and a lady hard on to the sea that +night. I don’t believe it—it wasn’t Caroline! But what do you +think of our finding out that beast of a spy to be in the Major’s pay? We +did. Van put a constable on his track; we found him out, and he confessed it. A +fact, Tom! That decided me. If it was only to get rid of a brute, I determined +I’d do it, and I did. Strike came to me to get my name for a bill that +night. ’Gad, he looked blanker than his bill when he heard of us two +bankrupt. I showed him one or two documents I’d got ready. Says he: +‘Never mind; it’ll only be a couple of hundred more in the +schedule.’ Stop, Tom! he’s got some of our blood. I don’t +think he meant it. He is hard pushed. Well, I gave him a twentier, and he was +off the next night. You’ll soon see all about the Company in the +papers.” +</p> + +<p> +At the conclusion of Andrew’s recital, Old Tom thrummed and looked on the +floor under a heavy frown. His mouth worked dubiously, and, from moment to +moment, he plucked at his waistcoat and pulled it down, throwing back his head +and glaring. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve knocked that fellow over once,” he said. “Wish he +hadn’t got up again.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“One good thing, Nan. He never boasted of our connection. Much obliged to +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Andrew, who was gladly watching Old Tom’s change +of mood with a quiescent aspect. +</p> + +<p> +“Um!—must keep it quiet from his poor old mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew again affirmatived his senior’s remarks. That his treatment of Old +Tom was sound, he presently had proof of. The latter stood up, and after +sniffing in an injured way for about a minute, launched out his right leg, and +vociferated that he would like to have it in his power to kick all the villains +out of the world: a modest demand Andrew at once chimed in with; adding that, +were such a faculty extended to him, he would not object to lose the leg that +could benefit mankind so infinitely, and consented to its following them. Then, +Old Tom, who was of a practical turn, meditated, swung his foot, and gave one +grim kick at the imaginary bundle of villains, discharged them headlong +straight into space. Andrew, naturally imitative, and seeing that he had now to +kick them flying, attempted to excel Old Tom in the vigour of his delivery. No +wonder that the efforts of both were heating: they were engaged in the task of +ridding the globe of the larger half of its inhabitants. Tom perceived +Andrew’s useless emulation, and with a sound translated by +“yack,” sent his leg out a long way. Not to be outdone, Andrew +immediately, with a still louder “yack,” committed himself to an +effort so violent that the alternative between his leg coming off, or his being +taken off his leg, was propounded by nature, and decided by the laws of gravity +in a trice. Joyful grunts were emitted by Old Tom at the sight of Andrew +prostrate, rubbing his pate. But Mrs. Sockley, to whom the noise of +Andrew’s fall had suggested awful fears of a fratricidal conflict +upstairs, hurried forthwith to announce to them that the sovereign remedy for +human ills, the promoter of concord, the healer of feuds, the central point of +man’s destiny in the flesh—Dinner, was awaiting them. +</p> + +<p> +To the dinner they marched. +</p> + +<p> +Of this great festival be it simply told that the supply was copious and of +good quality—much too good and copious for a bankrupt host: that Evan and +Mr. John Raikes were formally introduced to Old Tom before the repast +commenced, and welcomed some three minutes after he had decided the flavour of +his first glass; that Mr. Raikes in due time preferred his petition for release +from a dreadful engagement, and furnished vast amusement to the company under +Old Tom’s hand, until, by chance, he quoted a scrap of Latin, at which +the brothers Cogglesby, who would have faced peers and princes without being +disconcerted, or performing mental genuflexions, shut their mouths and looked +injured, unhappy, and in the presence of a superior: Mr. Raikes not being the +man to spare them. Moreover, a surprise was afforded to Evan. Andrew stated to +Old Tom that the hospitality of Main Street, Lymport,—was open to him. +Strange to say, Old Tom accepted it on the spot, observing, “You’re +master of the house—can do what you like, if you’re man +enough,” and adding that he thanked him, and would come in a day or two. +The case of Mr. Raikes was still left uncertain, for as the bottle circulated, +he exhibited such a faculty for apt, but to the brothers, totally +incomprehensible quotation, that they fled from him without leaving him time to +remember what special calamity was on his mind, or whether this earth was other +than an abode conceived in great jollity for his life-long entertainment. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"></a> +CHAPTER XLII.<br /> +JULIANA</h2> + +<p> +The sick night-light burned steadily in Juliana’s chamber. On a couch, +beside her bed, Caroline lay sleeping, tired with a long watch. Two sentences +had been passed on Juliana: one on her heart: one on her body: “Thou art +not loved”; and, “Thou must die.” The frail passion of her +struggle against her destiny was over with her. Quiet as that quiet which +Nature was taking her to, her body reposed. Calm as the solitary night-light +before her open eyes, her spirit was wasting away. “If I am not loved, +then let me die!” In such a sense she bowed to her fate. +</p> + +<p> +At an hour like this, watching the round of light on the ceiling, with its +narrowing inner rings, a sufferer from whom pain has fled looks back to the +shores she is leaving, and would be well with them who walk there. It is false +to imagine that schemers and workers in the dark are destitute of the saving +gift of conscience. They have it, and it is perhaps made livelier in them than +with easy people; and therefore, they are imperatively spurred to hoodwink it. +Hence, their self-delusion is deep and endures. They march to their object, and +gaining or losing it, the voice that calls to them is the voice of a blind +creature, whom any answer, provided that the answer is ready, will silence. And +at an hour like this, when finally they snatch their minute of sight on the +threshold of black night, their souls may compare with yonder shining circle on +the ceiling, which, as the light below gasps for air, contracts, and extends +but to mingle with the darkness. They would be nobler, better, boundlessly good +to all;—to those who have injured them to those whom they have injured. +Alas! for any definite deed the limit of their circle is immoveable, and they +must act within it. The trick they have played themselves imprisons them. +Beyond it, they cease to be. +</p> + +<p> +Lying in this utter stillness, Juliana thought of Rose; of her beloved by Evan. +The fever that had left her blood, had left it stagnant, and her thoughts were +quite emotionless. She looked faintly on a far picture. She saw Rose blooming +with pleasures in Elburne House, sliding as a boat borne by the river’s +tide to sea, away from her living joy. The breast of Rose was lucid to her, and +in that hour of insight she had clear knowledge of her cousin’s heart; +how it scoffed at its base love, and unwittingly betrayed the power on her +still, by clinging to the world and what it would give her to fill the void; +how externally the lake was untroubled, and a mirror to the passing day; and +how within there pressed a flood against an iron dam. Evan, too, she saw. The +Countess was right in her judgement of Juliana’s love. Juliana looked +very little to his qualities. She loved him when she thought him guilty, which +made her conceive that her love was of a diviner cast than Rose was capable of. +Guilt did not spoil his beauty to her; his gentleness and glowing manhood were +unchanged; and when she knew him as he was, the revelation of his high nature +simply confirmed her impression of his physical perfections. She had done him a +wrong; at her death news would come to him, and it might be that he would bless +her name. Because she sighed no longer for those dear lips and strong arms to +close about her tremulous frame, it seemed to her that she had quite +surrendered him. Generous to Evan, she would be just to Rose. Beneath her +pillow she found pencil and paper, and with difficulty, scarce seeing her +letters in the brown light, she began to trace lines of farewell to Rose. Her +conscience dictated to her thus, “Tell Rose that she was too ready to +accept his guilt; and that in this as in all things, she acted with the +precipitation of her character. Tell her that you always trusted, and that now +you know him innocent. Give her the proofs you have. Show that he did it to +shield his intriguing sister. Tell her that you write this only to make her +just to him. End with a prayer that Rose may be happy.” +</p> + +<p> +Ere Juliana had finished one sentence, she resigned the pencil. Was it not +much, even at the gates of death, to be the instrument to send Rose into his +arms? The picture swayed before her, helping her weakness. She found herself +dreaming that he had kissed her once. Dorothy, she remembered, had danced up to +her one day, to relate what the maids of the house said of the +gentleman—(at whom, it is known, they look with the licence of cats +toward kings); and Dorothy’s fresh careless mouth had told how one +observant maid, amorously minded, proclaimed of Evan, to a companion of her +sex, that, “he was the only gentleman who gave you an idea of how he +would look when he was kissing you.” Juliana cherished that vision +likewise. Young ladies are not supposed to do so, if menial maids are; but +Juliana did cherish it, and it possessed her fancy. Bear in your recollection +that she was not a healthy person. Diseased little heroines may be made +attractive, and are now popular; but strip off the cleverly woven robe which is +fashioned to cover them, and you will find them in certain matters bearing a +resemblance to menial maids. +</p> + +<p> +While the thoughts of his kiss lasted, she could do nothing; but lay with her +two hands out on the bed, and her eyelids closed. Then waking, she took the +pencil again. It would not move: her bloodless fingers fell from it. +</p> + +<p> +“If they do not meet, and he never marries, I may claim him in the next +world,” she mused. +</p> + +<p> +But conscience continued uneasy. She turned her wrist and trailed a letter from +beneath the pillow. It was from Mrs. Shorne. Juliana knew the contents. She +raised it unopened as high as her faltering hands permitted, and read like one +whose shut eyes read syllables of fire on the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose has at last definitely engaged herself to Ferdinand, you will be +glad to hear, and we may now treat her as a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +Having absorbed these words, Juliana’s hand found strength to write, with +little difficulty, what she had to say to Rose. She conceived it to be neither +sublime nor generous: not even good; merely her peculiar duty. When it was +done, she gave a long, low sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline whispered, “Dearest child, are you awake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorrowful, dear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline reached her hand over to her, and felt the paper. “What is +this?” +</p> + +<p> +“My good-bye to Rose. I want it folded now.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline slipped from the couch to fulfil her wish. She enclosed the pencilled +scrap of paper, sealed it, and asked, “Is that right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now unlock my desk,” Juliana uttered, feebly. “Put it beside +a letter addressed to a law-gentleman. Post both the morning I am gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline promised to obey, and coming to Juliana to mark her looks, observed a +faint pleased smile dying away, and had her hand gently squeezed. +Juliana’s conscience had preceded her contentedly to its last sleep; and +she, beneath that round of light on the ceiling, drew on her counted breaths in +peace till dawn. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"></a> +CHAPTER XLIII.<br /> +ROSE</h2> + +<p> +Have you seen a young audacious spirit smitten to the earth? It is a singular +study; and, in the case of young women, a trap for inexperienced men. Rose, who +had commanded and managed every one surrounding her since infancy, how humble +had she now become!—how much more womanly in appearance, and more +child-like at heart! She was as wax in Lady Elburne’s hands. A hint of +that veiled episode, the Beckley campaign, made Rose pliant, as if she had +woven for herself a rod of scorpions. The high ground she had taken; the +perfect trust in one; the scorn of any judgement, save her own; these had +vanished from her. Rose, the tameless heroine who had once put her +mother’s philosophy in action, was the easiest filly that turbaned matron +ever yet drove into the straight road of the world. It even surprised Lady +Jocelyn to see how wonderfully she had been broken in by her grandmother. Her +ladyship wrote to Drummond to tell him of it, and Drummond congratulated her, +saying, however: “Changes of this sort don’t come of conviction. +Wait till you see her at home. I think they have been sticking pins into the +sore part.” +</p> + +<p> +Drummond knew Rose well. In reality there was no change in her. She was only a +suppliant to be spared from ridicule: spared from the application of the +scourge she had woven for herself. +</p> + +<p> +And, ah! to one who deigned to think warmly still of such a disgraced silly +creature, with what gratitude she turned! He might well suppose love alone +could pour that profusion of jewels at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +Ferdinand, now Lord Laxley, understood the merits of his finger-nails better +than the nature of young women; but he is not to be blamed for presuming that +Rose had learnt to adore him. Else why did she like his company so much? He was +not mistaken in thinking she looked up to him. She seemed to beg to be taken +into his noble serenity. In truth she sighed to feel as he did, above +everybody!—she that had fallen so low! Above everybody!—born above +them, and therefore superior by grace divine! To this Rose Jocelyn had +come—she envied the mind of Ferdinand. +</p> + +<p> +He, you may be sure, was quite prepared to accept her homage. Rose he had +always known to be just the girl for him; spirited, fresh, and with fine teeth; +and once tied to you safe to be staunch. They walked together, rode together, +danced together. Her soft humility touched him to eloquence. Say she was a +little hypocrite, if you like, when the blood came to her cheeks under his +eyes. Say she was a heartless minx for allowing it to be bruited that she and +Ferdinand were betrothed. I can but tell you that her blushes were blushes of +gratitude to one who could devote his time to such a disgraced silly creature, +and that she, in her abject state, felt a secret pleasure in the protection +Ferdinand’s name appeared to extend over her, and was hardly willing to +lose it. +</p> + +<p> +So far Lady Elburne’s tact and discipline had been highly successful. One +morning, in May, Ferdinand, strolling with Rose down the garden made a positive +appeal to her common sense and friendly feeling; by which she understood that +he wanted her consent to his marriage with her. +</p> + +<p> +Rose answered: +</p> + +<p> +“Who would have me?” +</p> + +<p> +Ferdinand spoke pretty well, and ultimately got possession of her hand. She let +him keep it, thinking him noble for forgetting that another had pressed it +before him. +</p> + +<p> +Some minutes later the letters were delivered. One of them contained +Juliana’s dark-winged missive. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor, poor Juley!” said Rose, dropping her head, after reading all +that was on the crumpled leaf with an inflexible face. And then, talking on, +long low sighs lifted her bosom at intervals. She gazed from time to time with +a wistful conciliatory air on Ferdinand. Rushing to her chamber, the first cry +her soul framed was: +</p> + +<p> +“He did not kiss me!” +</p> + +<p> +The young have a superstitious sense of something incontestably true in the +final protestations of the dead. Evan guiltless! she could not quite take the +meaning this revelation involved. That which had been dead was beginning to +move within her; but blindly: and now it stirred and troubled; now sank. +Guiltless all she had thought him! Oh! she knew she could not have been +deceived. But why, why had he hidden his sacrifice from her? +</p> + +<p> +“It is better for us both, of course,” said Rose, speaking the +world’s wisdom, parrot-like, and bursting into tears the next minute. +Guiltless, and gloriously guiltless! but nothing—nothing to her! +</p> + +<p> +She tried to blame him. It would not do. She tried to think of that grovelling +loathsome position painted to her by Lady Elburne’s graphic hand. Evan +dispersed the gloomy shades like sunshine. Then in a sort of terror she +rejoiced to think she was partially engaged to Ferdinand, and found herself +crying again with exultation, that he had not kissed her: for a kiss on her +mouth was to Rose a pledge and a bond. +</p> + +<p> +The struggle searched her through: bared her weakness, probed her strength; and +she, seeing herself, suffered grievously in her self-love. Am I such a coward, +inconstant, cold? she asked. Confirmatory answers coming, flung her back under +the shield of Ferdinand if for a moment her soul stood up armed and defiant, it +was Evan’s hand she took. +</p> + +<p> +To whom do I belong? was another terrible question. In her ideas, if Evan was +not chargeable with that baseness which had sundered them he might claim her +yet, if he would. If he did, what then? Must she go to him? +</p> + +<p> +Impossible: she was in chains. Besides, what a din of laughter there would be +to see her led away by him. Twisting her joined hands: weeping for her cousin, +as she thought, Rose passed hours of torment over Juliana’s legacy to +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did I doubt him?” she cried, jealous that any soul should have +known and trusted him better. Jealous and I am afraid that the kindling of that +one feature of love relighted the fire of her passion thus fervidly. To be +outstripped in generosity was hateful to her. Rose, naturally, could not +reflect that a young creature like herself, fighting against the world, as we +call it, has all her faculties at the utmost stretch, and is often betrayed by +failing nature when the will is still valiant. +</p> + +<p> +And here she sat—in chains! “Yes! I am fit only to be the wife of +an idle brainless man, with money and a title,” she said, in extreme +self-contempt. She caught a glimpse of her whole life in the horrid tomb of his +embrace, and questions whether she could yield her hand to him—whether it +was right in the eyes of heaven, rushed impetuously to console her, and defied +anything in the shape of satisfactory affirmations. Nevertheless, the end of +the struggle was, that she felt that she was bound to Ferdinand. +</p> + +<p> +“But this I will do,” said Rose, standing with heat-bright eyes and +deep-coloured cheeks before the glass. “I will clear his character at +Beckley. I will help him. I will be his friend. I will wipe out the injustice I +did him.” And this bride-elect of a lord absolutely added that she was +unworthy to be the wife of a tailor! +</p> + +<p> +“He! how unequalled he is! There is nothing he fears except shame. Oh! +how sad it will be for him to find no woman in his class to understand him and +be his helpmate!” +</p> + +<p> +Over, this sad subject, of which we must presume her to be accurately +cognizant, Rose brooded heavily. By mid-day she gave her Grandmother notice +that she was going home to Juliana’s funeral. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Rose, if you think it necessary to join the ceremony,” said +Lady Elburne. “Beckley is bad quarters for you, as you have learnt. There +was never much love between you cousins.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and I don’t pretend to it,” Rose answered. “I am +sorry poor Juley’s gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s better gone for many reasons—she appears to have been +a little venomous toad,” said Lady Elburne; and Rose, thinking of a +snakelike death-bite working through her blood, rejoined: “Yes, she +isn’t to be pitied: she’s better off than most people.” +</p> + +<p> +So it was arranged that Rose should go. Ferdinand and her aunt, Mrs. Shorne, +accompanied her. Mrs. Shorne gave them their opportunities, albeit they were +all stowed together in a carriage, and Ferdinand seemed willing to profit by +them; but Rose’s hand was dead, and she sat by her future lord forming +the vow on her lips that they should never be touched by him. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived at Beckley, she, to her great delight, found Caroline there, waiting +for the funeral. In a few minutes she got her alone, and after kisses, looked +penetratingly into her lovely eyes, shook her head, and said: “Why were +you false to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“False?” echoed Caroline. +</p> + +<p> +“You knew him. You knew why he did that. Why did you not save me?” +</p> + +<p> +Caroline fell upon her neck, asking pardon. She spared her the recital of facts +further than the broad avowal. Evan’s present condition she plainly +stated: and Rose, when the bitter pangs had ceased, made oath to her soul she +would rescue him from it. +</p> + +<p> +In addition to the task of clearing Evan’s character, and rescuing him, +Rose now conceived that her engagement to Ferdinand must stand ice-bound till +Evan had given her back her troth. How could she obtain it from him? How could +she take anything from one so noble and so poor! Happily there was no hurry; +though before any bond was ratified, she decided conscientiously that it must +be done. +</p> + +<p> +You see that like a lithe snake she turns on herself, and must be tracked in +and out. Not being a girl to solve the problem with tears, or outright perfidy, +she had to ease her heart to the great shock little by little—sincere as +far as she knew: as far as one who loves may be. The day of the funeral came +and went. The Jocelyns were of their mother’s opinion: that for many +reasons Juliana was better out of the way. Mrs. Bonner’s bequest had been +a severe blow to Sir Franks. However, all was now well. The estate naturally +lapsed to Lady Jocelyn. No one in the house dreamed of a will, signed with +Juliana’s name, attested, under due legal forms, being in existence. None +of the members of the family imagined that at Beckley Court they were then +residing on somebody else’s ground. +</p> + +<p> +Want of hospitable sentiments was not the cause that led to an intimation from +Sir Franks to his wife, that Mrs. Strike must not be pressed to remain, and +that Rose must not be permitted to have her own way in this. Knowing very well +that Mrs. Shorne spoke through her husband’s mouth, Lady Jocelyn still +acquiesced, and Rose, who had pressed Caroline publicly to stay, had to be +silent when the latter renewed her faint objections; so Caroline said she would +leave on the morrow morning. +</p> + +<p> +Juliana, with her fretfulness, her hand bounties, her petty egoisms, and sudden +far-leaping generosities, and all the contradictory impulses of her malady, had +now departed utterly. The joys of a landed proprietor mounted into the head of +Sir Franks. He was up early the next morning, and he and Harry walked over a +good bit of the ground before breakfast. Sir Franks meditated making it entail, +and favoured Harry with a lecture on the duty of his shaping the course of his +conduct at once after the model of the landed gentry generally. +</p> + +<p> +“And you may think yourself lucky to come into that catalogue—the +son of a younger son!” said Sir Franks, tapping Mr. Harry’s +shoulder. Harry also began to enjoy the look and smell of land. At the +breakfast, which, though early, was well attended, Harry spoke of the +adviseability of felling timber here, planting there, and so forth, after the +model his father held up. Sir Franks nodded approval of his interest in the +estate, but reserved his opinion on matters of detail. +</p> + +<p> +“All I beg of you is,” said Lady Jocelyn, “that you +won’t let us have turnips within the circuit of a mile”; which was +obligingly promised. +</p> + +<p> +The morning letters were delivered and opened with the customary calmness. +</p> + +<p> +“Letter from old George,” Harry sings out, and buzzes over a few +lines. “Halloa!—Hum!” He was going to make a communication, +but catching sight of Caroline, tossed the letter over to Ferdinand, who read +it and tossed it back with the comment of a careless face. +</p> + +<p> +“Read it, Rosey?” says Harry, smiling bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +Rather to his surprise, Rose took the letter. Study her eyes if you wish to +gauge the potency of one strong dose of ridicule on an ingenuous young heart. +She read that Mr. George Uplift had met “our friend Mr. Snip” +riding, by moonlight, on the road to Beckley. That great orbed night of their +deep tender love flashed luminously through her frame, storming at the base +epithet by which her lover was mentioned, flooding grandly over the ignominies +cast on him by the world. She met the world, as it were, in a death-grapple; +she matched the living heroic youth she felt him to be, with that dead wooden +image of him which it thrust before her. Her heart stood up singing like a +craven who sees the tide of victory setting toward him. But this passed beneath +her eyelids. When her eyes were lifted, Ferdinand could have discovered nothing +in them to complain of, had his suspicions been light to raise: nor could Mrs. +Shorne perceive that there was the opening for a shrewd bodkin-thrust. Rose had +got a mask at last: her colour, voice, expression, were perfectly at command. +She knew it to be a cowardice to wear any mask: but she had been burnt, +horribly burnt: how much so you may guess from the supple dissimulation of such +a bold clear-visaged girl. She conquered the sneers of the world in her soul: +but her sensitive skin was yet alive to the pangs of the scorching it had been +subjected to when weak, helpless, and betrayed by Evan, she stood with no +philosophic parent to cry fair play for her, among the skilful torturers of +Elburne House. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks had risen and walked to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“News?” said Lady Jocelyn, wheeling round in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +The one eyebrow up of the easy-going baronet signified trouble of mind. He +finished his third perusal of a letter that appeared to be written in a +remarkably plain legal hand, and looking as men do when their intelligences are +just equal to the comprehension or expression of an oath, handed the letter to +his wife, and observed that he should be found in the library. Nevertheless he +waited first to mark its effect on Lady Jocelyn. At one part of the document +her forehead wrinkled slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t sound like a joke!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She answered: +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks, apparently quite satisfied by her ready response, turned on his +heel and left the room quickly. +</p> + +<p> +An hour afterward it was rumoured and confirmed that Juliana Bonner had willed +all the worldly property she held in her own right, comprising Beckley Court, +to Mr. Evan Harrington, of Lymport, tailor. An abstract of the will was +forwarded. The lawyer went on to say, that he had conformed to the desire of +the testatrix in communicating the existence of the aforesaid will six days +subsequent to her death, being the day after her funeral. +</p> + +<p> +There had been railing and jeering at the Countess de Saldar, the clever +outwitted exposed adventuress, at Elburne House and Beckley Court. What did the +crowing cleverer aristocrats think of her now? +</p> + +<p> +On Rose the blow fell bitterly. Was Evan also a foul schemer? Was he of a piece +with his intriguing sister? His close kinship with the Countess had led her to +think baseness possible to him when it was confessed by his own mouth once. She +heard black names cast at him and the whole of the great Mel’s brood, and +incapable of quite disbelieving them merited, unable to challenge and rebut +them, she dropped into her recent state of self-contempt: into her +lately-instilled doubt whether it really was in Nature’s power, unaided +by family-portraits, coats-of-arms, ball-room practice, and at least one small +phial of Essence of Society, to make a Gentleman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"></a> +CHAPTER XLIV.<br /> +CONTAINS A WARNING TO ALL CONSPIRATORS</h2> + +<p> +This, if you have done me the favour to read it aright, has been a chronicle of +desperate heroism on the part of almost all the principal personages +represented. But not the Countess de Saldar, scaling the embattled fortress of +Society; nor Rose, tossing its keys to her lover from the shining turret-tops; +nor Evan, keeping bright the lamp of self-respect in his bosom against South +wind and East; none excel friend Andrew Cogglesby, who, having fallen into Old +Tom’s plot to humiliate his wife and her sisters, simply for Evan’s +sake, and without any distinct notion of the terror, confusion, and universal +upset he was bringing on his home, could yet, after a scared contemplation of +the scene when he returned from his expedition to Fallowfield, continue to +wear his rueful mask; and persevere in treacherously outraging his lofty wife. +</p> + +<p> +He did it to vindicate the ties of blood against accidents of position. Was he +justified? I am sufficiently wise to ask my own sex alone. +</p> + +<p> +On the other side, be it said (since in our modern days every hero must have +his weak heel), that now he had gone this distance it was difficult to recede. +It would be no laughing matter to tell his solemn Harriet that he had been +playing her a little practical joke. His temptations to give it up were +incessant and most agitating; but if to advance seemed terrific, there was, in +stopping short, an awfulness so overwhelming that Andrew abandoned himself to +the current, his real dismay adding to his acting powers. +</p> + +<p> +The worst was, that the joke was no longer his: it was Old Tom’s. He +discovered that he was in Old Tom’s hands completely. Andrew had thought +that he would just frighten the women a bit, get them down to Lymport for a +week or so, and then announce that matters were not so bad with the Brewery as +he had feared; concluding the farce with a few domestic fireworks. Conceive his +dismay when he entered the house, to find there a man in possession. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew flew into such a rage that he committed an assault on the man. So +ungovernable was his passion, that for some minutes Harriet’s measured +voice summoned him from over the banisters above, quite in vain. The miserable +Englishman refused to be taught that his house had ceased to be his castle. It +was something beyond a joke, this! The intruder, perfectly docile, seeing that +by accurate calculation every shake he got involved a bottle of wine for him, +and ultimate compensation probably to the amount of a couple of sovereigns, +allowed himself to be lugged up stairs, in default of summary ejection on the +point of Andrew’s toe into the street. There he was faced to the lady of +the house, who apologized to him, and requested her husband to state what had +made him guilty of this indecent behaviour. The man showed his papers. They +were quite in order. “At the suit of Messrs. Grist.” +</p> + +<p> +“My own lawyers!” cried Andrew, smacking his forehead; and Old +Tom’s devilry flashed on him at once. He sank into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you bring this person up here?” said Harriet, like a +speaking statue. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” Andrew answered, and spread out his hand, and waggled +his head; “My—please!—I—I don’t know. We all want +exercise.” +</p> + +<p> +The man laughed, which was kindly of him, but offensive to Mrs. Cogglesby, who +gave Andrew a glance which was full payment for his imbecile pleasantry, and +promised more. +</p> + +<p> +With a hospitable inquiry as to the condition of his appetite, and a request +that he would be pleased to satisfy it to the full, the man was dismissed: +whereat, as one delivered of noxious presences, the Countess rustled into +sight. Not noticing Andrew, she lisped to Harriet: “Misfortunes are +sometimes no curses! I bless the catarrh that has confined Silva to his +chamber, and saved him from a bestial exhibition.” +</p> + +<p> +The two ladies then swept from the room, and left Andrew to perspire at +leisure. +</p> + +<p> +Fresh tribulations awaited him when he sat down to dinner. Andrew liked his +dinner to be comfortable, good, and in plenty. This may not seem strange. The +fact is stated that I may win for him the warm sympathies of the body of his +countrymen. He was greeted by a piece of cold boiled neck of mutton and a +solitary dish of steaming potatoes. The blank expanse of table-cloth returned +his desolate stare. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s the meaning of this?” Andrew brutally exclaimed, +as he thumped the table. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess gave a start, and rolled a look as of piteous supplication to +spare a lady’s nerves, addressed to a ferocious brigand. Harriet +answered: “It means that I will have no butcher’s bills.” +</p> + +<p> +“Butcher’s bills! butcher’s bills!” echoed Andrew; +“why, you must have butcher’s bills; why, confound! why, +you’ll have a bill for this, won’t you, Harry? eh? of +course!” +</p> + +<p> +“There will be no more bills dating from yesterday,” said his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“What! this is paid for, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Cogglesby; and so will all household expenses be, while my +pocket-money lasts.” +</p> + +<p> +Resting his eyes full on Harriet a minute, Andrew dropped them on the +savourless white-rimmed chop, which looked as lonely in his plate as its parent +dish on the table. The poor dear creature’s pocket-money had paid for it! +The thought, mingling with a rush of emotion, made his ideas spin. His +imagination surged deliriously. He fancied himself at the Zoological Gardens, +exchanging pathetic glances with a melancholy marmoset. Wonderfully like one +the chop looked! There was no use in his trying to eat it. He seemed to be +fixing his teeth in solid tears. He choked. Twice he took up knife and fork, +put them down again, and plucking forth his handkerchief, blew a tremendous +trumpet, that sent the Countess’s eyes rolling to the ceiling, as if +heaven were her sole refuge from such vulgarity. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn that Old Tom!” he shouted at last, and pitched back in his +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cogglesby!” and “In the presence of ladies!” were +the admonishing interjections of the sisters, at whom the little man frowned in +turns. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish us to quit the room, sir?” inquired his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless your soul, you little darling!” he apostrophized that +stately person. “Here, come along with me, Harry. A wife’s a wife, +I say—hang it! Just outside the room—just a second! or up in a +corner will do.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cogglesby was amazed to see him jump up and run round to her. She was +prepared to defend her neck from his caress, and refused to go: but the words, +“Something particular to tell you,” awakened her curiosity, which +urged her to compliance. She rose and went with him to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir; what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +No doubt he was acting under a momentary weakness he was about to betray the +plot and take his chance of forgiveness; but her towering port, her commanding +aspect, restored his courage. (There may be a contrary view of the case.) He +enclosed her briskly in a connubial hug, and remarked with mad ecstasy: +“What a duck you are, Harry! What a likeness between you and your +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cogglesby disengaged herself imperiously. Had he called her aside for this +gratuitous insult? Contrite, he saw his dreadful error. +</p> + +<p> +“Harry! I declare!” was all he was allowed to say. Mrs. Cogglesby +marched back to her chair, and recommenced the repast in majestic silence. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew sighed; he attempted to do the same. He stuck his fork in the blanched +whiskerage of his marmoset, and exclaimed: “I can’t!” +</p> + +<p> +He was unnoticed. +</p> + +<p> +“You do not object to plain diet?” said Harriet to Louisa. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, in verity!” murmured the Countess. “However plain it +be! Absence of appetite, dearest. You are aware I partook of luncheon at +mid-day with the Honourable and Reverend Mr. Duffian. You must not look +condemnation at your Louy for that. Luncheon is not conversion!” +</p> + +<p> +Harriet observed that this might be true; but still, to her mind, it was a +mistake to be too intimate with dangerous people. “And besides,” +she added, “Mr. Duffian is no longer ‘the Reverend.’ We +deprive all renegades of their spiritual titles. His worldly ones let him +keep.” +</p> + +<p> +Her superb disdain nettled the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Harriet!” she said, with less languor, “You are utterly +and totally and entirely mistaken. I tell you so positively. Renegade! The +application of such a word to such a man! Oh! and it is false, Harriet quite! +Renegade means one who has gone over to the Turks, my dear. I am almost certain +I saw it in Johnson’s Dictionary, or an improvement upon Johnson, by a +more learned author. But there is the fact, if Harriet can only bring +her—shall I say stiff-necked prejudices to envisage it?” +</p> + +<p> +Harriet granted her sister permission to apply the phrases she stood in need +of, without impeaching her intimacy with the most learned among lexicographers. +</p> + +<p> +“And is there no such thing as being too severe?” the Countess +resumed. “What our enemies call unchristian!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Duffian has no cause to complain of us,” said Harriet. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor does he do so, dearest. Calumny may assail him; you may utterly +denude him—” +</p> + +<p> +“Adam!” interposed Andrew, distractedly listening. He did not +disturb the Countess’s flow. +</p> + +<p> +“You may vilify and victimize Mr. Duffian, and strip him of the honours +of his birth, but, like the Martyrs, he will still continue the perfect +nobleman. Stoned, I assure you that Mr. Duffian would preserve his breeding. In +character he is exquisite; a polish to defy misfortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose his table is good?” said Harriet, almost ruffled by the +Countess’s lecture. +</p> + +<p> +“Plate,” was remarked in the cold tone of supreme indifference. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem! good wines?” Andrew asked, waking up a little and not wishing +to be excluded altogether. +</p> + +<p> +“All is of the very best,” the Countess pursued her eulogy, not +looking at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you could—eh, Harry?—manage a pint for +me, my dear?” Andrew humbly petitioned. “This cold water—ha! +ha! my stomach don’t like cold bathing.” +</p> + +<p> +His wretched joke rebounded from the impenetrable armour of the ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“The wine-cellar is locked,” said his wife. “I have sealed up +the key till an inventory can be taken by some agent of the creditors.” +</p> + +<p> +“What creditors?” roared Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“You can have some of the servants’ beer,” Mrs. Cogglesby +appended. +</p> + +<p> +Andrew studied her face to see whether she really was not hoisting him with his +own petard. Perceiving that she was sincerely acting according to her sense of +principle, he fumed, and departed to his privacy, unable to stand it any +longer. +</p> + +<p> +Then like a kite the Countess pounced upon his character. Would the Honourable +and Reverend Mr. Duffian decline to participate in the sparest provender? Would +he be guilty of the discourtesy of leaving table without a bow or an apology, +even if reduced to extremest poverty? No, indeed! which showed that, under all +circumstances, a gentleman was a gentleman. And, oh! how she pitied her poor +Harriet—eternally tied to a most vulgar little man, without the gilding +of wealth. +</p> + +<p> +“And a fool in his business to boot, dear!” +</p> + +<p> +“These comparisons do no good,” said Harriet. “Andrew at +least is not a renegade, and never shall be while I live. I will do my duty by +him, however poor we are. And now, Louisa, putting my husband out of the +question, what are your intentions? I don’t understand bankruptcy, but I +imagine they can do nothing to wife and children. My little ones must have a +roof over their heads; and, besides, there is little Maxwell. You decline to go +down to Lymport, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Decline!” cried the Countess, melodiously; “and do not +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as I am concerned—yes. But I am not to think of +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess meditated, and said: “Dear Mr. Duffian has offered me his +hospitality. Renegades are not absolutely inhuman. They may be generous. I have +no moral doubt that Mr. Duffian would, upon my representation—dare I +venture?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sleep in his house! break bread with him!” exclaimed Harriet. +“What do you think I am made of? I would perish—go to the +workhouse, rather!” +</p> + +<p> +“I see you trooping there,” said the Countess, intent on the +vision. +</p> + +<p> +“And have you accepted his invitation for yourself, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess was never to be daunted by threatening aspects. She gave her +affirmative with calmness and a deliberate smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to live with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Live with him! What expressions! My husband accompanies me.” +</p> + +<p> +Harriet drew up. +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing, Louisa, that could give me more pain.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess patted Harriet’s knee. “It succeeds to bankruptcy, +assuredly. But would you have me drag Silva to the—the shop, Harriet, +love? Alternatives!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Andrew got up and rang the bell to have the remains of their dinner +removed. When this was done, she said, +</p> + +<p> +“Louisa, I don’t know whether I am justified: you told me to-day I +might keep my jewels, trinkets, and lace, and such like. To me, I know they do +not belong now: but I will dispose of them to procure you an asylum +somewhere—they will fetch, I should think, £400,—to prevent your +going to Mr. Duffian.” +</p> + +<p> +No exhibition of great-mindedness which the Countess could perceive, ever found +her below it. +</p> + +<p> +“Never, love, never!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, will you go to Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Evan? I hate him!” The olive-hued visage was dark. It brightened +as she added, “At least as much as my religious sentiments permit me to. +A boy who has thwarted me at every turn!—disgraced us! Indeed, I find it +difficult to pardon you the supposition of such a possibility as your own +consent to look on him ever again, Harriet.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no children,” said Mrs. Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess mournfully admitted it. +</p> + +<p> +“There lies your danger with Mr. Duffian, Louisa!” +</p> + +<p> +“What! do you doubt my virtue?” asked the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Pish! I fear something different. You understand me. Mr. Duffian’s +moral reputation is none of the best, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was before he renegaded,” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +Harriet bluntly rejoined: “You will leave that house a Roman +Catholic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you have spoken,” said the Countess, pluming. “Now let +me explain myself. My dear, I have fought worldly battles too long and too +earnestly. I am rightly punished. I do but quote Herbert Duffian’s own +words: he is no flatterer though you say he has such soft fingers. I am now +engaged in a spiritual contest. He is very wealthy! I have resolved to rescue +back to our Church what can benefit the flock of which we form a portion, so +exceedingly!” +</p> + +<p> +At this revelation of the Countess’s spiritual contest, Mrs. Andrew shook +a worldly head. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no chance with men there, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Harriet complains of female weakness!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We are strong in our own element, Louisa. Don’t be tempted +out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Sublime, the Countess rose: +</p> + +<p> +“Element! am I to be confined to one? What but spiritual solaces could +assist me to live, after the degradations I have had heaped on me? I renounce +the world. I turn my sight to realms where caste is unknown. I feel no shame +there of being a tailor’s daughter. You see, I can bring my tongue to +name the thing in its actuality. Once, that member would have blistered. +Confess to me that, in spite of your children, you are tempted to howl at the +idea of Lymport—” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess paused, and like a lady about to fire off a gun, appeared to +tighten her nerves, crying out rapidly: +</p> + +<p> +“Shop! Shears! Geese! Cabbage! Snip! Nine to a man!” +</p> + +<p> +Even as the silence after explosions of cannon, that which reigned in the room +was deep and dreadful. +</p> + +<p> +“See,” the Countess continued, “you are horrified you +shudder. I name all our titles, and if I wish to be red in my cheeks, I must +rouge. It is, in verity, as if my senseless clay were pelted, as we heard of +Evan at his first Lymport boys’ school. You remember when he told us the +story? He lisped a trifle then. ‘I’m the thon of a thnip.’ +Oh! it was hell-fire to us, then; but now, what do I feel? Why, I avowed it to +Herbert Duffian openly, and he said, that the misfortune of dear Papa’s +birth did not the less enable him to proclaim himself in conduct a +nobleman’s offspring—” +</p> + +<p> +“Which he never was.” Harriet broke the rhapsody in a monotonous +low tone: the Countess was not compelled to hear: +</p> + +<p> +“—and that a large outfitter—one of the very largest, was in +reality a merchant, whose daughters have often wedded nobles of the land, and +become ancestresses! Now, Harriet, do you see what a truly religious mind can +do for us in the way of comfort? Oh! I bow in gratitude to Herbert Duffian. I +will not rest till I have led him back to our fold, recovered from his error. +He was our own preacher and pastor. He quitted us from conviction. He shall +return to us from conviction.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess quoted texts, which I respect, and will not repeat. She descanted +further on spiritualism, and on the balm that it was to tailors and their +offspring; to all outcasts from Society. +</p> + +<p> +Overpowered by her, Harriet thus summed up her opinions: “You were always +self-willed, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, full of sacrifice, if you would be just,” added the Countess; +“and the victim of basest ingratitude.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you are in a dangerous path, Louisa.” +</p> + +<p> +Harriet had the last word, which usually the Countess was not disposed to +accord; but now she knew herself strengthened to do so, and was content to +smile pityingly on her sister. +</p> + +<p> +Full upon them in this frame of mind, arrived Caroline’s great news from +Beckley. +</p> + +<p> +It was then that the Countess’s conduct proved a memorable refutation of +cynical philosophy: she rejoiced in the good fortune of him who had offended +her! Though he was not crushed and annihilated (as he deserved to be) by the +wrong he had done, the great-hearted woman pardoned him! +</p> + +<p> +Her first remark was: “Let him thank me for it or not, I will lose no +moment in hastening to load him with my congratulations.” +</p> + +<p> +Pleasantly she joked Andrew, and defended him from Harriet now. +</p> + +<p> +“So we are not all bankrupts, you see, dear brother-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew had become so demoralized by his own plot, that in every turn of events +he scented a similar piece of human ingenuity. Harriet was angry with his +disbelief, or say, the grudging credit he gave to the glorious news. +Notwithstanding her calmness, the thoughts of Lymport had sickened her soul, +and it was only for the sake of her children, and from a sense of the +dishonesty of spending a farthing of the money belonging, as she conceived, to +the creditors, that she had consented to go. +</p> + +<p> +“I see your motive, Mr. Cogglesby,” she observed. “Your +measures are disconcerted. I will remain here till my brother gives me +shelter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’ll do, my love; that’s all I want,” said +Andrew, sincerely. +</p> + +<p> +“Both of you, fools!” the Countess interjected. “Know you +Evan so little? He will receive us anywhere: his arms are open to his kindred: +but to his heart the road is through humiliation, and it is to his heart we +seek admittance.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” Harriet inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Just this,” the Countess answered in bold English and her eyes +were lively, her figure elastic: “We must all of us go down to the old +shop and shake his hand there—every man Jack of us!—I’m only +quoting the sailors, Harriet—and that’s the way to win him.” +</p> + +<p> +She snapped her fingers, laughing. Harriet stared at her, and so did Andrew, +though for a different reason. She seemed to be transformed. Seeing him +inclined to gape, she ran up to him, caught up his chin between her ten +fingers, and kissed him on both cheeks, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t come, if you’re too proud, you know, little +man!” +</p> + +<p> +And to Harriet’s look of disgust, the cause for which she divined with +her native rapidity, she said: “What does it matter? They will talk, but +they can’t look down on us now. Why, this is my doing!” +</p> + +<p> +She came tripping to her tall sister, to ask plaintively “Mayn’t I +be glad?” and bobbed a curtsey. +</p> + +<p> +Harriet desired Andrew to leave them. Flushed and indignant she then faced the +Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“So unnecessary!” she began. “What can excuse your +indiscretion, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess smiled to hear her talking to her younger sister once more. She +shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if you will keep up the fiction, do. Andrew knows—he +isn’t an idiot—and to him we can make light of it now. What does +anybody’s birth matter, who’s well off!” +</p> + +<p> +It was impossible for Harriet to take that view. The shop, if not the thing, +might still have been concealed from her husband, she thought. +</p> + +<p> +“It mattered to me when I was well off,” she said, sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; and to me when I was; but we’ve had a fall and a lesson since +that, my dear. Half the aristocracy of England spring from shops!—Shall I +measure you?” +</p> + +<p> +Harriet never felt such a desire to inflict a slap upon mortal cheek. She +marched away from her in a tiff. On the other hand, Andrew was half fascinated +by the Countess’s sudden re-assumption of girlhood, and +returned—silly fellow! to have another look at her. She had ceased, on +reflection, to be altogether so vivacious: her stronger second nature had +somewhat resumed its empire: still she was fresh, and could at times be +roguishly affectionate and she patted him, and petted him, and made much of +him; slightly railed at him for his uxoriousness and domestic subjection, and +proffered him her fingers to try the taste of. The truth must be told: Mr. +Duffian not being handy, she in her renewed earthly happiness wanted to see her +charms in a woman’s natural mirror: namely, the face of man: if of man on +his knees, all the better and though a little man is not much of a man, and a +sister’s husband is, or should be, hardly one at all, still some sort of +a reflector he must be. Two or three jests adapted to Andrew’s palate +achieved his momentary captivation. +</p> + +<p> +He said: “’Gad, I never kissed you in my life, Louy.” +</p> + +<p> +And she, with a flavour of delicate Irish brogue, “Why don’t ye +catch opportunity by the tail, then?” +</p> + +<p> +Perfect innocence, I assure you, on both sides. +</p> + +<p> +But mark how stupidity betrays. Andrew failed to understand her, and act on the +hint immediately. Had he done so, the affair would have been over without a +witness. As it happened, delay permitted Harriet to assist at the ceremony. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t your mouth, Louy,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my mouth!—that I keep for, my chosen,” was answered. +</p> + +<p> +“’Gad, you make a fellow almost wish—” Andrew’s +fingers worked over his poll, and then the spectre of righteous wrath flashed +on him—naughty little man that he was! He knew himself naughty, for it +was the only time since his marriage that he had ever been sorry to see his +wife. This is a comedy, and I must not preach lessons of life here: but I am +obliged to remark that the husband must be proof, the sister-in-law perfect, +where arrangements exist that keep them under one roof. She may be so like his +wife! Or, from the knowledge she has of his circumstances, she may talk to him +almost as his wife. He may forget that she is not his wife! And then again, the +small beginnings, which are in reality the mighty barriers, are so easily slid +over. But what is the use of telling this to a pure generation? My constant +error is in supposing that I write for the wicked people who begat us. +</p> + +<p> +Note, however, the difference between the woman and the man! Shame confessed +Andrew’s naughtiness; he sniggered pitiably: whereas the Countess jumped +up, and pointing at him, asked her sister what she thought of that. Her next +sentence, coolly delivered, related to some millinery matter. If this was not +innocence, what is? +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, I must here state that the scene related, innocent as it was, +and, as one would naturally imagine, of puny consequence, if any, did no less a +thing than, subsequently, to precipitate the Protestant Countess de Saldar into +the bosom of the Roman Catholic Church. A little bit of play! +</p> + +<p> +It seems barely just. But if, as I have heard, a lady has trod on a pebble and +broken her nose, tremendous results like these warn us to be careful how we +walk. As for play, it was never intended that we should play with flesh and +blood. +</p> + +<p> +And, oh, be charitable, matrons of Britain! See here, Andrew Cogglesby, who +loved his wife as his very soul, and who almost disliked her sister; in ten +minutes the latter had set his head spinning! The whole of the day he went +about the house meditating frantically on the possibility of his Harriet +demanding a divorce. +</p> + +<p> +She was not the sort of woman to do that. But one thing she resolved to do; and +it was, to go to Lymport with Louisa, and having once got her out of her +dwelling-place, never to allow her to enter it, wherever it might be, in the +light of a resident again. Whether anything but the menace of a participation +in her conjugal possessions could have despatched her to that hateful place, I +doubt. She went: she would not let Andrew be out of her sight. Growing +haughtier toward him at every step, she advanced to the strange old shop. EVAN +HARRINGTON over the door! There the Countess, having meantime returned to her +state of womanhood, shared her shudders. They entered, and passed in to Mrs. +Mel, leaving their footman, apparently, in the rear. Evan was not visible. A +man in the shop, with a yard measure negligently adorning his shoulders, said +that Mr. Harrington was in the habit of quitting the shop at five. +</p> + +<p> +“Deuced good habit, too,” said Andrew. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sir,” observed another, stepping forward, “as you truly +say—yes. But—ah! Mr. Andrew Cogglesby? Pleasure of meeting you once +in Fallowfield! Remember Mr. Perkins?—the lawyer, not the maltster. Will +you do me the favour to step out with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Andrew followed him into the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you aware of our young friend’s good fortune?” said +Lawyer Perkins. “Yes. Ah! Well!—Would you believe that any sane +person in his condition, now—nonsense apart—could bring his mind +wilfully to continue a beggar? No. Um! Well; Mr. Cogglesby, I may tell you that +I hold here in my hands a document by which Mr. Evan Harrington transfers the +whole of the property bequeathed to him to Lady Jocelyn, and that I have his +orders to execute it instantly, and deliver it over to her ladyship, after the +will is settled, probate, and so forth: I presume there will be an arrangement +about his father’s debts. Now what do you think of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think, sir,—think!” cried Andrew, cocking his head at him +like an indignant bird, “I think he’s a damned young idiot to do +so, and you’re a confounded old rascal to help him.” +</p> + +<p> +Leaving Mr. Perkins to digest his judgement, which he had solicited, Andrew +bounced back into the shop. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"></a> +CHAPTER XLV.<br /> +IN WHICH THE SHOP BECOMES THE CENTRE OF ATTRACTION</h2> + +<p> +Under the first lustre of a May-night, Evan was galloping over the +moon-shadowed downs toward Beckley. At the ridge commanding the woods, the +park, and the stream, his horse stopped, as if from habit, snorted, and puffed +its sides, while he gazed steadily across the long lighted vale. Soon he began +to wind down the glaring chalk-track, and reached grass levels. Here he broke +into a round pace, till, gaining the first straggling cottages of the village, +he knocked the head of his whip against the garden-gate of one, and a man came +out, who saluted him, and held the reins. +</p> + +<p> +“Animal does work, sir,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +Evan gave directions for it to be looked to, and went on to the doorway, where +he was met by a young woman. She uttered a respectful greeting, and begged him +to enter. +</p> + +<p> +The door closed, he flung himself into a chair, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Susan, how is the child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! he’s always well, Mr. Harrington; he don’t know the +tricks o’ trouble yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will Polly be here soon?” +</p> + +<p> +“At a quarter after nine, she said, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan bade her sit down. After examining her features quietly, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to see you here, Susan. You don’t regret that you +followed my advice?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; now it’s over, I don’t. Mother’s kind enough, +and father doesn’t mention anything. She’s a-bed with +bile—father’s out.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what? There’s something on your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall cry, if I begin, Mr. Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +“See how far you can get without.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Sir, then,” said Susan, on a sharp rise of her bosom, +“it ain’t my fault. I wouldn’t cause trouble to Mr. Harry, or +any friend of yours; but, sir, father have got hold of his letters to me, and +he says, there’s a promise in ’em—least, one of ’em; +and it’s as good as law, he says—he heard it in a public-house; and +he’s gone over to Fall’field to a law-gentleman there.” Susan +was compelled to give way to some sobs. “It ain’t for +me—father does it, sir,” she pleaded. “I tried to stop him, +knowing how it’d vex you, Mr. Harrington; but he’s heady about +points, though a quiet man ordinary; and he says he don’t +expect—and I know now no gentleman’d marry such as me—I +ain’t such a stupid gaper at words as I used to be; but father says +it’s for the child’s sake, and he does it to have him provided for. +Please, don’t ye be angry with me, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Susan’s half-controlled spasms here got the better of her. +</p> + +<p> +While Evan was awaiting the return of her calmer senses, the latch was lifted, +and Polly appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“At it again!” was her sneering comment, after a short survey of +her apron-screened sister; and then she bobbed to Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s whimper, whimper, and squeak, squeak, half their lives with +some girls. After that they go wondering they can’t see to thread a +needle! The neighbours, I suppose. I should like to lift the top off some +o’ their houses. I hope I haven’t kept you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Polly,” said Evan; “but you must be charitable, or I +shall think you want a lesson yourself. Mr. Raikes tells me you want to see me. +What is it? You seem to be correspondents.” +</p> + +<p> +Polly replied: “Oh, no, Mr. Harrington: only accidental ones—when +something particular’s to be said. And he dances-like on the paper, so +that you can’t help laughing. Isn’t he a very eccentric gentleman, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Evan. “I’ve no time to lose, Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, you must go,” the latter called to her sister. “Now +pack at once, Sue. Do rout out, and do leave off thinking you’ve got a +candle at your eyes, for Goodness’ sake!” +</p> + +<p> +Susan was too well accustomed to Polly’s usage to complain. She murmured +a gentle “Good night, sir,” and retired. Whereupon Polly exclaimed: +“Bless her poor dear soft heart! It’s us hard ones that get on best +in the world. I’m treated better than her, Mr. Harrington, and I know I +ain’t worth half of her. It goes nigh to make one religious, only to see +how exactly like Scripture is the way Beckley treats her, whose only sin is her +being so soft as to believe in a man! Oh, dear! Mr. Harrington! I wish I had +good news for you.” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of all his self-control, Evan breathed quickly and looked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak it out, Polly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear! I must, I suppose,” Polly answered. “Mr. +Laxley’s become a lord now, Mr. Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan tasted in his soul the sweets of contrast. “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“And my Miss Rose—she—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +Moved by the keen hunger of his eyes, Polly hesitated. Her face betrayed a +sudden change of mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Wants to see you, sir,” she said, resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“To see me?” +</p> + +<p> +Evan stood up, so pale that Polly was frightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is she? Where can I meet her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t take it so, Mr. Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan commanded her to tell him what her mistress had said. +</p> + +<p> +Now up to this point Polly had spoken truth. She was positive her mistress did +want to see him. Polly, also, with a maiden’s tender guile, desired to +bring them together for once, though it were for the last time, and for no good +on earth. She had been about to confide to him her young mistress’s +position toward Lord Laxley, when his sharp interrogation stopped her. +Shrinking from absolute invention, she remarked that of course she could not +exactly remember Miss Rose’s words; which seemed indeed too much to +expect of her. +</p> + +<p> +“She will see me to-night?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know about to-night,” Polly replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to her instantly. Tell her I am ready. I will be at the West +park-gates. This is why you wrote, Polly? Why did you lose time? Don’t +delay, my good girl! Come!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan had opened the door. He would not allow Polly an instant for +expostulation; but drew her out, saying, “You will attend to the gates +yourself. Or come and tell me the day, if she appoints another.” +</p> + +<p> +Polly made a final effort to escape from the pit she was being pushed into. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Harrington! it wasn’t to tell you this I wrote. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Rose is engaged, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” said Evan, hoarsely, scarcely feeling it, as is the +case with men who are shot through the heart. +</p> + +<p> +Ten minutes later he was on horseback by the Fallowfield gates, with the +tidings shrieking through his frame. The night was still, and stiller in the +pauses of the nightingales. He sat there, neither thinking of them nor +reproached in his manhood for the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Presently +his horse’s ears pricked, and the animal gave a low neigh. Evan’s +eyes fixed harder on the length of gravel leading to the house. There was no +sign, no figure. Out from the smooth grass of the lane a couple of horsemen +issued, and came straight to the gates. He heard nothing till one spoke. It was +a familiar voice. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, Ferdy, here is the fellow, and we’ve been all the way to +Lymport!” +</p> + +<p> +Evan started from his trance. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s you, Harrington?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Harry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir!” exclaimed that youth, evidently flushed with wine, +“what the devil do you mean by addressing me by my Christian name?” +</p> + +<p> +Laxley pushed his horse’s head in front of Harry. In a manner apparently +somewhat improved by his new dignity, he said: “We have ridden to Lymport +to speak to you, sir. Favour me by moving a little ahead of the lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan bowed, and moved beside him a short way down the lane, Harry following. +</p> + +<p> +“The purport of my visit, sir,” Laxley began, “was to make +known to you that Miss Jocelyn has done me the honour to accept me as her +husband. I learn from her that during the term of your residence in the house, +you contrived to extract from her a promise to which she attaches certain +scruples. She pleases to consider herself bound to you till you release her. My +object is to demand that you will do so immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Should you refuse to make this reparation for the harm you have done to +her and her family,” Laxley pursued, “I must let you know that +there are means of compelling you to it, and that those means will be +employed.” +</p> + +<p> +Harry, fuming at these postured sentences, burst out: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you talk to the fellow in that way for? A fellow who makes a +fool of my cousin, and then wants to get us to buy off my sister! What’s +he spying after here? The place is ours till we troop. I tell you there’s +only one way of dealing with him, and if you don’t do it, I will.” +</p> + +<p> +Laxley pulled his reins with a jerk that brought him to the rear. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Jocelyn has commissioned you to make this demand on me in her +name?” said Evan. +</p> + +<p> +“I make it in my own right,” returned—Laxley. “I demand +a prompt reply.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, you shall have it. Miss Jocelyn is not bound to me by any +engagement. Should she entertain scruples which I may have it in my power to +obliterate, I shall not hesitate to do so—but only to her. What has +passed between us I hold sacred.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark at that!” shouted Harry. “The damned tradesman means +money! You ass, Ferdinand! What did we go to Lymport for? Not to bandy words. +Here! I’ve got my own quarrel with you, Harrington. You’ve been +setting that girl’s father on me. Can you deny that?” +</p> + +<p> +It was enough for Harry that Evan did not deny it. The calm disdain which he +read on Evan’s face acted on his fury, and digging his heels into his +horse’s flanks he rushed full at him and dealt him a sharp flick with his +whip. Evan’s beast reared. +</p> + +<p> +“Accept my conditions, sir, or afford me satisfaction,” cried +Laxley. +</p> + +<p> +“You do me great honour, my lord; but I have told you I cannot,” +said Evan, curbing his horse. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment Rose came among them. Evan raised his hat, as did Laxley. Harry, +a little behind the others, performed a laborious mock salute, and then ordered +her back to the house. A quick altercation ensued; the end being that Harry +managed to give his sister the context of the previous conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Now go back, Rose,” said Laxley. “I have particular business +with Mr. Harrington.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came to see him,” said Rose, in a clear voice. +</p> + +<p> +Laxley reddened angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then tell him at once you want to be rid of him,” her brother +called to her. +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked at Evan. Could he not see that she had no word in her soul for him +of that kind? Yes: but love is not always to be touched to tenderness even at +the sight of love. +</p> + +<p> +“Rose,” he said, “I hear from Lord Laxley, that you fancy +yourself not at liberty; and that you require me to disengage you.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. Did he expect her to say there that she wished nothing of the sort? +Her stedfast eyes spoke as much: but misery is wanton, and will pull all down +to it. Even Harry was checked by his tone, and Laxley sat silent. The fact that +something more than a tailor was speaking seemed to impress them. +</p> + +<p> +“Since I have to say it, Rose, I hold you in no way bound to me. The +presumption is forced upon me. May you have all the happiness I pray God to +give you. +</p> + +<p> +Gentlemen, good night!” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed and was gone. How keenly she could have retorted on that false prayer +for her happiness! Her limbs were nerveless, her tongue speechless. He had +thrown her off—there was no barrier now between herself and Ferdinand. +Why did Ferdinand speak to her with that air of gentle authority, bidding her +return to the house? She was incapable of seeing, what the young lord acutely +felt, that he had stooped very much in helping to bring about such a scene. She +had no idea of having trifled with him and her own heart, when she talked +feebly of her bondage to another, as one who would be warmer to him were she +free. Swiftly she compared the two that loved her, and shivered as if she had +been tossed to the embrace of a block of ice. +</p> + +<p> +“You are cold, Rose,” said Laxley, bending to lay his hand on her +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, never touch me,” she answered, and walked on hastily to the +house. +</p> + +<p> +Entering it, she remembered that Evan had dwelt there. A sense of desolation +came over her. She turned to Ferdinand remorsefully, saying: “Dear +Ferdinand!” and allowed herself to be touched and taken close to him. +When she reached her bed-room, she had time to reflect that he had kissed her +on the lips, and then she fell down and shed such tears as had never been drawn +from her before. +</p> + +<p> +Next day she rose with an undivided mind. Belonging henceforth to Ferdinand, it +was necessary that she should invest him immediately with transcendent +qualities. The absence of character in him rendered this easy. What she had +done for Evan, she did for him. But now, as if the Fates had been lying in +watch to entrap her and chain her, that they might have her at their mercy, her +dreams of Evan’s high nature—hitherto dreams only—were to be +realized. With the purposeless waywardness of her sex, Pony Wheedle, while +dressing her young mistress, and though quite aware that the parting had been +spoken, must needs relate her sister’s story and Evan’s share in +it. Rose praised him like one forever aloof from him. Nay, she could secretly +congratulate herself on not being deceived. Upon that came a letter from +Caroline: +</p> + +<p> +“Do not misjudge my brother. He knew Juliana’s love for him and +rejected it. You will soon have proofs of his disinterestedness. Then do not +forget that he works to support us all. I write this with no hope save to make +you just to him. That is the utmost he will ever anticipate.” +</p> + +<p> +It gave no beating of the heart to Rose to hear good of Evan now: but an +increased serenity of confidence in the accuracy of her judgement of persons. +</p> + +<p> +The arrival of Lawyer Perkins supplied the key to Caroline’s +communication. No one was less astonished than Rose at the news that Evan +renounced the estate. She smiled at Harry’s contrite stupefaction, and +her father’s incapacity of belief in conduct so singular, caused her to +lift her head and look down on her parent. +</p> + +<p> +“Shows he knows nothing of the world, poor young fellow!” said Sir +Franks. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing more clearly,” observed Lady Jocelyn. “I presume I +shall cease to be blamed for having had him here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my honour, he must have the soul of a gentleman!” said the +baronet. “There’s nothing he can expect in return, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“One would think, Papa, you had always been dealing with +tradesmen!” remarked Rose, to whom her father now accorded the treatment +due to a sensible girl. +</p> + +<p> +Laxley was present at the family consultation. What was his opinion? Rose +manifested a slight anxiety to hear it. +</p> + +<p> +“What those sort of fellows do never surprises me,” he said, with a +semi-yawn. +</p> + +<p> +Rose felt fire on her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only what the young man is bound to do,” said Mrs. +Shorne. +</p> + +<p> +“His duty, aunt? I hope we may all do it!” Rose interjected. +</p> + +<p> +“Championing him again?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose quietly turned her face, too sure of her cold appreciation of him to +retort. But yesterday night a word from him might have made her his; and here +she sat advocating the nobility of his nature with the zeal of a barrister in +full swing of practice. Remember, however, that a kiss separates them: and how +many millions of leagues that counts for in love, in a pure girl’s +thought, I leave you to guess. +</p> + +<p> +Now, in what way was Evan to be thanked? how was he to be treated? Sir Franks +proposed to go down to him in person, accompanied by Harry. Lady Jocelyn +acquiesced. But Rose said to her mother: +</p> + +<p> +“Will not you wound his sensitiveness by going to him there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” said her ladyship. “Shall we write and ask him to +come to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Mama. Could we ask him to make a journey to receive our +thanks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till we have solid ones to offer, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will not let us help him, Mama, unless we have all given him our +hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not. There’s always a fund of nonsense in those who are +capable of great things, I observe. It shall be a family expedition, if you +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Shorne. “Do you mean that you intend +to allow Rose to make one of the party? Franks! is that your idea?” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks looked at his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“What harm?” Lady Jocelyn asked; for Rose’s absence of +conscious guile in appealing to her reason had subjugated that great faculty. +</p> + +<p> +“Simply a sense of propriety, Emily,” said Mrs. Shorne, with a +glance at Ferdinand. +</p> + +<p> +“You have no objection, I suppose!” Lady Jocelyn addressed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ferdinand will join us,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Rose, I’d rather not,” he replied. “I +thought we had done with the fellow for good last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night?” quoth Lady Jocelyn. +</p> + +<p> +No one spoke. The interrogation was renewed. Was it Rose’s swift instinct +which directed her the shortest way to gain her point? or that she was glad to +announce that her degrading engagement was at an end? She said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ferdinand and Mr. Harrington came to an understanding last night, in my +presence.” +</p> + +<p> +That, strange as it struck on their ears, appeared to be quite sufficient to +all, albeit the necessity for it was not so very clear. The carriage was +ordered forthwith; Lady Jocelyn went to dress; Rose drew Ferdinand away into +the garden. Then, with all her powers, she entreated him to join her. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Rose,” he said; “I have no taste for the +genus.” +</p> + +<p> +“For my sake, I beg it, Ferdinand.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s really too much to ask of me, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you care for me, you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Pon my honour, quite impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“You refuse, Ferdinand?” +</p> + +<p> +“My London tailor’d find me out, and never forgive me.” +</p> + +<p> +This pleasantry stopped her soft looks. Why she wished him to be with her, she +could not have said. For a thousand reasons: which implies no distinct one +something prophetically pressing in her blood. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"></a> +CHAPTER XLVI.<br /> +A LOVERS’ PARTING</h2> + +<p> +Now, to suppose oneself the fashioner of such a chain of events as this which +brought the whole of the Harrington family in tender unity together once more, +would have elated an ordinary mind. But to the Countess de Saldar, it was +simply an occasion for reflecting that she had misunderstood—and could +most sincerely forgive—Providence. She admitted to herself that it was +not entirely her work; for she never would have had their place of meeting to +be the Shop. Seeing, however, that her end was gained, she was entitled to the +credit of it, and could pardon the means adopted. Her brother lord of Beckley +Court, and all of them assembled in the old 193, Main Street, Lymport! What +matter for proud humility! Providence had answered her numerous petitions, but +in its own way. Stipulating that she must swallow this pill, Providence +consented to serve her. She swallowed it with her wonted courage. In half an +hour subsequent to her arrival at Lymport, she laid siege to the heart of Old +Tom Cogglesby, whom she found installed in the parlour, comfortably sipping at +a tumbler of rum-and-water. Old Tom was astonished to meet such an agreeable +unpretentious woman, who talked of tailors and lords with equal ease, appeared +to comprehend a man’s habits instinctively, and could amuse him while she +ministered to them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you cook, ma’am?” asked Old Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“All but that,” said the Countess, with a smile of sweet meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! then you won’t suit me as well as your mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take care you do not excite my emulation,” she returned, +graciously, albeit disgusted at his tone. +</p> + +<p> +To Harriet, Old Tom had merely nodded. There he sat, in the arm-chair, sucking +the liquor, with the glimpse of a sour chuckle on his cheeks. Now and then, +during the evening, he rubbed his hands sharply, but spoke little. The +unbending Harriet did not conceal her disdain of him. When he ventured to +allude to the bankruptcy, she cut him short. +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, excuse me—I am unacquainted with affairs of business—I +cannot even understand my husband.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord bless my soul!” Old Tom exclaimed, rolling his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Caroline had informed her sisters up-stairs that their mother was ignorant of +Evan’s change of fortune, and that Evan desired her to continue so for +the present. Caroline appeared to be pained by the subject, and was glad when +Louisa sounded his mysterious behaviour by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Evan has a native love of concealment—he must be humoured.” +</p> + +<p> +At the supper, Mr. Raikes made his bow. He was modest and reserved. It was +known that this young gentleman acted as shopman there. With a tenderness for +his position worthy of all respect, the Countess spared his feelings by totally +ignoring his presence; whereat he, unaccustomed to such great-minded treatment, +retired to bed, a hater of his kind. Harriet and Caroline went next. The +Countess said she would wait up for Evan, but hearing that his hours of return +were about the chimes of matins, she cried exultingly: “Darling Papa all +over!” and departed likewise. Mrs. Mel, when she had mixed Old +Tom’s third glass, wished the brothers good night, and they were left to +exchange what sentiments they thought proper for the occasion. The Countess had +certainly, disappointed Old Tom’s farce, in a measure; and he expressed +himself puzzled by her. “You ain’t the only one,” said his +brother. Andrew, with some effort, held his tongue concerning the news of +Evan—his fortune and his folly, till he could talk to the youth in +person. +</p> + +<p> +All took their seats at the early breakfast next morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Has Evan not come—home yet?” was the Countess’s first +question. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mel replied, “No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where he has gone, dear Mama?” +</p> + +<p> +“He chooses his own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you fear that it leads somewhere?” added the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that it leads to knocking up the horse he rides.” +</p> + +<p> +“The horse, Mama! He is out on a horse all night! But don’t you +see, dear old pet! his morals, at least, are safe on horseback.” +</p> + +<p> +“The horse has to be paid for, Louisa,” said her mother, sternly; +and then, for she had a lesson to read to the guests of her son, “Ready +money doesn’t come by joking. What will the creditors think? If he +intends to be honest in earnest, he must give up four-feet mouths.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fourteen-feet, ma’am, you mean,” said Old Tom, counting the +heads at table. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, Mama!” cried the Countess, and as she was sitting near her +mother, she must show how prettily she kissed, by pouting out her playful lips +to her parent. “Do be economical always! And mind! for the sake of the +wretched animals, I will intercede for you to be his inspector of +stables.” +</p> + +<p> +This, with a glance of intelligence at her sisters. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Raikes,” said Andrew, “you keep good hours, at all +events—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Up with the lark,” said Old Tom. “Ha! ’fraid he +won’t be so early when he gets rid of his present habits—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nec dierum numerum, ut nos, sed noctium computant,” said Mr. +Raikes, and both the brothers sniffed like dogs that have put their noses to a +hot coal, and the Countess, who was less insensible to the aristocracy of the +dead languages than are women generally, gave him the recognition that is +occasionally afforded the family tutor. +</p> + +<p> +About the hour of ten Evan arrived. He was subjected to the hottest embrace he +had ever yet received from his sister Louisa. +</p> + +<p> +“Darling!” she called him before them all. “Oh! how I suffer +for this ignominy I see you compelled for a moment to endure. But it is but for +a moment. They must vacate; and you will soon be out of this horrid +hole.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where he just said he was glad to give us a welcome,” muttered Old +Tom. +</p> + +<p> +Evan heard him, and laughed. The Countess laughed too. +</p> + +<p> +“No, we will not be impatient. We are poor insignificant people!” +she said; and turning to her mother, added: “And yet I doubt not you +think the smallest of our landed gentry equal to great continental seigneurs. I +do not say the contrary.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will fill Evan’s head with nonsense till you make him knock up +a horse a week, and never go to his natural bed,” said Mrs. Mel, angrily. +“Look at him! Is a face like that fit for business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, certainly not!” said the Countess. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mother, the horse is dismissed,—you won’t have to +complain any more,” said Evan, touching her hand. “Another history +commences from to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess watched him admiringly. Such powers of acting she could not have +ascribed to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Another history, indeed!” she said. “By the way, Van, love! +was it out of Glamorganshire—were we Tudors, according to Papa? or only +Powys chieftains? It’s of no moment, but it helps one in +conversation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not half so much as good ale, though!” was Old Tom’s +comment. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess did not perceive its fitness, till Evan burst into a laugh, and +then she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! we shall never be ashamed of the Brewery. Do not fear that, Mr. +Cogglesby.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom saw his farce reviving, and encouraged the Countess to patronize him. +She did so to an extent that called on her Mrs. Mel’s reprobation, which +was so cutting and pertinent, that Harriet was compelled to defend her sister, +remarking that perhaps her mother would soon learn that Louisa was justified in +not permitting herself and family to be classed too low. At this Andrew, coming +from a private interview with Evan, threw up his hands and eyes as one who +foretold astonishment but counselled humility. What with the effort of those +who knew a little to imply a great deal; of those who knew all to betray +nothing; and of those who were kept in ignorance to strain a fact out of the +conflicting innuendos the general mystification waxed apace, and was at its +height, when a name struck on Evan’s ear that went through his blood like +a touch of the torpedo. +</p> + +<p> +He had been called into the parlour to assist at a consultation over the +Brewery affairs. Raikes opened the door, and announced, “Sir Franks and +Lady Jocelyn.” +</p> + +<p> +Them he could meet, though it was hard for his pride to pardon their visit to +him there. But when his eyes discerned Rose behind them, the passions of his +lower nature stood up armed. What could she have come for but to humiliate, or +play with him? +</p> + +<p> +A very few words enabled the Countess to guess the cause for this visit. Of +course, it was to beg time! But they thanked Evan. For something generous, no +doubt. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Franks took him aside, and returning remarked to his wife that she perhaps +would have greater influence with him. All this while Rose sat talking to Mrs. +Andrew Cogglesby, Mrs. Strike, and Evan’s mother. She saw by his face the +offence she had committed, and acted on by one of her impulses, said: +“Mama, I think if I were to speak to Mr. Harrington—” +</p> + +<p> +Ere her mother could make light of the suggestion, Old Tom had jumped up, and +bowed out his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me to conduct ye to the drawing room, upstairs, young lady. +He’ll follow, safe enough!” +</p> + +<p> +Rose had not stipulated for that. Nevertheless, seeing no cloud on her +mother’s face, or her father’s, she gave Old Tom her hand, and +awaited a movement from Evan. It was too late to object to it on either side. +Old Tom had caught the tide at the right instant. Much as if a grim old genie +had planted them together, the lovers found themselves alone. +</p> + +<p> +“Evan, you forgive me?” she began, looking up at him timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“With all my heart, Rose,” he answered, with great cheerfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I know your heart better. Oh, Evan! you must be sure that we respect +you too much to wound you. We came to thank you for your generosity. Do you +refuse to accept anything from us? How can we take this that you thrust on us, +unless in some way—” +</p> + +<p> +“Say no more,” he interposed. “You see me here. You know me +as I am, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes!” the tears stood in her eyes. “Why did I come, you +would ask? That is what you cannot forgive! I see now how useless it was. Evan! +why did you betray me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Betray you, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“You said that you loved me once.” +</p> + +<p> +She was weeping, and all his spirit melted, and his love cried out: “I +said ‘till death,’ and till death it will be, Rose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why, why did you betray me, Evan? I know it all. But if you +blackened yourself to me, was it not because you loved something better than +me? And now you think me false! Which of us two has been false? It’s +silly to talk of these things now too late! But be just. I wish that we may be +friends. Can we, unless you bend a little?” +</p> + +<p> +The tears streamed down her cheeks, and in her lovely humility he saw the +baseness of that pride of his which had hitherto held him up. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that you are in this house where I was born and am to live, can you +regret what has come between us, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +Her lips quivered in pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I do anything else but regret it all my life, Evan?” +</p> + +<p> +How was it possible for him to keep his strength? +</p> + +<p> +“Rose!” he spoke with a passion that made her shrink, “are +you bound to this man?” and to the drooping of her eyes, “No. +Impossible, for you do not love him. Break it. Break the engagement you cannot +fulfil. Break it and belong to me. It sounds ill for me to say that in such a +place. But Rose, I will leave it. I will accept any assistance that your +father—that any man will give me. Beloved—noble girl! I see my +falseness to you, though I little thought it at the time—fool that I was! +Be my help, my guide—as the soul of my body! Be mine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Evan!” she clasped her hands in terror at the change in him, +that was hurrying her she knew not whither, and trembling, held them +supplicatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Rose: you have taught me what love can be. You cannot marry that +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my honour, Evan! No. I do not love him; for I can love but one. He +has my pledge. Can I break it?” +</p> + +<p> +The stress on the question choked him, just as his heart sprang to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you face the world with me, Rose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Evan! is there an escape for me? Think Decide!—No—no! +there is not. My mother, I know, looks on it so. Why did she trust me to be +with you here, but that she thinks me engaged to him, and has such faith in me? +Oh, help me!—be my guide. Think whether you would trust me hereafter! I +should despise myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you marry him!” said Evan, bitterly. And then thinking as +men will think when they look on the figure of a fair girl marching serenely to +a sacrifice, the horrors of which they insist that she ought to know: +half-hating her for her calmness—adoring her for her innocence: he said: +“It rests with you, Rose. The world will approve you, and if your +conscience does, why—farewell, and may heaven be your help.” +</p> + +<p> +She murmured, “Farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +Did she expect more to be said by him? What did she want or hope for now? And +yet a light of hunger grew in her eyes, brighter and brighter, as it were on a +wave of yearning. +</p> + +<p> +“Take my hand once,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +Her hand and her whole shape he took, and she with closed eyes let him strain +her to his breast. +</p> + +<p> +Their swoon was broken by the opening of the door, where Old Tom Cogglesby and +Lady Jocelyn appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“’Gad! he seems to have got his recompense—eh, my +lady?” cried Old Tom. However satisfactorily they might have explained +the case, it certainly did seem so. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Jocelyn looked not absolutely displeased. Old Tom was chuckling at her +elbow. The two principal actors remained dumb. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose, if we leave young people to settle a thing, this is how they +do it,” her ladyship remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“’Gad, and they do it well!” cried Old Tom. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, with a deep blush on her cheeks, stepped from Evan to her mother. Not in +effrontery, but earnestly, and as the only way of escaping from the position, +she said: “I have succeeded, Mama. He will take what I offer.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what’s that, now?” Old Tom inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Rose turned to Evan. He bent and kissed her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Call it ‘recompense’ for the nonce,” said Lady +Jocelyn. “Do you still hold to your original proposition, Tom?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every penny, my lady. I like the young fellow, and she’s a jolly +little lass—if she means it:—she’s a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Lady Jocelyn. “Considering that fact, you will +oblige me by keeping the matter quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she want to try whether the tailor’s a gentleman still, my +lady—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I fancy she will have to see whether a certain nobleman may be +one.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess now joined them. Sir Franks had informed her of her +brother’s last fine performance. After a short, uneasy pause, she said, +glancing at Evan:— +</p> + +<p> +“You know his romantic nature. I can assure you he was sincere; and even +if you could not accept, at least—” +</p> + +<p> +“But we have accepted, Countess,” said Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“The estate!” +</p> + +<p> +“The estate, Countess. And what is more, to increase the effect of his +generosity, he has consented to take a recompense.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” exclaimed the Countess, directing a stony look at her +brother. +</p> + +<p> +“May I presume to ask what recompense?” +</p> + +<p> +Rose shook her head. “Such a very poor one, Countess! He has no idea of +relative value.” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess’s great mind was just then running hot on estates, and +thousands, or she would not have played goose to them, you may be sure. She +believed that Evan had been wheedled by Rose into the acceptance of a small sum +of money, in return for his egregious gift. +</p> + +<p> +With an internal groan, the outward aspect of which she had vast difficulty in +masking, she said: “You are right—he has no head. Easily +cajoled!” +</p> + +<p> +Old Tom sat down in a chair, and laughed outright. Lady Jocelyn, in pity for +the poor lady, who always amused her, thought it time to put an end to the +scene. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope your brother will come to us in about a week,” she said. +“May I expect the favour of your company as well?” +</p> + +<p> +The Countess felt her dignity to be far superior as she responded: “Lady +Jocelyn, when next I enjoy the gratification of a visit to your hospitable +mansion, I must know that I am not at a disadvantage. I cannot consent to be +twice pulled down to my brother’s level.” +</p> + +<p> +Evan’s heart was too full of its dim young happiness to speak, or care +for words. The cold elegance of the Countess’s curtsey to Lady Jocelyn: +her ladyship’s kindly pressure of his hand: Rose’s stedfast look +into his eyes: Old Tom’s smothered exclamation that he was not such a +fool as he seemed: all passed dream-like, and when he was left to the fury of +the Countess, he did not ask her to spare him, nor did he defend himself. She +bade adieu to him and their mutual relationship that very day. But her star had +not forsaken her yet. Chancing to peep into the shop, to intrust a commission +to Mr. John Raikes, who was there doing penance for his career as a gentleman, +she heard Old Tom and Andrew laughing, utterly unlike bankrupts. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’d have thought the women such fools! and the Countess, +too!” +</p> + +<p> +This was Andrew’s voice. He chuckled as one emancipated. The Countess had +a short interview with him (before she took her departure to join her husband, +under the roof of the Honourable Herbert Duffian), and Andrew chuckled no more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"></a> +CHAPTER XLVII.<br /> +A YEAR LATER, THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER SISTER CAROLINE</h2> + +<p class="right"> +“Rome. +</p> + +<p> +“Let the post-mark be my reply to your letter received through the +Consulate, and most courteously delivered with the Consul’s compliments. +We shall yet have an ambassador at Rome—mark your Louisa’s words. +Yes, dearest! I am here, body and spirit! I have at last found a haven, a +refuge, and let those who condemn me compare the peace of their spirits with +mine. You think that you have quite conquered the dreadfulness of our origin. +My love, I smile at you! I know it to be impossible for the Protestant heresy +to offer a shade of consolation. Earthly-born, it rather encourages earthly +distinctions. It is the sweet sovereign Pontiff alone who gathers all in his +arms, not excepting tailors. Here, if they could know it, is their blessed +comfort! +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Harriet for her message. She need say nothing. By refusing me her +hospitality, when she must have known that the house was as free of creditors +as any foreigner under the rank of Count is of soap, she drove me to Mr. +Duffian. Oh! how I rejoice at her exceeding unkindness! How warmly I forgive +her the unsisterly—to say the least—vindictiveness of her +unaccountable conduct! Her sufferings will one day be terrible. Good little +Andrew supplies her place to me. Why do you refuse his easily afforded bounty? +No one need know of it. I tell you candidly, I take double, and the small good +punch of a body is only too delighted. But then, I can be discreet. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the gentlemanliness of these infinitely maligned Jesuits! They +remind me immensely of Sir Charles Grandison, and those frontispiece pictures +to the novels we read when girls—I mean in manners and the ideas they +impose—not in dress or length of leg, of course. The same winning +softness; the same irresistible ascendancy over the female mind! They require +virtue for two, I assure you, and so I told Silva, who laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“But the charms of confession, my dear! I will talk of Evan first. I have +totally forgiven him. Attaché to the Naples embassy, sounds tol-lol. In such a +position I can rejoice to see him, for it permits me to acknowledge him. I am +not sure that, spiritually, Rose will be his most fitting helpmate. However, it +is done, and I did it, and there is no more to be said. The behaviour of Lord +Laxley in refusing to surrender a young lady who declared that her heart was +with another, exceeds all I could have supposed. One of the noble peers among +his ancestors must have been a pig! Oh! the Roman nobility! Grace, refinement, +intrigue, perfect comprehension of your ideas, wishes—the meanest +trifles! Here you have every worldly charm, and all crowned by Religion! This +is my true delight. I feel at last that whatsoever I do, I cannot go far wrong +while I am within hail of my gentle priest. I never could feel so before. +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of Mr. Parsley proposing for the beautiful widow Strike! It was +indecent to do so so soon—widowed under such circumstances! But I dare +say he was as disinterested as a Protestant curate ever can be. Beauty is a +good dowry to bring a poor, lean, worldly curate of your Church, and he knows +that. Your bishops and arches are quite susceptible to beautiful petitioners, +and we know here how your livings and benefices are dispensed. What do you +intend to do? Come to me; come to the bosom of the old and the only true +Church, and I engage to marry you to a Roman prince the very next morning or +two. That is, if you have no ideas about prosecuting a certain enterprise which +I should not abandon. In that case, stay. As Duchess of B., Mr. Duffian says +you would be cordially welcome to his Holiness, who may see women. That absurd +report is all nonsense. We do not kiss his toe, certainly, but we have +privileges equally enviable. Herbert is all charm. I confess he is a little +wearisome with his old ruins, and his Dante, the poet. He is quite of my +opinion, that Evan will never wash out the trade stain on him until he comes +over to the Church of Rome. I adjure you, Caroline, to lay this clearly before +our dear brother. In fact, while he continues a Protestant, to me he is a +tailor. But here Rose is the impediment. I know her to be just one of those +little dogged minds that are incapable of receiving new impressions. Was it not +evident in the way she stuck to Evan after I had once brought them together? I +am not at all astonished that Mr. Raikes should have married her maid. It is a +case of natural selection. But it is amusing to think of him carrying on the +old business in 193, and with credit! I suppose his parents are to be pitied; +but what better is the creature fit for? Mama displeases me in consenting to +act as housekeeper to old Grumpus. I do not object to the fact, for it is +prospective; but she should have insisted on another place of resort than +Fallowfield. I do not agree with you in thinking her right in refusing a +second marriage. Her age does not shelter her from scandal in your Protestant +communities. +</p> + +<p> +“I am every day expecting Harry Jocelyn to turn up. He was rightly sent +away, for to think of the folly Evan put into his empty head! No; he shall have +another wife, and Protestantism shall be his forsaken mistress! +</p> + +<p> +“See how your Louy has given up the world and its vanities! You expected +me to creep up to you contrite and whimpering? On the contrary, I never felt +prouder. And I am not going to live a lazy life, I can assure you. The Church +hath need of me! If only for the peace it hath given me on one point, I am +eternally bound to serve it. +</p> + +<p> +“Postscript: I am persuaded of this; that it is utterly impossible for a +man to be a true gentleman who is not of the true Church. What it is I cannot +say; but it is as a convert that I appreciate my husband. Love is made to me, +dear, for Catholics are human. The other day it was a question whether a lady +or a gentleman should be compromised. It required the grossest fib. The +gentleman did not hesitate. And why? His priest was handy. Fancy Lord Laxley in +such a case. I shudder. This shows that your religion precludes any possibility +of the being the real gentleman, and whatever Evan may think of himself, or +Rose think of him, I KNOW THE THING.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVAN HARRINGTON ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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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