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No Name
By
Wilkie Collins
Contents
PREFACE. =
THE FIRST SCENE -
COMBE-RAVEN, SOMERSETSHIRE.
BETWEEN THE SCENES - =
PROGRESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
THE SECOND SCENE -
SKELDERGATE, YORK.
THE THIRD SCENE - VAU=
XHALL
WALK, LAMBETH.
BETWEEN THE SCENES - =
PROGRESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST
THE FOURTH SCENE -
ALDBOROUGH, SUFFOLK.
BETWEEN THE SCENES - =
PROGRESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
THE FIFTH SCENE - BAL=
IOL
COTTAGE, DUMFRIES.
BETWEEN THE SCENES - =
PROGRESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
THE SIXTH SCENE - ST.=
JOHN'S
WOOD.
THE SEVENTH SCENE - S=
T.
CRUX-IN-THE-MARSH.
BETWEEN THE SCENES - =
PROGRESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
THE LAST SCENE - AARO=
N'S
BUILDINGS
=
THE
main purpose of this story is to appeal to the reader's interest in a subje=
ct
which has been the theme of some of the greatest writers, living and dead--=
but
which has never been, and can never be, exhausted, because it is a subject
eternally interesting to all mankind. Here is one more book that depicts the
struggle of a human creature, under those opposing influences of Good and E=
vil,
which we have all felt, which we have all known. It has been my aim to make=
the
character of "Magdalen," which personifies this struggle, a pathe=
tic
character even in its perversity and its error; and I have tried hard to at=
tain
this result by the least obtrusive and the least artificial of all means--b=
y a
resolute adherence throughout to the truth as it is in Nature. This design =
was no
easy one to accomplish; and it has been a great encouragement to me (during=
the
publication of my story in its periodical form) to know, on the authority of
many readers, that the object which I had proposed to myself, I might, in s=
ome
degree, consider as an object achieved.
Round the central figure in the narrative other
characters will be found grouped, in sharp contrast--contrast, for the most
part, in which I have endeavored to make the element of humor mainly
predominant. I have sought to impart this relief to the more serious passag=
es
in the book, not only because I believe myself to be justified in doing so =
by
the laws of Art--but because experience has taught me (what the experience =
of
my readers will doubtless confirm) that there is no such moral phenomenon as
unmixed tragedy to be found in the world around us. Look where we may, the =
dark
threads and the light cross each other perpetually in the texture of human
life.
To pass from the Characters to the Story, it w=
ill
be seen that the narrative related in these pages has been constructed on a
plan which differs from the plan followed in my last novel, and in some oth=
er of
my works published at an earlier date. The only Secret contained in this bo=
ok
is revealed midway in the first volume. From that point, all the main event=
s of
the story are purposely foreshadowed before they take place--my present des=
ign
being to rouse the reader's interest in following the train of circumstance=
s by
which these foreseen events are brought about. In trying this new ground, I=
am
not turning my back in doubt on the ground which I have passed over already=
. My
one object in following a new course is to enlarge the range of my studies =
in
the art of writing fiction, and to vary the form in which I make my appeal =
to the
reader, as attractively as I can.
There is no need for me to add more to these f=
ew
prefatory words than is here written. What I might otherwise have wished to=
say
in this place, I have endeavored to make the book itself say for me.
=
TO
FRANCIS CARR BEARD
=
(FELLOW
OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS OF ENGLAND),
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE TIME WHEN
THE CLOSING SCENES OF THIS STORY WERE WRITTEN.=
=
THE hands on the hall-clock pointed to half-pa=
st
six in the morning. The house was a country residence in West Somersetshire,
called Combe-Raven. The day was the fourth of March, and the year was eight=
een
hundred and forty-six.
No sounds but the steady ticking of the clock,=
and
the lumpish snoring of a large dog stretched on a mat outside the dining-ro=
om
door, disturbed the mysterious morning stillness of hall and staircase. Who=
were
the sleepers hidden in the upper regions? Let the house reveal its own secr=
ets;
and, one by one, as they descend the stairs from their beds, let the sleepe=
rs
disclose themselves.
As the clock pointed to a quarter to seven, the
dog woke and shook himself. After waiting in vain for the footman, who was
accustomed to let him out, the animal wandered restlessly from one closed d=
oor to
another on the ground-floor; and, returning to his mat in great perplexity,
appealed to the sleeping family with a long and melancholy howl.
Before the last notes of the dog's remonstrance
had died away, the oaken stairs in the higher regions of the house creaked
under slowly-descending footsteps. In a minute more the first of the female=
servants
made her appearance, with a dingy woolen shawl over her shoulders--for the
March morning was bleak; and rheumatism and the cook were old acquaintances=
.
Receiving the dog's first cordial advances with
the worst possible grace, the cook slowly opened the hall door and let the
animal out. It was a wild morning. Over a spacious lawn, and behind a black
plantation of firs, the rising sun rent its way upward through piles of rag=
ged gray
cloud; heavy drops of rain fell few and far between; the March wind shudder=
ed
round the corners of the house, and the wet trees swayed wearily.
Seven o'clock struck; and the signs of domestic
life began to show themselves in more rapid succession.
The housemaid came down--tall and slim, with t=
he
state of the spring temperature written redly on her nose. The lady's-maid
followed--young, smart, plump, and sleepy. The kitchen-maid came
next--afflicted with the face-ache, and making no secret of her sufferings.
Last of all, the footman appeared, yawning disconsolately; the living pictu=
re
of a man who felt that he had been defrauded of his fair night's rest.
The conversation of the servants, when they
assembled before the slowly lighting kitchen fire, referred to a recent fam=
ily
event, and turned at starting on this question: Had Thomas, the footman, se=
en
anything of the concert at Clifton, at which his master and the two young
ladies had been present on the previous night? Yes; Thomas had heard the
concert; he had been paid for to go in at the back; it was a loud concert; =
it was
a hot concert; it was described at the top of the bills as Grand; whether it
was worth traveling sixteen miles to hear by railway, with the additional
hardship of going back nineteen miles by road, at half-past one in the
morning--was a question which he would leave his master and the young ladie=
s to
decide; his own opinion, in the meantime, being unhesitatingly, No. Further
inquiries, on the part of all the female servants in succession, elicited no
additional information of any sort. Thomas could hum none of the songs, and
could describe none of the ladies' dresses. His audience, accordingly, gave=
him
up in despair; and the kitchen small-talk flowed back into its ordinary
channels, until the clock struck eight and startled the assembled servants =
into
separating for their morning's work.
A quarter past eight, and nothing happened.
Half-past--and more signs of life appeared from the bedroom regions. The ne=
xt
member of the family who came downstairs was Mr. Andrew Vanstone, the maste=
r of
the house.
Tall, stout, and upright--with bright blue eye=
s,
and healthy, florid complexion--his brown plush shooting-jacket carelessly
buttoned awry; his vixenish little Scotch terrier barking unrebuked at his
heels; one hand thrust into his waistcoat pocket, and the other smacking th=
e banisters
cheerfully as he came downstairs humming a tune--Mr. Vanstone showed his
character on the surface of him freely to all men. An easy, hearty, handsom=
e,
good-humored gentleman, who walked on the sunny side of the way of life, and
who asked nothing better than to meet all his fellow-passengers in this wor=
ld
on the sunny side, too. Estimating him by years, he had turned fifty. Judgi=
ng
him by lightness of heart, strength of constitution, and capacity for
enjoyment, he was no older than most men who have only turned thirty.
"Thomas!" cried Mr. Vanstone, taking=
up
his old felt hat and his thick walking stick from the hall table.
"Breakfast, this morning, at ten. The young ladies are not likely to be
down earlier after the concert last night.--By-the-by, how did you like the
concert yourself, eh? You thought it was grand? Quite right; so it was. Not=
hing
but crash-ban g, varied now and then by bang-crash; all the women dressed
within an inch of their lives; smothering heat, blazing gas, and no room fo=
r anybody--yes,
yes, Thomas; grand's the word for it, and comfortable isn't." With that
expression of opinion, Mr. Vanstone whistled to his vixenish terrier;
flourished his stick at the hall door in cheerful defiance of the rain; and=
set
off through wind and weather for his morning walk.
The hands, stealing their steady way round the
dial of the clock, pointed to ten minutes to nine. Another member of the fa=
mily
appeared on the stairs--Miss Garth, the governess.
No observant eyes could have surveyed Miss Gar=
th
without seeing at once that she was a north-countrywoman. Her hard featured
face; her masculine readiness and decision of movement; her obstinate hones=
ty
of look and manner, all proclaimed her border birth and border training. Th=
ough
little more than forty years of age, her hair was quite gray; and she wore =
over
it the plain cap of an old woman. Neither hair nor head-dress was out of
harmony with her face--it looked older than her years: the hard handwriting=
of
trouble had scored it heavily at some past time. The self-possession of her
progress downstairs, and the air of habitual authority with which she looked
about her, spoke well for her position in Mr. Vanstone's family. This was
evidently not one of the forlorn, persecuted, pitiably dependent order of
governesses. Here was a woman who lived on ascertained and honorable terms =
with
her employers--a woman who looked capable of sending any parents in England=
to
the right-about, if they failed to rate her at her proper value.
"Breakfast at ten?" repeated Miss Ga=
rth,
when the footman had answered the bell, and had mentioned his master's orde=
rs.
"Ha! I thought what would come of that concert last night. When people=
who
live in the country patronize public amusements, public amusements return t=
he compliment
by upsetting the family afterward for days together. You're upset, Thomas, I
can see your eyes are as red as a ferret's, and your cravat looks as if you=
had
slept in it. Bring the kettle at a quarter to ten--and if you don't get bet=
ter
in the course of the day, come to me, and I'll give you a dose of physic.
That's a well-meaning lad, if you only let him alone," continued Miss
Garth, in soliloquy, when Thomas had retired; "but he's not strong eno=
ugh
for concerts twenty miles off. They wanted me to go with them last night. Y=
es:
catch me!"
Nine o'clock struck; and the minute-hand stole=
on
to twenty minutes past the hour, before any more footsteps were heard on the
stairs. At the end of that time, two ladies appeared, descending to the
breakfast-room together--Mrs. Vanstone and her eldest daughter.
If the personal attractions of Mrs. Vanstone, =
at
an earlier period of life, had depended solely on her native English charms=
of
complexion and freshness, she must have long since lost the last relics of =
her
fairer self. But her beauty as a young woman had passed beyond the average =
national
limits; and she still preserved the advantage of her more exceptional perso=
nal
gifts. Although she was now in her forty-fourth year; although she had been
tried, in bygone times, by the premature loss of more than one of her child=
ren,
and by long attacks of illness which had followed those bereavements of for=
mer
years--she still preserved the fair proportion and subtle delicacy of featu=
re,
once associated with the all-adorning brightness and freshness of beauty, w=
hich
had left her never to return. Her eldest child, now descending the stairs by
her side, was the mirror in which she could look back and see again the
reflection of her own youth. There, folded thick on the daughter's head, lay
the massive dark hair, which, on the mother's, was fast turning gray. There=
, in
the daughter's cheek, glowed the lovely dusky red which had faded from the
mother's to bloom again no more. Miss Vanstone had already reached the first
maturity of womanhood; she had completed her six-and-twentieth year. Inheri=
ting
the dark majestic character of her mother's beauty, she had yet hardly
inherited all its charms. Though the shape of her face was the same, the
features were scarcely so delicate, their proportion was scarcely so true. =
She
was not so tall. She had the dark-brown eyes of her mother--full and soft, =
with
the steady luster in them which Mrs. Vanstone's eyes had lost--and yet there
was less interest, less refinement and depth of feeling in her expression: =
it
was gentle and feminine, but clouded by a certain quiet reserve, from which=
her
mother's face was free. If we dare to look closely enough, may we not obser=
ve
that the moral force of character and the higher intellectual capacities in
parents seem often to wear out mysteriously in the course of transmission to
children? In these days of insidious nervous exhaustion and subtly-spreading
nervous malady, is it not possible that the same rule may apply, less rarely
than we are willing to admit, to the bodily gifts as well?
The mother and daughter slowly descended the
stairs together--the first dressed in dark brown, with an Indian shawl thro=
wn
over her shoulders; the second more simply attired in black, with a plain
collar and cuffs, and a dark orange-colored ribbon over the bosom of her dr=
ess.
As they crossed the hall and entered the breakfast-room, Miss Vanstone was =
full
of the all-absorbing subject of the last night's concert.
"I am so sorry, mamma, you were not with
us," she said. "You have been so strong and so well ever since la=
st
summer--you have felt so many years younger, as you said yourself--that I am
sure the exertion would not have been too much for you."
"Perhaps not, my love--but it was as well=
to
keep on the safe side."
"Quite as well," remarked Miss Garth,
appearing at the breakfast-room door. "Look at Norah (good-morning, my
dear)--look, I say, at Norah. A perfect wreck; a living proof of your wisdom
and mine in staying at home. The vile gas, the foul air, the late hours--wh=
at
can you expect? She's not made of iron, and she suffers accordingly. No, my
dear, you needn't deny it. I see you've got a headache."
Norah's dark, handsome face brightened into a
smile--then lightly clouded again with its accustomed quiet reserve.
"A very little headache; not half enough =
to
make me regret the concert," she said, and walked away by herself to t=
he
window.
On the far side of a garden and paddock the vi=
ew
overlooked a stream, some farm buildings which lay beyond, and the opening =
of a
wooded, rocky pass (called, in Somersetshire, a Combe), which here cleft its
way through the hills that closed the prospect. A winding strip of road was=
visible,
at no great distance, amid the undulations of the open ground; and along th=
is
strip the stalwart figure of Mr. Vanstone was now easily recognizable,
returning to the house from his morning walk. He flourished his stick gayly=
, as
he observed his eldest daughter at the window. She nodded and waved her han=
d in
return, very gracefully and prettily--but with something of old-fashioned
formality in her manner, which looked strangely in so young a woman, and wh=
ich
seemed out of harmony with a salutation addressed to her father.
The hall-clock struck the adjourned
breakfast-hour. When the minute hand had recorded the lapse of five minutes
more a door banged in the bedroom regions--a clear young voice was heard
singing blithely--light, rapid footsteps pattered on the upper stairs,
descended with a jump to the landing, and pattered again, faster than ever,
down the lower flight. In another moment the youngest of Mr. Vanstone's two
daughters (and two only surviving children) dashed into view on the dingy o=
ld
oaken stairs, with the suddenness of a flash of light; and clearing the last
three steps into the hall at a jump, presented herself breathless in the br=
eakfast-room
to make the family circle complete.
= By one of those strange caprices of Nature, which science leaves still unexplained, the youngest of Mr. Vanstone's children presented no recognizable resemblan= ce to either of her parents. How had she come by her hair? how had she come by= her eyes? Even her father and mother had asked themselves those questions, as s= he grew up to girlhood, and had been sorely perplexed to answer them. Her hair= was of that purely light-brown hue, unmixed with flaxen, or yellow, or red--whi= ch is oftener seen on the plumage of a bird than on the head of a human being.= It was soft and plentiful, and waved downward from her low forehead in regular folds--but, to some tastes, it was dull and dead, in its absolute want of glossiness, in its monotonous purity of plain light color. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were just a shade darker than her hair, and seemed made expressly= for those violet-blue eyes, which assert their most irresistible charm when associated with a fair complexion. But it was here exactly that the promise= of her face failed of performance in the most startling manner. The eyes, which should have been dark, were incomprehensibly and discordantly light; they w= ere of that nearly colorless gray which, though little attractive in itself, po= ssesses the rare compensating merit of interpreting the finest gradations of though= t, the gentlest changes of feeling, the deepest trouble of passion, with a sub= tle transparency of expression which no darker eyes can rival. Thus quaintly self-contradictory in the upper part of her face, she was hardly less at variance with established ideas of harmony in the lower. Her lips had the t= rue feminine delicacy of form, her cheeks the lovely roundness and smoothness of youth--but the mouth was too large and firm, the chin too square and massive for her sex and age. Her complexion partook of the pure monotony of tint wh= ich characterized her hair--it was of the same soft, warm, creamy fairness all over, without a tinge of color in the cheeks, except on occasions of unusual bodily exertio= n or sudden mental disturbance. The whole countenance--so remarkable in its stro= ngly opposed characteristics--was rendered additionally striking by its extraordinary mobility. The large, electric, light-gray eyes were hardly ev= er in repose; all varieties of expression followed each other over the plastic, ever-changing face, with a giddy rapidity which left sober analysis far beh= ind in the race. The girl's exuberant vitality asserted itself all over her, fr= om head to foot. Her figure--taller than her sister's, taller than the average= of woman's height; instinct with such a seductive, serpentine suppleness, so lightly a= nd playfully graceful, that its movements suggested, not unnaturally, the movements of a young cat--her figure was so perfectly developed already tha= t no one who saw her could have supposed that she was only eighteen. She bloomed= in the full physical maturity of twenty years or more--bloomed naturally and irresistibly, in right of her matchless health and strength. Here, in truth, lay the mainspring of this strangely-constituted organization. Her headlong course down the house stairs; the brisk activity of all her movements; the incessant sparkle of expression in her face; the enticing gayety which took= the hearts of the quietest people by storm--even the reckless delight in bright colors which showed itself in her brilliantly-striped morning dress, in her fluttering ribbons, in the large scarlet rosettes on her smart little shoes--all sprang alike from the same source; from the overflowing physical health which strengthened every muscle, braced every nerve, and set the warm young blood tingling through her veins, like the blood of a growing child.<= o:p>
=
On her
entry into the breakfast-room, she was saluted with the customary remonstra=
nce
which her flighty disregard of all punctuality habitually provoked from the
long-suffering household authorities. In Miss Garth's favorite phrase,
"Magdalen was born with all the senses--except a sense of order."=
Magdalen! It was a strange name to have given =
her?
Strange, indeed; and yet, chosen under no extraordinary circumstances. The =
name
had been borne by one of Mr. Vanstone's sisters, who had died in early yout=
h; and,
in affectionate remembrance of her, he had called his second daughter by
it--just as he had called his eldest daughter Norah, for his wife's sake.
Magdalen! Surely, the grand old Bible name--suggestive of a sad and somber
dignity; recalling, in its first association, mournful ideas of penitence a=
nd
seclusion--had been here, as events had turned out, inappropriately bestowe=
d?
Surely, this self-contradictory girl had perversely accomplished one
contradiction more, by developing into a character which was out of all har=
mony
with her own Christian name!
"Late again!" said Mrs. Vanstone, as
Magdalen breathlessly kissed her.
"Late again!" chimed in Miss Garth, =
when
Magdalen came her way next. "Well?" she went on, taking the girl's
chin familiarly in her hand, with a half-satirical, half-fond attention whi=
ch
betrayed that the youngest daughter, with all her faults, was the governess=
's
favorite--"Well? and what has the concert done for you? What form of
suffering has dissipation inflicted on your system this morning?"
"Suffering!" repeated Magdalen,
recovering her breath, and the use of her tongue with it. "I don't know
the meaning of the word: if there's anything the matter with me, I'm too we=
ll.
Suffering! I'm ready for another concert to-night, and a ball to-morrow, an=
d a
play the day after. Oh," cried Magdalen, dropping into a chair and
crossing her hands rapturously on the table, "how I do like
pleasure!"
"Come! that's explicit at any rate,"
said Miss Garth. "I think Pope must have had you in his mind when he w=
rote
his famous lines:
"'Men some to business, some to pleasure
take, But every woman is at heart a rake.'"
"The deuce she is!" cried Mr. Vansto=
ne,
entering the room while Miss Garth was making her quotation, with the dogs =
at
his heels. "Well; live and learn. If you're all rakes, Miss Garth, the
sexes are turned topsy-turvy with a vengeance; and the men will have nothing
left for it but to stop at home and darn the stockings.--Let's have some br=
eakfast."
"How-d'ye-do, papa?" said Magdalen,
taking Mr. Vanstone as boisterously round the neck as if he belonged to some
larger order of Newfoundland dog, and was made to be romped with at his
daughter's convenience. "I'm the rake Miss Garth means; and I want to =
go
to another concert--or a play, if you like--or a ball, if you prefer it--or
anything else in the way of amusement that puts me into a new dress, and
plunges me into a crowd of people, and illuminates me with plenty of light,=
and
sets me in a tingle of excitement all over, from head to foot. Anything will
do, as long as it doesn't send us to bed at eleven o'clock."
Mr. Vanstone sat down composedly under his
daughter's flow of language, like a man who was well used to verbal inundat=
ion
from that quarter. "If I am to be allowed my choice of amusements next
time," said the worthy gentleman, "I think a play will suit me be=
tter
than a concert. The girls enjoyed themselves amazingly, my dear," he
continued, addressing his wife. "More than I did, I must say. It was
altogether above my mark. They played one piece of music which lasted forty
minutes. It stopped three times, by-the-way; and we all thought it was done
each time, and clapped our hands, rejoiced to be rid of it. But on it went
again, to our great surprise and mortification, till we gave it up in despa=
ir,
and all wished ourselves at Jericho. Norah, my dear! when we had crash-bang=
for
forty minutes, with three stoppages by-the-way, what did they call it?"=
;
"A symphony, papa," replied Norah.
"Yes, you darling old Goth, a symphony by=
the
great Beethoven!" added Magdalen. "How can you say you were not
amused? Have you forgotten the yellow-looking foreign woman, with the
unpronounceable name? Don't you remember the faces she made when she sang? =
and
the way she courtesied and courtesied, till she cheated the foolish people =
into
crying encore? Look here, mamma--look here, Miss Garth!"
She snatched up an empty plate from the table,=
to
represent a sheet of music, held it before her in the established concert-r=
oom
position, and produced an imitation of the unfortunate singer's grimaces an=
d courtesyings,
so accurately and quaintly true to the original, that her father roared with
laughter; and even the footman (who came in at that moment with the post-ba=
g)
rushed out of the room again, and committed the indecorum of echoing his ma=
ster
audibly on the other side of the door.
"Letters, papa. I want the key," said
Magdalen, passing from the imitation at the breakfast-table to the post-bag=
on
the sideboard with the easy abruptness which characterized all her actions.=
Mr. Vanstone searched his pockets and shook his
head. Though his youngest daughter might resemble him in nothing else, it w=
as
easy to see where Magdalen's unmethodical habits came from.
"I dare say I have left it in the library,
along with my other keys," said Mr. Vanstone. "Go and look for it=
, my
dear."
"You really should check Magdalen,"
pleaded Mrs. Vanstone, addressing her husband when her daughter had left the
room. "Those habits of mimicry are growing on her; and she speaks to y=
ou
with a levity which it is positively shocking to hear."
"Exactly what I have said myself, till I =
am
tired of repeating it," remarked Miss Garth. "She treats Mr. Vans=
tone
as if he was a kind of younger brother of hers."
"You are kind to us in everything else, p=
apa;
and you make kind allowances for Magdalen's high spirits--don't you?" =
said
the quiet Norah, taking her father's part and her sister's with so little s=
how of
resolution on the surface that few observers would have been sharp enough to
detect the genuine substance beneath it.
"Thank you, my dear," said good-natu=
red
Mr. Vanstone. "Thank you for a very pretty speech. As for Magdalen,&qu=
ot;
he continued, addressing his wife and Miss Garth, "she's an unbroken
filly. Let her caper and kick in the paddock to her heart's content. Time
enough to break her to harness when she gets a little older."
The door opened, and Magdalen returned with the
key. She unlocked the post-bag at the sideboard and poured out the letters =
in a
heap. Sorting them gayly in less than a minute, she approached the
breakfast-table with both hands full, and delivered the letters all round w=
ith
the business-like rapidity of a London postman.
"Two for Norah," she announced,
beginning with her sister. "Three for Miss Garth. None for mamma. One =
for
me. And the other six all for papa. You lazy old darling, you hate answering
letters, don't you?" pursued Magdalen, dropping the postman's character
and assuming the daughter's. "How you will grumble and fidget in the
study! and how you will wish there were no such things as letters in the wo=
rld!
and how red your nice old bald head will get at the top with the worry of
writing the answers; and how many of the answers you will leave until tomor=
row
after all! The Bristol Theater's open, papa," she whispered, slyly and
suddenly, in her father's ear; "I saw it in the newspaper when I went =
to
the library to get the key. Let's go to-morrow night!"
While his daughter was chattering, Mr. Vanstone
was mechanically sorting his letters. He turned over the first four in
succession and looked carelessly at the addresses. When he came to the fifth
his attention, which had hitherto wandered toward Magdalen, suddenly became
fixed on the post-mark of the letter.
Stooping over him, with her head on his should=
er,
Magdalen could see the post-mark as plainly as her father saw it--NEW ORLEA=
NS.
"An American letter, papa!" she said.
"Who do you know at New Orleans?"
Mrs. Vanstone started, and looked eagerly at h=
er
husband the moment Magdalen spoke those words.
Mr. Vanstone said nothing. He quietly removed =
his
daughter's arm from his neck, as if he wished to be free from all interrupt=
ion.
She returned, accordingly, to her place at the breakfast-table. Her father,=
with
the letter in his hand, waited a little before he opened it; her mother loo=
king
at him, the while, with an eager, expectant attention which attracted Miss
Garth's notice, and Norah's, as well as Magdalen's.
After a minute or more of hesitation Mr. Vanst=
one
opened the letter.
His face changed color the instant he read the
first lines; his cheeks fading to a dull, yellow-brown hue, which would have
been ashy paleness in a less florid man; and his expression becoming sadden=
ed
and overclouded in a moment. Norah and Magdalen, watching anxiously, saw no=
thing
but the change that passed over their father. Miss Garth alone observed the
effect which that change produced on the attentive mistress of the house.
It was not the effect which she, or any one, c=
ould
have anticipated. Mrs. Vanstone looked excited rather than alarmed. A faint
flush rose on her cheeks--her eyes brightened--she stirred the tea round and
round in her cup in a restless, impatient manner which was not natural to h=
er.
Magdalen, in her capacity of spoiled child, wa=
s,
as usual, the first to break the silence.
"What is the matter, papa?" she aske=
d.
"Nothing," said Mr. Vanstone, sharpl=
y,
without looking up at her.
"I'm sure there must be something,"
persisted Magdalen. "I'm sure there is bad news, papa, in that American
letter."
"There is nothing in the letter that conc=
erns
you," said Mr. Vanstone.
It was the first direct rebuff that Magdalen h=
ad
ever received from her father. She looked at him with an incredulous surpri=
se,
which would have been irresistibly absurd under less serious circumstances.=
Nothing more was said. For the first time,
perhaps, in their lives, the family sat round the breakfast-table in painful
silence. Mr. Vanstone's hearty morning appetite, like his hearty morning
spirits, was gone. He absently broke off some morsels of dry toast from the
rack near him, absently finished his first cup of tea--then asked for a sec=
ond,
which he left before him untouched.
"Norah," he said, after an interval,
"you needn't wait for me. Magdalen, my dear, you can go when you
like."
His daughters rose immediately; and Miss Garth
considerately followed their example. When an easy-tempered man does assert
himself in his family, the rarity of the demonstration invariably has its
effect; and the will of that easy-tempered man is Law.
"What can have happened?" whispered
Norah, as they closed the breakfast-room door and crossed the hall.
"What does papa mean by being cross with
Me?" exclaimed Magdalen, chafing under a sense of her own injuries.
"May I ask--what right you had to pry into
your father's private affairs?" retorted Miss Garth.
"Right?" repeated Magdalen. "I =
have
no secrets from papa--what business has papa to have secrets from me! I
consider myself insulted."
"If you considered yourself properly repr=
oved
for not minding your own business," said the plain-spoken Miss Garth,
"you would be a trifle nearer the truth. Ah! you are like all the rest=
of
the girls in the present day. Not one in a hundred of you knows which end of
her's uppermost."
The three ladies entered the morning-room; and
Magdalen acknowledged Miss Garth's reproof by banging the door.
Half an hour passed, and neither Mr. Vanstone =
nor
his wife left the breakfast-room. The servant, ignorant of what had happene=
d,
went in to clear the table--found his master and mistress seated close toge=
ther
in deep consultation--and immediately went out again. Another quarter of an=
hour
elapsed before the breakfast-room door was opened, and the private conferen=
ce
of the husband and wife came to an end.
"I hear mamma in the hall," said Nor=
ah.
"Perhaps she is coming to tell us something."
Mrs. Vanstone entered the morning-room as her
daughter spoke. The color was deeper on her cheeks, and the brightness of
half-dried tears glistened in her eyes; her step was more hasty, all her
movements were quicker than usual.
"I bring news, my dears, which will surpr=
ise
you," she said, addressing her daughters. "Your father and I are
going to London to-morrow."
Magdalen caught her mother by the arm in
speechless astonishment. Miss Garth dropped her work on her lap; even the
sedate Norah started to her feet, and amazedly repeated the words, "Go=
ing
to London!"
"Without us?" added Magdalen.
"Your father and I are going alone,"
said Mrs. Vanstone. "Perhaps, for as long as three weeks--but not long=
er.
We are going"--she hesitated--"we are going on important family
business. Don't hold me, Magdalen. This is a sudden necessity--I have a gre=
at
deal to do to-day--many things to set in order before tomorrow. There, ther=
e,
my love, let me go."
She drew her arm away; hastily kissed her youn=
gest
daughter on the forehead; and at once left the room again. Even Magdalen saw
that her mother was not to be coaxed into hearing or answering any more que=
stions.
The morning wore on, and nothing was seen of M=
r.
Vanstone. With the reckless curiosity of her age and character, Magdalen, in
defiance of Miss Garth's prohibition and her sister's remonstrances, determ=
ined
to go to the study and look for her father there. When she tried the door, =
it
was locked on the inside. She said, "It's only me, papa;" and wai=
ted for
the answer. "I'm busy now, my dear," was the answer. "Don't
disturb me."
Mrs. Vanstone was, in another way, equally
inaccessible. She remained in her own room, with the female servants about =
her,
immersed in endless preparations for the approaching departure. The servant=
s,
little used in that family to sudden resolutions and unexpected orders, wer=
e awkward
and confused in obeying directions. They ran from room to room unnecessaril=
y,
and lost time and patience in jostling each other on the stairs. If a stran=
ger
had entered the house that day, he might have imagined that an unexpected
disaster had happened in it, instead of an unexpected necessity for a journ=
ey
to London. Nothing proceeded in its ordinary routine. Magdalen, who was
accustomed to pass the morning at the piano, wandered restlessly about the =
staircases
and passages, and in and out of doors when there were glimpses of fine weat=
her.
Norah, whose fondness for reading had passed into a family proverb, took up
book after book from table and shelf, and laid them down again, in despair =
of fixing
her attention. Even Miss Garth felt the all-pervading influence of the
household disorganization, and sat alone by the morning-room fire, with her
head shaking ominously, and her work laid aside.
"Family affairs?" thought Miss Garth,
pondering over Mrs. Vanstone's vague explanatory words. "I have lived
twelve years at Combe-Raven; and these are the first family affairs which h=
ave
got between the parents and the children, in all my experience. What does it
mean? Change? I suppose I'm getting old. I don't like change."
CHAPTER II.=
AT ten o'clock the next morning Norah and Magd=
alen
stood alone in the hall at Combe-Raven watching the departure of the carria=
ge
which took their father and mother to the London train.
Up to the last moment, both the sisters had ho=
ped
for some explanation of that mysterious "family business" to which
Mrs. Vanstone had so briefly alluded on the previous day. No such explanati=
on
had been offered. Even the agitation of the leave-taking, under circumstanc=
es entirely
new in the home experience of the parents and children, had not shaken the
resolute discretion of Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone. They had gone--with the warme=
st
testimonies of affection, with farewell embraces fervently reiterated again=
and
again--but without dropping one word, from first to last, of the nature of
their errand.
As the grating sound of the carriage-wheels ce=
ased
suddenly at a turn in the road, the sisters looked one another in the face;
each feeling, and each betraying in her own way, the dreary sense that she =
was
openly excluded, for the first time, from the confidence of her parents. No=
rah's
customary reserve strengthened into sullen silence--she sat down in one of =
the
hall chairs and looked out frowningly through the open house door. Magdalen=
, as
usual when her temper was ruffled, expressed her dissatisfaction in the
plainest terms. "I don't care who knows it--I think we are both of us
shamefully ill-used!" With those words, the young lady followed her
sister's example by seating herself on a hall chair and looking aimlessly o=
ut
through the open house door.
Almost at the same moment Miss Garth entered t=
he
hall from the morning-room. Her quick observation showed her the necessity =
for interfering
to some practical purpose; and her ready good sense at once pointed the way=
.
"Look up, both of you, if you please, and
listen to me," said Miss Garth. "If we are all three to be
comfortable and happy together, now we are alone, we must stick to our usual
habits and go on in our regular way. There is the state of things in plain
words. Accept the situation--as the French say. Here am I to set you the
example. I have just ordered an excellent dinner at the customary hour. I am
going to the medicine-chest next, to physic the kitchen-maid--an unwholesom=
e girl,
whose face-ache is all stomach. In the meantime, Norah, my dear, you will f=
ind
your work and your books, as usual, in the library. Magdalen, suppose you l=
eave
off tying your handkerchief into knots and use your fingers on the keys of =
the
piano instead? We'll lunch at one, and take the dogs out afterward. Be as b=
risk
and cheerful both of you as I am. Come, rouse up directly. If I see those
gloomy faces any longer, as sure as my name's Garth, I'll give your mother
written warning and go back to my friends by the mixed train at twelve
forty."
Concluding her address of expostulation in tho=
se
terms, Miss Garth led Norah to the library door, pushed Magdalen into the
morning-room, and went on her own way sternly to the regions of the
medicine-chest.
In this half-jesting, half-earnest manner she =
was
accustomed to maintain a sort of friendly authority over Mr. Vanstone's
daughters, after her proper functions as governess had necessarily come to =
an
end. Norah, it is needless to say, had long since ceased to be her pupil; a=
nd
Magdalen had, by this time, completed her education. But Miss Garth had liv=
ed
too long and too intimately under Mr. Vanstone's roof to be parted with for=
any
purely formal considerations; and the first hint at going away which she had
thought it her duty to drop was dismissed with such affectionate warmth of
protest that she never repeated it again, except in jest. The entire manage=
ment
of the household was, from that time forth, left in her hands; and to those
duties she was free to add what companionable assistance she could render to
Norah's reading, and what friendly superintendence she could still exercise
over Magdalen's music. Such were the terms on which Miss Garth was now a
resident in Mr. Vanstone's family.
Toward the afternoon the weather improved. At
half-past one the sun was shining brightly; and the ladies left the house,
accompanied by the dogs, to set forth on their walk.
They crossed the stream, and ascended by the
little rocky pass to the hills beyond; then diverged to the left, and retur=
ned
by a cross-road which led through the village of Combe-Raven.
As they came in sight of the first cottages, t=
hey
passed a man, hanging about the road, who looked attentively, first at
Magdalen, then at Norah. They merely observed that he was short, that he was
dressed in black, and that he was a total stranger to them--and continued t=
heir
homeward walk, without thinking more about the loitering foot-passenger whom
they had met on their way back.
After they had left the village, and had enter=
ed
the road which led straight to the house, Magdalen surprised Miss Garth by
announcing that the stranger in black had turned, after they had passed him,
and was now following them. "He keeps on Norah's side of the road,&quo=
t;
she said, mischievously. "I'm not the attraction--don't blame me."=
;
Whether the man was really following them, or =
not,
made little difference, for they were now close to the house. As they passed
through the lodge-gates, Miss Garth looked round, and saw that the stranger=
was
quickening his pace, apparently with the purpose of entering into conversat=
ion.
Seeing this, she at once directed the young ladies to go on to the house wi=
th
the dogs, while she herself waited for events at the gate.
There was just time to complete this discreet
arrangement, before the stranger reached the lodge. He took off his hat to =
Miss
Garth politely, as she turned round. What did he look like, on the face of =
him?
He looked like a clergyman in difficulties.
Taking his portrait, from top to toe, the pict=
ure
of him began with a tall hat, broadly encircled by a mourning band of crump=
led
crape. Below the hat was a lean, long, sallow face, deeply pitted with the
smallpox, and characterized, very remarkably, by eyes of two different
colors--one bilious green, one bilious brown, both sharply intelligent. His
hair was iron-gray, carefully brushed round at the temples. His cheeks and =
chin
were in the bluest bloom of smooth shaving; his nose was short Roman; his l=
ips
long, thin, and supple, curled up at the corners with a mildly-humorous smi=
le.
His white cravat was high, stiff, and dingy; the collar, higher, stiffer, a=
nd
dingier, projected its rigid points on either side beyond his chin. Lower d=
own,
the lithe little figure of the man was arrayed throughout in sober-shabby
black. His frock-coat was buttoned tight round the waist, and left to bulge
open majestically at the chest. His hands were covered with black cotton gl=
oves
neatly darned at the fingers; his umbrella, worn down at the ferule to the =
last
quarter of an inch, was carefully preserved, nevertheless, in an oilskin ca=
se.
The front view of him was the view in which he looked oldest; meeting him f=
ace
to face, he might have been estimated at fifty or more. Walking behind him,=
his
back and shoulders were almost young enough to have passed for five-and-thi=
rty.
His manners were distinguished by a grave serenity. When he opened his lips=
, he
spoke in a rich bass voice, with an easy flow of language, and a strict
attention to the elocutionary claims of words in more than one syllable.
Persuasion distilled from his mildly-curling lips; and, shabby as he was,
perennial flowers of courtesy bloomed all over him from head to foot.
"This is the residence of Mr. Vanstone, I
believe?" he began, with a circular wave of his hand in the direction =
of
the house. "Have I the honor of addressing a member of Mr. Vanstone's
family?"
"Yes," said the plain-spoken Miss Ga=
rth.
"You are addressing Mr. Vanstone's governess."
The persuasive man fell back a step--admired M=
r.
Vanstone's governess--advanced a step again--and continued the conversation=
.
"And the two young ladies," he went =
on,
"the two young ladies who were walking with you are doubtless Mr.
Vanstone's daughters? I recognized the darker of the two, and the elder as I
apprehend, by her likeness to her handsome mother. The younger lady--"=
"You are acquainted with Mrs. Vanstone, I
suppose?" said Miss Garth, interrupting the stranger's flow of languag=
e,
which, all things considered, was beginning, in her opinion, to flow rather
freely. The stranger acknowledged the interruption by one of his polite bow=
s,
and submerged Miss Garth in his next sentence as if nothing had happened.
"The younger lady," he proceeded,
"takes after her father, I presume? I assure you, her face struck me.
Looking at it with my friendly interest in the family, I thought it very
remarkable. I said to myself--Charming, Characteristic, Memorable. Not like=
her
sister, not like her mother. No doubt, the image of her father?"
Once more Miss Garth attempted to stem the man=
's
flow of words. It was plain that he did not know Mr. Vanstone, even by
sight--otherwise he would never have committed the error of supposing that
Magdalen took after her father. Did he know Mrs. Vanstone any better? He had
left Miss Garth's question on that point unanswered. In the name of wonder,=
who
was he? Powers of impudence! what did he want?
"You may be a friend of the family, thoug=
h I
don't remember your face," said Miss Garth. "What may your comman=
ds
be, if you please? Did you come here to pay Mrs. Vanstone a visit?"
"I had anticipated the pleasure of
communicating with Mrs. Vanstone," answered this inveterately evasive =
and
inveterately civil man. "How is she?"
"Much as usual," said Miss Garth,
feeling her resources of politeness fast failing her.
"Is she at home?"
"No."
"Out for long?"
"Gone to London with Mr. Vanstone."<= o:p>
The man's long face suddenly grew longer. His
bilious brown eye looked disconcerted, and his bilious green eye followed i=
ts
example. His manner became palpably anxious; and his choice of words was mo=
re
carefully selected than ever.
"Is Mrs. Vanstone's absence likely to ext=
end
over any very lengthened period?" he inquired.
"It will extend over three weeks,"
replied Miss Garth. "I think you have now asked me questions enough,&q=
uot;
she went on, beginning to let her temper get the better of her at last.
"Be so good, if you please, as to mention your business and your name.=
If
you have any message to leave for Mrs. Vanstone, I shall be writing to her =
by
to-night's post, and I can take charge of it."
"A thousand thanks! A most valuable
suggestion. Permit me to take advantage of it immediately."
He was not in the least affected by the severi=
ty
of Miss Garth's looks and language--he was simply relieved by her proposal,=
and
he showed it with the most engaging sincerity. This time his bilious green =
eye
took the initiative, and set his bilious brown eye the example of recovered=
serenity.
His curling lips took a new twist upward; he tucked his umbrella briskly un=
der
his arm; and produced from the breast of his coat a large old-fashioned bla=
ck
pocketbook. From this he took a pencil and a card--hesitated and considered=
for
a moment--wrote rapidly on the card--and placed it, with the politest alacr=
ity,
in Miss Garth's hand.
"I shall feel personally obliged if you w=
ill
honor me by inclosing that card in your letter," he said. "There =
is
no necessity for my troubling you additionally with a message. My name will=
be
quite sufficient to recall a little family matter to Mrs. Vanstone, which h=
as
no doubt escaped her memory. Accept my best thanks. This has been a day of
agreeable surprises to me. I have found the country hereabouts remarkably
pretty; I have seen Mrs. Vanstone's two charming daughters; I have become
acquainted with an honored preceptress in Mr. Vanstone's family. I congratu=
late
myself--I apologize for occupying your valuable time--I beg my renewed
acknowledgments--I wish you good-morning."
He raised his tall hat. His brown eye twinkled,
his green eye twinkled, his curly lips smiled sweetly. In a moment he turne=
d on
his heel. His youthful back appeared to the best advantage; his active litt=
le
legs took him away trippingly in the direction of the village. One, two, th=
ree--and
he reached the turn in the road. Four, five, six--and he was gone.
Miss Garth looked down at the card in her hand,
and looked up again in blank astonishment. The name and address of the
clerical-looking stranger (both written in pencil) ran as follows:
Captain Wragge. Post-office, Bristol.
WHEN she returned to the house, Miss Garth mad=
e no
attempt to conceal her unfavorable opinion of the stranger in black. His ob=
ject
was, no doubt, to obtain pecuniary assistance from Mrs. Vanstone. What the =
nature
of his claim on her might be seemed less intelligible--unless it was the cl=
aim
of a poor relation. Had Mrs. Vanstone ever mentioned, in the presence of her
daughters, the name of Captain Wragge? Neither of them recollected to have
heard it before. Had Mrs. Vanstone ever referred to any poor relations who =
were
dependent on her? On the contrary she had mentioned of late years that she
doubted having any relations at all who were still living. And yet Captain
Wragge had plainly declared that the name on his card would recall "a
family matter" to Mrs. Vanstone's memory. What did it mean? A false
statement, on the stranger's part, without any intelligible reason for maki=
ng
it? Or a second mystery, following close on the heels of the mysterious jou=
rney
to London?
All the probabilities seemed to point to some
hidden connection between the "family affairs" which had taken Mr.
and Mrs. Vanstone so suddenly from home and the "family matter"
associated with the name of Captain Wragge. Miss Garth's doubts thronged ba=
ck
irresistibly on her mind as she sealed her letter to Mrs. Vanstone, with the
captain's card added by way of inclosure.
By return of post the answer arrived.
Always the earliest riser among the ladies of =
the
house, Miss Garth was alo ne in the breakfast-room when the letter was brou=
ght
in. Her first glance at its contents convinced her of the necessity of read=
ing
it carefully through in retirement, before any embarrassing questions could=
be
put to her. Leaving a message with the servant requesting Norah to make the=
tea
that morning, she went upstairs at once to the solitude and security of her=
own
room.
Mrs. Vanstone's letter extended to some length.
The first part of it referred to Captain Wragge, and entered unreservedly i=
nto
all necessary explanations relating to the man himself and to the motive wh=
ich
had brought him to Combe-Raven.
It appeared from Mrs. Vanstone's statement that
her mother had been twice married. Her mother's first husband had been a
certain Doctor Wragge--a widower with young children; and one of those chil=
dren
was now the unmilitary-looking captain, whose address was "Post-office=
, Bristol."
Mrs. Wragge had left no family by her first husband; and had afterward marr=
ied
Mrs. Vanstone's father. Of that second marriage Mrs. Vanstone herself was t=
he
only issue. She had lost both her parents while she was still a young woman;
and, in course of years, her mother's family connections (who were then her
nearest surviving relatives) had been one after another removed by death. S=
he
was left, at the present writing, without a relation in the world--exceptin=
g,
perhaps, certain cousins whom she had never seen, and of whose existence ev=
en,
at the present moment, she possessed no positive knowledge.
Under these circumstances, what family claim h=
ad
Captain Wragge on Mrs. Vanstone?
None whatever. As the son of her mother's firs=
t husband,
by that husband's first wife, not even the widest stretch of courtesy could
have included him at any time in the list of Mrs. Vanstone's most distant r=
elations.
Well knowing this (the letter proceeded to say), he had nevertheless persis=
ted
in forcing himself upon her as a species of family connection: and she had
weakly sanctioned the intrusion, solely from the dread that he would otherw=
ise
introduce himself to Mr. Vanstone's notice, and take unblushing advantage of
Mr. Vanstone's generosity. Shrinking, naturally, from allowing her husband =
to
be annoyed, and probably cheated as well, by any person who claimed, however
preposterously, a family connection with herself, it had been her practice,=
for
many years past, to assist the captain from her own purse, on the condition
that he should never come near the house, and that he should not presume to
make any application whatever to Mr. Vanstone.
Readily admitting the imprudence of this cours=
e,
Mrs. Vanstone further explained that she had perhaps been the more inclined=
to
adopt it through having been always accustomed, in her early days, to see t=
he
captain living now upon one member, and now upon another, of her mother's
family. Possessed of abilities which might have raised him to distinction in
almost any career that he could have chosen, he had nevertheless, from his
youth upward, been a disgrace to all his relatives. He had been expelled the
militia regiment in which he once held a commission. He had tried one
employment after another, and had discreditably failed in all. He had lived=
on
his wits, in the lowest and basest meaning of the phrase. He had married a =
poor
ignorant woman, who had served as a waitress at some low eating-house, who =
had
unexpectedly come into a little money, and whose small inheritance he had
mercilessly squandered to the last farthing. In plain terms, he was an
incorrigible scoundrel; and he had now added one more to the list of his ma=
ny misdemeanors
by impudently breaking the conditions on which Mrs. Vanstone had hitherto
assisted him. She had written at once to the address indicated on his card,=
in
such terms and to such purpose as would prevent him, she hoped and believed,
from ever venturing near the house again. Such were the terms in which Mrs.
Vanstone concluded that first part of her letter which referred exclusively=
to
Captain Wragge.
Although the statement thus presented implied a
weakness in Mrs. Vanstone's character which Miss Garth, after many years of
intimate experience, had never detected, she accepted the explanation as a
matter of course; receiving it all the more readily inasmuch as it might, w=
ithout
impropriety, be communicated in substance to appease the irritated curiosit=
y of
the two young ladies. For this reason especially she perused the first half=
of
the letter with an agreeable sense of relief. Far different was the impress=
ion
produced on her when she advanced to the second half, and when she had read=
it
to the end.
The second part of the letter was devoted to t=
he
subject of the journey to London.
Mrs. Vanstone began by referring to the long a=
nd
intimate friendship which had existed between Miss Garth and herself. She n=
ow
felt it due to that friendship to explain confidentially the motive which h=
ad
induced her to leave home with her husband. Miss Garth had delicately refra=
ined
from showing it, but she must naturally have felt, and must still be feelin=
g,
great surprise at the mystery in which their departure had been involved; a=
nd
she must doubtless have asked herself why Mrs. Vanstone should have been
associated with family affairs which (in her independent position as to
relatives) must necessarily concern Mr. Vanstone alone.
Without touching on those affairs, which it was
neither desirable nor necessary to do, Mrs. Vanstone then proceeded to say =
that
she would at once set all Miss Garth's doubts at rest, so far as they relat=
ed
to herself, by one plain acknowledgment. Her object in accompanying her hus=
band
to London was to see a certain celebrated physician, and to consult him
privately on a very delicate and anxious matter connected with the state of=
her
health. In plainer terms still, this anxious matter meant nothing less than=
the
possibility that she might again become a mother.
When the doubt had first suggested itself she =
had
treated it as a mere delusion. The long interval that had elapsed since the
birth of her last child; the serious illness which had afflicted her after =
the
death of that child in infancy; the time of life at which she had now arriv=
ed--all
inclined her to dismiss the idea as soon as it arose in her mind. It had
returned again and again in spite of her. She had felt the necessity of
consulting the highest medical authority; and had shrunk, at the same time,
from alarming her daughters by summoning a London physician to the house. T=
he
medical opinion, sought under the circumstances already mentioned, had now =
been
obtained. Her doubt was confirmed as a certainty; and the result, which mig=
ht
be expected to take place toward the end of the summer, was, at her age and
with her constitutional peculiarities, a subject for serious future anxiety=
, to
say the least of it. The physician had done his best to encourage her; but =
she
had understood the drift of his questions more clearly than he supposed, and
she knew that he looked to the future with more than ordinary doubt.
Having disclosed these particulars, Mrs. Vanst=
one
requested that they might be kept a secret between her correspondent and
herself. She had felt unwilling to mention her suspicions to Miss Garth, un=
til
those suspicions had been confirmed--and she now recoiled, with even greate=
r reluctance,
from allowing her daughters to be in any way alarmed about her. It would be
best to dismiss the subject for the present, and to wait hopefully till the
summer came. In the meantime they would all, she trusted, be happily reunit=
ed
on the twenty-third of the month, which Mr. Vanstone had fixed on as the day
for their return. With this intimation, and with the customary messages, the
letter, abruptly and confusedly, came to an end.
=
For
the first few minutes, a natural sympathy for Mrs. Vanstone was the only
feeling of which Miss Garth was conscious after she had laid the letter dow=
n.
Ere long, however, there rose obscurely on her mind a doubt which perplexed=
and
distressed her. Was the explanation which she had just read really as
satisfactory and as complete as it professed to be? Testing it plainly by
facts, surely not.
On the morning of her departure, Mrs. Vanstone=
had
unquestionably left the house in good spirits. At her age, and in her state=
of
health, were good spirits compatible with such an errand to a physician as =
the
errand on which she was bent? Then, again, had that letter from New Orleans=
, which
had necessitated Mr. Vanstone's departure, no share in occasioning his wife=
's
departure as well? Why, otherwise, had she looked up so eagerly the moment =
her
daughter mentioned the postmark. Granting the avowed motive for her
journey--did not her manner, on the morning when the letter was opened, and
again on the morning of departure, suggest the existence of some other moti=
ve
which her letter kept concealed?
If it was so, the conclusion that followed was=
a
very distressing one. Mrs. Vanstone, feeling what was due to her long
friendship with Miss Garth, had apparently placed the fullest confidence in
her, on one subject, by way of unsuspiciously maintaining the strictest res=
erve
toward her on another. Naturally frank and straightforward in all her own
dealings, Miss Garth shrank from plainly pursuing her doubts to this result=
: a
want of loyalty toward her tried and valued friend seemed implied in the me=
re
dawning of it on her mind.
She locked up the letter in her desk; roused
herself resolutely to attend to the passing interests of the day; and went
downstairs again to the breakfast-room. Amid many uncertainties, this at le=
ast
was clear, Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone were coming back on the twenty-third of the
month. Who could say what new revelations might not come back with them?
=
No new revelations came back with them: no
anticipations associated with their return were realized. On the one forbid=
den
subject of their errand in London, there was no moving either the master or=
the
mistress of the house. Whatever their object might have been, they had to a=
ll
appearance successfully accomplished it--for they both returned in perfect =
possession
of their every-day looks and manners. Mrs. Vanstone's spirits had subsided =
to
their natural quiet level; Mr. Vanstone's imperturbable cheerfulness sat as
easily and indolently on him as usual. This was the one noticeable result of
their journey--this, and no more. Had the household revolution run its cour=
se
already? Was the secret thus far hidden impenetrably, hidden forever?
Nothing in this world is hidden forever. The g=
old
which has lain for centuries unsuspected in the ground, reveals itself one =
day
on the surface. Sand turns traitor, and betrays the footstep that has passe=
d over
it; water gives back to the tell-tale surface the body that has been drowne=
d.
Fire itself leaves the confession, in ashes, of the substance consumed in i=
t.
Hate breaks its prison-secrecy in the thoughts, through the doorway of the
eyes; and Love finds the Judas who betrays it by a kiss. Look where we will,
the inevitable law of revelation is one of the laws of nature: the lasting =
preservation
of a secret is a miracle which the world has never yet seen.
How was the secret now hidden in the household=
at
Combe-Raven doomed to disclose itself? Through what coming event in the dai=
ly
lives of the father, the mother, and the daughters, was the law of revelati=
on destined
to break the fatal way to discovery? The way opened (unseen by the parents,=
and
unsuspected by the children) through the first event that happened after Mr.
and Mrs. Vanstone's return--an event which presented, on the surface of it,=
no
interest of greater importance than the trivial social ceremony of a morning
call.
Three days after the master and mistress of
Combe-Raven had come back, the female members of the family happened to be
assembled together in the morning-room. The view from the windows looked ov=
er
the flower-garden and shrubbery; this last being protected at its outward e=
xtremity
by a fence, and approached from the lane beyond by a wicket-gate. During an
interval in the conversation, the attention of the ladies was suddenly
attracted to this gate, by the sharp sound of the iron latch falling in its
socket. Some one had entered the shrubbery from the lane; and Magdalen at o=
nce
placed herself at the window to catch the first sight of the visitor through
the trees.
After a few minutes, the figure of a gentleman
became visible, at the point where the shrubbery path joined the winding
garden-walk which led to the house. Magdalen looked at him attentively, wit=
hout
appearing, at first, to know who he was. As he came nearer, however, she
started in astonishment; and, turning quickly to her mother and sister,
proclaimed the gentleman in the garden to be no other than "Mr. Francis
Clare."
The visitor thus announced was the son of Mr.
Vanstone's oldest associate and nearest neighbor.
Mr. Clare the elder inhabited an unpretending
little cottage, situated just outside the shrubbery fence which marked the
limit of the Combe-Raven grounds. Belonging to the younger branch of a fami=
ly
of great antiquity, the one inheritance of importance that he had derived f=
rom
his ancestors was the possession of a magnificent library, which not only
filled all the rooms in his modest little dwelling, but lined the staircases
and passages as well. Mr. Clare's books represented the one important inter=
est
of Mr. Clare's life. He had been a widower for many years past, and made no
secret of his philosophical resignation to the loss of his wife. As a fathe=
r,
he regarded his family of three sons in the light of a necessary domestic e=
vil,
which perpetually threatened the sanctity of his study and the safety of his
books. When the boys went to school, Mr. Clare said "good-by" to
them--and "thank God" to himself. As for his small income, and his
still smaller domestic establishment, he looked at them both from the same
satirically indifferent point of view. He called himself a pauper with a
pedigree. He abandoned the entire direction of his household to the slatter=
nly
old woman who was his only servant, on the condition that she was never to =
venture
near his books, with a duster in her hand, from one year's end to the other.
His favorite poets were Horace and Pope; his chosen philosophers, Hobbes and
Voltaire. He took his exercise and his fresh air under protest; and always
walked the same distance to a yard, on the ugliest high-road in the
neighborhood. He was crooked of back, and quick of temper. He could digest
radishes, and sleep after green tea. His views of human nature were the vie=
ws
of Diogenes, tempered by Rochefoucauld; his personal habits were slovenly in
the last degree; and his favorite boast was that he had outlived all human
prejudices.
Such was this singular man, in his more
superficial aspects. What nobler qualities he might possess below the surfa=
ce,
no one had ever discovered. Mr. Vanstone, it is true, stoutly asserted that
"Mr. Clare's worst side was his outside"--but in this expression =
of
opinion he stood alone among his neighbors. The association between these t=
wo widely-dissimilar
men had lasted for many years, and was almost close enough to be called a
friendship. They had acquired a habit of meeting to smoke together on certa=
in
evenings in the week, in the cynic-philosopher's study, and of there disput=
ing
on every imaginable subject--Mr. Vanstone flourishing the stout cudgels of
assertion, and Mr. Clare meeting him with the keen edged-tools of sophistry.
They generally quarreled at night, and met on the neutral ground of the shr=
ubbery
to be reconciled together the next morning. The bond of intercourse thus
curiously established between them was strengthened on Mr. Vanstone's side =
by a
hearty interest in his neighbor's three sons--an interest by which those so=
ns
benefited all the more importantly, seeing that one of the prejudices which
their father had outlived was a prejudice in favor of his own children.
"I look at those boys," the philosop=
her
was accustomed to say, "with a perfectly impartial eye; I dismiss the
unimportant accident of their birth from all consideration; and I find them
below the average in every respect. The only excuse which a poor gentleman =
has
for presuming to exist in the nineteenth century, is the excuse of
extraordinary ability. My boys have been addle-headed from infancy. If I had
any capital to give them, I should make Frank a butcher, Cecil a baker, and
Arthur a grocer--those being the only human vocations I know of which are c=
ertain
to be always in request. As it is, I have no money to help them with; and t=
hey
have no brains to help themselves. They appear to me to be three human
superfluities in dirty jackets and noisy boots; and, unless they clear
themselves off the community by running away, I don't myself profess to see
what is to be done with them."
Fortunately for the boys, Mr. Vanstone's views were still fast imprisoned in the ordinary prejudices. At his intercession,= and through his influence, Frank, Cecil, and Arthur were received on the founda= tion of a well-reputed grammar-school. In holiday-time they were mercifully allo= wed the run of Mr. Vanstone's paddock; and were humanized and refined by associ= ation, indoors, with Mrs. Vanstone and her daughters. On these occasions, Mr. Clare used sometimes to walk across from his cottage (in his dressing-gown and slippers), and look at the boys disparagingly, through the window or over t= he fence, as if they were three wild animals whom his neighbor was attempting = to tame. "You and your wife are excellent people," he used to say to= Mr. Vanstone. "I respect your honest prejudices in favor of those boys of = mine with all my heart. But you are so wrong about them--you are indeed! I wish = to give no offense; I speak quite impartially--but mark my words, Vanstone: they'll= all three turn out ill, in spite of everything you can do to prevent it."<= o:p>
In later years, when Frank had reached the age=
of
seventeen, the same curious shifting of the relative positions of parent and
friend between the two neighbors was exemplified more absurdly than ever. A
civil engineer in the north of England, who owed certain obligations to Mr.=
Vanstone,
expressed his willingness to take Frank under superintendence, on terms of =
the
most favorable kind. When this proposal was received, Mr. Clare, as usual,
first shifted his own character as Frank's father on Mr. Vanstone's
shoulders--and then moderated his neighbor's parental enthusiasm from the p=
oint
of view of an impartial spectator.
"It's the finest chance for Frank that co=
uld
possibly have happened," cried Mr. Vanstone, in a glow of fatherly
enthusiasm.
"My good fellow, he won't take it,"
retorted Mr. Clare, with the icy composure of a disinterested friend.
"But he shall take it," persisted Mr.
Vanstone.
"Say he shall have a mathematical head,&q=
uot;
rejoined Mr. Clare; "say he shall possess industry, ambition, and firm=
ness
of purpose. Pooh! pooh! you don't look at him with my impartial eyes. I say=
, No
mathematics, no industry, no ambition, no firmness of purpose. Frank is a
compound of negatives--and there they are."
"Hang your negatives!" shouted Mr.
Vanstone. "I don't care a rush for negatives, or affirmatives either.
Frank shall have this splendid chance; and I'll lay you any wager you like =
he
makes the best of it."
"I am not rich enough to lay wagers,
usually," replied Mr. Clare; "but I think I have got a guinea abo=
ut
the house somewhere; and I'll lay you that guinea Frank comes back on our h=
ands
like a bad shilling."
"Done!" said Mr. Vanstone. "No:
stop a minute! I won't do the lad's character the injustice of backing it at
even money. I'll lay you five to one Frank turns up trumps in this business!
You ought to be ashamed of yourself for talking of him as you do. What sort=
of
hocus-pocus you bring it about by, I don't pretend to know; but you always =
end
in making me take his part, as if I was his father instead of you. Ah yes! =
give
you time, and you'll defend yourself. I won't give you time; I won't have a=
ny
of your special pleading. Black's white according to you. I don't care: it's
black for all that. You may talk nineteen to the dozen--I shall write to my
friend and say Yes, in Frank's interests, by to-day's post."
Such were the circumstances under which Mr.
Francis Clare departed for the north of England, at the age of seventeen, to
start in life as a civil engineer.
From time to time, Mr. Vanstone's friend
communicated with him on the subject of the new pupil. Frank was praised, a=
s a
quiet, gentleman-like, interesting lad--but he was also reported to be rath=
er
slow at acquiring the rudiments of engineering science. Other letters, late=
r in
date, described him as a little too ready to despond about himself; as havi=
ng been
sent away, on that account, to some new railway works, to see if change of
scene would rouse him; and as having benefited in every respect by the
experiment--except perhaps in regard to his professional studies, which sti=
ll
advanced but slowly. Subsequent communications announced his departure, und=
er
care of a trustworthy foreman, for some public works in Belgium; touched on=
the
general benefit he appeared to derive from this new change; praised his
excellent manners and address, which were of great assistance in facilitati=
ng
business communications with the foreigners--and passed over in ominous sil=
ence
the main question of his actual progress in the acquirement of knowledge. T=
hese
reports, and many others which resembled them, were all conscientiously pre=
sented
by Frank's friend to the attention of Frank's father. On each occasion, Mr.
Clare exulted over Mr. Vanstone, and Mr. Vanstone quarreled with Mr. Clare.
"One of these days you'll wish you hadn't laid that wager," said =
the
cynic philosopher. "One of these days I shall have the blessed
satisfaction of pocketing your guinea," cried the sanguine friend. Two
years had then passed since Frank's departure. In one year more results
asserted themselves, and settled the question.
Two days after Mr. Vanstone's return from Lond=
on,
he was called away from the breakfast-table before he had found time enough=
to
look over his letters, delivered by the morning's post. Thrusting them into=
one
of the pockets of his shooting-jacket, he took the letters out again, at one
grasp, to read them when occasion served, later in the day. The grasp inclu=
ded
the whole correspondence, with one exception--that exception being a final
report from the civil engineer, which notified the termination of the
connection between his pupil and himself, and the immediate return of Frank=
to
his father's house.
While this important announcement lay unsuspec=
ted
in Mr. Vanstone's pocket, the object of it was traveling home, as fast as
railways could take him. At half-past ten at night, while Mr. Clare was sit=
ting
in studious solitude over his books and his green tea, with his favorite bl=
ack
cat to keep him company, he heard footsteps in the passage--the door
opened--and Frank stood before him.
Ordinary men would have been astonished. But t=
he
philosopher's composure was not to be shaken by any such trifle as the
unexpected return of his eldest son. He could not have looked up more calmly
from his learned volume if Frank had been absent for three minutes instead =
of
three years.
"Exactly what I predicted," said Mr.
Clare. "Don't interrupt me by making explanations; and don't frighten =
the
cat. If there is anything to eat in the kitchen, get it and go to bed. You =
can
walk over to Combe-Raven tomorrow and give this message from me to Mr.
Vanstone: 'Father's compliments, sir, and I have come back upon your hands =
like
a bad shilling, as he always said I should. He keeps his own guinea, and ta=
kes
your five; and he hopes you'll mind what he says to you another time.' That=
is
the message. Shut the door after you. Good-night."
Under these unfavorable auspices, Mr. Francis
Clare made his appearance the next morning in the grounds at Combe-Raven; a=
nd,
something doubtful of the reception that might await him, slowly approached=
the
precincts of the house.
It was not wonderful that Magdalen should have
failed to recognize him when he first appeared in view. He had gone away a
backward lad of seventeen; he returned a young man of twenty. His slim figu=
re
had now acquired strength and grace, and had increased in stature to the me=
dium
height. The small regular features, which he was supposed to have inherited
from his mother, were rounded and filled out, without having lost their
remarkable delicacy of form. His beard was still in its infancy; and nascent
lines of whisker traced their modest way sparely down his cheeks. His gentl=
e,
wandering brown eyes would have looked to better advantage in a woman's
face--they wanted spirit and firmness to fit them for the face of a man. His
hands had the same wandering habit as his eyes; they were constantly changi=
ng
from one position to another, constantly twisting and turning any little st=
ray
thing they could pick up. He was undeniably handsome, graceful, well-bred--=
but
no close observer could look at him without suspecting that the stout old
family stock had begun to wear out in the later generations, and that Mr. F=
rancis
Clare had more in him of the shadow of his ancestors than of the substance.=
When the astonishment caused by his appearance=
had
partially subsided, a search was instituted for the missing report. It was
found in the remotest recesses of Mr. Vanstone's capacious pocket, and was =
read
by that gentleman on the spot.
The plain facts, as stated by the engineer, we=
re
briefly these: Frank was not possessed of the necessary abilities to fit him
for his new calling; and it was useless to waste time by keeping him any lo=
nger
in an employment for which he had no vocation. This, after three years' tri=
al,
being the conviction on both sides, the master had thought it the most
straightforward course for the pupil to go home and candidly place results
before his father and his friends. In some other pursuit, for which he was =
more
fit, and in which he could feel an interest, he would no doubt display the
industry and perseverance which he had been too much discouraged to practic=
e in
the profession that he had now abandoned. Personally, he was liked by all w=
ho
knew him; and his future prosperity was heartily desired by the many friends
whom he had made in the North. Such was the substance of the report, and so=
it
came to an end.
Many men would have thought the engineer's
statement rather too carefully worded; and, suspecting him of trying to make
the best of a bad case, would have entertained serious doubts on the subjec=
t of
Frank's future. Mr. Vanstone was too easy-tempered and sanguine--and too an=
xious,
as well, not to yield his old antagonist an inch more ground than he could
help--to look at the letter from any such unfavorable point of view. Was it
Frank's fault if he had not got the stuff in him that engineers were made o=
f?
Did no other young men ever begin life with a false start? Plenty began in =
that
way, and got over it, and did wonders afterward. With these commentaries on=
the
letter, the kind-hearted gentleman patted Frank on the shoulder. "Cheer
up, my lad!" said Mr. Vanstone. "We will be even with your father=
one
of these days, though he has won the wager this time!"
The example thus set by the master of the house
was followed at once by the family--with the solitary exception of Norah, w=
hose
incurable formality and reserve expressed themselves, not too graciously, in
her distant manner toward the visitor. The rest, led by Magdalen (who had b=
een
Frank's favorite playfellow in past times) glided back into their old easy
habits with him without an effort. He was "Frank" with all of them
but Norah, who persisted in addressing him as "Mr. Clare." Even t=
he account
he was now encouraged to give of the reception accorded to him by his fathe=
r,
on the previous night, failed to disturb Norah's gravity. She sat with her
dark, handsome face steadily averted, her eyes cast down, and the rich colo=
r in
her cheeks warmer and deeper than usual. All the rest, Miss Garth included,
found old Mr. Clare's speech of welcome to his son quite irresistible. The
noise and merriment were at their height when the servant came in, and stru=
ck
the whole party dumb by the announcement of visitors in the drawing-room.
"Mr. Marrable, Mrs. Marrable, and Miss Marrable; Evergreen Lodge,
Clifton."
Norah rose as readily as if the new arrivals h=
ad
been a relief to her mind. Mrs. Vanstone was the next to leave her chair. T=
hese
two went away first, to receive the visitors. Magdalen, who preferred the
society of her father and Frank, pleaded hard to be left behind; but Miss
Garth, after granting five minutes' grace, took her into custody and marche=
d her
out of the room. Frank rose to take his leave.
"No, no," said Mr. Vanstone, detaini=
ng
him. "Don't go. These people won't stop long. Mr. Marrable's a merchan=
t at
Bristol. I've met him once or twice, when the girls forced me to take them =
to
parties at Clifton. Mere acquaintances, nothing more. Come and smoke a ciga=
r in
the greenhouse. Hang all visitors--they worry one's life out. I'll appear at
the last moment with an apology; and you shall follow me at a safe distance,
and be a proof that I was really engaged."
Proposing this ingenious stratagem in a
confidential whisper, Mr. Vanstone took Frank's arm and led him round the h=
ouse
by the back way. The first ten minutes of seclusion in the conservatory pas=
sed
without events of any kind. At the end of that time, a flying figure in bri=
ght garments
flashed upon the two gentlemen through the glass--the door was flung
open--flower-pots fell in homage to passing petticoats--and Mr. Vanstone's
youngest daughter ran up to him at headlong speed, with every external
appearance of having suddenly taken leave of her senses.
"Papa! the dream of my whole life is
realized," she said, as soon as she could speak. "I shall fly thr=
ough
the roof of the greenhouse if somebody doesn't hold me down. The Marrables =
have
come here with an invitation. Guess, you darling--guess what they're going =
to
give at Evergreen Lodge!"
"A ball!" said Mr. Vanstone, without=
a
moment's hesitation.
"Private Theatricals!!!" cried Magda=
len,
her clear young voice ringing through the conservatory like a bell; her loo=
se
sleeves falling back and showing her round white arms to the dimpled elbows=
, as
she clapped her hands ecstatically in the air. "'The Rivals' is the pl=
ay,
papa--'The Rivals,' by the famous what's-his-name--and they want ME to act!=
The
one thing in the whole universe that I long to do most. It all depends on y=
ou.
Mamma shakes her head; and Miss Garth looks daggers; and Norah's as sulky as
usual--but if you say Yes, they must all three give way and let me do as I
like. Say Yes," she pleaded, nestling softly up to her father, and
pressing her lips with a fond gentleness to his ear, as she whispered the n=
ext
words. "Say Yes, and I'll be a good girl for the rest of my life."=
;
"A good girl?" repeated Mr.
Vanstone--"a mad girl, I think you must mean. Hang these people and th=
eir
theatricals! I shall have to go indoors and see about this matter. You need=
n't
throw away your cigar, Frank. You're well out of the business, and you can =
stop
here."
"No, he can't," said Magdalen.
"He's in the business, too."
Mr. Francis Clare had hitherto remained modest=
ly
in the background. He now came forward with a face expressive of speechless
amazement.
"Yes," continued Magdalen, answering=
his
blank look of inquiry with perfect composure. "You are to act. Miss
Marrable and I have a turn for business, and we settled it all in five minu=
tes.
There are two parts in the play left to be filled. One is Lucy, the
waiting-maid; which is the character I have undertaken--with papa's
permission," she added, slyly pinching her father's arm; "and he
won't say No, will he? First, because he's a darling; secondly, because I l=
ove
him, and he loves me; thirdly, because there is never any difference of opi=
nion
between us (is there?); fourthly, because I give him a kiss, which naturally
stops his mouth and settles the whole question. Dear me, I'm wandering. Whe=
re
was I just now? Oh yes! explaining myself to Frank--"
"I beg your pardon," began Frank,
attempting, at this point, to enter his protest.
"The second character in the play,"
pursued Magdalen, without taking the smallest notice of the protest, "=
is
Falkland--a jealous lover, with a fine flow of language. Miss Marrable and I
discussed Falkland privately on the window-seat while the rest were talking.
She is a delightful girl--so impulsive, so sensible, so entirely unaffected.
She confided in me. She said: 'One of our miseries is that we can't find a
gentleman who will grapple with the hideous difficulties of Falkland.' Of
course I soothed her. Of course I said: 'I've got the gentleman, and he sha=
ll
grapple immediately.'--'Oh heavens! who is he?'--'Mr. Francis Clare.'--'And
where is he?'--'In the house at this moment.'--'Will you be so very charmin=
g,
Miss Vanstone, as to fetch him?'--'I'll fetch him, Miss Marrable, with the
greatest pleasure.' I left the window-seat--I rushed into the morning-room-=
-I
smelled cigars--I followed the smell--and here I am."
"It's a compliment, I know, to be asked to
act," said Frank, in great embarrassment. "But I hope you and Miss
Marrable will excuse me--"
"Certainly not. Miss Marrable and I are b=
oth
remarkable for the firmness of our characters. When we say Mr. So-and-So is
positively to act the part of Falkland, we positively mean it. Come in and =
be introduced."
"But I never tried to act. I don't know
how."
"Not of the slightest consequence. If you
don't know how, come to me and I'll teach you."
"You!" exclaimed Mr. Vanstone.
"What do you know about it?"
"Pray, papa, be serious! I have the stron=
gest
internal conviction that I could act every character in the play--Falkland
included. Don't let me have to speak a second time, Frank. Come and be
introduced."
She took her father's arm, and moved on with h=
im
to the door of the greenhouse. At the steps, she turned and looked round to=
see
if Frank was following her. It was only the action of a moment; but in that
moment her natural firmness of will rallied all its resources--strengthened
itself with the influence of her beauty --commanded--and conquered. She loo=
ked
lovely: the flush was tenderly bright in her cheeks; the radiant pleasure s=
hone
and sparkled in her eyes; the position of her figure, turned suddenly from =
the
waist upward, disclosed its delicate strength, its supple firmness, its
seductive, serpentine grace. "Come!" she said, with a coquettish
beckoning action of her head. "Come, Frank!"
Few men of forty would have resisted her at th=
at
moment. Frank was twenty last birthday. In other words, he threw aside his
cigar, and followed her out of the greenhouse.
As he turned and closed the door--in the insta=
nt
when he lost sight of her--his disinclination to be associated with the pri=
vate
theatricals revived. At the foot of the house-steps he stopped again; pluck=
ed a
twig from a plant near him; broke it in his hand; and looked about him unea=
sily,
on this side and on that. The path to the left led back to his father's
cottage--the way of escape lay open. Why not take it?
While he still hesitated, Mr. Vanstone and his
daughter reached the top of the steps. Once more, Magdalen looked round--lo=
oked
with her resistless beauty, with her all-conquering smile. She beckoned aga=
in; and
again he followed her--up the steps, and over the threshold. The door close=
d on
them.
So, with a trifling gesture of invitation on o=
ne
side, with a trifling act of compliance on the other: so--with no knowledge=
in
his mind, with no thought in hers, of the secret still hidden under the jou=
rney
to London--they took the way which led to that secret's discovery, through =
many
a darker winding that was yet to come.
MR. VANSTONE'S inquiries into the proposed
theatrical entertainment at Evergreen Lodge were answered by a narrative of
dramatic disasters; of which Miss Marrable impersonated the innocent cause,=
and
in which her father and mother played the parts of chief victims.
Miss Marrable was that hardest of all born
tyrants--an only child. She had never granted a constitutional privilege to=
her
oppressed father and mother since the time when she cut her first tooth. Her
seventeenth birthday was now near at hand; she had decided on celebrating i=
t by
acting a play; had issued her orders accordingly; and had been obeyed by her
docile parents as implicitly as usual. Mrs. Marrable gave up the drawing-ro=
om
to be laid waste for a stage and a theater. Mr. Marrable secured the servic=
es
of a respectable professional person to drill the young ladies and gentleme=
n,
and to accept all the other responsibilities incidental to creating a drama=
tic
world out of a domestic chaos. Having further accustomed themselves to the
breaking of furniture and the staining of walls--to thumping, tumbling,
hammering, and screaming; to doors always banging, and to footsteps perpetu=
ally
running up and down stairs--the nominal master and mistress of the house fo=
ndly
believed that their chief troubles were over. Innocent and fatal delusion! =
It
is one thing in private society to set up the stage and choose the play--it=
is
another thing altogether to find the actors. Hitherto, only the small preli=
minary
annoyances proper to the occasion had shown themselves at Evergreen Lodge. =
The
sound and serious troubles were all to come.
"The Rivals" having been chosen as t=
he
play, Miss Marrable, as a matter of course, appropriated to herself the par=
t of
"Lydia Languish." One of her favored swains next secured
"Captain Absolute," and another laid violent hands on "Sir
Lucius O'Trigger." These two were followed by an accommodating spinster
relative, who accepted the heavy dramatic responsibility of "Mrs.
Malaprop"--and there the theatrical proceedings came to a pause. Nine =
more
speaking characters were left to be fitted with representatives; and with t=
hat
unavoidable necessity the serious troubles began.
All the friends of the family suddenly became
unreliable people, for the first time in their lives. After encouraging the
idea of the play, they declined the personal sacrifice of acting in it--or,
they accepted characters, and then broke down in the effort to study them--=
or
they volunteered to take the parts which they knew were already engaged, and
declined the parts which were waiting to be acted--or they were afflicted w=
ith
weak constitutions, and mischievously fell ill when they were wanted at
rehearsal--or they had Puritan relatives in the background, and, after slip=
ping
into their parts cheerfully at the week's beginning, oozed out of them
penitently, under serious family pressure, at the week's end. Meanwhile, the
carpenters hammered and the scenes rose. Miss Marrable, whose temperament w=
as
sensitive, became hysterical under the strain of perpetual anxiety; the fam=
ily
doctor declined to answer for the nervous consequences if something was not=
done.
Renewed efforts were made in every direction. Actors and actresses were sou=
ght
with a desperate disregard of all considerations of personal fitness.
Necessity, which knows no law, either in the drama or out of it, accepted a=
lad
of eighteen as the representative of "Sir Anthony Absolute"; the
stage-manager undertaking to supply the necessary wrinkles from the illimit=
able
resources of theatrical art. A lady whose age was unknown, and whose person=
al
appearance was stout--but whose heart was in the right place--volunteered to
act the part of the sentimental "Julia," and brought with her the
dramatic qualification of habitually wearing a wig in private life. Thanks =
to
these vigorous measures, the play was at last supplied with
representatives--always excepting the two unmanageable characters of
"Lucy" the waiting-maid, and "Falkland," Julia's jealous
lover. Gentlemen came; saw Julia at rehearsal; observed her stoutness and h=
er
wig; omitted to notice that her heart was in the right place; quailed at the
prospect, apologized, and retired. Ladies read the part of "Lucy";
remarked that she appeared to great advantage in the first half of the play,
and faded out of it altogether in the latter half; objected to pass from the
notice of the audience in that manner, when all the rest had a chance of di=
stinguishing
themselves to the end; shut up the book, apologized, and retired. In eight =
days
more the night of performance would arrive; a phalanx of social martyrs two
hundred strong had been convened to witness it; three full rehearsals were
absolutely necessary; and two characters in the play were not filled yet. W=
ith
this lamentable story, and with the humblest apologies for presuming on a
slight acquaintance, the Marrables appeared at Combe-Raven, to appeal to the
young ladies for a "Lucy," and to the universe for a
"Falkland," with the mendicant pertinacity of a family in despair=
.
This statement of circumstances--addressed to =
an
audience which included a father of Mr. Vanstone's disposition, and a daugh=
ter
of Magdalen's temperament--produced the result which might have been
anticipated from the first.
Either misinterpreting, or disregarding, the o=
minous
silence preserved by his wife and Miss Garth, Mr. Vanstone not only gave
Magdalen permission to assist the forlorn dramatic company, but accepted an=
invitation
to witness the performance for Norah and himself. Mrs. Vanstone declined
accompanying them on account of her health; and Miss Garth only engaged to =
make
one among the audience conditionally on not being wanted at home. The
"parts" of "Lucy" and "Falkland" (which the d=
istressed
family carried about with them everywhere, like incidental maladies) were
handed to their representatives on the spot. Frank's faint remonstrances we=
re
rejected without a hearing; the days and hours of rehearsal were carefully
noted down on the covers of the parts; and the Marrables took their leave, =
with
a perfect explosion of thanks--father, mother, and daughter sowing their
expressions of gratitude broadcast, from the drawing-room door to the
garden-gates.
As soon as the carriage had driven away, Magda= len presented herself to the general observation under an entirely new aspect.<= o:p>
"If any more visitors call to-day," =
she
said, with the profoundest gravity of look and manner, "I am not at ho=
me.
This is a far more serious matter than any of you suppose. Go somewhere by
yourself, Frank, and read over your part, and don't let your attention wand=
er
if you can possibly help it. I shall not be accessible before the evening. =
If you
will come here--with papa's permission--after tea, my views on the subject =
of
Falkland will be at your disposal. Thomas! whatever else the gardener does,=
he
is not to make any floricultural noises under my window. For the rest of the
afternoon I shall be immersed in study--and the quieter the house is, the m=
ore
obliged I shall feel to everybody."
Before Miss Garth's battery of reproof could o=
pen
fire, before the first outburst of Mr. Vanstone's hearty laughter could esc=
ape
his lips, she bowed to them with imperturbable gravity; ascended the
house-steps, for the first time in her life, at a walk instead of a run, and
retired then and there to the bedroom regions. Frank's helpless astonishmen=
t at
her disappearance added a new element of absurdity to the scene. He stood f=
irst
on one leg and then on the other; rolling and unrolling his part, and looki=
ng
piteously in the faces of the friends about him. "I know I can't do
it," he said. "May I come in after tea, and hear Magdalen's views?
Thank you--I'll look in about eight. Don't tell my father about this acting,
please; I should never hear the last of it." Those were the only words=
he
had spirit enough to utter. He drifted away aimlessly in the direction of t=
he
shrubbery, with the part hanging open in his hand--the most incapable of
Falklands, and the most helpless of mankind.
Frank's departure left the family by themselve=
s,
and was the signal accordingly for an attack on Mr. Vanstone's inveterate
carelessness in the exercise of his paternal authority.
"What could you possibly be thinking of,
Andrew, when you gave your consent?" said Mrs. Vanstone. "Surely =
my
silence was a sufficient warning to you to say No?"
"A mistake, Mr. Vanstone," chimed in
Miss Garth. "Made with the best intentions--but a mistake for all
that."
"It may be a mistake," said Norah,
taking her father's part, as usual. "But I really don't see how papa, =
or
any one else, could have declined, under the circumstances."
"Quite right, my dear," observed Mr.
Vanstone. "The circumstances, as you say, were dead against me. Here w=
ere
these unfortunate people in a scrape on one side; and Magdalen, on the othe=
r,
mad to act. I couldn't say I had methodistical objections--I've nothing
methodistical about me. What other excuse could I make? The Marrables are
respectable people, and keep the best company in Clifton. What harm can she=
get
in their house? If you come to prudence and that sort of thing--why shouldn=
't
Magdalen do what Miss Marrable does? There! there! let the poor things act,=
and
amuse themselves. We were their age once--and it's no use making a fuss--and
that's all I've got to say about it."
With that characteristic defense of his own
conduct, Mr. Vanstone sauntered back to the greenhouse to smoke another cig=
ar.
"I didn't say so to papa," said Nora=
h,
taking her mother's arm on the way back to the house, "but the bad res=
ult
of the acting, in my opinion, will be the familiarity it is sure to encoura=
ge
between Magdalen and Francis Clare."
"You are prejudiced against Frank, my
love," said Mrs. Vanstone.
Norah's soft, secret, hazel eyes sank to the
ground; she said no more. Her opinions were unchangeable--but she never
disputed with anybody. She had the great failing of a reserved nature--the
failing of obstinacy; and the great merit--the merit of silence. "What=
is
your head running on now?" thought Miss Garth, casting a sharp look at
Norah's dark, downcast face. "You're one of the impenetrable sort. Giv=
e me
Magdalen, with all her perversities; I can see daylight through her. You're=
as
dark as night."
The hours of the afternoon passed away, and st=
ill
Magdalen remained shut up in her own room. No restless footsteps pattered on
the stairs; no nimble tongue was heard chattering here, there, and everywhe=
re,
from the garret to the kitchen--the house seemed hardly like itself, with t=
he
one ever-disturbing element in the family serenity suddenly withdrawn from =
it.
Anxious to witness with her own eyes the reality of a transformation in whi=
ch
past experience still inclined her to disbelieve, Miss Garth ascended to
Magdalen's room, knocked twice at the door, received no answer, opened it a=
nd
looked in.
There sat Magdalen, in an arm-chair before the
long looking-glass, with all her hair let down over her shoulders; absorbed=
in
the study of her part and comfortably arrayed in her morning wrapper, until=
it
was time to dress for dinner. And there behind her sat the lady's-maid, slo=
wly combing
out the long heavy locks of her young mistress's hair, with the sleepy
resignation of a woman who had been engaged in that employment for some hou=
rs
past. The sun was shining; and the green shutters outside the window were
closed. The dim light fell tenderly on the two quiet seated figures; on the
little white bed, with the knots of rose-colored ribbon which looped up its
curtains, and the bright dress for dinner laid ready across it; on the gayly
painted bath, with its pure lining of white enamel; on the toilet-table with
its sparkling trinkets, its crystal bottles, its silver bell with Cupid for=
a
handle, its litter of little luxuries that adorn the shrine of a woman's
bed-chamber. The luxurious tranquillity of the scene; the cool fragrance of
flowers and perfumes in the atmosphere; the rapt attitude of Magdalen, abso=
rbed
over her reading; the monotonous regularity of movement in the maid's hand =
and
arm, as she drew the comb smoothly through and through her mistress's hair-=
-all
conveyed the same soothing impression of drowsy, delicious quiet. On one si=
de
of the door were the broad daylight and the familiar realities of life. On =
the
other was the dream-land of Elysian serenity--the sanctuary of unruffled
repose.
Miss Garth paused on the threshold, and looked
into the room in silence.
Magdalen's curious fancy for having her hair
combed at all times and seasons was among the peculiarities of her character
which were notorious to everybody in the house. It was one of her father's
favorite jokes that she reminded him, on such occasions, of a cat having her
back stroked, and that he always expected, if the combing were only continu=
ed long
enough, to hear her purr. Extravagant as it may seem, the comparison was not
altogether inappropriate. The girl's fervid temperament intensified the ess=
entially
feminine pleasure that most women feel in the passage of the comb through t=
heir
hair, to a luxury of sensation which absorbed her in enjoyment, so serenely=
self-demonstrative,
so drowsily deep that it did irresistibly suggest a pet cat's enjoyment und=
er a
caressing hand. Intimately as Miss Garth was acquainted with this peculiari=
ty
in her pupil, she now saw it asserting itself for the first time, in
association with mental exertion of any kind on Magdalen's part. Feeling,
therefore, some curiosity to know how long the combing and the studying had
gone on together, she ventured on putting the question, first to the mistre=
ss;
and (receiving no answer in that quarter) secondly to the maid.
"All the afternoon, miss, off and on,&quo=
t;
was the weary answer. "Miss Magdalen says it soothes her feelings and
clears her mind."
Knowing by experience that interference would =
be
hopeless, under these circumstances, Miss Garth turned sharply and left the
room. She smiled when she was outside on the landing. The female mind does =
occasionally--though
not often--project itself into the future. Miss Garth was prophetically pit=
ying
Magdalen's unfortunate husband.
Dinner-time presented the fair student to the
family eye in the same mentally absorbed aspect. On all ordinary occasions
Magdalen's appetite would have terrified those feeble sentimentalists who
affect to ignore the all-important influence which female feeding exerts in=
the
production of female beauty. On this occasion she refused one dish after
another with a resolution which implied the rarest of all modern martyrdoms=
--gastric
martyrdom. "I have conceived the part of Lucy," she observed, with
the demurest gravity. "The next difficulty is to make Frank conceive t=
he
part of Falkland. I see nothing to laugh at--you would all be serious enoug=
h if
you had my responsibilities. No, papa--no wine to-day, thank you. I must ke=
ep
my intelligence clear. Water, Thomas--and a little more jelly, I think, bef=
ore
you take it away."
When Frank presented himself in the evening, i=
gnorant
of the first elements of his part, she took him in hand, as a middle-aged s=
choolmistress
might have taken in hand a backward little boy. The few attempts he made to
vary the sternly practical nature of the evening's occupation by slipping in
compliments sidelong she put away from her with the contemptuous
self-possession of a woman of twice her age. She literally forced him into =
his
part. Her father fell asleep in his chair. Mrs. Vanstone and Miss Garth lost
their interest in the proceedings, retired to the further end of the room, =
and
spoke together in whispers. It grew later and later; and still Magdalen nev=
er
flinched from her task--still, with equal perseverance, Norah, who had been=
on
the watch all through the evening, kept on the watch to the end. The distru=
st darkened
and darkened on her face as she looked at her sister and Frank; as she saw =
how
close they sat together, devoted to the same interest and working to the sa=
me
end. The clock on the mantel-piece pointed to half-past eleven before Lucy =
the
resolute permitted Falkland the helpless to shut up his task-book for the
night. "She's wonderfully clever, isn't she?" said Frank, taking
leave of Mr. Vanstone at the hall door. "I'm to come to-morrow, and he=
ar
more of her views--if you have no objection. I shall never do it; don't tell
her I said so. As fast as she teaches me one speech, the other goes out of =
my
head. Discouraging, isn't it? Goodnight."
The next day but one was the day of the first =
full
rehearsal. On the previous evening Mrs. Vanstone's spirits had been sadly
depressed. At a private interview with Miss Garth she had referred again, of
her own accord, to the subject of her letter from London--had spoken self-r=
eproachfully
of her weakness in admitting Captain Wragge's impudent claim to a family
connection with her--and had then reverted to the state of her health and to
the doubtful prospect that awaited her in the coming summer in a tone of
despondency which it was very distressing to hear. Anxious to cheer her
spirits, Miss Garth had changed the conversation as soon as possible--had
referred to the approaching theatrical performance--and had relieved Mrs.
Vanstone's mind of all anxiety in that direction, by announcing her intenti=
on
of accompanying Magdalen to each rehearsal, and of not losing sight of her
until she was safely back again in her father's house. Accordingly, when Fr=
ank presented
himself at Combe-Raven on the eventful morning, there stood Miss Garth,
prepared--in the interpolated character of Argus--to accompany Lucy and Fal=
kland
to the scene of trial. The railway conveyed the three, in excellent time, to
Evergreen Lodge; and at one o'clock the rehearsal began.
"I HOPE Miss Vanstone knows her part?&quo=
t;
whispered Mrs. Marrable, anxiously addressing herself to Miss Garth, in a
corner of the theater.
"If airs and graces make an actress, ma'a= m, Magdalen's performance will astonish us all." With that reply, Miss Ga= rth took out her work, and seated herself, on guard, in the center of the pit.<= o:p>
The manager perched himself, book in hand, on a
stool close in front of the stage. He was an active little man, of a sweet =
and
cheerful temper; and he gave the signal to begin with as patient an interes=
t in
the proceedings as if they had caused him no trouble in the past and promis=
ed
him no difficulty in the future. The two characters which opened the comedy=
of
The Rivals, "Fag" and "The Coachman," appeared on the
scene--looked many sizes too tall for their canvas background, which repres=
ented
a "Street in Bath"--exhibited the customary inability to manage t=
heir
own arms, legs, and voices--went out severally at the wrong exits--and
expressed their perfect approval of results, so far, by laughing heartily
behind the scenes. "Silence, gentlemen, if you please," remonstra=
ted
the cheerful manager. "As loud as you like on the stage, but the audie=
nce
mustn't hear you off it. Miss Marrable ready? Miss Vanstone ready? Easy the=
re
with the 'Street in Bath'; it's going up crooked! Face this way, Miss Marra=
ble;
full face, if you please. Miss Vanstone--" he checked himself suddenly.
"Curious," he said, under his breath--"she fronts the audien=
ce
of her own accord!" Lucy opened the scene in these words: "Indeed,
ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a
circulating library in Bath I haven't been at." The manager started in=
his
chair. "My heart alive! she speaks out without telling!" The dial=
ogue
went on. Lucy produced the novels for Miss Lydia Languish's private reading
from under her cloak. The manager rose excitably to his feet. Marvelous! No
hurry with the books; no dropping them. She looked at the titles before she=
announced
them to her mistress; she set down "Humphrey Clinker" on "The
Tears of Sensibility" with a smart little smack which pointed the anti=
thesis.
One moment--and she announced Julia's visit; another--and she dropped the b=
risk
waiting-maid's courtesy; a third--and she was off the stage on the side set
down for her in the book. The manager wheeled round on his stool, and looked
hard at Miss Garth. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said. "Mi=
ss
Marrable told me, before we began, that this was the young lady's first
attempt. It can't be, surely!"
"It is," replied Miss Garth, reflect=
ing
the manager's look of amazement on her own face. Was it possible that Magda=
len's
unintelligible industry in the study of her part really sprang from a serio=
us
interest in her occupation--an interest which implied a natural fitness for=
it.
The rehearsal went on. The stout lady with the=
wig
(and the excellent heart) personated the sentimental Julia from an invetera=
tely
tragic point of view, and used her handkerchief distractedly in the first s=
cene.
The spinster relative felt Mrs. Malaprop's mistakes in language so seriousl=
y,
and took such extraordinary pains with her blunders, that they sounded more
like exercises in elocution than anything else. The unhappy lad who led the
forlorn hope of the company, in the person of "Sir Anthony Absolute,&q=
uot;
expressed the age and irascibility of his character by tottering incessantl=
y at
the knees, and thumping the stage perpetually with his stick. Slowly and
clumsily, with constant interruptions and interminable mistakes, the first =
act
dragged on, until Lucy appeared again to end it in soliloquy, with the
confession of her assumed simplicity and the praise of her own cunning.
Here the stage artifice of the situation prese=
nted
difficulties which Magdalen had not encountered in the first scene--and her=
e,
her total want of experience led her into more than one palpable mistake. T=
he stage-manager,
with an eagerness which he had not shown in the case of any other member of=
the
company, interfered immediately, and set her right. At one point she was to
pause, and take a turn on the stage--she did it. At another, she was to sto=
p,
toss her head, and look pertly at the audience--she did it. When she took o=
ut
the paper to read the list of the presents she had received, could she give=
it
a tap with her finger (Yes)? And lead off with a little laugh (Yes--after t=
wice
trying)? Could she read the different items with a sly look at the end of e=
ach
sentence, straight at the pit (Yes, straight at the pit, and as sly as you
please)? The manager's cheerful face beamed with approval. He tucked the pl=
ay
under his arm, and clapped his hands gayly; the gentlemen, clustered togeth=
er
behind the scenes, followed his example; the ladies looked at each other wi=
th
dawning doubts whether they had not better have left the new recruit in the
retirement of private life. Too deeply absorbed in the business of the stag=
e to
heed any of them, Magdalen asked leave to repeat the soliloquy, and make qu=
ite
sure of her own improvement. She went all through it again without a mistak=
e,
this time, from beginning to end; the manager celebrating her attention to =
his
directions by an outburst of professional approbation, which escaped him in
spite of himself. "She can take a hint!" cried the little man, wi=
th a
hearty smack of his hand on the prompt-book. "She's a born actress, if
ever there was one yet!"
"I hope not," said Miss Garth to
herself, taking up the work which had dropped into her lap, and looking dow=
n at
it in some perplexity. Her worst apprehension of results in connection with=
the
theatrical enterprise had foreboded levity of conduct with some of the gent=
lemen--she
had not bargained for this. Magdalen, in the capacity of a thoughtless girl,
was comparatively easy to deal with. Magdalen, in the character of a born
actress, threatened serious future difficulties.
The rehearsal proceeded. Lucy returned to the
stage for her scenes in the second act (the last in which she appears) with=
Sir
Lucius and Fag. Here, again, Magdalen's inexperience betrayed itself--and h=
ere
once more her resolution in attacking and conquering her own mistakes
astonished everybody. "Bravo!" cried the gentlemen behind the sce=
nes,
as she steadily trampled down one blunder after another.
"Ridiculous!" said the ladies, "with such a small part as
hers." "Heaven forgive me!" thought Miss. Garth, coming round
unwillingly to the general opinion. "I almost wish we were Papists, an=
d I
had a convent to put her in to-morrow." One of Mr. Marrable's servants
entered the theater as that desperate aspiration escaped the governess. She
instantly sent the man behind the scene with a message: "Miss Vanstone=
has
done her part in the rehearsal; request her to come here and sit by me.&quo=
t;
The servant returned with a polite apology: "Miss Vanstone's kind love,
and she begs to be excused--she's prompting Mr. Clare." She prompted h=
im
to such purpose that he actually got through his part. The performances of =
the other
gentlemen were obtrusively imbecile. Frank was just one degree better--he w=
as
modestly incapable; and he gained by comparison. "Thanks to Miss
Vanstone," observed the manager, who had heard the prompting. "She
pulled him through. We shall be flat enough at night, when the drop falls on
the second act, and the audience have seen the last of her. It's a thousand
pities she hasn't got a better part!"
"It's a thousand mercies she's no more to=
do
than she has," muttered Miss Garth, overhearing him. "As things a=
re,
the people can't well turn her head with applause. She's out of the play in=
the
second act--that's one comfort!"
No well-regulated mind ever draws its inferenc=
es
in a hurry; Miss Garth's mind was well regulated; therefore, logically
speaking, Miss Garth ought to have been superior to the weakness of rushing=
at conclusions.
She had committed that error, nevertheless, under present circumstances. In
plainer terms, the consoling reflection which had just occurred to her assu=
med
that the play had by this time survived all its disasters, and entered on i=
ts
long-deferred career of success. The play had done nothing of the sort.
Misfortune and the Marrable family had not parted company yet.
When the rehearsal was over, nobody observed t=
hat
the stout lady with the wig privately withdrew herself from the company; and
when she was afterward missed from the table of refreshments, which Mr.
Marrable's hospitality kept ready spread in a room near the theater, nobody=
imagined
that there was any serious reason for her absence. It was not till the ladi=
es
and gentlemen assembled for the next rehearsal that the true state of the c=
ase
was impressed on the minds of the company. At the appointed hour no Julia
appeared. In her stead, Mrs. Marrable portentously approached the stage, wi=
th
an open letter in her hand. She was naturally a lady of the mildest good
breeding: she was mistress of every bland conventionality in the English
language--but disasters and dramatic influences combined, threw even this h=
armless
matron off her balance at last. For the first time in her life Mrs. Marrable
indulged in vehement gesture, and used strong language. She handed the lett=
er sternly,
at arms-length, to her daughter. "My dear," she said, with an asp=
ect
of awful composure, "we are under a Curse." Before the amazed dra=
matic
company could petition for an explanation, she turned and left the room. The
manager's professional eye followed her out respectfully--he looked as if he
approved of the exit, from a theatrical point of view.
What new misfortune had befallen the play? The
last and worst of all misfortunes had assailed it. The stout lady had resig=
ned
her part.
Not maliciously. Her heart, which had been in =
the
right place throughout, remained inflexibly in the right place still. Her e=
xplanation
of the circumstances proved this, if nothing else did. The letter began wit=
h a
statement: She had overheard, at the last rehearsal (quite unintentionally),
personal remarks of which she was the subject. They might, or might not, ha=
ve
had reference to her--Hair; and her--Figure. She would not distress Mrs.
Marrable by repeating them. Neither would she mention names, because it was
foreign to her nature to make bad worse. The only course at all consistent =
with
her own self-respect was to resign her part. She inclosed it, accordingly, =
to Mrs.
Marrable, with many apologies for her presumption in undertaking a youthful
character, at--what a gentleman was pleased to term--her Age; and with what=
two
ladies were rude enough to characterize as her disadvantages of--Hair,
and--Figure. A younger and more attractive representative of Julia would no
doubt be easily found. In the meantime, all persons concerned had her full
forgiveness, to which she would only beg leave to add her best and kindest =
wishes
for the success of the play.
In four nights more the play was to be perform=
ed.
If ever any human enterprise stood in need of good wishes to help it, that
enterprise was unquestionably the theatrical entertainment at Evergreen Lod=
ge!
One arm-chair was allowed on the stage; and in=
to
that arm-chair Miss Marrable sank, preparatory to a fit of hysterics. Magda=
len
stepped forward at the first convulsion; snatched the letter from Miss Marr=
able's
hand; and stopped the threatened catastrophe.
"She's an ugly, bald-headed, malicious,
middle-aged wretch!" said Magdalen, tearing the letter into fragments,=
and
tossing them over the heads of the company. "But I can tell her one
thing--she shan't spoil the play. I'll act Julia."
"Bravo!" cried the chorus of gentlem=
en--the
anonymous gentleman who had helped to do the mischief (otherwise Mr. Francis
Clare) loudest of all.
"If you want the truth, I don't shrink fr=
om
owning it," continued Magdalen. "I'm one of the ladies she means.=
I
said she had a head like a mop, and a waist like a bolster. So she has.&quo=
t;
"I am the other lady," added the
spinster relative. "But I only said she was too stout for the part.&qu=
ot;
"I am the gentleman," chimed in Fran=
k,
stimulated by the force of example. "I said nothing--I only agreed wit=
h the
ladies."
Here Miss Garth seized her opportunity, and
addressed the stage loudly from the pit.
"Stop! Stop!" she said. "You ca=
n't
settle the difficulty that way. If Magdalen plays Julia, who is to play
Lucy?"
Miss Marrable sank back in the arm-chair, and =
gave
way to the second convulsion.
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Magdalen,
"the thing's simple enough, I'll act Julia and Lucy both together.&quo=
t;
The manager was consulted on the spot. Suppres=
sing
Lucy's first entrance, and turning the short dialogue about the novels into=
a soliloquy
for Lydia Languish, appeared to be the only changes of importance necessary=
to
the accomplishment of Magdalen's project. Lucy's two telling scenes, at the=
end
of the first and second acts, were sufficiently removed from the scenes in
which Julia appeared to give time for the necessary transformations in dres=
s.
Even Miss Garth, though she tried hard to find them, could put no fresh
obstacles in the way. The question was settled in five minutes, and the
rehearsal went on; Magdalen learning Julia's stage situations with the book=
in
her hand, and announcing afterward, on the journey home, that she proposed
sitting up all night to study the new part. Frank thereupon expressed his f=
ears
that she would have no time left to help him through his theatrical difficu=
lties.
She tapped him on the shoulder coquettishly with her part. "You foolish
fellow, how am I to do without you? You're Julia's jealous lover; you're al=
ways
making Julia cry. Come to-night, and make me cry at tea-time. You haven't g=
ot a
venomous old woman in a wig to act with now. It's my heart you're to break-=
-and
of course I shall teach you how to do it."
=
The
four days' interval passed busily in perpetual rehearsals, public and priva=
te.
The night of performance arrived; the guests assembled; the great dramatic
experiment stood on its trial. Magdalen had made the most of her opportunit=
ies;
she had learned all that the manager could teach her in the time. Miss Garth
left her when the overture began, sitting apart in a corner behind the scen=
es,
serious and silent, with her smelling-bottle in one hand, and her book in t=
he
other, resolutely training herself for the coming ordeal, to the very last.=
The play began, with all the proper accompanim=
ents
of a theatrical performance in private life; with a crowded audience, an
African temperature, a bursting of heated lamp-glasses, and a difficulty in=
drawing
up the curtain. "Fag" and "the Coachman," who opened the
scene, took leave of their memories as soon as they stepped on the stage; l=
eft
half their dialogue unspoken; came to a dead pause; were audibly entreated =
by
the invisible manager to "come off"; and went off accordingly, in
every respect sadder and wiser men than when they went on. The next scene
disclosed Miss Marrable as "Lydia Languish," gracefully seated, v=
ery
pretty, beautifully dressed, accurately mistress of the smallest words in h=
er
part; possessed, in short, of every personal resource--except her voice. The
ladies admired, the gentlemen applauded. Nobody heard anything but the words
"Speak up, miss," whispered by the same voice which had already
entreated "Fag" and "the Coachman" to "come off.&q=
uot;
A responsive titter rose among the younger spectators; checked immediately =
by
magnanimous applause. The temperature of the audience was rising to Blood
Heat--but the national sense of fair play was not boiled out of them yet.
In the midst of the demonstration, Magdalen
quietly made her first entrance, as "Julia." She was dressed very
plainly in dark colors, and wore her own hair; all stage adjuncts and
alterations (excepting the slightest possible touch of rouge on her cheeks)
having been kept in reserve to disguise her the more effectually in her sec=
ond
part. The grace and simplicity of her costume, the steady self-possession w=
ith which
she looked out over the eager rows of faces before her, raised a low hum of
approval and expectation. She spoke--after suppressing a momentary tremor--=
with
a quiet distinctness of utterance which reached all ears, and which at once
confirmed the favorable impression that her appearance had produced. The one
member of the audience who looked at her and listened to her coldly, was her
elder sister. Before the actress of the evening had been five minutes on the
stage, Norah detected, to her own indescribable astonishment, that Magdalen=
had
audaciously individualized the feeble amiability of "Julia's"
character, by seizing no less a person than herself as the model to act it =
by.
She saw all her own little formal peculiarities of manner and movement
unblushingly reproduced--and even the very tone of her voice so accurately
mimicked from time to time, that the accents startled her as if she was spe=
aking
herself, with an echo on the stage. The effect of this cool appropriation of
Norah's identity to theatrical purposes on the audience--who only saw
results--asserted itself in a storm of applause on Magdalen's exit. She had=
won
two incontestable triumphs in her first scene. By a dexterous piece of mimi=
cry,
she had made a living reality of one of the most insipid characters in the
English drama; and she had roused to enthusiasm an audience of two hundred
exiles from the blessings of ventilation, all simmering together in their o=
wn
animal heat. Under the circumstances, where is the actress by profession wh=
o could
have done much more?
But the event of the evening was still to come.
Magdalen's disguised re-appearance at the end of the act, in the character =
of
"Lucy"--with false hair and false eyebrows, with a bright-red
complexion and patches on her cheeks, with the gayest colors flaunting in h=
er
dress, and the shrillest vivacity of voice and manner--fairly staggered the
audience. They looked down at their programmes, in which the representative=
of
Lucy figured under an assumed name; looked up again at the stage; penetrated
the disguise; and vented their astonishment in another round of applause,
louder and heartier even than the last. Norah herself could not deny this t=
ime
that the tribute of approbation had been well deserved. There, forcing its =
way
steadily through all the faults of inexperience--there, plainly visible to =
the
dullest of the spectators, was the rare faculty of dramatic impersonation,
expressing itself in every look and action of this girl of eighteen, who now
stood on a stage for the first time in her life. Failing in many minor
requisites of the double task which she had undertaken, she succeeded in the
one important necessity of keeping the main distinctions of the two charact=
ers thoroughly
apart. Everybody felt that the difficulty lay here--everybody saw the
difficulty conquered--everybody echoed the manager's enthusiasm at rehearsa=
l,
which had hailed her as a born actress.
When the drop-scene descended for the first ti=
me,
Magdalen had concentrated in herself the whole interest and attraction of t=
he
play. The audience politely applauded Miss Marrable, as became the guests a=
ssembled
in her father's house: and good-humoredly encouraged the remainder of the
company, to help them through a task for which they were all, more or less,
palpably unfit. But, as the play proceeded, nothing roused them to any genu=
ine
expression of interest when Magdalen was absent from the scene. There was no
disguising it: Miss Marrable and her bosom friends had been all hopelessly =
cast
in the shade by the new recruit whom they had summoned to assist them, in t=
he
capacity of forlorn hope. And this on Miss Marrable's own birthday! and thi=
s in
her father's house! and this after the unutterable sacrifices of six weeks =
past!
Of all the domestic disasters which the thankless theatrical enterprise had
inflicted on the Marrable family, the crowning misfortune was now consummat=
ed
by Magdalen's success.
Leaving Mr. Vanstone and Norah, on the conclus=
ion
of the play, among the guests in the supper-room, Miss Garth went behind the
scenes; ostensibly anxious to see if she could be of any use; really bent on
ascertaining whether Magdalen's head had been turned by the triumphs of the
evening. It would not have surprised Miss Garth if she had discovered her p=
upil
in the act of making terms with the manager for her forthcoming appearance =
in a
public theater. As events really turned out, she found Magdalen on the stag=
e,
receiving, with gracious smiles, a card which the manager presented to her =
with
a professional bow. Noticing Miss Garth's mute look of inquiry, the civil
little man hastened to explain that the card was his own, and that he was
merely asking the favor of Miss Vanstone's recommendation at any future
opportunity.
"This is not the last time the young lady
will be concerned in private theatricals, I'll answer for it," said the
manager. "And if a superintendent is wanted on the next occasion, she =
has
kindly promised to say a good word for me. I am always to be heard of, miss=
, at
that address." Saying those words, he bowed again, and discreetly disa=
ppeared.
Vague suspicions beset the mind of Miss Garth,=
and
urged her to insist on looking at the card. No more harmless morsel of
pasteboard was ever passed from one hand to another. The card contained not=
hing
but the manager's name, and, under it, the name and address of a theatrical=
agent
in London.
"It is not worth the trouble of
keeping," said Miss Garth.
Magdalen caught her hand before she could throw
the card away--possessed herself of it the next instant--and put it in her
pocket.
"I promised to recommend him," she
said--"and that's one reason for keeping his card. If it does nothing
else, it will remind me of the happiest evening of my life--and that's anot=
her.
Come!" she cried, throwing her arms round Miss Garth with a feverish
gayety--"congratulate me on my success!"
"I will congratulate you when you have got
over it," said Miss Garth.
In half an hour more Magdalen had changed her
dress; had joined the guests; and had soared into an atmosphere of
congratulation high above the reach of any controlling influence that Miss
Garth could exercise. Frank, dilatory in all his proceedings, was the last =
of
the dramatic company who left the precincts of the stage. He made no attemp=
t to
join Magdalen in the supper-room--but he was ready in the hall with her clo=
ak when
the carriages were called and the party broke up.
"Oh, Frank!" she said, looking round=
at
him as he put the cloak on her shoulders, "I am so sorry it's all over!
Come to-morrow morning, and let's talk about it by ourselves."
"In the shrubbery at ten?" asked Fra=
nk,
in a whisper.
She drew up the hood of her cloak and nodded to
him gayly. Miss Garth, standing near, noticed the looks that passed between
them, though the disturbance made by the parting guests prevented her from
hearing the words. There was a soft, underlying tenderness in Magdalen's
assumed gayety of manner--there was a sudden thoughtfulness in her face, a =
confidential
readiness in her hand, as she took Frank's arm and went out to the carriage.
What did it mean? Had her passing interest in him as her stage-pupil
treacherously sown the seeds of any deeper interest in him, as a man? Had t=
he
idle theatrical scheme, now that it was all over, graver results to answer =
for
than a mischievous waste of time?
The lines on Miss Garth's face deepened and
hardened: she stood lost among the fluttering crowd around her. Norah's war=
ning
words, addressed to Mrs. Vanstone in the garden, recurred to her memory--and
now, for the first time, the idea dawned on her that Norah had seen the con=
sequences
in their true light.
=
EARLY the next morning Miss Garth and Norah me=
t in
the garden and spoke together privately. The only noticeable result of the
interview, when they presented themselves at the breakfast-table, appeared =
in
the marked silence which they both maintained on the topic of the theatrica=
l performance.
Mrs. Vanstone was entirely indebted to her husband and to her youngest daug=
hter
for all that she heard of the evening's entertainment. The governess and the
elder daughter had evidently determined on letting the subject drop.
After breakfast was over Magdalen proved to be
missing, when the ladies assembled as usual in the morning-room. Her habits
were so little regular that Mrs. Vanstone felt neither surprise nor uneasin=
ess at
her absence. Miss Garth and Norah looked at one another significantly, and
waited in silence. Two hours passed--and there were no signs of Magdalen. N=
orah
rose, as the clock struck twelve, and quietly left the room to look for her=
.
She was not upstairs dusting her jewelry and
disarranging her dresses. She was not in the conservatory, not in the
flower-garden; not in the kitchen teasing the cook; not in the yard playing
with the dogs. Had she, by any chance, gone out with her father? Mr. Vansto=
ne
had announced his intention, at the breakfast-table, of paying a morning vi=
sit
to his old ally, Mr. Clare, and of rousing the philosopher's sarcastic indi=
gnation
by an account of the dramatic performance. None of the other ladies at
Combe-Raven ever ventured themselves inside the cottage. But Magdalen was
reckless enough for anything--and Magdalen might have gone there. As the id=
ea
occurred to her, Norah entered the shrubbery.
At the second turning, where the path among the
trees wound away out of sight of the house, she came suddenly face to face =
with
Magdalen and Frank: they were sauntering toward her, arm in arm, their heads
close together, their conversation apparently proceeding in whispers. They =
looked
suspiciously handsome and happy. At the sight of Norah both started, and bo=
th
stopped. Frank confusedly raised his hat, and turned back in the direction =
of
his father's cottage. Magdalen advanced to meet her sister, carelessly swin=
ging
her closed parasol from side to side, carelessly humming an air from the ov=
erture
which had preceded the rising of the curtain on the previous night.
"Luncheon-time already!" she said,
looking at her watch. "Surely not?"
"Have you and Mr. Francis Clare been alon=
e in
the shrubbery since ten o'clock?" asked Norah.
"Mr. Francis Clare! How ridiculously form=
al
you are. Why don't you call him Frank?"
"I asked you a question, Magdalen."<= o:p>
"Dear me, how black you look this morning!
I'm in disgrace, I suppose. Haven't you forgiven me yet for my acting last
night? I couldn't help it, love; I should have made nothing of Julia, if I
hadn't taken you for my model. It's quite a question of Art. In your place,=
I
should have felt flattered by the selection."
"In your place, Magdalen, I should have
thought twice before I mimicked my sister to an audience of strangers."=
;
"That's exactly why I did it--an audience= of strangers. How were they to know? Come! come! don't be angry. You are eight years older than I am--you ought to set me an example of good-humor."<= o:p>
"I will set you an example of plain-speak=
ing.
I am more sorry than I can say, Magdalen, to meet you as I met you here just
now!"
"What next, I wonder? You meet me in the
shrubbery at home, talking over the private theatricals with my old playfel=
low,
whom I knew when I was no taller than this parasol. And that is a glaring
impropriety, is it? 'Honi soit qui mal y pense.' You wanted an answer a min=
ute
ago--there it is for you, my dear, in the choicest Norman-French."
"I am in earnest about this, Magdalen--&q=
uot;
"Not a doubt of it. Nobody can accuse you=
of
ever making jokes."
"I am seriously sorry--"
"Oh, dear!"
"It is quite useless to interrupt me. I h=
ave
it on my conscience to tell you--and I will tell you--that I am sorry to see
how this intimacy is growing. I am sorry to see a secret understanding
established already between you and Mr. Francis Clare."
"Poor Frank! How you do hate him, to be s=
ure.
What on earth has he done to offend you?"
Norah's self-control began to show signs of
failing her. Her dark cheeks glowed, her delicate lips trembled, before she
spoke again. Magdalen paid more attention to her parasol than to her sister.
She tossed it high in the air and caught it. "Once!" she said--and
tossed it up again. "Twice!"--and she tossed it higher.
"Thrice--" Before she could catch it for the third time, Norah se=
ized
her passionately by the arm, and the parasol dropped to the ground between
them.
"You are treating me heartlessly," s=
he
said. "For shame, Magdalen--for shame!"
The irrepressible outburst of a reserved natur=
e,
forced into open self-assertion in its own despite, is of all moral forces =
the
hardest to resist. Magdalen was startled into silence. For a moment, the tw=
o sisters--so
strangely dissimilar in person and character--faced one another, without a =
word
passing between them. For a moment the deep brown eyes of the elder and the
light gray eyes of the younger looked into each other with steady, unyieldi=
ng
scrutiny on either side. Norah's face was the first to change; Norah's head=
was
the first to turn away. She dropped her sister's arm in silence. Magdalen
stooped and picked up her parasol.
"I try to keep my temper," she said,
"and you call me heartless for doing it. You always were hard on me, a=
nd
you always will be."
Norah clasped her trembling hands fast in each
other. "Hard on you!" she said, in low, mournful tones--and sighed
bitterly.
Magdalen drew back a little, and mechanically
dusted the parasol with the end of her garden cloak.
"Yes!" she resumed, doggedly. "=
Hard
on me and hard on Frank."
"Frank!" repeated Norah, advancing on her sister and turning pale as suddenly as she had turned red. "Do you talk of yourself and Frank as if your interests were One already? Magdalen!= if I hurt you, do I hurt him? Is he so near and so dear to you as that?"<= o:p>
Magdalen drew further and further back. A twig
from a tree near caught her cloak; she turned petulantly, broke it off, and
threw it on the ground. "What right have you to question me?" she
broke out on a sudden. "Whether I like Frank, or whether I don't, what
interest is it of yours?" As she said the words, she abruptly stepped
forward to pass her sister and return to the house.
Norah, turning paler and paler, barred the way=
to
her. "If I hold you by main force," she said, "you shall stop
and hear me. I have watched this Francis Clare; I know him better than you =
do.
He is unworthy of a moment's serious feeling on your part; he is unworthy of
our dear, good, kind-hearted father's interest in him. A man with any
principle, any honor, any gratitude, would not have come back as he has come
back, disgraced--yes! disgraced by his spiritless neglect of his own duty. =
I watched
his face while the friend who has been better than a father to him was
comforting and forgiving him with a kindness he had not deserved: I watched=
his
face, and I saw no shame and no distress in it--I saw nothing but a look of
thankless, heartless relief. He is selfish, he is ungrateful, he is
ungenerous--he is only twenty, and he has the worst failings of a mean old =
age
already. And this is the man I find you meeting in secret--the man who has
taken such a place in your favor that you are deaf to the truth about him, =
even
from my lips! Magdalen! this will end ill. For God's sake, think of what I =
have
said to you, and control yourself before it is too late!" She stopped,=
vehement
and breathless, and caught her sister anxiously by the hand.
Magdalen looked at her in unconcealed
astonishment.
"You are so violent," she said,
"and so unlike yourself, that I hardly know you. The more patient I am,
the more hard words I get for my pains. You have taken a perverse hatred to
Frank; and you are unreasonably angry with me because I won't hate him, too.
Don't, Norah! you hurt my hand."
Norah pushed the hand from her contemptuously.
"I shall never hurt your heart," she said; and suddenly turned her
back on Magdalen as she spoke the words.
There was a momentary pause. Norah kept her
position. Magdalen looked at her perplexedly--hesitated--then walked away by
herself toward the house.
At the turn in the shrubbery path she stopped =
and
looked back uneasily. "Oh, dear, dear!" she thought to herself,
"why didn't Frank go when I told him?" She hesitated, and went ba=
ck a
few steps. "There's Norah standing on her dignity, as obstinate as
ever." She stopped again. "What had I better do? I hate quarrelin=
g: I
think I'll make up." She ventured close to her sister and touched her =
on
the shoulder. Norah never moved. "It's not often she flies into a
passion," thought Magdalen, touching her again; "but when she doe=
s,
what a time it lasts her!--Come!" she said, "give me a kiss, Nora=
h,
and make it up. Won't you let me get at any part of you, my dear, but the b=
ack
of your neck? Well, it's a very nice neck--it's better worth kissing than
mine--and there the kiss is, in spite of you!"
She caught fast hold of Norah from behind, and
suited the action to the word, with a total disregard of all that had just
passed, which her sister was far from emulating. Hardly a minute since the =
warm
outpouring of Norah's heart had burst through all obstacles. Had the icy
reserve frozen her up again already! It was hard to say. She never spoke; s=
he
never changed her position--she only searched hurriedly for her handkerchie=
f.
As she drew it out, there was a sound of approaching footsteps in the inner
recesses of the shrubbery. A Scotch terrier scampered into view; and a chee=
rful
voice sang the first lines of the glee in "As You Like It."
"It's papa!" cried Magdalen. "Come, Norah--come and meet
him."
Instead of following her sister, Norah pulled =
down
the veil of her garden hat, turned in the opposite direction, and hurried b=
ack
to the house. She ran up to her own room and locked herself in. She was cry=
ing bitterly.
WHEN Magdalen and her father met in the shrubb=
ery
Mr. Vanstone's face showed plainly that something had happened to please him
since he had left home in the morning. He answered the question which his
daughter's curiosity at once addressed to him by informing her that he had =
just
come from Mr. Clare's cottage; and that he had picked up, in that unpromisi=
ng
locality, a startling piece of news for the family at Combe-Raven.
On entering the philosopher's study that morni=
ng,
Mr. Vanstone had found him still dawdling over his late breakfast, with an =
open
letter by his side, in place of the book which, on other occasions, lay rea=
dy
to his hand at meal-times. He held up the letter the moment his visitor cam=
e into
the room, and abruptly opened the conversation by asking Mr. Vanstone if his
nerves were in good order, and if he felt himself strong enough for the sho=
ck
of an overwhelming surprise.
"Nerves!" repeated Mr. Vanstone.
"Thank God, I know nothing about my nerves. If you have got anything to
tell me, shock or no shock, out with it on the spot."
Mr. Clare held the letter a little higher, and
frowned at his visitor across the breakfast-table. "What have I always
told you?" he asked, with his sourest solemnity of look and manner.
"A great deal more than I could ever keep=
in
my head," answered Mr. Vanstone.
"In your presence and out of it,"
continued Mr. Clare, "I have always maintained that the one important
phenomenon presented by modern society is--the enormous prosperity of Fools.
Show me an individual Fool, and I will show you an aggregate Society which
gives that highly-favored personage nine chances out of ten--and grudges the
tenth to the wisest man in existence. Look where you will, in every high pl=
ace
there sits an Ass, settled beyond the reach of all the greatest intellects =
in this
world to pull him down. Over our whole social system, complacent Imbecility
rules supreme--snuffs out the searching light of Intelligence with total
impunity--and hoots, owl-like, in answer to every form of protest, See how =
well
we all do in the dark! One of these days that audacious assertion will be
practically contradicted, and the whole rotten system of modern society will
come down with a crash."
"God forbid!" cried Mr. Vanstone,
looking about him as if the crash was coming already.
"With a crash!" repeated Mr. Clare.
"There is my theory, in few words. Now for the remarkable application =
of
it which this letter suggests. Here is my lout of a boy--"
"You don't mean that Frank has got another
chance?" exclaimed Mr. Vanstone.
"Here is this perfectly hopeless booby,
Frank," pursued the philosopher. "He has never done anything in h=
is
life to help himself, and, as a necessary consequence, Society is in a
conspiracy to carry him to the top of the tree. He has hardly had time to t=
hrow
away that chance you gave him before this letter comes, and puts the ball at
his foot for the second time. My rich cousin (who is intellectually fit to =
be
at the tail of the family, and who is, therefore, as a matter of course, at=
the
head of it) has been good enough to remember my existence; and has offered =
his
influence to serve my eldest boy. Read his letter, and then observe the
sequence of events. My rich cousin is a booby who thrives on landed propert=
y;
he has done something for another booby who thrives on Politics, who knows a
third booby who thrives on Commerce, who can do something for a fourth boob=
y,
thriving at present on nothing, whose name is Frank. So the mill goes. So t=
he
cream of all human rewards is sipped in endless succession by the Fools. I
shall pack Frank off to-morrow. In course of time he'll come back again on =
our
hands, like a bad shilling; more chances will fall in his way, as a necessa=
ry
consequence of his meritorious imbecility. Years will go on--I may not live=
to
see it, no more may you--it doesn't matter; Frank's future is equally certa=
in either
way--put him into the army, the Church, politics, what you please, and let =
him
drift: he'll end in being a general, a bishop, or a minister of State, by d=
int
of the great modern qualification of doing nothing whatever to deserve his
place." With this summary of his son's worldly prospects, Mr. Clare to=
ssed
the letter contemptuously across the table and poured himself out another c=
up
of tea.
Mr. Vanstone read the letter with eager intere=
st
and pleasure. It was written in a tone of somewhat elaborate cordiality; but
the practical advantages which it placed at Frank's disposal were beyond all
doubt. The writer had the means of using a friend's interest--interest of n=
o ordinary
kind--with a great Mercantile Firm in the City; and he had at once exerted =
this
influence in favor of Mr. Clare's eldest boy. Frank would be received in the
office on a very different footing from the footing of an ordinary clerk; he
would be "pushed on" at every available opportunity; and the first
"good thing" the House had to offer, either at home or abroad, wo=
uld
be placed at his disposal. If he possessed fair abilities and showed common
diligence in exercising them, his fortune was made; and the sooner he was s=
ent
to London to begin the better for his own interests it would be.
"Wonderful news!" cried Mr. Vanstone,
returning the letter. "I'm delighted--I must go back and tell them at
home. This is fifty times the chance that mine was. What the deuce do you m=
ean
by abusing Society? Society has behaved uncommonly well, in my opinion. Whe=
re's
Frank?"
"Lurking," said Mr. Clare. "It =
is
one of the intolerable peculiarities of louts that they always lurk. I have=
n't
seen my lout this morning. It you meet with him anywhere, give him a kick, =
and
say I want him."
=
Mr.
Clare's opinion of his son's habits might have been expressed more politely=
as
to form; but, as to substance, it happened, on that particular morning, to =
be
perfectly correct. After leaving Magdalen, Frank had waited in the shrubber=
y,
at a safe distance, on the chance that she might detach herself from her
sister's company, and join him again. Mr. Vanstone's appearance immediately=
on
Norah's departure, instead of encouraging him to show himself, had determin=
ed
him on returning to the cottage. He walked back discontentedly; and so fell
into his father's clutches, totally unprepared for the pending announcement=
, in
that formidable quarter, of his departure for London.
In the meantime, Mr. Vanstone had communicated=
his
news--in the first place, to Magdalen, and afterward, on getting back to the
house, to his wife and Miss Garth. He was too unobservant a man to notice t=
hat Magdalen
looked unaccountably startled, and Miss Garth unaccountably relieved, by his
announcement of Frank's good fortune. He talked on about it, quite
unsuspiciously, until the luncheon-bell rang--and then, for the first time,=
he
noticed Norah's absence. She sent a message downstairs, after they had
assembled at the table, to say that a headache was keeping her in her own r=
oom.
When Miss Garth went up shortly afterward to communicate the news about Fra=
nk,
Norah appeared, strangely enough, to feel very little relieved by hearing i=
t.
Mr. Francis Clare had gone away on a former occasion (she remarked), and ha=
d come
back. He might come back again, and sooner than they any of them thought fo=
r.
She said no more on the subject than this: she made no reference to what had
taken place in the shrubbery. Her unconquerable reserve seemed to have
strengthened its hold on her since the outburst of the morning. She met
Magdalen, later in the day, as if nothing had happened: no formal
reconciliation took place between them. It was one of Norah's peculiarities=
to
shrink from all reconciliations that were openly ratified, and to take her =
shy
refuge in reconciliations that were silently implied. Magdalen saw plainly,=
in
her look and manner, that she had made her first and last protest. Whether =
the
motive was pride, or sullenness, or distrust of herself, or despair of doing
good, the result was not to be mistaken--Norah had resolved on remaining
passive for the future.
Later in the afternoon, Mr. Vanstone suggested=
a
drive to his eldest daughter, as the best remedy for her headache. She read=
ily
consented to accompany her father; who thereupon proposed, as usual, that
Magdalen should join them. Magdalen was nowhere to be found. For the second
time that day she had wandered into the grounds by herself. On this occasio=
n, Miss
Garth--who, after adopting Norah's opinions, had passed from the one extrem=
e of
over-looking Frank altogether, to the other extreme of believing him capabl=
e of
planning an elopement at five minutes' notice--volunteered to set forth
immediately, and do her best to find the missing young lady. After a prolon=
ged
absence, she returned unsuccessful--with the strongest persuasion in her own
mind that Magdalen and Frank had secretly met one another somewhere, but
without having discovered the smallest fragment of evidence to confirm her =
suspicions.
By this time the carriage was at the door, and Mr. Vanstone was unwilling to
wait any longer. He and Norah drove away together; and Mrs. Vanstone and Mi=
ss
Garth sat at home over their work.
In half an hour more, Magdalen composedly walk=
ed
into the room. She was pale and depressed. She received Miss Garth's
remonstrances with a weary inattention; explained carelessly that she had b=
een
wandering in the wood; took up some books, and put them down again; sighed
impatiently, and went away upstairs to her own room.
"I think Magdalen is feeling the reaction,
after yesterday," said Mrs. Vanstone, quietly. "It is just as we
thought. Now the theatrical amusements are all over, she is fretting for
more."
Here was an opportunity of letting in the ligh=
t of
truth on Mrs. Vanstone's mind, which was too favorable to be missed. Miss G=
arth
questioned her conscience, saw her chance, and took it on the spot.
"You forget," she rejoined, "th=
at a
certain neighbor of ours is going away to-morrow. Shall I tell you the trut=
h?
Magdalen is fretting over the departure of Francis Clare."
Mrs. Vanstone looked up from her work with a g=
entle,
smiling surprise.
"Surely not?" she said. "It is
natural enough that Frank should be attracted by Magdalen; but I can't think
that Magdalen returns the feeling. Frank is so very unlike her; so quiet and
undemonstrative; so dull and helpless, poor fellow, in some things. He is
handsome, I know, but he is so singularly unlike Magdalen, that I can't thi=
nk
it possible--I can't indeed."
"My dear good lady!" cried Miss Gart=
h,
in great amazement; "do you really suppose that people fall in love wi=
th
each other on account of similarities in their characters? In the vast majo=
rity
of cases, they do just the reverse. Men marry the very last women, and women
the very last men, whom their friends would think it possible they could ca=
re
about. Is there any phrase that is oftener on all our lips than 'What can h=
ave made
Mr. So-and-So marry that woman?'--or 'How could Mrs. So-and-So throw herself
away on that man?' Has all your experience of the world never yet shown you
that girls take perverse fancies for men who are totally unworthy of
them?"
"Very true," said Mrs. Vanstone,
composedly. "I forgot that. Still it seems unaccountable, doesn't
it?"
"Unaccountable, because it happens every
day!" retorted Miss Garth, good-humoredly. "I know a great many
excellent people who reason against plain experience in the same way--who r=
ead
the newspapers in the morning, and deny in the evening that there is any
romance for writers or painters to work upon in modern life. Seriously, Mrs.
Vanstone, you may take my word for it--thanks to those wretched theatricals,
Magdalen is going the way with Frank that a great many young ladies have go=
ne before
her. He is quite unworthy of her; he is, in almost every respect, her exact
opposite--and, without knowing it herself, she has fallen in love with him =
on
that very account. She is resolute and impetuous, clever and domineering; s=
he
is not one of those model women who want a man to look up to, and to protect
them--her beau-ideal (though she may not think it herself) is a man she can
henpeck. Well! one comfort is, there are far better men, even of that sort,=
to
be had than Frank. It's a mercy he is going away, before we have more troub=
le
with them, and before any serious mischief is done."
"Poor Frank!" said Mrs. Vanstone,
smiling compassionately. "We have known him since he was in jackets, a=
nd
Magdalen in short frocks. Don't let us give him up yet. He may do better th=
is
second time."
Miss Garth looked up in astonishment.
"And suppose he does better?" she as=
ked.
"What then?"
Mrs. Vanstone cut off a loose thread in her wo=
rk,
and laughed outright.
"My good friend," she said, "th=
ere
is an old farmyard proverb which warns us not to count our chickens before =
they
are hatched. Let us wait a little before we count ours."
It was not easy to silence Miss Garth, when she
was speaking under the influence of a strong conviction; but this reply clo=
sed
her lips. She resumed her work, and looked, and thought, unutterable things=
.
Mrs. Vanstone's behavior was certainly remarka=
ble
under the circumstances. Here, on one side, was a girl--with great personal=
attractions,
with rare pecuniary prospects, with a social position which might have
justified the best gentleman in the neighborhood in making her an offer of
marriage--perversely casting herself away on a penniless idle young fellow,=
who
had failed at his first start in life, and who even if he succeeded in his
second attempt, must be for years to come in no position to marry a young l=
ady
of fortune on equal terms. And there, on the other side, was that girl's
mother, by no means dismayed at the prospect of a connection which was, to =
say
the least of it, far from desirable; by no means certain, judging her by her
own words and looks, that a marriage between Mr. Vanstone's daughter and Mr.
Clare's son might not prove to be as satisfactory a result of the intimacy
between the two young people as the parents on both sides could possibly wi=
sh for!
It was perplexing in the extreme. It was almos=
t as
unintelligible as that past mystery--that forgotten mystery now--of the jou=
rney
to London.
=
In the
evening, Frank made his appearance, and announced that his father had
mercilessly sentenced him to leave Combe-Raven by the parliamentary train t=
he
next morning. He mentioned this circumstance with an air of sentimental res=
ignation;
and listened to Mr. Vanstone's boisterous rejoicings over his new prospects
with a mild and mute surprise. His gentle melancholy of look and manner gre=
atly
assisted his personal advantages. In his own effeminate way he was more
handsome than ever that evening. His soft brown eyes wandered about the room
with a melting tenderness; his hair was beautifully brushed; his delicate h=
ands
hung over the arms of his chair with a languid grace. He looked like a conv=
alescent
Apollo. Never, on any previous occasion, had he practiced more successfully=
the
social art which he habitually cultivated--the art of casting himself on
society in the character of a well-bred Incubus, and conferring an obligati=
on
on his fellow-creatures by allowing them to sit under him. It was undeniabl=
y a
dull evening. All the talking fell to the share of Mr. Vanstone and Miss Ga=
rth.
Mrs. Vanstone was habitually silent; Norah kept herself obstinately in the
background; Magdalen was quiet and undemonstrative beyond all former preced=
ent.
From first to last, she kept rigidly on her guard. The few meaning looks th=
at
she cast on Frank flashed at him like lightning, and were gone before any o=
ne else
could see them. Even when she brought him his tea; and when, in doing so, h=
er
self-control gave way under the temptation which no woman can resist--the
temptation of touching the man she loves--even then, she held the saucer so
dexterously that it screened her hand. Frank's self-possession was far less
steadily disciplined: it only lasted as long as he remained passive. When he
rose to go; when he felt the warm, clinging pressure of Magdalen's fingers
round his hand, and the lock of her hair which she slipped into it at the s=
ame
moment, he became awkward and confused. He might have betrayed Magdalen and
betrayed himself, but for Mr. Vanstone, who innocently covered his retreat =
by
following him out, and patting him on the shoulder all the way. "God b=
less
you, Frank!" cried the friendly voice that never had a harsh note in it
for anybody. "Your fortune's waiting for you. Go in, my boy--go in and
win."
"Yes," said Frank. "Thank you. =
It
will be rather difficult to go in and win, at first. Of course, as you have
always told me, a man's business is to conquer his difficulties, and not to
talk about them. At the same time, I wish I didn't feel quite so loose as I=
do
in my figures. It's discouraging to feel loose in one's figures.--Oh, yes; =
I'll
write and tell you how I get on. I'm very much obliged by your kindness, and
very sorry I couldn't succeed with the engineering. I think I should have l=
iked
engineering better than trade. It can't be helped now, can it? Thank you,
again. Good-by."
So he drifted away into the misty commercial
future--as aimless, as helpless, as gentleman-like as ever.
THREE months passed. During that time Frank
remained in London; pursuing his new duties, and writing occasionally to re=
port
himself to Mr. Vanstone, as he had promised.
His letters were not enthusiastic on the subje=
ct
of mercantile occupations. He described himself as being still painfully lo=
ose
in his figures. He was also more firmly persuaded than ever--now when it wa=
s unfortunately
too late--that he preferred engineering to trade. In spite of this convicti=
on;
in spite of headaches caused by sitting on a high stool and stooping over
ledgers in unwholesome air; in spite of want of society, and hasty breakfas=
ts,
and bad dinners at chop-houses, his attendance at the office was regular, a=
nd
his diligence at the desk unremitting. The head of the department in which =
he
was working might be referred to if any corroboration of this statement was
desired. Such was the general tenor of the letters; and Frank's corresponde=
nt
and Frank's father differed over them as widely as usual. Mr. Vanstone acce=
pted
them as proofs of the steady development of industrious principles in the w=
riter.
Mr. Clare took his own characteristically opposite view. "These London
men," said the philosopher, "are not to be tri fled with by louts.
They ha ve got Frank by the scruff of the neck--he can't wriggle himself
free--and he makes a merit of yielding to sheer necessity."
The three months' interval of Frank's probatio=
n in
London passed less cheerfully than usual in the household at Combe-Raven.
As the summer came nearer and nearer, Mrs. Van=
stone's
spirits, in spite of her resolute efforts to control them, became more and =
more
depressed.
"I do my best," she said to Miss Gar=
th;
"I set an example of cheerfulness to my husband and my children--but I
dread July." Norah's secret misgivings on her sister's account rendered
her more than usually serious and uncommunicative, as the year advanced. Ev=
en
Mr. Vanstone, when July drew nearer, lost something of his elasticity of
spirit. He kept up appearances in his wife's presence--but on all other occ=
asions
there was now a perceptible shade of sadness in his look and manner. Magdal=
en
was so changed since Frank's departure that she helped the general depressi=
on,
instead of relieving it. All her movements had grown languid; all her usual
occupations were pursued with the same weary indifference; she spent hours
alone in her own room; she lost her interest in being brightly and prettily
dressed; her eyes were heavy, her nerves were irritable, her complexion was
altered visibly for the worse--in one word, she had become an oppression an=
d a
weariness to herself and to all about her. Stoutly as Miss Garth contended =
with
these growing domestic difficulties, her own spirits suffered in the effort=
. Her
memory reverted, oftener and oftener, to the March morning when the master =
and
mistress of the house had departed for London, and then the first serious
change, for many a year past, had stolen over the family atmosphere. When w=
as
that atmosphere to be clear again? When were the clouds of change to pass o=
ff
before the returning sunshine of past and happier times?
The spring and the early summer wore away. The
dreaded month of July came, with its airless nights, its cloudless mornings,
and its sultry days.
On the fifteenth of the month, an event happen=
ed
which took every one but Norah by surprise. For the second time, without the
slightest apparent reason--for the second time, without a word of warning b=
eforehand--Frank
suddenly re-appeared at his father's cottage.
Mr. Clare's lips opened to hail his son's retu=
rn,
in the old character of the "bad shilling"; and closed again with=
out
uttering a word. There was a portentous composure in Frank's manner which
showed that he had other news to communicate than the news of his dismissal=
. He
answered his father's sardonic look of inquiry by at once explaining that a
very important proposal for his future benefit had been made to him, that m=
orning,
at the office. His first idea had been to communicate the details in writin=
g;
but the partners had, on reflection, thought that the necessary decision mi=
ght
be more readily obtained by a personal interview with his father and his
friends. He had laid aside the pen accordingly, and had resigned himself to=
the
railway on the spot.
After this preliminary statement, Frank procee= ded to describe the proposal which his employers had addressed to him, with eve= ry external appearance of viewing it in the light of an intolerable hardship.<= o:p>
The great firm in the City had obviously made a
discovery in relation to their clerk, exactly similar to the discovery which
had formerly forced itself on the engineer in relation to his pupil. The yo=
ung
man, as they politely phrased it, stood in need of some special stimulant to
stir him up. His employers (acting under a sense of their obligation to the
gentleman by whom Frank had been recommended) had considered the question
carefully, and had decided that the one promising use to which they could p=
ut
Mr. Francis Clare was to send him forthwith into another quarter of the glo=
be.
As a consequence of this decision, it was now,
therefore, proposed that he should enter the house of their correspondents =
in
China; that he should remain there, familiarizing himself thoroughly on the
spot with the tea trade and the silk trade for five years; and that he shou=
ld return,
at the expiration of this period, to the central establishment in London. I=
f he
made a fair use of his opportunities in China, he would come back, while st=
ill
a young man, fit for a position of trust and emolument, and justified in
looking forward, at no distant date, to a time when the House would assist =
him
to start in business for himself. Such were the new prospects which--to ado=
pt
Mr. Clare's theory--now forced themselves on the ever-reluctant, ever-helpl=
ess
and ever-ungrateful Frank. There was no time to be lost. The final answer w=
as
to be at the office on "Monday, the twentieth": the correspondent=
s in
China were to be written to by the mail on that day; and Frank was to follow
the letter by the next opportunity, or to resign his chance in favor of som=
e more
enterprising young man.
Mr. Clare's reception of this extraordinary ne=
ws
was startling in the extreme. The glorious prospect of his son's banishment=
to
China appeared to turn his brain. The firm pedestal of his philosophy sank
under him; the prejudices of society recovered their hold on his mind. He
seized Frank by the arm, and actually accompanied him to Combe-Raven, in th=
e amazing
character of visitor to the house!
"Here I am with my lout," said Mr.
Clare, before a word could be uttered by the astonished family. "Hear =
his
story, all of you. It has reconciled me, for the first time in my life, to =
the
anomaly of his existence." Frank ruefully narrated the Chinese proposal
for the second time, and attempted to attach to it his own supplementary
statement of objections and difficulties. His father stopped him at the fir=
st
word, pointed peremptorily southeastward (from Somersetshire to China); and
said, without an instant's hesitation: "Go!" Mr. Vanstone, baskin=
g in
golden visions of his young friend's future, echoed that monosyllabic decis=
ion with
all his heart. Mrs. Vanstone, Miss Garth, even Norah herself, spoke to the =
same
purpose. Frank was petrified by an absolute unanimity of opinion which he h=
ad
not anticipated; and Magdalen was caught, for once in her life, at the end =
of
all her resources.
So far as practical results were concerned, the
sitting of the family council began and ended with the general opinion that
Frank must go. Mr. Vanstone's faculties were so bewildered by the son's sud=
den
arrival, the father's unexpected visit, and the news they both brought with
them, that he petitioned for an adjournment before the necessary arrangemen=
ts connected
with his young friend's departure were considered in detail. "Suppose =
we
all sleep upon it?" he said. "Tomorrow our heads will feel a litt=
le
steadier; and to-morrow will be time enough to decide all uncertainties.&qu=
ot;
This suggestion was readily adopted; and all further proceedings stood
adjourned until the next day.
That next day was destined to decide more
uncertainties than Mr. Vanstone dreamed of.
=
Early
in the morning, after making tea by herself as usual, Miss Garth took her
parasol and strolled into the garden. She had slept ill; and ten minutes in=
the
open air before the family assembled at breakfast might help to compensate =
her,
as she thought, for the loss of her night's rest.
She wandered to the outermost boundary of the
flower-garden, and then returned by another path, which led back, past the =
side
of an ornamental summer-house commanding a view over the fields from a corn=
er
of the lawn. A slight noise--like, and yet not like, the chirruping of a bi=
rd--caught
her ear as she approached the summer-house. She stepped round to the entran=
ce;
looked in; and discovered Magdalen and Frank seated close together. To Miss
Garth's horror, Magdalen's arm was unmistakably round Frank's neck; and, wo=
rse
still, the position of her face, at the moment of discovery, showed beyond =
all
doubt that she had just been offering to the victim of Chinese commerce the
first and foremost of all the consolations which a woman can bestow on a ma=
n.
In plainer words, she had just given Frank a kiss.
In the presence of such an emergency as now
confronted her, Miss Gart h felt instinctively that all ordinary phrases of
reproof would be phrases thrown away.
"I presume," she remarked, addressing
Magdalen with the merciless self-possession of a middle-aged lady, unprovid=
ed
for the occasion with any kissing remembrances of her own--"I presume
(whatever excuses your effrontery may suggest) you will not deny that my du=
ty
compels me to mention what I have just seen to your father?"
"I will save you the trouble," repli=
ed
Magdalen, composedly. "I will mention it to him myself."
With those words, she looked round at Frank,
standing trebly helpless in a corner of the summer-house. "You shall h=
ear
what happens," she said, with her bright smile. "And so shall
you," she added for Miss Garth's especial benefit, as she sauntered pa=
st
the governess on her way back to the breakfast-table. The eyes of Miss Garth
followed her indignantly; and Frank slipped out on his side at that favorab=
le
opportunity.
Under these circumstances, there was but one
course that any respectable woman could take--she could only shudder. Miss
Garth registered her protest in that form, and returned to the house.
When breakfast was over, and when Mr. Vanstone=
's
hand descended to his pocket in search of his cigar-case, Magdalen rose; lo=
oked
significantly at Miss Garth; and followed her father into the hall.
"Papa," she said, "I want to sp=
eak
to you this morning--in private."
"Ay! ay!" returned Mr. Vanstone.
"What about, my dear!"
"About--" Magdalen hesitated, search=
ing
for a satisfactory form of expression, and found it. "About business,
papa," she said.
Mr. Vanstone took his garden hat from the hall
table--opened his eyes in mute perplexity--attempted to associate in his mi=
nd
the two extravagantly dissimilar ideas of Magdalen and
"business"--failed--and led the way resignedly into the garden.
His daughter took his arm, and walked with him=
to
a shady seat at a convenient distance from the house. She dusted the seat w=
ith
her smart silk apron before her father occupied it. Mr. Vanstone was not ac=
customed
to such an extraordinary act of attention as this. He sat down, looking more
puzzled than ever. Magdalen immediately placed herself on his knee, and res=
ted
her head comfortably on his shoulder.
"Am I heavy, papa?" she asked.
"Yes, my dear, you are," said Mr.
Vanstone--"but not too heavy for me. Stop on your perch, if you like i=
t.
Well? And what may this business happen to be?"
"It begins with a question."
"Ah, indeed? That doesn't surprise me.
Business with your sex, my dear, always begins with questions. Go on."=
"Papa! do you ever intend allowing me to =
be
married?"
Mr. Vanstone's eyes opened wider and wider. The
question, to use his own phrase, completely staggered him.
"This is business with a vengeance!"=
he
said. "Why, Magdalen! what have you got in that harum-scarum head of y=
ours
now?"
"I don't exactly know, papa. Will you ans=
wer
my question?"
"I will if I can, my dear; you rather sta=
gger
me. Well, I don't know. Yes; I suppose I must let you be married one of the=
se
days--if we can find a good husband for you. How hot your face is! Lift it =
up,
and let the air blow over it. You won't? Well--have your own way. If talkin=
g of
business means tickling your cheek against my whisker I've nothing to say
against it. Go on, my dear. What's the next question? Come to the point.&qu=
ot;
She was far too genuine a woman to do anything=
of
the sort. She skirted round the point and calculated her distance to the ni=
cety
of a hair-breadth.
"We were all very much surprised
yesterday--were we not, papa? Frank is wonderfully lucky, isn't he?"
"He's the luckiest dog I ever came
across," said Mr. Vanstone "But what has that got to do with this
business of yours? I dare say you see your way, Magdalen. Hang me if I can =
see
mine!"
She skirted a little nearer.
"I suppose he will make his fortune in
China?" she said. "It's a long way off, isn't it? Did you observe,
papa, that Frank looked sadly out of spirits yesterday?"
"I was so surprised by the news," sa=
id
Mr. Vanstone, "and so staggered by the sight of old Clare's sharp nose=
in
my house, that I didn't much notice. Now you remind me of it--yes. I don't
think Frank took kindly to his own good luck; not kindly at all."
"Do you wonder at that, papa?"
"Yes, my dear; I do, rather."
"Don't you think it's hard to be sent away
for five years, to make your fortune among hateful savages, and lose sight =
of your
friends at home for all that long time? Don't you think Frank will miss us
sadly? Don't you, papa?--don't you?"
"Gently, Magdalen! I'm a little too old f=
or
those long arms of yours to throttle me in fun.--You're right, my love. Not=
hing
in this world without a drawback. Frank will miss his friends in England:
there's no denying that."
"You always liked Frank. And Frank always
liked you."
"Yes, yes--a good fellow; a quiet, good
fellow. Frank and I have always got on smoothly together."
"You have got on like father and son, hav=
en't
you?"
"Certainly, my dear."
"Perhaps you will think it harder on him =
when
he has gone than you think it now?"
"Likely enough, Magdalen; I don't say
no."
"Perhaps you will wish he had stopped in
England? Why shouldn't he stop in England, and do as well as if he went to
China?"
"My dear! he has no prospects in England.=
I
wish he had, for his own sake. I wish the lad well, with all my heart."=
;
"May I wish him well too, papa--with all =
my
heart?"
"Certainly, my love--your old playfellow-=
-why
not? What's the matter? God bless my soul, what is the girl crying about? O=
ne
would think Frank was transported for life. You goose! You know, as well as=
I
do, he is going to China to make his fortune."
"He doesn't want to make his fortune--he
might do much better."
"The deuce he might! How, I should like to
know?"
"I'm afraid to tell you. I'm afraid you'll
laugh at me. Will you promise not to laugh at me?"
"Anything to please you, my dear. Yes: I
promise. Now, then, out with it! How might Frank do better?"
"He might marry Me."
If the summer scene which then spread before M=
r.
Vanstone's eyes had suddenly changed to a dreary winter view--if the trees =
had
lost all their leaves, and the green fields had turned white with snow in a=
n instant--his
face could hardly have expressed greater amazement than it displayed when h=
is
daughter's faltering voice spoke those four last words. He tried to look at
her--but she steadily refused him the opportunity: she kept her face hidden
over his shoulder. Was she in earnest? His cheek, still wet with her tears,
answered for her. There was a long pause of silence; she waited--with
unaccustomed patience, she waited for him to speak. He roused himself, and
spoke these words only: "You surprise me, Magdalen; you surprise me mo=
re
than I can say."
At the altered tone of his voice--altered to a
quiet, fatherly seriousness--Magdalen's arms clung round him closer than
before.
"Have I disappointed you, papa?" she
asked, faintly. "Don't say I have disappointed you! Who am I to tell my
secret to, if not to you? Don't let him go--don't! don't! You will break his
heart. He is afraid to tell his father; he is even afraid you might be angry
with him. There is nobody to speak for us, except--except me. Oh, don't let=
him
go! Don't for his sake--" she whispered the next words in a
kiss--"Don't for Mine!"
Her father's kind face saddened; he sighed, and
patted her fair head tenderly. "Hush, my love," he said, almost i=
n a
whisper; "hush!" She little knew what a revelation every word, ev=
ery
action that escaped her, now opened before him. She had made him her grown-=
up
playfellow, from her childhood to that day. She had romped with him in her
frocks, she had gone on romping with him in her gowns. He had never been lo=
ng
enough separated from her to have the external changes in his daughter forc=
ed on
his attention. His artless, fatherly experience of her had taught him that =
she
was a taller child in later years--and had taught him little more. And now,=
in
one breathless instant, the conviction that she was a woman rushed over his
mind. He felt it in the trouble of her bosom pre ssed against his; in the
nervous thrill of her arms clasped around his neck. The Magdalen of his
innocent experience, a woman--with the master-passion of her sex in possess=
ion
of her heart already!
"Have you thought long of this, my
dear?" he asked, as soon as he could speak composedly. "Are you
sure--?"
She answered the question before he could fini=
sh
it.
"Sure I love him?" she said. "O=
h,
what words can say Yes for me, as I want to say it? I love him--!" Her
voice faltered softly; and her answer ended in a sigh.
"You are very young. You and Frank, my lo=
ve,
are both very young."
She raised her head from his shoulder for the
first time. The thought and its expression flashed from her at the same mom=
ent.
"Are we much younger than you and mamma
were?" she asked, smiling through her tears.
She tried to lay her head back in its old
position; but as she spoke those words, her father caught her round the wai=
st,
forced her, before she was aware of it, to look him in the face--and kissed
her, with a sudden outburst of tenderness which brought the tears thronging
back thickly into her eyes. "Not much younger, my child," he said=
, in
low, broken tones--"not much younger than your mother and I were."=
; He
put her away from him, and rose from the seat, and turned his head aside qu=
ickly.
"Wait here, and compose yourself; I will go indoors and speak to your
mother." His voice trembled over those parting words; and he left her =
without
once looking round again.
She waited--waited a weary time; and he never =
came
back. At last her growing anxiety urged her to follow him into the house. A=
new
timidity throbbed in her heart as she doubtingly approached the door. Never=
had
she seen the depths of her father's simple nature stirred as they had been
stirred by her confession. She almost dreaded her next meeting with him. She
wandered softly to and fro in the hall, with a shyness unaccountable to
herself; with a terror of being discovered and spoken to by her sister or M=
iss
Garth, which made her nervously susceptible to the slightest noises in the
house. The door of the morning-room opened while her back was turned toward=
it.
She started violently, as she looked round and saw her father in the hall: =
her
heart beat faster and faster, and she felt herself turning pale. A second l=
ook
at him, as he came nearer, re-assured her. He was composed again, though no=
t so
cheerful as usual. She noticed that he advanced and spoke to her with a for=
bearing
gentleness, which was more like his manner to her mother than his ordinary
manner to herself.
"Go in, my love," he said, opening t=
he
door for her which he had just closed. "Tell your mother all you have =
told
me--and more, if you have more to say. She is better prepared for you than I
was. We will take to-day to think of it, Magdalen; and to-morrow you shall
know, and Frank shall know, what we decide."
Her eyes brightened, as they looked into his f=
ace
and saw the decision there already, with the double penetration of her
womanhood and her love. Happy, and beautiful in her happiness, she put his =
hand
to her lips, and went, without hesitation, into the morning-room. There, he=
r father's
words had smoothed the way for her; there, the first shock of the surprise =
was
past and over, and only the pleasure of it remained. Her mother had been her
age once; her mother would know how fond she was of Frank. So the coming
interview was anticipated in her thoughts; and--except that there was an
unaccountable appearance of restraint in Mrs. Vanstone's first reception of
her--was anticipated aright. After a little, the mother's questions came mo=
re
and more unreservedly from the sweet, unforgotten experience of the mother's
heart. She lived again through her own young days of hope and love in
Magdalen's replies.
The next morning the all-important decision was
announced in words. Mr. Vanstone took his daughter upstairs into her mother=
's
room, and there placed before her the result of the yesterday's consultatio=
n,
and of the night's reflection which had followed it. He spoke with perfect
kindness and self-possession of manner-but in fewer and more serious words =
than
usual; and he held his wife's hand tenderly in his own all through the inte=
rview.
He informed Magdalen that neither he nor her
mother felt themselves justified in blaming her attachment to Frank. It had
been in part, perhaps, the natural consequence of her childish familiarity =
with
him; in part, also, the result of the closer intimacy between them which th=
e theatrical
entertainment had necessarily produced. At the same time, it was now the du=
ty
of her parents to put that attachment, on both sides, to a proper test--for=
her
sake, because her happy future was their dearest care; for Frank's sake,
because they were bound to give him the opportunity of showing himself wort=
hy
of the trust confided in him. They were both conscious of being strongly
prejudiced in Frank's favor. His father's eccentric conduct had made the lad
the object of their compassion and their care from his earliest years. He (=
and
his younger brothers) had almost filled the places to them of those other
children of their own whom they had lost. Although they firmly believed the=
ir good
opinion of Frank to be well founded--still, in the interest of their daught=
er's
happiness, it was necessary to put that opinion firmly to the proof, by fix=
ing
certain conditions, and by interposing a year of delay between the contempl=
ated
marriage and the present time.
During that year, Frank was to remain at the
office in London; his employers being informed beforehand that family
circumstances prevented his accepting their offer of employment in China. He
was to consider this concession as a recognition of the attachment between
Magdalen and himself, on certain terms only. If, during the year of probati=
on,
he failed to justify the confidence placed in him--a confidence which had l=
ed
Mr. Vanstone to take unreservedly upon himself the whole responsibility of
Frank's future prospects--the marriage scheme was to be considered, from th=
at
moment, as at an end. If, on the other hand, the result to which Mr. Vansto=
ne
confidently looked forward really occurred--if Frank's probationary year pr=
oved
his claim to the most precious trust that could be placed in his hands--then
Magdalen herself should reward him with all that a woman can bestow; and the
future, which his present employers had placed before him as the result of =
a five
years' residence in China, should be realized in one year's time, by the do=
wry
of his young wife.
As her father drew that picture of the future,=
the
outburst of Magdalen's gratitude could no longer be restrained. She was dee=
ply touched--she
spoke from her inmost heart. Mr. Vanstone waited until his daughter and his
wife were composed again; and then added the last words of explanation which
were now left for him to speak.
"You understand, my love," he said,
"that I am not anticipating Frank's living in idleness on his wife's
means? My plan for him is that he should still profit by the interest which=
his
present employers take in him. Their knowledge of affairs in the City will =
soon
place a good partnership at his disposal, and you will give him the money to
buy it out of hand. I shall limit the sum, my dear, to half your fortune; a=
nd the
other half I shall have settled upon yourself. We shall all be alive and
hearty, I hope"--he looked tenderly at his wife as he said those words=
--"all
alive and hearty at the year's end. But if I am gone, Magdalen, it will mak=
e no
difference. My will--made long before I ever thought of having a son-in-law
divides my fortune into two equal parts. One part goes to your mother; and =
the
other part is fairly divided between my children. You will have your share =
on
your wedding-day (and Norah will have hers when she marries) from my own ha=
nd,
if I live; and under my will if I die. There! there! no gloomy faces,"=
he
said, with a momentary return of his every-day good spirits. "Your mot=
her
and I mean to live and see Frank a great merchant. I shall leave you, my de=
ar, to
enlighten the son on our new projects, while I walk over to the cottage--&q=
uot;
He stopped; his eyebrows contra cted a little;=
and
he looked aside hesitatingly at Mrs. Vanstone.
"What must you do at the cottage, papa?&q=
uot;
asked Magdalen, after having vainly waited for him to finish the sentence of
his own accord.
"I must consult Frank's father," he
replied. "We must not forget that Mr. Clare's consent is still wanting=
to
settle this matter. And as time presses, and we don't know what difficultie=
s he
may not raise, the sooner I see him the better."
He gave that answer in low, altered tones; and
rose from his chair in a half-reluctant, half-resigned manner, which Magdal=
en
observed with secret alarm.
She glanced inquiringly at her mother. To all
appearance, Mrs. Vanstone had been alarmed by the change in him also. She
looked anxious and uneasy; she turned her face away on the sofa pillow--tur=
ned
it suddenly, as if she was in pain.
"Are you not well, mamma?" asked
Magdalen.
"Quite well, my love," said Mrs.
Vanstone, shortly and sharply, without turning round. "Leave me a
little--I only want rest."
Magdalen went out with her father.
"Papa!" she whispered anxiously, as =
they
descended the stairs; "you don't think Mr. Clare will say No?"
"I can't tell beforehand," answered =
Mr.
Vanstone. "I hope he will say Yes."
"There is no reason why he should say
anything else--is there?"
She put the question faintly, while he was get=
ting
his hat and stick; and he did not appear to hear her. Doubting whether she
should repeat it or not, she accompanied him as far as the garden, on his w=
ay
to Mr. Clare's cottage. He stopped her on the lawn, and sent her back to th=
e house.
"You have nothing on your head, my
dear," he said. "If you want to be in the garden, don't forget how
hot the sun is--don't come out without your hat."
He walked on toward the cottage.
She waited a moment, and looked after him. She
missed the customary flourish of his stick; she saw his little Scotch terri=
er,
who had run out at his heels, barking and capering about him unnoticed. He =
was
out of spirits: he was strangely out of spirits. What did it mean?
ON returning to the house, Magdalen felt her
shoulder suddenly touched from behind as she crossed the hall. She turned a=
nd
confronted her sister. Before she could ask any questions, Norah confusedly
addressed her, in these words: "I beg your pardon; I beg you to forgive
me."
Magdalen looked at her sister in astonishment.=
All
memory, on her side, of the sharp words which had passed between them in the
shrubbery was lost in the new interests that now absorbed her; lost as
completely as if the angry interview had never taken place. "Forgive
you!" she repeated, amazedly. "What for?"
"I have heard of your new prospects,"
pursued Norah, speaking with a mechanical submissiveness of manner which se=
emed
almost ungracious; "I wished to set things right between us; I wished =
to
say I was sorry for what happened. Will you forget it? Will you forget and
forgive what happened in the shrubbery?" She tried to proceed; but her=
inveterate
reserve--or, perhaps, her obstinate reliance on her own opinions--silenced =
her
at those last words. Her face clouded over on a sudden. Before her sister c=
ould
answer her, she turned away abruptly and ran upstairs.
The door of the library opened, before Magdalen
could follow her; and Miss Garth advanced to express the sentiments proper =
to
the occasion.
They were not the mechanically-submissive
sentiments which Magdalen had just heard. Norah had struggled against her
rooted distrust of Frank, in deference to the unanswerable decision of both=
her
parents in his favor; and had suppressed the open expression of her antipat=
hy,
though the feeling itself remained unconquered. Miss Garth had made no such=
concession
to the master and mistress of the house. She had hitherto held the position=
of
a high authority on all domestic questions; and she flatly declined to get =
off
her pedestal in deference to any change in the family circumstances, no mat=
ter
how amazing or how unexpected that change might be.
"Pray accept my congratulations," sa=
id
Miss Garth, bristling all over with implied objections to Frank--"my
congratulations, and my apologies. When I caught you kissing Mr. Francis Cl=
are
in the summer-house, I had no idea you were engaged in carrying out the int=
entions
of your parents. I offer no opinion on the subject. I merely regret my own
accidental appearance in the character of an Obstacle to the course of
true-love--which appears to run smooth in summer-houses, whatever Shakespea=
re
may say to the contrary. Consider me for the future, if you please, as an
Obstacle removed. May you be happy!" Miss Garth's lips closed on that =
last
sentence like a trap, and Miss Garth's eyes looked ominously prophetic into=
the
matrimonial future.
If Magdalen's anxieties had not been far too
serious to allow her the customary free use of her tongue, she would have b=
een
ready on the instant with an appropriately satirical answer. As it was, Miss
Garth simply irritated her. "Pooh!" she said--and ran upstairs to=
her
sister's room.
She knocked at the door, and there was no answ=
er.
She tried the door, and it resisted her from the inside. The sullen,
unmanageable Norah was locked in.
Under other circumstances, Magdalen would not =
have
been satisfied with knocking--she would have called through the door loudly=
and
more loudly, till the house was disturbed and she had carried her point. But
the doubts and fears of the morning had unnerved her already. She went down=
stairs
again softly, and took her hat from the stand in the hall. "He told me=
to
put my hat on," she said to herself, with a meek filial docility which=
was
totally out of her character.
She went into the garden, on the shrubbery sid=
e;
and waited there to catch the first sight of her father on his return. Half=
an
hour passed; forty minutes passed--and then his voice reached her from among
the distant trees. "Come in to heel!" she heard him call out loud=
ly
to the dog. Her face turned pale. "He's angry with Snap!" she
exclaimed to herself in a whisper. The next minute he appeared in view; wal=
king
rapidly, with his head down and Snap at his heels in disgrace. The sudden
excess of her alarm as she observed those ominous signs of something wrong
rallied her natural energy, and determined her desperately on knowing the
worst. She walked straight forward to meet her father.
"Your face tells your news," she said
faintly. "Mr. Clare has been as heartless as usual--Mr. Clare has said
No?"
Her father turned on her with a sudden severit=
y,
so entirely unparalleled in her experience of him that she started back in
downright terror.
"Magdalen!" he said; "whenever =
you
speak of my old friend and neighbor again, bear this in mind: Mr. Clare has
just laid me under an obligation which I shall remember gratefully to the e=
nd
of my life."
He stopped suddenly after saying those remarka=
ble
words. Seeing that he had startled her, his natural kindness prompted him
instantly to soften the reproof, and to end the suspense from which she was
plainly suffering. "Give me a kiss, my love," he resumed; "a=
nd
I'll tell you in return that Mr. Clare has said-YES."
She attempted to thank him; but the sudden lux=
ury
of relief was too much for her. She could only cling round his neck in sile=
nce.
He felt her trembling from head to foot, and said a few words to calm her. =
At the
altered tones of his master's voice, Snap's meek tail re-appeared fiercely =
from
between his legs; and Snap's lungs modestly tested his position with a brie=
f,
experimental bark. The dog's quaintly appropriate assertion of himself on h=
is
old footing was the interruption of all others which was best fitted to res=
tore
Magdalen to herself. She caught the shaggy little terrier up in her arms and
kissed him next. "You darling," she exclaimed, "you're almos=
t as
glad as I am!" She turned again to her father, with a look of tender
reproach. "You frightened me, papa," she said. "You were so
unlike yourself."
"I shall be right again to-morrow, my dea=
r. I
am a little upset to-day."
"Not by me?"
"No, no."
"By something you have heard at Mr.
Clare's?"
"Yes--nothing you need alarm yourself abo=
ut;
nothing that won't wear off by to-morrow. Let me go now, my dear; I have a
letter to write; and I want to speak to your mother."
He left her and went on to the house. Magdalen
lingered a little on the lawn, to feel all the happiness of her new
sensations--then turned away toward the shrubbery to enjoy the higher luxur=
y of
communicating them. The dog followed her. She whistled, and clapped her han=
ds.
"Find him!" she said, with beaming eyes. "Find Frank!" =
Snap
scampered into the shrubbery, with a bloodthirsty snarl at starting. Perhap=
s he
had mistaken his young mistress and considered himself her emissary in sear=
ch
of a rat?
Meanwhile, Mr. Vanstone entered the house. He =
met
his wife slowly descending the stairs, and advanced to give her his arm.
"How has it ended?" she asked, anxiously, as he led her to the so=
fa.
"Happily--as we hoped it would,"
answered her husband. "My old friend has justified my opinion of
him."
"Thank God!" said Mrs. Vanstone,
fervently. "Did you feel it, love?" she asked, as her husband
arranged the sofa pillows--"did you feel it as painfully as I feared y=
ou
would?"
"I had a duty to do, my dear--and I did
it."
After replying in those terms, he hesitated.
Apparently, he had something more to say--something, perhaps, on the subjec=
t of
that passing uneasiness of mind which had been produced by his interview wi=
th
Mr. Clare, and which Magdalen's questions had obliged him to acknowledge. A
look at his wife decided his doubts in the negative. He only asked if she f=
elt
comfortable; and then turned away to leave the room.
"Must you go?" she asked.
"I have a letter to write, my dear."=
"Anything about Frank?"
"No: to-morrow will do for that. A letter=
to
Mr. Pendril. I want him here immediately."
"Business, I suppose?"
"Yes, my dear--business."
He went out, and shut himself into the little
front room, close to the hall door, which was called his study. By nature a=
nd
habit the most procrastinating of letter-writers, he now inconsistently ope=
ned
his desk and took up the pen without a moment's delay. His letter was long
enough to occupy three pages of note-paper; it was written with a readiness=
of
expression and a rapidity of hand which seldom characterized his proceedings
when engaged over his ordinary correspondence. He wrote the address as foll=
ows:
"Immediate--William Pendril, Esq., Serle Street, Lincoln's Inn,
London"--then pushed the letter away from him, and sat at the table,
drawing lines on the blotting-paper with his pen, lost in thought.
"No," he said to himself; "I can do nothing more till Pendri=
l comes."
He rose; his face brightened as he put the stamp on the envelope. The writi=
ng
of the letter had sensibly relieved him, and his whole bearing showed it as=
he
left the room.
On the doorstep he found Norah and Miss Garth,
setting forth together for a walk.
"Which way are you going?" he asked.
"Anywhere near the post-office? I wish you would post this letter for =
me,
Norah. It is very important--so important that I hardly like to trust it to
Thomas, as usual."
Norah at once took charge of the letter.
"If you look, my dear," continued her
father, "you will see that I am writing to Mr. Pendril. I expect him h=
ere
to-morrow afternoon. Will you give the necessary directions, Miss Garth? Mr.
Pendril will sleep here to-morrow night, and stay over Sunday.--Wait a minu=
te!
Today is Friday. Surely I had an engagement for Saturday afternoon?" He
consulted his pocketbook and read over one of the entries, with a look of
annoyance. "Grailsea Mill, three o'clock, Saturday. Just the time when
Pendril will be here; and I must be at home to see him. How can I manage it?
Monday will be too late for my business at Grailsea. I'll go to-day, instea=
d; and
take my chance of catching the miller at his dinner-time." He looked at
his watch. "No time for driving; I must do it by railway. If I go at o=
nce,
I shall catch the down train at our station, and get on to Grailsea. Take c=
are
of the letter, Norah. I won't keep dinner waiting; if the return train does=
n't
suit, I'll borrow a gig and get back in that way."
As he took up his hat, Magdalen appeared at the
door, returning from her interview with Frank. The hurry of her father's
movements attracted her attention; and she asked him where he was going.
"To Grailsea," replied Mr. Vanstone.
"Your business, Miss Magdalen, has got in the way of mine--and mine mu=
st
give way to it."
He spoke those parting words in his old hearty
manner; and left them, with the old characteristic flourish of his trusty
stick.
"My business!" said Magdalen. "I
thought my business was done."
Miss Garth pointed significantly to the letter=
in
Norah's hand. "Your business, beyond all doubt," she said. "=
Mr.
Pendril is coming tomorrow; and Mr. Vanstone seems remarkably anxious about=
it.
Law, and its attendant troubles already! Governesses who look in at
summer-house doors are not the only obstacles to the course of true-love.
Parchment is sometimes an obstacle. I hope you may find Parchment as pliabl=
e as
I am--I wish you well through it. Now, Norah!"
Miss Garth's second shaft struck as harmless as
the first. Magdalen had returned to the house, a little vexed; her interview
with Frank having been interrupted by a messenger from Mr. Clare, sent to
summon the son into the father's presence. Although it had been agreed at t=
he
private interview between Mr. Vanstone and Mr. Clare that the questions dis=
cussed
that morning should not be communicated to the children until the year of
probation was at an end---and although under these circumstances Mr. Clare =
had
nothing to tell Frank which Magdalen could not communicate to him much more
agreeably--the philosopher was not the less resolved on personally informing
his son of the parental concession which rescued him from Chinese exile. The
result was a sudden summons to the cottage, which startled Magdalen, but wh=
ich
did not appear to take Frank by surprise. His filial experience penetrated =
the
mystery of Mr. Clare's motives easily enough. "When my father's in
spirits," he said, sulkily, "he likes to bully me about my good l=
uck.
This message means that he's going to bully me now."
"Don't go," suggested Magdalen.
"I must," rejoined Frank. "I sh=
all
never hear the last of it if I don't. He's primed and loaded, and he means =
to
go off. He went off, once, when the engineer took me; he went off, twice, w=
hen
the office in the City took me; and he's going off, thrice, now you've taken
me. If it wasn't for you, I should wish I had never been born. Yes; your
father's been kind to me, I know--and I should have gone to China, if it ha=
dn't
been for him. I'm sure I'm very much obliged. Of course, we have no right t=
o expect
anything else--still it's discouraging to keep us waiting a year, isn't
it?"
Magdalen stopped his mouth by a summary proces=
s,
to which even Frank submitted gratefully. At the same time, she did not for=
get
to set down his discontent to the right side. "How fond he is of me!&q=
uot;
she thought. "A year's waiting is quite a hardship to him." She
returned to the house, secretly regretting that she had not heard more of
Frank's complimentary complaints. Miss Garth's elaborate satire, addressed =
to her
while she was in this frame of mind, was a purely gratuitous waste of Miss
Garth's breath. What did Magdalen care for satire? What do Youth and Love e=
ver
care for except themselves? She never even said as much as "Pooh!"
this time. She laid aside her hat in serene silence, and sauntered languidly
into the morning-room to keep her mother company. She lunched on dire
forebodings of a quarrel between Frank and his father, with accidental
interruptions in the shape of cold chicken and cheese-cakes. She trifled aw=
ay
half an hour at the piano; and played, in that time, selections from the So=
ngs
of Mendelssohn, the Mazurkas of Chopin, the Operas of Verdi, and the Sonata=
s of
Mozart--all of whom had combined together on this occasion and produced one
immortal work, entitled "Frank." She closed the piano and went up=
to
her room, to dream away the hours luxuriously in visions of her married fut=
ure.
The green shutters were closed, the easy-chair was pushed in front of the g=
lass,
the maid w as summoned as usual; and the comb assisted the mistress's refle=
ctions,
through the medium of the mistress's hair, till heat and idleness asserted
their narcotic influences together, and Magdalen fell asleep.
=
It was
past three o'clock when she woke. On going downstairs again she found her
mother, Norah and Miss Garth all sitting together enjoying the shade and the
coolness under the open portico in front of the house.
Norah had the railway time-table in her hand. =
They
had been discussing the chances of Mr. Vanstone's catching the return train=
and
getting back in good time. That topic had led them, next, to his business
errand at Grailsea--an errand of kindness, as usual; undertaken for the ben=
efit
of the miller, who had been his old farm-servant, and who was now hard pres=
sed
by serious pecuniary difficulties. From this they had glided insensibly int=
o a
subject often repeated among them, and never exhausted by repetition--the
praise of Mr. Vanstone himself. Each one of the three had some experience of
her own to relate of his simple, generous nature. The conversation seemed t=
o be
almost painfully interesting to his wife. She was too near the time of her
trial now not to feel nervously sensitive to the one subject which always h=
eld
the foremost place in her heart. Her eyes overflowed as Magdalen joined the
little group under the portico; her frail hand trembled as it signed to her
youngest daughter to take the vacant chair by her side. "We were talki=
ng
of your father," she said, softly. "Oh, my love, if your married =
life
is only as happy--" Her voice failed her; she put her handkerchief
hurriedly over her face and rested her head on Magdalen's shoulder. Norah
looked appealingly to Miss Garth, who at once led the conversation back to =
the
more trivial subject of Mr. Vanstone's return. "We have all been
wondering," she said, with a significant look at Magdalen, "wheth=
er
your father will leave Grailsea in time to catch the train--or whether he w=
ill
miss it and be obliged to drive back. What do you say?"
"I say, papa will miss the train,"
replied Magdalen, taking Miss Garth's hint with her customary quickness.
"The last thing he attends to at Grailsea will be the business that br=
ings
him there. Whenever he has business to do, he always puts it off to the last
moment, doesn't he, mamma?"
The question roused her mother exactly as Magd=
alen
had intended it should. "Not when his errand is an errand of
kindness," said Mrs. Vanstone. "He has gone to help the miller in=
a
very pressing difficulty--"
"And don't you know what he'll do?"
persisted Magdalen. "He'll romp with the miller's children, and gossip
with the mother, and hob-and-nob with the father. At the last moment when he
has got five minutes left to catch the train, he'll say: 'Let's go into the
counting-house and look at the books.' He'll find the books dreadfully
complicated; he'll suggest sending for an accountant; he'll settle the busi=
ness
off hand, by lending the money in the meantime; he'll jog back comfortably =
in
the miller's gig; and he'll tell us all how pleasant the lanes were in the =
cool
of the evening."
The little character-sketch which these words =
drew
was too faithful a likeness not to be recognized. Mrs. Vanstone showed her
appreciation of it by a smile. "When your father returns," she sa=
id,
"we will put your account of his proceedings to the test. I think,&quo=
t;
she continued, rising languidly from her chair, "I had better go indoo=
rs
again now and rest on the sofa till he comes back."
The little group under the portico broke up.
Magdalen slipped away into the garden to hear Frank's account of the interv=
iew
with his father. The other three ladies entered the house together. When Mr=
s.
Vanstone was comfortably established on the sofa, Norah and Miss Garth left=
her
to repose, and withdrew to the library to look over the last parcel of books
from London.
It was a quiet, cloudless summer's day. The he=
at
was tempered by a light western breeze; the voices of laborers at work in a
field near reached the house cheerfully; the clock-bell of the village chur=
ch
as it struck the quarters floated down the wind with a clearer ring, a loud=
er
melody than usual. Sweet odors from field and flower-garden, stealing in at=
the
open windows, filled the house with their fragrance; and the birds in Norah=
's
aviary upstairs sang the song of their happiness exultingly in the sun.
As the church clock struck the quarter past fo=
ur,
the morning-room door opened; and Mrs. Vanstone crossed the hall alone. She=
had
tried vainly to compose herself. She was too restless to lie still and slee=
p.
For a moment she directed her steps toward the portico--then turned, and lo=
oked
about her, doubtful where to go, or what to do next. While she was still
hesitating, the half-open door of her husband's study attracted her attenti=
on.
The room seemed to be in sad confusion. Drawers were left open; coats and h=
ats,
account-books and papers, pipes and fishing-rods were all scattered about
together. She went in, and pushed the door to--but so gently that she still
left it ajar. "It will amuse me to put his room to rights," she
thought to herself. "I should like to do something for him before I am
down on my bed, helpless." She began to arrange his drawers, and found=
his
banker's book lying open in one of them. "My poor dear, how careless he
is! The servants might have seen all his affairs, if I had not happened to =
have
looked in." She set the drawers right; and then turned to the multifar=
ious
litter on a side-table. A little old-fashioned music-book appeared among th=
e scattered
papers, with her name written in it, in faded ink. She blushed like a young
girl in the first happiness of the discovery. "How good he is to me! He
remembers my poor old music-book, and keeps it for my sake." As she sat
down by the table and opened the book, the bygone time came back to her in =
all
its tenderness. The clock struck the half-hour, struck the three-quarters--=
and
still she sat there, with the music-book on her lap, dreaming happily over =
the
old songs; thinking gratefully of the golden days when his hand had turned =
the
pages for her, when his voice had whispered the words which no woman's memo=
ry
ever forgets.
=
Norah
roused herself from the volume she was reading, and glanced at the clock on=
the
library mantel-piece.
"If papa comes back by the railway,"=
she
said, "he will be here in ten minutes."
Miss Garth started, and looked up drowsily from
the book which was just dropping out of her hand.
"I don't think he will come by train,&quo=
t;
she replied. "He will jog back--as Magdalen flippantly expressed it--in
the miller's gig."
As she said the words, there was a knock at the
library door. The footman appeared, and addressed himself to Miss Garth.
"A person wishes to see you, ma'am."=
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, ma'am. A stranger to me--a
respectable-looking man--and he said he particularly wished to see you.&quo=
t;
Miss Garth went out into the hall. The footman
closed the library door after her, and withdrew down the kitchen stairs.
The man stood just inside the door, on the mat.
His eyes wandered, his face was pale--he looked ill; he looked frightened. =
He
trifled nervously with his cap, and shifted it backward and forward, from o=
ne
hand to the other.
"You wanted to see me?" said Miss Ga=
rth.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am.--You are not M=
rs.
Vanstone, are you?"
"Certainly not. I am Miss Garth. Why do y=
ou
ask the question?"
"I am employed in the clerk's office at
Grailsea Station--"
"Yes?"
"I am sent here--"
He stopped again. His wandering eyes looked do=
wn
at the mat, and his restless hands wrung his cap harder and harder. He mois=
tened
his dry lips, and tried once more.
"I am sent here on a very serious
errand."
"Serious to me?"
"Serious to all in this house."
Miss Garth took one step nearer to him--took o=
ne
steady look at his face. She turned cold in the summer heat. "Stop!&qu=
ot;
she said, with a sudden distrust, and glanced aside anxiously at the door of
the morning-room. It was safely closed. "Tell me the worst; and don't
speak loud. There has been an accident. Where?"
"On the railway. Close to Grailsea
Station."
"The up-train to London?"
"No: the down-train at one-fifty--"<= o:p>
"God Almighty help us! The train Mr. Vans=
tone
traveled by to Grailsea?"
"The same. I was sent here by the up-trai=
n;
the line was just cleared in time for it. They wouldn't write--they said I =
must
see 'Miss Garth,' and tell her. There are seven passengers badly hurt; and
two--"
The next word failed on his lips; he raised his
hand in the dead silence. With eyes that opened wide in horror, he raised h=
is
hand and pointed over Miss Garth's shoulder.
She turned a little, and looked back.
Face to face with her, on the threshold of the
study door, stood the mistress of the house. She held her old music-book
clutched fast mechanically in both hands. She stood, the specter of herself.
With a dreadful vacancy in her eyes, with a dreadful stillness in her voice=
, she
repeated the man's last words:
"Seven passengers badly hurt; and two--&q=
uot;
Her tortured fingers relaxed their hold; the b=
ook
dropped from them; she sank forward heavily. Miss Garth caught her before s=
he
fell--caught her, and turned upon the man, with the wife's swooning body in=
her
arms, to hear the husband's fate.
"The harm is done," she said; "=
you
may speak out. Is he wounded, or dead?"
"Dead."
THE sun sank lower; the western breeze floated=
cool
and fresh into the house. As the evening advanced, the cheerful ring of the
village clock came nearer and nearer. Field and flower-garden felt the
influence of the hour, and shed their sweetest fragrance. The birds in Nora=
h's
aviary sunned themselves in the evening stillness, and sang their farewell =
gratitude
to the dying day.
Staggered in its progress for a time only, the
pitiless routine of the house went horribly on its daily way. The
panic-stricken servants took their blind refuge in the duties proper to the
hour. The footman softly laid the table for dinner. The maid sat waiting in
senseless doubt, with the hot-water jugs for the bedrooms ranged near her in
their customary row. The gardener, who had been ordered to come to his mast=
er,
with vouchers for money that he had paid in excess of his instructions, sai=
d his
character was dear to him, and left the vouchers at his appointed time. Cus=
tom
that never yields, and Death that never spares, met on the wreck of human
happiness--and Death gave way.
Heavily the thunder-clouds of Affliction had
gathered over the house--heavily, but not at their darkest yet. At five, th=
at
evening, the shock of the calamity had struck its blow. Before another hour=
had
passed, the disclosure of the husband's sudden death was followed by the
suspense of the wife's mortal peril. She lay helpless on her widowed bed; h=
er
own life, and the life of her unborn child, trembling in the balance.
But one mind still held possession of its
resources--but one guiding spirit now moved helpfully in the house of mourn=
ing.
If Miss Garth's early days had been passed as
calmly and as happily as her later life at Combe-Raven, she might have sunk
under the cruel necessities of the time. But the governess's youth had been
tried in the ordeal of family affliction; and she met her terrible duties w=
ith
the steady courage of a woman who had learned to suffer. Alone, she had fac=
ed
the trial of telling the daughters that they were fatherless. Alone, she now
struggled to sustain them, when the dreadful certainty of their bereavement=
was
at last impressed on their minds.
Her least anxiety was for the elder sister. The
agony of Norah's grief had forced its way outward to the natural relief of
tears. It was not so with Magdalen. Tearless and speechless, she sat in the
room where the revelation of her father's death had first reached her; her
face, unnaturally petrified by the sterile sorrow of old age--a white, chan=
geless
blank, fearful to look at. Nothing roused, nothing melted her. She only sai=
d,
"Don't speak to me; don't touch me. Let me bear it by myself"--and
fell silent again. The first great grief which had darkened the sisters' li=
ves
had, as it seemed, changed their everyday characters already.
The twilight fell, and faded; and the summer n=
ight
came brightly. As the first carefully shaded light was kindled in the
sick-room, the physician, who had been summoned from Bristol, arrived to
consult with the medical attendant of the family. He could give no comfort:=
he
could only say, "We must try, and hope. The shock which struck her, wh=
en
she overheard the news of her husband's death, has prostrated her strength =
at
the time when she needed it most. No effort to preserve her shall be neglec=
ted.
I will stay here for the night."
He opened one of the windows to admit more air=
as
he spoke. The view overlooked the drive in front of the house and the road
outside. Little groups of people were standing before the lodge-gates, look=
ing
in. "If those persons make any noise," said the doctor, "they
must be warned away." There was no need to warn them: they were only t=
he
laborers who had worked on the dead man's property, and here and there some
women and children from the village. They were all thinking of him--some
talking of him--and it quickened their sluggish minds to look at his house.=
The
gentlefolks thereabouts were mostly kind to them (the men said), but none l=
ike
him. The women whispered to each other of his comforting ways when he came =
into
their cottages. "He was a cheerful man, poor soul; and thoughtful of u=
s, too:
he never came in and stared at meal-times; the rest of 'em help us, and sco=
ld
us--all he ever said was, better luck next time." So they stood and ta=
lked
of him, and looked at his house and grounds and moved off clumsily by twos =
and
threes, with the dim sense that the sight of his pleasant face would never
comfort them again. The dullest head among them knew, that night, that the =
hard
ways of poverty would be all the harder to walk on, now he was gone.
A little later, news was brought to the bed-ch=
amber
door that old Mr. Clare had come alone to the house, and was waiting in the
hall below, to hear what the physician said. Miss Garth was not able to go =
down
to him herself: she sent a message. He said to the servant, "I'll come=
and
ask again, in two hours' time"--and went out slowly. Unlike other men =
in all
things else, the sudden death of his old friend had produced no discernible
change in him. The feeling implied in the errand of inquiry that had brought
him to the house was the one betrayal of human sympathy which escaped the
rugged, impenetrable old man.
He came again, when the two hours had expired;=
and
this time Miss Garth saw him.
They shook hands in silence. She waited; she
nerved herself to hear him speak of his lost friend. No: he never mentioned=
the
dreadful accident, he never alluded to the dreadful death. He said these wo=
rds,
"Is she better, or worse?" and said no more. Was the tribute of h=
is
grief for the husband sternly suppressed under the expression of his anxiety
for the wife? The nature of the man, unpliably antagonistic to the world and
the world's customs, might justify some such interpretation of his conduct =
as
this. He repeated his question, "Is she better, or worse?"
Miss Garth answered him:
"No better; if there is any change, it is=
a
change for the worse."
They spoke those words at the window of the
morning-room which opened on the garden. Mr. Clare paused, after hearing the
reply to his inquiry, stepped out on to the walk, then turned on a sudden, =
and
spoke again:
"Has the doctor given her up?" he as=
ked.
"He has not concealed from us that she is=
in
danger. We can only pray for her."
The old man laid his hand on Miss Garth's arm =
as
she answered him, and looked her attentively in the face.
"You believe in prayer?" he said.
Miss Garth drew sorrowfully back from him.
"You might have spared me that question s=
ir,
at such a time as this."
He took no notice of her answer; his eyes were
still fastened on her face.
"Pray!" he said. "Pray as you n=
ever
prayed before, for the preservation of Mrs. Vanstone's life."
He left her. His voice and manner implied some
unutterable dread of the future, which his words had not confessed. Miss Ga=
rth
followed him into the garden, and called to him. He heard her, but he never
turned back: he quickened his pace, as if he desired to avoid her. She watc=
hed him
across the lawn in the warm summer moonlight. She saw his white, withered
hands, saw them suddenly against the black background of the shrubbery, rai=
sed
and wrung above his head. They dropped--the trees shrouded him in darkness-=
-he
was gone.
Miss Garth went back to the suffering woman, w=
ith
the burden on her mind of one anxiety more.
It was then past eleven o'clock. Some little t=
ime
had elapsed since she had seen the sisters and spoken to them. The inquiries
she addressed to one of the female servants only elicited the information t=
hat
they were both in their rooms. She delayed her return to the mother's bedsi=
de
to say her parting words of comfort to the daughters, before she left them =
for
the night. Norah's room was the nearest. She softly opened the door and loo=
ked
in. The kneeling figure by the bedside told her that God's help had found t=
he
fatherless daughter in her affliction. Grateful tears gathered in her eyes =
as
she looked: she softly closed the door, and went on to Magdalen's room. The=
re
doubt stayed her feet at the threshold, and she waited for a moment before
going in.
A sound in the room caught her ear--the monoto=
nous
rustling of a woman's dress, now distant, now near; passing without cessati=
on
from end to end over the floor--a sound which told her that Magdalen was pa=
cing
to and fro in the secrecy of her own chamber. Miss Garth knocked. The rustl=
ing ceased;
the door was opened, and the sad young face confronted her, locked in its c=
old
despair; the large light eyes looked mechanically into hers, as vacant and =
as
tearless as ever.
That look wrung the heart of the faithful woma=
n,
who had trained her and loved her from a child. She took Magdalen tenderly =
in
her arms.
"Oh, my love," she said, "no te=
ars
yet! Oh, if I could see you as I have seen Norah! Speak to me, Magdalen--tr=
y if
you can speak to me."
She tried, and spoke:
"Norah," she said, "feels no
remorse. He was not serving Norah's interests when he went to his death: he=
was
serving mine."
With that terrible answer, she put her cold li=
ps
to Miss Garth's cheek.
"Let me bear it by myself," she said,
and gently closed the door.
Again Miss Garth waited at the threshold, and
again the sound of the rustling dress passed to and fro--now far, now near-=
-to
and fro with a cruel, mechanical regularity, that chilled the warmest sympa=
thy,
and daunted the boldest hope.
The night passed. It had been agreed, if no ch=
ange
for the better showed itself by the morning, that the London physician whom=
Mrs.
Vanstone had consulted some months since should be summoned to the house on=
the
next day. No change for the better appeared, and the physician was sent for=
.
As the morning advanced, Frank came to make
inquiries from the cottage. Had Mr. Clare intrusted to his son the duty whi=
ch
he had personally performed on the previous day through reluctance to meet =
Miss
Garth again after what he had said to her? It might be so. Frank could thro=
w no
light on the subject; he was not in his father's confidence. He looked pale=
and
bewildered. His first inquiries after Magdalen showed how his weak nature h=
ad
been shaken by the catastrophe. He was not capable of framing his own
questions: the words faltered on his lips, and the ready tears came into his
eyes. Miss Garth's heart warmed to him for the first time. Grief has this t=
hat
is noble in it--it accepts all sympathy, come whence it may. She encouraged=
the
lad by a few kind words, and took his hand at parting.
Before noon Frank returned with a second messa=
ge.
His father desired to know whether Mr. Pendril was not expected at Combe-Ra=
ven
on that day. If the lawyer's arrival was looked for, Frank was directed to =
be
in attendance at the station, and to take him to the cottage, where a bed w=
ould
be placed at his disposal. This message took Miss Garth by surprise. It sho=
wed
that Mr. Clare had been made acquainted with his dead friend's purpose of
sending for Mr. Pendril. Was the old man's thoughtful offer of hospitality
another indirect expression of the natural human distress which he perverse=
ly
concealed? or was he aware of some secret necessity for Mr. Pendril's prese=
nce,
of which the bereaved family had been kept in total ignorance? Miss Garth w=
as
too heart-sick and hopeless to dwell on either question. She told Frank tha=
t Mr.
Pendril had been expected at three o'clock, and sent him back with her than=
ks.
Shortly after his departure, such anxieties on
Magdalen's account as her mind was now able to feel were relieved by better
news than her last night's experience had inclined her to hope for. Norah's
influence had been exerted to rouse her sister; and Norah's patient sympathy
had set the prisoned grief free. Magdalen had suffered severely--suffered i=
nevitably,
with such a nature as hers--in the effort that relieved her. The healing te=
ars
had not come gently; they had burst from her with a torturing, passionate
vehemence--but Norah had never left her till the struggle was over, and the
calm had come. These better tidings encouraged Miss Garth to withdraw to her
own room, and to take the rest which she needed sorely. Worn out in body and
mind, she slept from sheer exhaustion--slept heavily and dreamless for some
hours. It was between three and four in the afternoon when she was roused by
one of the female servants. The woman had a note in her hand--a note left by
Mr. Clare the younger, with a message desiring that it might be delivered to
Miss Garth immediately. The name written in the lower corner of the envelop=
e was
"William Pendril." The lawyer had arrived.
Miss Garth opened the note. After a few first
sentences of sympathy and condolence, the writer announced his arrival at M=
r.
Clare's; and then proceeded, apparently in his professional capacity, to ma=
ke a
very startling request.
"If," he wrote, "any change for=
the
better in Mrs. Vanstone should take place--whether it is only an improvement
for the time, or whether it is the permanent improvement for which we all
hope--in either case I entreat you to let me know of it immediately. It is =
of
the last importance that I should see her, in the event of her gaining stre=
ngth
enough to give me her attention for five minutes, and of her being able at =
the
expiration of that time to sign her name. May I beg that you will communica=
te
my request, in the strictest confidence, to the medical men in attendance? =
They
will understand, and you will understand, the vital importance I attach to =
this
interview when I tell you that I have arranged to defer to it all other
business claims on me; and that I hold myself in readiness to obey your sum=
mons
at any hour of the day or night."
In those terms the letter ended. Miss Garth re=
ad
it twice over. At the second reading the request which the lawyer now addre=
ssed
to her, and the farewell words which had escaped Mr. Clare's lips the day
before, connected themselves vaguely in her mind. There was some other seri=
ous interest
in suspense, known to Mr. Pendril and known to Mr. Clare, besides the first=
and
foremost interest of Mrs. Vanstone's recovery. Whom did it affect? The
children? Were they threatened by some new calamity which their mother's
signature might avert? What did it mean? Did it mean that Mr. Vanstone had =
died
without leaving a will?
In her distress and confusion of mind Miss Gar=
th
was incapable of reasoning with herself, as she might have reasoned at a
happier time. She hastened to the antechamber of Mrs. Vanstone's room; and,
after explaining Mr. Pendril's position toward the family, placed his lette=
r in
the hands of the medical men. They both answered, without hesitation, to the
same purpose. Mrs. Vanstone's condition rendered any such interview as the
lawyer desired a total impossibility. If she rallied from her present
prostration, Miss Garth should be at once informed of the improvement. In t=
he
meantime, the answer to Mr. Pendril might be conveyed in one word--Impossib=
le.
"You see what importance Mr. Pendril atta=
ches
to the interview?" said Miss Garth.
Yes: both the doctors saw it.
"My mind is lost and confused, gentlemen,=
in
this dreadful suspense. Can you either of you guess why the signature is
wanted? or what the object of the interview may be? I have only seen Mr.
Pendril when he has come here on former visits: I have no claim to justify =
me
in questioning him. Will you look at the letter again? Do you think it impl=
ies
that Mr. Vanstone has never made a will?"
"I think it can hardly imply that," =
said
one of the doctors. "But, even supposing Mr. Vanstone to have died
intestate, the law takes due care of the interests of his widow and his
children--"
"Would it do so," interposed the oth=
er
medical man, "if the property happened to be in land?"
"I am not sure in that case. Do you happe=
n to
know, Miss Garth, whether Mr. Vanstone's property was in money or in
land?"
"In money," replied Miss Garth. &quo=
t;I
have heard him say so on more than one occasion."
"Then I can relieve your mind by speaking
from my own experience. The law, if he has died intestate, gives a third of=
his
property to his widow, and divides the rest equally among his children.&quo=
t;
"But if Mrs. Vanstone--"
"If Mrs. Vanstone should die," pursu=
ed
the doctor, completing the question which Miss Garth had not the heart to
conclude for herself, "I believe I am right in telling you that the
property would, as a matter of legal course, go to the children. Whatever
necessity there may be for the interview which Mr. Pendril requests, I can =
see
no reason for connecting it with the question of Mr. Vanstone's presumed
intestacy. But, by all means, put the question, for the satisfaction of your
own mind, to Mr. Pendril himself."
Miss Garth withdrew to take the course which t=
he
doctor advised. After communicating to Mr. Pendril the medical decision whi=
ch,
thus far, refused him the interview that he sought, she added a brief state=
ment
of the legal question she had put to the doctors; and hinted delicately at =
her
natural anxiety to be informed of the motives which had led the lawyer to m=
ake
his request. The answer she received was guarded in the extreme: it did not
impress her with a favorable opinion of Mr. Pendril. He confirmed the docto=
rs'
interpretation of the law in general terms only; expressed his intention of
waiting at the cottage in the hope that a change for the better might yet
enable Mrs. Vanstone to see him; and closed his letter without the slightest
explanation of his motives, and without a word of reference to the question=
of
the existence, or the non-existence, of Mr. Vanstone's will.
The marked caution of the lawyer's reply dwelt
uneasily on Miss Garth's mind, until the long-expected event of the day
recalled all her thoughts to her one absorbing anxiety on Mrs. Vanstone's
account.
Early in the evening the physician from London
arrived. He watched long by the bedside of the suffering woman; he remained
longer still in consultation with his medical brethren; he went back again =
to
the sick-room, before Miss Garth could prevail on him to communicate to her=
the
opinion at which he had arrived.
When he called out into the antechamber for the
second time, he silently took a chair by her side. She looked in his face; =
and
the last faint hope died in her before he opened his lips.
"I must speak the hard truth," he sa=
id,
gently. "All that can be done has been done. The next four-and-twenty
hours, at most, will end your suspense. If Nature makes no effort in that
time--I grieve to say it--you must prepare yourself for the worst."
Those words said all: they were prophetic of t=
he
end.
The night passed; and she lived through it. The
next day came; and she lingered on till the clock pointed to five. At that =
hour
the tidings of her husband's death had dealt the mortal blow. When the hour
came round again, the mercy of God let her go to him in the better world. H=
er daughters
were kneeling at the bedside as her spirit passed away. She left them
unconscious of their presence; mercifully and happily insensible to the pan=
g of
the last farewell.
Her child survived her till the evening was on=
the
wane and the sunset was dim in the quiet western heaven. As the darkness ca=
me,
the light of the frail little life--faint and feeble from the first--flicke=
red
and went out. All that was earthly of mother and child lay, that night, on =
the
same bed. The Angel of Death had done his awful bidding; and the two Sisters
were left alone in the world.
EARLIER than usual on the morning of Thursday,=
the
twenty-third of July, Mr. Clare appeared at the door of his cottage, and
stepped out into the little strip of garden attached to his residence.
After he had taken a few turns backward and
forward, alone, he was joined by a spare, quiet, gray-haired man, whose per=
sonal
appearance was totally devoid of marked character of any kind; whose
inexpressive face and conventionally-quiet manner presented nothing that
attracted approval and nothing that inspired dislike. This was Mr.
Pendril--this was the man on whose lips hung the future of the orphans at
Combe-Raven.
"The time is getting on," he said,
looking toward the shrubbery, as he joined Mr. Clare.
"My appointment with Miss Garth is for el=
even
o'clock: it only wants ten minutes of the hour."
"Are you to see her alone?" asked Mr.
Clare.
"I left Miss Garth to decide--after warni=
ng
her, first of all, that the circumstances I am compelled to disclose are of=
a
very serious nature."
"And has she decided?"
"She writes me word that she mentioned my
appointment, and repeated the warning I had given her to both the daughters.
The elder of the two shrinks--and who can wonder at it?--from any discussion
connected with the future which requires her presence so soon as the day af=
ter
the funeral. The younger one appears to have expressed no opinion on the su=
bject.
As I understand it, she suffers herself to be passively guided by her siste=
r's
example. My interview, therefore, will take place with Miss Garth alone--an=
d it
is a very great relief to me to know it."
He spoke the last words with more emphasis and
energy than seemed habitual to him. Mr. Clare stopped, and looked at his gu=
est
attentively.
"You are almost as old as I am, sir,"=
; he
said. "Has all your long experience as a lawyer not hardened you
yet?"
"I never knew how little it had hardened
me," replied Mr. Pendril, quietly, "until I returned from London
yesterday to attend the funeral. I was not warned that the daughters had
resolved on following their parents to the grave. I think their presence ma=
de
the closing scene of this dreadful calamity doubly painful, and doubly
touching. You saw how the great concourse of people were moved by it--and t=
hey
were in ignorance of the truth; they knew nothing of the cruel necessity wh=
ich takes
me to the house this morning. The sense of that necessity--and the sight of
those poor girls at the time when I felt my hard duty toward them most
painfully--shook me, as a man of my years and my way of life is not often
shaken by any distress in the present or any suspense in the future. I have=
not
recovered it this morning: I hardly feel sure of myself yet."
"A man's composure--when he is a man like
you--comes with the necessity for it," said Mr. Clare. "You must =
have
had duties to perform as trying in their way as the duty that lies before y=
ou
this morning."
Mr. Pendril shook his head. "Many duties =
as
serious; many stories more romantic. No duty so trying, no story so hopeles=
s,
as this."
With those words they parted. Mr. Pendril left=
the
garden for the shrubbery path which led to Combe-Raven. Mr. Clare returned =
to
the cottage.
On reaching the passage, he looked through the
open door of his little parlor and saw Frank sitting there in idle
wretchedness, with his head resting wearily on his hand.
"I have had an answer from your employers=
in
London," said Mr. Clare. "In consideration of what has happened, =
they
will allow the offer they made you to stand over for another month."
Frank changed color, and rose nervously from h=
is
chair.
"Are my prospects altered?" he asked.
"Are Mr. Vanstone's plans for me not to be carried out? He told Magdal=
en
his will had provided for her. She repeate d his words to me; she said I ou=
ght
to know all that his goodness and generosity had done for both of us. How c=
an
his death make a change? Has anything happened?"
"Wait till Mr. Pendril comes back from
Combe-Raven," said his father. "Question him--don't question
me."
The ready tears rose in Frank's eyes.
"You won't be hard on me?" he pleade=
d,
faintly. "You won't expect me to go back to London without seeing Magd=
alen
first?"
Mr. Clare looked thoughtfully at his son, and
considered a little before he replied.
"You may dry your eyes," he said.
"You shall see Magdalen before you go back."
He left the room, after making that reply, and
withdrew to his study. The books lay ready to his hand as usual. He opened =
one
of them and set himself to read in the customary manner. But his attention
wandered; and his eyes strayed away, from time to time, to the empty chair =
opposite--the
chair in which his old friend and gossip had sat and wrangled with him
good-humoredly for many and many a year past. After a struggle with himself=
he
closed the book. "D--n the chair!" he said: "it will talk of
him; and I must listen." He reached down his pipe from the wall and
mechanically filled it with tobacco. His hand shook, his eyes wandered back=
to
the old place; and a heavy sigh came from him unwillingly. That empty chair=
was
the only earthly argument for which he had no answer: his heart owned its
defeat and moistened his eyes in spite of him. "He has got the better =
of
me at last," said the rugged old man. "There is one weak place le=
ft
in me still--and he has found it."
Meanwhile, Mr. Pendril entered the shrubbery, =
and
followed the path which led to the lonely garden and the desolate house. He=
was
met at the door by the man-servant, who was apparently waiting in expectati=
on
of his arrival.
"I have an appointment with Miss Garth. Is
she ready to see me?"
"Quite ready, sir."
"Is she alone?"
"Yes, sir."
"In the room which was Mr. Vanstone's
study?"
"In that room, sir."
The servant opened the door and Mr. Pendril we=
nt
in.
The governess stood alone at the study window.=
The
morning was oppressively hot, and she threw up the lower sash to admit more=
air
into the room, as Mr. Pendril entered it.
They bowed to each other with a formal politen=
ess,
which betrayed on either side an uneasy sense of restraint. Mr. Pendril was=
one
of the many men who appear superficially to the worst advantage, under the =
influence
of strong mental agitation which it is necessary for them to control. Miss
Garth, on her side, had not forgotten the ungraciously guarded terms in whi=
ch
the lawyer had replied to her letter; and the natural anxiety which she had
felt on the subject of the interview was not relieved by any favorable opin=
ion
of the man who sought it. As they confronted each other in the silence of t=
he
summer's morning--both dressed in black; Miss Garth's hard features, gaunt =
and
haggard with grief; the lawyer's cold, colorless face, void of all marked e=
xpression,
suggestive of a business embarrassment and of nothing more--it would have b=
een
hard to find two persons less attractive externally to any ordinary sympath=
ies
than the two who had now met together, the one to tell, the other to hear, =
the
secrets of the dead.
"I am sincerely sorry, Miss Garth, to int=
rude
on you at such a time as this. But circumstances, as I have already explain=
ed,
leave me no other choice."
"Will you take a seat, Mr. Pendril? You
wished to see me in this room, I believe?"
"Only in this room, because Mr. Vanstone's
papers are kept here, and I may find it necessary to refer to some of
them."
After that formal interchange of question and
answer, they sat down on either side of a table placed close under the wind=
ow.
One waited to speak, the other waited to bear. There was a momentary silenc=
e.
Mr. Pendril broke it by referring to the young ladies, with the customary e=
xpressions
of sympathy. Miss Garth answered him with the same ceremony, in the same
conventional tone. There was a second pause of silence. The humming of flies
among the evergreen shrubs under the window penetrated drowsily into the ro=
om;
and the tramp of a heavy-footed cart-horse, plodding along the high-road be=
yond
the garden, was as plainly audible in the stillness as if it had been night=
.
The lawyer roused his flagging resolution, and
spoke to the purpose when he spoke next.
"You have some reason, Miss Garth," =
he
began, "to feel not quite satisfied with my past conduct toward you, in
one particular. During Mrs. Vanstone's fatal illness, you addressed a lette=
r to
me, making certain inquiries; which, while she lived, it was impossible for=
me
to answer. Her deplorable death releases me from the restraint which I had =
imposed
on myself, and permits--or, more properly, obliges me to speak. You shall k=
now
what serious reasons I had for waiting day and night in the hope of obtaini=
ng
that interview which unhappily never took place; and in justice to Mr.
Vanstone's memory, your own eyes shall inform you that he made his will.&qu=
ot;
He rose; unlocked a little iron safe in the co=
rner
of the room; and returned to the table with some folded sheets of paper, wh=
ich
he spread open under Miss Garth's eyes. When she had read the first words,
"In the name of God, Amen," he turned the sheet, and pointed to t=
he
end of the next page. She saw the well-known signature: "Andrew
Vanstone." She saw the customary attestations of the two witnesses; and
the date of the document, reverting to a period of more than five years sin=
ce.
Having thus convinced her of the formality of the will, the lawyer interpos=
ed before
she could question him, and addressed her in these words:
"I must not deceive you," he said.
"I have my own reasons for producing this document."
"What reasons, sir?"
"You shall hear them. When you are in
possession of the truth, these pages may help to preserve your respect for =
Mr.
Vanstone's memory--"
Miss Garth started back in her chair.
"What do you mean?" she asked, with a
stern straightforwardness.
He took no heed of the question; he went on as=
if
she had not interrupted him.
"I have a second reason," he continu=
ed,
"for showing you the will. If I can prevail on you to read certain cla=
uses
in it, under my superintendence, you will make your own discovery of the
circumstances which I am here to disclose--circumstances so painful that I
hardly know how to communicate them to you with my own lips."
Miss Garth looked him steadfastly in the face.=
"Circumstances, sir, which affect the dead
parents, or the living children?"
"Which affect the dead and the living
both," answered the lawyer. "Circumstances, I grieve to say, which
involve the future of Mr. Vanstone's unhappy daughters."
"Wait," said Miss Garth, "wait a
little." She pushed her gray hair back from her temples, and struggled
with the sickness of heart, the dreadful faintness of terror, which would h=
ave
overpowered a younger or a less resolute woman. Her eyes, dim with watching,
weary with grief, searched the lawyer's unfathomable face. "His unhappy
daughters?" she repeated to herself, vacantly. "He talks as if th=
ere
was some worse calamity than the calamity which has made them orphans."
She paused once more; and rallied her sinking courage. "I will not make
your hard duty, sir, more painful to you than I can help," she resumed.
"Show me the place in the will. Let me read it, and know the worst.&qu=
ot;
Mr. Pendril turned back to the first page, and
pointed to a certain place in the cramped lines of writing. "Begin
here," he said.
She tried to begin; she tried to follow his
finger, as she had followed it already to the signatures and the dates. But=
her
senses seemed to share the confusion of her mind--the words mingled togethe=
r,
and the lines swam before her eyes.
"I can't follow you," she said.
"You must tell it, or read it to me." She pushed her chair back f=
rom
the table, and tried to collect herself. "Stop!" she exclaimed, as
the lawyer, with visible hesitation and reluctance, took the papers in his =
own
hand. "One question, first. Does his will provide for his children?&qu=
ot;
"His will provided for them, when he made
it."
"When he made it!" (Something of her
natural bluntness broke out in her manner as she repeated the answer.)
"Does it provide for them now?"
"It does not."
She snatched the will from his hand, and threw=
it
into a corner of the room. "You mean well," she said; "you w=
ish
to spare me--but you are wasting your time, and my strength. If the will is
useless, there let it lie. Tell me the truth, Mr. Pendril--tell it plainly,
tell it instantly, in your own words!"
He felt that it would be useless cruelty to re=
sist
that appeal. There was no merciful alternative but to answer it on the spot=
.
"I must refer you to the spring of the
present year, Miss Garth. Do you remember the fourth of March?"
Her attention wandered again; a thought seemed=
to
have struck her at the moment when he spoke. Instead of answering his inqui=
ry,
she put a question of her own.
"Let me break the news to myself," s=
he
said--"let me anticipate you, if I can. His useless will, the terms in
which you speak of his daughters, the doubt you seem to feel of my continued
respect for his memory, have opened a new view to me. Mr. Vanstone has died=
a
ruined man--is that what you had to tell me?"
"Far from it. Mr. Vanstone has died, leav=
ing
a fortune of more than eighty thousand pounds--a fortune invested in excell=
ent
securities. He lived up to his income, but never beyond it; and all his deb=
ts
added together would not reach two hundred pounds. If he had died a ruined =
man,
I should have felt deeply for his children: but I should not have hesitated=
to
tell you the truth, as I am hesitating now. Let me repeat a question which
escaped you, I think, when I first put it. Carry your mind back to the spri=
ng
of this year. Do you remember the fourth of March?"
Miss Garth shook her head. "My memory for
dates is bad at the best of times," she said. "I am too confused =
to
exert it at a moment's notice. Can you put your question in no other
form?"
He put it in this form:
"Do you remember any domestic event in the
spring of the present year which appeared to affect Mr. Vanstone more serio=
usly
than usual?"
Miss Garth leaned forward in her chair, and lo=
oked
eagerly at Mr. Pendril across the table. "The journey to London!"=
she
exclaimed. "I distrusted the journey to London from the first! Yes! I
remember Mr. Vanstone receiving a letter--I remember his reading it, and
looking so altered from himself that he startled us all."
"Did you notice any apparent understanding
between Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone on the subject of that letter?"
"Yes: I did. One of the girls--it was
Magdalen--mentioned the post-mark; some place in America. It all comes back=
to
me, Mr. Pendril. Mrs. Vanstone looked excited and anxious, the moment she h=
eard
the place named. They went to London together the next day; they explained =
nothing
to their daughters, nothing to me. Mrs. Vanstone said the journey was for
family affairs. I suspected something wrong; I couldn't tell what. Mrs.
Vanstone wrote to me from London, saying that her object was to consult a
physician on the state of her health, and not to alarm her daughters by tel=
ling
them. Something in the letter rather hurt me at the time. I thought there m=
ight
be some other motive that she was keeping from me. Did I do her wrong?"=
;
"You did her no wrong. There was a motive
which she was keeping from you. In revealing that motive, I reveal the pain=
ful
secret which brings me to this house. All that I could do to prepare you, I
have done. Let me now tell the truth in the plainest and fewest words. When=
Mr.
and Mrs. Vanstone left Combe-Raven, in the March of the present year--"=
;
Before he could complete the sentence, a sudden
movement of Miss Garth's interrupted him. She started violently, and looked
round toward the window. "Only the wind among the leaves," she sa=
id,
faintly. "My nerves are so shaken, the least thing startles me. Speak =
out,
for God's sake! When Mr. and Mrs. Vanstone left this house, tell me in plain
words, why did they go to London?"
In plain words, Mr. Pendril told her:
"They went to London to be married."=
With that answer he placed a slip of paper on =
the
table. It was the marriage certificate of the dead parents, and the date it
bore was March the twentieth, eighteen hundred and forty-six.
Miss Garth neither moved nor spoke. The
certificate lay beneath her unnoticed. She sat with her eyes rooted on the
lawyer's face; her mind stunned, her senses helpless. He saw that all his
efforts to break the shock of the discovery had been efforts made in vain; =
he
felt the vital importance of rousing her, and firmly and distinctly repeated
the fatal words.
"They went to London to be married,"=
he
said. "Try to rouse yourself: try to realize the plain fact first: the
explanation shall come afterward. Miss Garth, I speak the miserable truth! =
In
the spring of this year they left home; they lived in London for a fortnigh=
t,
in the strictest retirement; they were married by license at the end of tha=
t time.
There is a copy of the certificate, which I myself obtained on Monday last.
Read the date of the marriage for yourself. It is Friday, the twentieth of
March--the March of this present year."
As he pointed to the certificate, that faint
breath of air among the shrubs beneath the window, which had startled Miss
Garth, stirred the leaves once more. He heard it himself this time, and tur=
ned
his face, so as to let the breeze play upon it. No breeze came; no breath of
air that was strong enough for him to feel, floated into the room.
Miss Garth roused herself mechanically, and re=
ad
the certificate. It seemed to produce no distinct impression on her: she la=
id
it on one side in a lost, bewildered manner. "Twelve years," she
said, in low, hopeless tones--"twelve quiet, happy years I lived with =
this
family. Mrs. Vanstone was my friend; my dear, valued friend--my sister, I m=
ight
almost say. I can't believe it. Bear with me a little, sir, I can't believe=
it
yet."
"I shall help you to believe it when I te=
ll
you more," said Mr. Pendril--"you will understand me better when I
take you back to the time of Mr. Vanstone's early life. I won't ask for you=
r attention
just yet. Let us wait a little, until you recover yourself."
They waited a few minutes. The lawyer took some
letters from his pocket, referred to them attentively, and put them back ag=
ain.
"Can you listen to me, now?" he asked, kindly. She bowed her head=
in
answer. Mr. Pendril considered with himself for a moment, "I must caut=
ion
you on one point," he said. "If the aspect of Mr. Vanstone's
character which I am now about to present to you seems in some respects at
variance with your later experience, bear in mind that, when you first knew=
him
twelve years since, he was a man of forty; and that, when I first knew him,=
he
was a lad of nineteen."
His next words raised the veil, and showed the
irrevocable Past.
"THE fortune which Mr. Vanstone possessed
when you knew him" (the lawyer began) "was part, and part only, of
the inheritance which fell to him on his father's death. Mr. Vanstone the e=
lder
was a manufacturer in the North of England. He married early in life; and t=
he
children of the marriage were either six or seven in number--I am not certa=
in
which. First, Michael, the eldest son, still living, and now an old man tur=
ned
seventy. Secondly, Selina, the eldest daughter, who married in after-life, =
and
who died ten or eleven years ago. After those two came other sons and
daughters, whose early deaths make it unnecessary to mention them particula=
rly.
The last and by many years the youngest of the children was Andrew, whom I
first knew, as I told you, at the age of nineteen. My father was then on the
point of retiring from the active pursuit of his profession; and in succeed=
ing
to his business, I also succeeded to his connection with the Vanstones as t=
he
family solicitor.
"At that time, Andrew had just started in
life by entering the army. After little more than a year of home-service, he
was ordered out with his regiment to Canada. When he quitted England, he le=
ft
his father and his elder brother Michael seriously at variance. I need not
detain you by entering into the cause of the quarrel. I need only tell you =
that
the elder Mr. Vanstone, with many excellent qualities, was a man of fierce =
and
intractable temper. His eldest son had set him at defiance, under circumsta=
nces
which might have justly irritated a father of far milder character; and he
declared, in the most positive terms, that he would never see Michael's face
again. In defiance of my entreaties, and of the entreaties of his wife, he =
tore
up, in our presence, the will which provided for Michael's share in the
paternal inheritance. Such was the family position, when the younger son le=
ft
home for Canada.
"Some months after Andrew's arrival with =
his
regiment at Quebec, he became acquainted with a woman of great personal
attractions, who came, or said she came, from one of the Southern States of
America. She obtained an immediate influence over him; and she used it to t=
he
basest purpose. You knew the easy, affectionate, trusting nature of the man=
in later
life--you can imagine how thoughtlessly he acted on the impulse of his yout=
h.
It is useless to dwell on this lamentable part of the story. He was just
twenty-one: he was blindly devoted to a worthless woman; and she led him on,
with merciless cunning, till it was too late to draw back. In one word, he
committed the fatal error of his life: he married her.
"She had been wise enough in her own
interests to dread the influence of his brother-officers, and to persuade h=
im,
up to the period of the marriage ceremony, to keep the proposed union betwe=
en
them a secret. She could do this; but she could not provide against the res=
ults
of accident. Hardly three months had passed, when a chance disclosure expos=
ed
the life she had led before her marriage. But one alternative was left to h=
er
husband--the alternative of instantly separating from her.
"The effect of the discovery on the unhap=
py
boy--for a boy in disposition he still was--may be judged by the event which
followed the exposure. One of Andrew's superior officers--a certain Major
Kirke, if I remember right--found him in his quarters, writing to his fathe=
r a confession
of the disgraceful truth, with a loaded pistol by his side. That officer sa=
ved
the lad's life from his own hand, and hushed up the scandalous affair by a
compromise. The marriage being a perfectly legal one, and the wife's miscon=
duct
prior to the ceremony giving her husband no claim to his release from her by
divorce, it was only possible to appeal to her sense of her own interests. A
handsome annual allowance was secured to her, on condition that she returne=
d to
the place from which she had come; that she never appeared in England; and =
that
she ceased to use her husband's name. Other stipulations were added to thes=
e.
She accepted them all; and measures were privately taken to have her well
looked after in the place of her retreat. What life she led there, and whet=
her
she performed all the conditions imposed on her, I cannot say. I can only t=
ell
you that she never, to my knowledge, came to England; that she never annoyed
Mr. Vanstone; and that the annual allowance was paid her, through a local a=
gent
in America, to the day of her death. All that she wanted in marrying him was
money; and money she got.
"In the meantime, Andrew had left the
regiment. Nothing would induce him to face his brother-officers after what =
had
happened. He sold out and returned to England. The first intelligence which
reached him on his return was the intelligence of his father's death. He ca=
me
to my office in London, before going home, and there learned from my lips h=
ow
the family quarrel had ended.
"The will which Mr. Vanstone the elder had
destroyed in my presence had not been, so far as I know, replaced by anothe=
r.
When I was sent for, in the usual course, on his death, I fully expected th=
at
the law would be left to make the customary division among his widow and his
children. To my surprise, a will appeared among his papers, correctly drawn=
and
executed, and dated about a week after the period when the first will had b=
een
destroyed. He had maintained his vindictive purpose against his eldest son,=
and
had applied to a stranger for the professional assistance which I honestly
believe he was ashamed to ask for at my hands.
"It is needless to trouble you with the
provisions of the will in detail. There were the widow and three surviving
children to be provided for. The widow received a life-interest only in a
portion of the testator's property. The remaining portion was divided betwe=
en
Andrew and Selina--two-thirds to the brother; one-third to the sister. On t=
he mother's
death, the money from which her income had been derived was to go to Andrew=
and
Selina, in the same relative proportions as before--five thousand pounds ha=
ving
been first deducted from the sum and paid to Michael, as the sole legacy le=
ft
by the implacable father to his eldest son.
"Speaking in round numbers, the division =
of
property, as settled by the will, stood thus. Before the mother's death, An=
drew
had seventy thousand pounds; Selina had thirty-five thousand pounds;
Michael--had nothing. After the mother's death, Michael had five thousand p=
ounds,
to set against Andrew's inheritance augmented to one hundred thousand, and =
Selina's
inheritance increased to fifty thousand.--Do not suppose that I am dwelling
unnecessarily on this part of the subject. Every word I now speak bears on
interests still in suspense, which vitally concern Mr. Vanstone's daughters=
. As
we get on from past to present, keep in mind the terrible inequality of
Michael's inheritance and Andrew's inheritance. The harm done by that
vindictive will is, I greatly fear, not over yet.
"Andrew's first impulse, when he heard the
news which I had to tell him, was worthy of the open, generous nature of the
man. He at once proposed to divide his inheritance with his elder brother. =
But
there was one serious obstacle in the way. A letter from Michael was waiting
for him at my office when he came there, and that letter charged him with b=
eing
the original cause of estrangement between his father and his elder brother.
The efforts which he had made--bluntly and incautiously, I own, but with the
purest and kindest intentions, as I know--to compose the quarrel before lea=
ving
home, were perverted, by the vilest misconstruction, to support an accusati=
on
of treachery and falsehood which would have stung any man to the quick. And=
rew
felt, what I felt, that if these imputations were not withdrawn before his
generous intentions toward his brother took effect, the mere fact of their =
execution
would amount to a practical acknowledgment of the justice of Michael's char=
ge
against him. He wrote to his brother in the most forbearing terms. The answ=
er
received was as offensive as words could make it. Michael had inherited his
father's temper, unredeemed by his father's better qualities: his second le=
tter
reiterated the charges contained in the first, and declared that he would o=
nly
accept the offered division as an act of atonement and restitution on Andre=
w's part.
I next wrote to the mother to use her influence. She was herself aggrieved =
at
being left with nothing more than a life interest in her husband's property;
she sided resolutely with Michael; and she stigmatized Andrew's proposal as=
an
attempt to bribe her eldest son into withdrawing a charge against his broth=
er
which that brother knew to be true. After this last repulse, nothing more c=
ould
be done. Michael withdrew to the Continent; and his mother followed him the=
re.
She lived long enough, and saved money enough out of her income, to add con=
siderably,
at her death, to her elder son's five thousand pounds. He had previously st=
ill
further improved his pecuniary position by an advantageous marriage; and he=
is
now passing the close of his days either in France or Switzerland--a widowe=
r,
with one son. We shall return to him shortly. In the meantime, I need only =
tell
you that Andrew and Michael never again met--never again communicated, even=
by
writing. To all intents and purposes they were dead to each other, from tho=
se early
days to the present time.
"You can now estimate what Andrew's posit=
ion
was when he left his profession and returned to England. Possessed of a
fortune, h e was alone in the world; his future destroyed at the fair outse=
t of
life; his mother and brother estranged from him; his sister lately married,=
with
interests and hopes in which he had no share. Men of firmer mental caliber
might have found refuge from such a situation as this in an absorbing
intellectual pursuit. He was not capable of the effort; all the strength of=
his
character lay in the affections he had wasted. His place in the world was t=
hat
quiet place at home, with wife and children to make his life happy, which he
had lost forever. To look back was more than he dare. To look forward was m=
ore
than he could. In sheer despair, he let his own impetuous youth drive him o=
n;
and cast himself into the lowest dissipations of a London life.
"A woman's falsehood had driven him to his
ruin. A woman's love saved him at the outset of his downward career. Let us=
not
speak of her harshly--for we laid her with him yesterday in the grave.
"You, who only knew Mrs. Vanstone in later
life, when illness and sorrow and secret care had altered and saddened her,=
can
form no adequate idea of her attractions of person and character when she w=
as a
girl of seventeen. I was with Andrew when he first met her. I had tried to
rescue him, for one night at least, from degrading associates and degrading
pleasures, by persuading him to go with me to a ball given by one of the gr=
eat
City Companies. There they met. She produced a strong impression on him the
moment he saw her. To me, as to him, she was a total stranger. An introduct=
ion
to her, obtained in the customary manner, informed him that she was the
daughter of one Mr. Blake. The rest he discovered from herself. They were
partners in the dance (unobserved in that crowded ball-room) all through the
evening.
"Circumstances were against her from the
first. She was unhappy at home. Her family and friends occupied no recogniz=
ed
station in life: they were mean, underhand people, in every way unworthy of
her. It was her first ball--it was the first time she had ever met with a m=
an
who had the breeding, the manners and the conversation of a gentleman. Are
these excuses for her, which I have no right to make? If we have any human =
feeling
for human weakness, surely not!
"The meeting of that night decided their
future. When other meetings had followed, when the confession of her love h=
ad
escaped her, he took the one course of all others (took it innocently and
unconsciously), which was most dangerous to them both. His frankness and his
sense of honor forbade him to deceive her: he opened his heart and told her=
the
truth. She was a generous, impulsive girl; she had no home ties strong enou=
gh to
plead with her; she was passionately fond of him--and he had made that appe=
al
to her pity which, to the eternal honor of women, is the hardest of all app=
eals
for them to resist. She saw, and saw truly, that she alone stood between him
and his ruin. The last chance of his rescue hung on her decision. She decid=
ed;
and saved him.
"Let me not be misunderstood; let me not =
be
accused of trifling with the serious social question on which my narrative
forces me to touch. I will defend her memory by no false reasoning--I will =
only
speak the truth. It is the truth that she snatched him from mad excesses wh=
ich
must have ended in his early death. It is the truth that she restored him t=
o that
happy home existence which you remember so tenderly--which he remembered so
gratefully that, on the day when he was free, he made her his wife. Let str=
ict
morality claim its right, and condemn her early fault. I have read my New
Testament to little purpose, indeed, if Christian mercy may not soften the =
hard
sentence against her--if Christian charity may not find a plea for her memo=
ry
in the love and fidelity, the suffering and the sacrifice, of her whole lif=
e.
"A few words more will bring us to a later
time, and to events which have happened within your own experience.
"I need not remind you that the position =
in
which Mr. Vanstone was now placed could lead in the end to but one result--=
to a
disclosure, more or less inevitable, of the truth. Attempts were made to ke=
ep
the hopeless misfortune of his life a secret from Miss Blake's family; and,=
as
a matter of course, those attempts failed before the relentless scrutiny of=
her
father and her friends. What might have happened if her relatives had been =
what
is termed 'respectable' I cannot pretend to say. As it was, they were people
who could (in the common phrase) be conveniently treated with. The only
survivor of the family at the present time is a scoundrel calling himself
Captain Wragge. When I tell you that he privately extorted the price of his
silence from Mrs. Vanstone to the last; and when I add that his conduct
presents no extraordinary exception to the conduct, in their lifetime, of t=
he
other relatives--you will understand what sort of people I had to deal with=
in
my client's interests, and how their assumed indignation was appeased.
"Having, in the first instance, left Engl=
and
for Ireland, Mr. Vanstone and Miss Blake remained there afterward for some
years. Girl as she was, she faced her position and its necessities without
flinching. Having once resolved to sacrifice her life to the man she loved;
having quieted her conscience by persuading herself that his marriage was a
legal mockery, and that she was 'his wife in the sight of Heaven,' she set =
herself
from the first to accomplish the one foremost purpose of so living with him=
, in
the world's eye, as never to raise the suspicion that she was not his lawful
wife. The women are few, indeed, who cannot resolve firmly, scheme patientl=
y,
and act promptly where the dearest interests of their lives are concerned. =
Mrs.
Vanstone--she has a right now, remember, to that name--Mrs. Vanstone had mo=
re
than the average share of a woman's tenacity and a woman's tact; and she to=
ok
all the needful precautions, in those early days, which her husband's less
ready capacity had not the art to devise--precautions to which they were la=
rgely
indebted for the preservation of their secret in later times.
"Thanks to these safeguards, not a shadow=
of
suspicion followed them when they returned to England. They first settled in
Devonshire, merely because they were far removed there from that northern
county in which Mr. Vanstone's family and connections had been known. On the
part of his surviving relatives, they had no curious investigations to drea=
d.
He was totally estranged from his mother and his elder brother. His married=
sister
had been forbidden by her husband (who was a clergyman) to hold any
communication with him, from the period when he had fallen into the deplora=
ble
way of life which I have described as following his return from Canada. Oth=
er
relations he had none. When he and Miss Blake left Devonshire, their next
change of residence was to this house. Neither courting nor avoiding notice;
simply happy in themselves, in their children, and in their quiet rural lif=
e;
unsuspected by the few neighbors who formed their modest circle of acquaint=
ance
to be other than what they seemed--the truth in their case, as in the cases=
of
many others, remained undiscovered until accident forced it into the light =
of day.
"If, in your close intimacy with them, it
seems strange that they should never have betrayed themselves, let me ask y=
ou
to consider the circumstances and you will understand the apparent anomaly.
Remember that they had been living as husband and wife, to all intents and =
purposes
(except that the marriage-service had not been read over them), for fifteen
years before you came into the house; and bear in mind, at the same time, t=
hat
no event occurred to disturb Mr. Vanstone's happiness in the present, to re=
mind
him of the past, or to warn him of the future, until the announcement of his
wife's death reached him, in that letter from America which you saw placed =
in
his hand. From that day forth--when a past which he abhorred was forced bac=
k to
his memory; when a future which she had never dared to anticipate was place=
d within
her reach--you will soon perceive, if you have not perceived already, that =
they
both betrayed themselves, time after time; and that you r innocence of all
suspicion, and their children's innocence of all suspicion, alone prevented=
you
from discovering the truth.
"The sad story of the past is now as well
known to you as to me. I have had hard words to speak. God knows I have spo=
ken
them with true sympathy for the living, with true tenderness for the memory=
of
the dead."
=
He
paused, turned his face a little away, and rested his head on his hand, in =
the
quiet, undemonstrative manner which was natural to him. Thus far, Miss Garth
had only interrupted his narrative by an occasional word or by a mute token=
of
her attention. She made no effort to conceal her tears; they fell fast and
silently over her wasted cheeks, as she looked up and spoke to him. "I
have done you some injury, sir, in my thoughts," she said, with a noble
simplicity. "I know you better now. Let me ask your forgiveness; let me
take your hand."
Those words, and the action which accompanied
them, touched him deeply. He took her hand in silence. She was the first to
speak, the first to set the example of self-control. It is one of the noble
instincts of women that nothing more powerfully rouses them to struggle with
their own sorrow than the sight of a man's distress. She quietly dried her =
tears;
she quietly drew her chair round the table, so as to sit nearer to him when=
she
spoke again.
"I have been sadly broken, Mr. Pendril, by
what has happened in this house," she said, "or I should have bor=
ne
what you have told me better than I have borne it to-day. Will you let me a=
sk
one question before you go on? My heart aches for the children of my love--=
more
than ever my children now. Is there no hope for their future? Are they left
with no prospect but poverty before them?"
The lawyer hesitated before he answered the qu=
estion.
"They are left dependent," he said, =
at
last, "on the justice and the mercy of a stranger."
"Through the misfortune of their birth?&q=
uot;
"Through the misfortunes which have follo=
wed
the marriage of their parents."
With that startling answer he rose, took up the
will from the floor, and restored it to its former position on the table
between them.
"I can only place the truth before you,&q=
uot;
he resumed, "in one plain form of words. The marriage has destroyed th=
is
will, and has left Mr. Vanstone's daughters dependent on their uncle."=
As he spoke, the breeze stirred again among the
shrubs under the window.
"On their uncle?" repeated Miss Gart=
h.
She considered for a moment, and laid her hand suddenly on Mr. Pendril's ar=
m.
"Not on Michael Vanstone!"
"Yes: on Michael Vanstone."
Miss Garth's hand still mechanically grasped t=
he
lawyer's arm. Her whole mind was absorbed in the effort to realize the
discovery which had now burst on her.
"Dependent on Michael Vanstone!" she
said to herself. "Dependent on their father's bitterest enemy? How can=
it
be?"
"Give me your attention for a few minutes
more," said Mr. Pendril, "and you shall hear. The sooner we can b=
ring
this painful interview to a close, the sooner I can open communications with
Mr. Michael Vanstone, and the sooner you will know what he decides on doing=
for
his brother's orphan daughters. I repeat to you that they are absolutely
dependent on him. You will most readily understand how and why, if we take =
up
the chain of events where we last left it--at the period of Mr. and Mrs. Va=
nstone's
marriage."
"One moment, sir," said Miss Garth.
"Were you in the secret of that marriage at the time when it took
place?"
"Unhappily, I was not. I was away from
London--away from England at the time. If Mr. Vanstone had been able to
communicate with me when the letter from America announced the death of his
wife, the fortunes of his daughters would not have been now at stake."=
He paused, and, before proceeding further, loo=
ked
once more at the letters which he had consulted at an earlier period of the
interview. He took one letter from the rest, and put it on the table by his
side.
"At the beginning of the present year,&qu=
ot;
he resumed, "a very serious business necessity, in connection with some
West Indian property possessed by an old client and friend of mine, required
the presence either of myself, or of one of my two partners, in Jamaica. On=
e of
the two could not be spared; the other was not in health to undertake the
voyage. There was no choice left but for me to go. I wrote to Mr. Vanstone,
telling him that I should leave England at the end of February, and that the
nature of the business which took me away afforded little hope of my getting
back from the West Indies before June. My letter was not written with any
special motive. I merely thought it right--seeing that my partners were not
admitted to my knowledge of Mr. Vanstone's private affairs--to warn him of =
my
absence, as a measure of formal precaution which it was right to take. At t=
he
end of February I left England, without having heard from him. I was on the=
sea
when the news of his wife's death reached him, on the fourth of March: and I
did not return until the middle of last June."
"You warned him of your departure,"
interposed Miss Garth. "Did you not warn him of your return?"
"Not personally. My head-clerk sent him o=
ne
of the circulars which were dispatched from my office, in various direction=
s,
to announce my return. It was the first substitute I thought of for the
personal letter which the pressure of innumerable occupations, all crowding=
on
me together after my long absence, did not allow me leisure to write. Barel=
y a
month later, the first information of his marriage reached me in a letter f=
rom himself,
written on the day of the fatal accident. The circumstances which induced h=
im
to write arose out of an event in which you must have taken some interest--I
mean the attachment between Mr. Clare's son and Mr. Vanstone's youngest
daughter."
"I cannot say that I was favorably dispos=
ed
toward that attachment at the time," replied Miss Garth. "I was
ignorant then of the family secret: I know better now."
"Exactly. The motive which you can now
appreciate is the motive that leads us to the point. The young lady herself=
(as
I have heard from the elder Mr. Clare, to whom I am indebted for my knowled=
ge
of the circumstances in detail) confessed her attachment to her father, and=
innocently
touched him to the quick by a chance reference to his own early life. He ha=
d a
long conversation with Mrs. Vanstone, at which they both agreed that Mr. Cl=
are
must be privately informed of the truth, before the attachment between the =
two
young people was allowed to proceed further. It was painful in the last deg=
ree,
both to husband and wife, to be reduced to this alternative. But they were
resolute, honorably resolute, in making the sacrifice of their own feelings;
and Mr. Vanstone betook himself on the spot to Mr. Clare's cottage.--You no=
doubt
observed a remarkable change in Mr. Vanstone's manner on that day; and you =
can
now account for it?"
Miss Garth bowed her head, and Mr. Pendril went
on.
"You are sufficiently acquainted with Mr.
Clare's contempt for all social prejudices," he continued, "to
anticipate his reception of the confession which his neighbor addressed to =
him.
Five minutes after the interview had begun, the two old friends were as easy
and unrestrained together as usual. In the course of conversation, Mr. Vans=
tone
mentioned the pecuniary arrangement which he had made for the benefit of hi=
s daughter
and of her future husband--and, in doing so, he naturally referred to his w=
ill
here, on the table between us. Mr. Clare, remembering that his friend had b=
een
married in the March of that year, at once asked when the will had been
executed: receiving the reply that it had been made five years since; and,
thereupon, astounded Mr. Vanstone by telling him bluntly that the document =
was
waste paper in the eye of the law. Up to that moment he, like many other
persons, had been absolutely ignorant that a man's marriage is, legally as =
well
as socially, considered to be the most important event in his life; that it
destroys the validity of any will which he may have made as a single man; a=
nd
that it renders absolutely necessary the entire re-assertion of his
testamentary intentions in the character of a husband. The statement of this
plain fact appeared to overwhelm Mr. Vanstone. Declaring that his friend had
laid him under an obligation which he should remember to his dying day, he =
at
once left the cottage, at once returned home, and wrote me this letter.&quo=
t;
He handed the letter open to Miss Garth. In
tearless, speechless grief, she read these words:
=
"MY
DEAR PENDRIL--Since we last wrote to each other an extraordinary change has
taken place in my life. About a week after you went away, I received news f=
rom
America which told me that I was free. Need I say what use I made of that
freedom? Need I say that the mother of my children is now my Wife?
"If you are surprised at not having heard
from me the moment you got back, attribute my silence, in great part--if not
altogether--to my own total ignorance of the legal necessity for making ano=
ther
will. Not half an hour since, I was enlightened for the first time (under
circumstances which I will mention when me meet) by my old friend, Mr. Clar=
e.
Family anxieties have had something to do with my silence as well. My wife'=
s confinement
is close at hand; and, besides this serious anxiety, my second daughter is =
just
engaged to be married. Until I saw Mr. Clare to-day, these matters so fille=
d my
mind that I never thought of writing to you during the one short month whic=
h is
all that has passed since I got news of your return. Now I know that my will
must be made again, I write instantly. For God's sake, come on the day when=
you
receive this--come and relieve me from the dreadful thought that my two dar=
ling
girls are at this moment unprovided for. If anything happened to me, and if=
my
desire to do their mother justice, ended (through my miserable ignorance of=
the
law) in leaving Norah and Magdalen disinherited, I should not rest in my gr=
ave!
Come at any cost, to yours ever,
"A. V."
= "On the Saturday morning," Mr. Pendril resumed, "those lines reached = me. I instantly set aside all other business, and drove to the railway. At the Lo= ndon terminus, I heard the first news of the Friday's accident; heard it, with conflicting accounts of the numbers and names of the passengers killed. At Bristol, they were better informed; and the dreadful truth about Mr. Vansto= ne was confirmed. I had time to recover myself before I reached your station h= ere, and found Mr. Clare's son waiting for me. He took me to his father's cottag= e; and there, without losing a moment, I drew out Mrs. Vanstone's will. My obj= ect was to secure the only provision for her daughters which it was now possibl= e to make. Mr. Vanstone having died intestate, a third of his fortune would go to his widow; and the rest would be divided among his next of kin. As children born out of wedlock, Mr. Vanstone's daughters, under the circumstances of t= heir father's death, had no more claim to a share in his property than the daugh= ters of one of his laborers in the village. The one chance left was that their mother might sufficiently recover to leave her third share to them, by will= , in the event of her decease. Now you know why I wrote to you to ask for that interview--why I waited day and night, in the hope of receiving a summons to the house. I was sincerely sorry to send back such an answer to your note of inquiry as I was compelled to write. But while there was a chance of the preservation of Mrs. Vanstone's life, the secret of the marriage was hers, = not mine; and every consideration of delicacy forbade me to disclose it."<= o:p>
"You did right, sir," said Miss Gart=
h;
"I understand your motives, and respect them."
"My last attempt to provide for the
daughters," continued Mr. Pendril, "was, as you know, rendered
unavailing by the dangerous nature of Mrs. Vanstone's illness. Her death le=
ft
the infant who survived her by a few hours (the infant born, you will remem=
ber,
in lawful wedlock) possessed, in due legal course, of the whole of Mr.
Vanstone's fortune. On the child's death--if it had only outlived the mothe=
r by
a few seconds, instead of a few hours, the result would have been the same-=
-the
next of kin to the legitimate offspring took the money; and that next of ki=
n is
the infant's paternal uncle, Michael Vanstone. The whole fortune of eighty
thousand pounds has virtually passed into his possession already."
"Are there no other relations?" asked
Miss Garth. "Is there no hope from any one else?"
"There are no other relations with Michael
Vanstone's claim," said the lawyer. "There are no grandfathers or
grandmothers of the dead child (on the side of either of the parents) now
alive. It was not likely there should be, considering the ages of Mr. and M=
rs.
Vanstone when they died. But it is a misfortune to be reasonably lamented t=
hat
no other uncles or aunts survive. There are cousins alive; a son and two
daughters of that elder sister of Mr. Vanstone's, who married Archdeacon Ba=
rtram,
and who died, as I told you, some years since. But their interest is supers=
eded
by the interest of the nearer blood. No, Miss Garth, we must look facts as =
they
are resolutely in the face. Mr. Vanstone's daughters are Nobody's Children;=
and
the law leaves them helpless at their uncle's mercy."
"A cruel law, Mr. Pendril--a cruel law in=
a
Christian country."
"Cruel as it is, Miss Garth, it stands
excused by a shocking peculiarity in this case. I am far from defending the=
law
of England as it affects illegitimate offspring. On the contrary, I think i=
t a
disgrace to the nation. It visits the sins of the parents on the children; =
it
encourages vice by depriving fathers and mothers of the strongest of all
motives for making the atonement of marriage; and it claims to produce these
two abominable results in the names of morality and religion. But it has no
extraordinary oppression to answer for in the case of these unhappy girls. =
The
more merciful and Christian law of other countries, which allows the marria=
ge of
the parents to make the children legitimate, has no mercy on these children.
The accident of their father having been married, when he first met with th=
eir
mother, has made them the outcasts of the whole social community; it has pl=
aced
them out of the pale of the Civil Law of Europe. I tell you the hard truth-=
-it
is useless to disguise it. There is no hope, if we look back at the past: t=
here
may be hope, if we look on to the future. The best service which I can now =
render
you is to shorten the period of your suspense. In less than an hour I shall=
be
on my way back to London. Immediately on my arrival, I will ascertain the
speediest means of communicating with Mr. Michael Vanstone; and will let you
know the result. Sad as the position of the two sisters now is, we must loo=
k at
it on its best side; we must not lose hope."
"Hope?" repeated Miss Garth. "H=
ope
from Michael Vanstone!"
"Yes; hope from the influence on him of t=
ime,
if not from the influence of mercy. As I have already told you, he is now an
old man; he cannot, in the course of nature, expect to live much longer. If=
he
looks back to the period when he and his brother were first at variance, he
must look back through thirty years. Surely, these are softening influences=
which
must affect any man? Surely, his own knowledge of the shocking circumstances
under which he has become possessed of this money will plead with him, if
nothing else does?"
"I will try to think as you do, Mr.
Pendril--I will try to hope for the best. Shall we be left long in suspense
before the decision reaches us?"
"I trust not. The only delay on my side w=
ill
be caused by the necessity of discovering the place of Michael Vanstone's
residence on the Continent. I think I have the means of meeting this diffic=
ulty
successfully; and the moment I reach London, those means shall be tried.&qu=
ot;
He took up his hat; and then returned to the t=
able
on which the father's last letter, and the father's useless will, were lying
side by side. After a moment's consideration, he placed them both in Miss
Garth's hands.
"It may help you in breaking the hard tru=
th
to the orphan sisters," he said, in his quiet, self-repressed way,
"if they can see how their father refers to them in his will--if they =
ca n
read his letter to me, the last he ever wrote. Let these tokens tell them t=
hat
the one idea of their father's life was the idea of making atonement to his
children. 'They may think bitterly of their birth,' he said to me, at the t=
ime when
I drew this useless will; 'but they shall never think bitterly of me. I will
cross them in nothing: they shall never know a sorrow that I can spare them=
, or
a want which I will not satisfy.' He made me put those words in his will, to
plead for him when the truth which he had concealed from his children in his
lifetime was revealed to them after his death. No law can deprive his daugh=
ters
of the legacy of his repentance and his love. I leave the will and the lett=
er
to help you: I give them both into your care."
He saw how his parting kindness touched her and
thoughtfully hastened the farewell. She took his hand in both her own and
murmured a few broken words of gratitude. "Trust me to do my best,&quo=
t;
he said--and, turning away with a merciful abruptness, left her. In the bro=
ad, cheerful
sunshine he had come in to reveal the fatal truth. In the broad, cheerful
sunshine--that truth disclosed--he went out.
IT was nearly an hour past noon when Mr. Pendr=
il
left the house. Miss Garth sat down again at the table alone, and tried to =
face
the necessity which the event of the morning now forced on her.
Her mind was not equal to the effort. She trie=
d to
lessen the strain on it--to lose the sense of her own position--to escape f=
rom
her thoughts for a few minutes only. After a little, she opened Mr. Vanston=
e's letter,
and mechanically set herself to read it through once more.
One by one, the last words of the dead man
fastened themselves more and more firmly on her attention. The unrelieved
solitude, the unbroken silence, helped their influence on her mind and open=
ed
it to those very impressions of past and present which she was most anxious=
to
shun. As she reached the melancholy lines which closed the letter, she foun=
d herself--insensibly,
almost unconsciously, at first--tracing the fatal chain of events, link by =
link
backward, until she reached its beginning in the contemplated marriage betw=
een
Magdalen and Francis Clare.
That marriage had taken Mr. Vanstone to his old
friend, with the confession on his lips which would otherwise never have
escaped them. Thence came the discovery which had sent him home to summon t=
he lawyer
to the house. That summons, again, had produced the inevitable acceleration=
of
the Saturday's journey to Friday; the Friday of the fatal accident, the Fri=
day
when he went to his death. From his death followed the second bereavement w=
hich
had made the house desolate; the helpless position of the daughters whose
prosperous future had been his dearest care; the revelation of the secret w=
hich
had overwhelmed her that morning; the disclosure, more terrible still, which
she now stood committed to make to the orphan sisters. For the first time s=
he
saw the whole sequence of events--saw it as plainly as the cloudless blue of
the sky and the green glow of the trees in the sunlight outside.
How--when could she tell them? Who could appro=
ach
them with the disclosure of their own illegitimacy before their father and
mother had been dead a week? Who could speak the dreadful words, while the
first tears were wet on their cheeks, while the first pang of separation wa=
s at
its keenest in their hearts, while the memory of the funeral was not a day =
old
yet? Not their last friend left; not the faithful woman whose heart bled for
them. No! silence for the present time, at all risks--merciful silence, for
many days to come!
She left the room, with the will and the lette=
r in
her hand--with the natural, human pity at her heart which sealed her lips a=
nd
shut her eyes resolutely to the future. In the hall she stopped and listene=
d.
Not a sound was audible. She softly ascended the stairs, on her way to her =
own
room, and passed the door of Norah's bed-chamber. Voices inside, the voices=
of
the two sisters, caught her ear. After a moment's consideration, she checked
herself, turned back, and quickly descended the stairs again. Both Norah an=
d Magdalen
knew of the interview between Mr. Pendril and herself; she had felt it her =
duty
to show them his letter making the appointment. Could she excite their
suspicion by locking herself up from them in her room as soon as the lawyer=
had
left the house? Her hand trembled on the banister; she felt that her face m=
ight
betray her. The self-forgetful fortitude, which had never failed her until =
that
day, had been tried once too often--had been tasked beyond its powers at la=
st.
At the hall door she reflected for a moment ag=
ain,
and went into the garden; directing her steps to a rustic bench and table
placed out of sight of the house among the trees. In past times she had oft=
en
sat there, with Mrs. Vanstone on one side, with Norah on the other, with Ma=
gdalen
and the dogs romping on the grass. Alone she sat there now--the will and the
letter which she dared not trust out of her own possession, laid on the
table--her head bowed over them; her face hidden in her hands. Alone she sat
there and tried to rouse her sinking courage.
Doubts thronged on her of the dark days to com=
e;
dread beset her of the hidden danger which her own silence toward Norah and
Magdalen might store up in the near future. The accident of a moment might
suddenly reveal the truth. Mr. Pendril might write, might personally addres=
s himself
to the sisters, in the natural conviction that she had enlightened them.
Complications might gather round them at a moment's notice; unforeseen
necessities might arise for immediately leaving the house. She saw all these
perils--and still the cruel courage to face the worst, and speak, was as far
from her as ever. Ere long the thickening conflict of her thoughts forced i=
ts
way outward for relief, in words and actions. She raised her head and beat =
her
hand helplessly on the table.
"God help me, what am I to do?" she
broke out. "How am I to tell them?"
"There is no need to tell them," sai=
d a
voice behind her. "They know it already."
She started to her feet and looked round. It w=
as
Magdalen who stood before her--Magdalen who had spoken those words.
Yes, there was the graceful figure, in its
mourning garments, standing out tall and black and motionless against the l=
eafy
background. There was Magdalen herself, with a changeless stillness on her
white face; with an icy resignation in her steady gray eyes.
"We know it already," she repeated, =
in
clear, measured tones. "Mr. Vanstone's daughters are Nobody's Children;
and the law leaves them helpless at their uncle's mercy."
So, without a tear on her cheeks, without a fa=
ltering
tone in her voice, she repeated the lawyer's own words, exactly as he had
spoken them. Miss Garth staggered back a step and caught at the bench to
support herself. Her head swam; she closed her eyes in a momentary faintnes=
s.
When they opened again, Magdalen's arm was supporting her, Magdalen's breat=
h fanned
her cheek, Magdalen's cold lips kissed her. She drew back from the kiss; the
touch of the girl's lips thrilled her with terror.
As soon as she could speak she put the inevita=
ble
question. "You heard us," she said. "Where?"
"Under the open window."
"All the time?"
"From beginning to end."
She had listened--this girl of eighteen, in the
first week of her orphanage, had listened to the whole terrible revelation,
word by word, as it fell from the lawyer's lips; and had never once betrayed
herself! From first to last, the only movements which had escaped her had b=
een movements
guarded enough and slight enough to be mistaken for the passage of the summ=
er
breeze through the leaves!
"Don't try to speak yet," she said, =
in
softer and gentler tones. "Don't look at me with those doubting eyes. =
What
wrong have I done? When Mr. Pendril wished to speak to you about Norah and =
me,
his letter gave us our choice to be present at the interview, or to keep aw=
ay.
If my elder sister decided to keep away, how could I come? How could I hear=
my own
story except as I did? My listening has done no harm. It has done good--it =
has
saved you the distress of speaking to us. You have suffered enough for us
already; it is time we learned to suffer for ourselves. I have learned. And
Norah is learning."
"Norah!"
"Yes. I have done all I could to spare yo=
u. I
have told Norah."
She had told Norah! Was this girl, whose coura=
ge
had faced the terrible necessity from which a woman old enough to be her mo=
ther
had recoiled, the girl Miss Garth had brought up? the girl whose nature she=
had
believed to be as well known to her as her own?
"Magdalen!" she cried out, passionat=
ely,
"you frighten me!"
Magdalen only sighed, and turned wearily away.=
"Try not to think worse of me than I
deserve," she said. "I can't cry. My heart is numbed."
She moved away slowly over the grass. Miss Gar=
th
watched the tall black figure gliding away alone until it was lost among the
trees. While it was in sight she could think of nothing else. The moment it=
was
gone, she thought of Norah. For the first time in her experience of the sis=
ters
her heart led her instinctively to the elder of the two.
Norah was still in her own room. She was sitti=
ng
on the couch by the window, with her mother's old music-book--the keepsake
which Mrs. Vanstone had found in her husband's study on the day of her
husband's death--spread open on her lap. She looked up from it with such qu=
iet sorrow,
and pointed with such ready kindness to the vacant place at her side, that =
Miss
Garth doubted for the moment whether Magdalen had spoken the truth.
"See," said Norah, simply, turning to the first leaf in the
music-book--"my mother's name written in it, and some verses to my fat=
her
on the next page. We may keep this for ourselves, if we keep nothing
else." She put her arm round Miss Garth's neck, and a faint tinge of c=
olor
stole over her cheeks. "I see anxious thoughts in your face," she
whispered. "Are you anxious about me? Are you doubting whether I have
heard it? I have heard the whole truth. I might have felt it bitterly, late=
r;
it is too soon to feel it now. You have seen Magdalen? She went out to find
you--where did you leave her?"
"In the garden. I couldn't speak to her; I
couldn't look at her. Magdalen has frightened me."
Norah rose hurriedly; rose, startled and
distressed by Miss Garth's reply.
"Don't think ill of Magdalen," she s=
aid.
"Magdalen suffers in secret more than I do. Try not to grieve over what
you have heard about us this morning. Does it matter who we are, or what we
keep or lose? What loss is there for us after the loss of our father and
mother? Oh, Miss Garth, there is the only bitterness! What did we remember =
of
them when we laid them in the grave yesterday? Nothing but the love they ga=
ve
us--the love we must never hope for again. What else can we remember to-day=
? What
change can the world, and the world's cruel laws make in our memory of the
kindest father, the kindest mother, that children ever had!" She stopp=
ed:
struggled with her rising grief; and quietly, resolutely, kept it down.
"Will you wait here," she said, "while I go and bring Magdal=
en
back? Magdalen was always your favorite: I want her to be your favorite
still." She laid the music-book gently on Miss Garth's lap--and left t=
he
room.
"Magdalen was always your favorite."=
Tenderly as they had been spoken, those words =
fell
reproachfully on Miss Garth's ear. For the first time in the long companion=
ship
of her pupils and herself a doubt whether she, and all those about her, had=
not
been fatally mistaken in their relative estimate of the sisters, now forced=
itself
on her mind.
She had studied the natures of her two pupils =
in
the daily intimacy of twelve years. Those natures, which she believed herse=
lf
to have sounded through all their depths, had been suddenly tried in the sh=
arp
ordeal of affliction. How had they come out from the test? As her previous =
experience
had prepared her to see them? No: in flat contradiction to it.
What did such a result as this imply?
Thoughts came to her, as she asked herself that
question, which have startled and saddened us all.
Does there exist in every human being, beneath
that outward and visible character which is shaped into form by the social
influences surrounding us, an inward, invisible disposition, which is part =
of
ourselves, which education may indirectly modify, but can never hope to cha=
nge?
Is the philosophy which denies this and asserts that we are born with dispo=
sitions
like blank sheets of paper a philosophy which has failed to remark that we =
are
not born with blank faces--a philosophy which has never compared together t=
wo
infants of a few days old, and has never observed that those infants are not
born with blank tempers for mothers and nurses to fill up at will? Are ther=
e,
infinitely varying with each individual, inbred forces of Good and Evil in =
all
of us, deep down below the reach of mortal encouragement and mortal
repression--hidden Good and hidden Evil, both alike at the mercy of the
liberating opportunity and the sufficient temptation? Within these earthly
limits, is earthly Circumstance ever the key; and can no human vigilance wa=
rn
us beforehand of the forces imprisoned in ourselves which that key may unlo=
ck?
For the first time, thoughts such as these rose
darkly--as shadowy and terrible possibilities--in Miss Garth's mind. For the
first time, she associated those possibilities with the past conduct and
characters, with the future lives and fortunes of the orphan sisters.
Searching, as in a glass darkly, into the two =
natures,
she felt her way, doubt by doubt, from one possible truth to another. It mi=
ght
be that the upper surface of their characters was all that she had, thus fa=
r, plainly
seen in Norah and Magdalen. It might be that the unalluring secrecy and res=
erve
of one sister, the all-attractive openness and high spirits of the other, w=
ere
more or less referable, in each case, to those physical causes which work
toward the production of moral results. It might be, that under the surface=
so
formed--a surface which there had been nothing, hitherto, in the happy,
prosperous, uneventful lives of the sisters to disturb--forces of inborn and
inbred disposition had remained concealed, which the shock of the first ser=
ious
calamity in their lives had now thrown up into view. Was this so? Was the
promise of the future shining with prophetic light through the surface-shad=
ow of
Norah's reserve, and darkening with prophetic gloom, under the surface-glit=
ter
of Magdalen's bright spirits? If the life of the elder sister was destined =
henceforth
to be the ripening ground of the undeveloped Good that was in her-was the l=
ife
of the younger doomed to be the battle-field of mortal conflict with the ro=
used
forces of Evil in herself?
On the brink of that terrible conclusion, Miss
Garth shrank back in dismay. Her heart was the heart of a true woman. It
accepted the conviction which raised Norah higher in her love: it rejected =
the
doubt which threatened to place Magdalen lower. She rose and paced the room=
impatiently;
she recoiled with an angry suddenness from the whole train of thought in wh=
ich
her mind had been engaged but the moment before. What if there were dangero=
us
elements in the strength of Magdalen's character--was it not her duty to he=
lp
the girl against herself? How had she performed that duty? She had let hers=
elf
be governed by first fears and first impressions; she had never waited to
consider whether Magdalen's openly acknowledged action of that morning might
not imply a self-sacrificing fortitude, which promised, in after-life, the =
noblest
and the most enduring results. She had let Norah go and speak those words of
tender remonstrance, which she should first have spoken herself.
"Oh!" she thought, bitterly, "how long I have lived in the w=
orld,
and how little I have known of my own weakness and wickedness until
to-day!"
The door of the room opened. Norah came in, as=
she
had gone out, alone.
"Do you remember leaving anything on the
little table by the garden-seat?" she asked, quietly.
Before Miss Garth could answer the question, s=
he held
out her father's will and her father's letter.
"Magdalen came back after you went
away," she said, "and found these last relics. She heard Mr. Pend=
ril
say they were her legacy and mine. When I went into the garden she was read=
ing
the letter. There was no need for me to speak to her; our father had spoken=
to
her from his grave. See how she has listened to him!"
She pointed to the letter. The traces of heavy
tear-drops lay thick over the last lines of the dead man's writing.
"Her tears," said Norah, softly.
Miss Garth's head drooped low over the mute
revelation of Magdalen's return to her better self.
"Oh, never doubt her again!" pleaded
Norah. "We are alone now--we have our hard way through the world to wa=
lk
on as patiently as we can. If Magdalen ever falters and turns back, help her
for the love of old times; help her against herself."
"With all my heart and strength--as God s=
hall
judge me, with the devotion of my whole life!" In those fervent words =
Miss
Garth answered. She took the hand which Norah held out to her, and put it, =
in
sorrow and humility, to her lips. "Oh, my love, forgive me! I have been
miserably blind--I have never valued you as I ought!"
Norah gently checked her before she could say
more; gently whispered, "Come with me into the garden--come, and help
Magdalen to look patiently to the future."
The future! Who could see the faintest glimmer=
of
it? Who could see anything but the ill-omened figure of Michael Vanstone,
posted darkly on the verge of the present time--and closing all the prospect
that lay beyond him?
ON the next morning but one, news was received
from Mr. Pendril. The place of Michael Vanstone's residence on the Continent
had been discovered. He was living at Zurich; and a letter had been dispatc=
hed
to him, at that place, on the day when the information was obtained. In the=
course
of the coming week an answer might be expected, and the purport of it shoul=
d be
communicated forthwith to the ladies at Combe-Raven.
Short as it was, the interval of delay passed =
wearily.
Ten days elapsed before the expected answer was received; and when it came =
at
last, it proved to be, strictly speaking, no answer at all. Mr. Pendril had
been merely referred to an agent in London who was in possession of Michael=
Vanstone's
instructions. Certain difficulties had been discovered in connection with t=
hose
instructions, which had produced the necessity of once more writing to Zuri=
ch.
And there "the negotiations" rested again for the present.
A second paragraph in Mr. Pendril's letter con=
tained
another piece of intelligence entirely new. Mr. Michael Vanstone's son (and
only child), Mr. Noel Vanstone, had recently arrived in London, and was then
staying in lodgings occupied by his cousin, Mr. George Bartram. Professiona=
l considerations
had induced Mr. Pendril to pay a visit to the lodgings. He had been very ki=
ndly
received by Mr. Bartram; but had been informed by that gentleman that his
cousin was not then in a condition to receive visitors. Mr. Noel Vanstone h=
ad
been suffering, for some years past, from a wearing and obstinate malady; he
had come to England expressly to obtain the best medical advice, and he sti=
ll
felt the fatigue of the journey so severely as to be confined to his bed. U=
nder
these circumstances, Mr. Pendril had no alternative but to take his leave. =
An
interview with Mr. Noel Vanstone might have cleared up some of the difficul=
ties
in connection with his father's instructions. As events had turned out, the=
re
was no help for it but to wait for a few days more.
The days passed, the empty days of solitude and
suspense. At last, a third letter from the lawyer announced the long delayed
conclusion of the correspondence. The final answer had been received from
Zurich, and Mr. Pendril would personally communicate it at Combe-Raven on t=
he afternoon
of the next day.
That next day was Wednesday, the twelfth of
August. The weather had changed in the night; and the sun rose watery throu=
gh
mist and cloud. By noon the sky was overcast at all points; the temperature=
was
sensibly colder; and the rain poured down, straight and soft and steady, on=
the
thirsty earth. Toward three o'clock, Miss Garth and Norah entered the morni=
ng-room,
to await Mr. Pendril's arrival. They were joined shortly afterward by Magda=
len.
In half an hour more the familiar fall of the iron latch in the socket reac=
hed
their ears from the fence beyond the shrubbery. Mr. Pendril and Mr. Clare
advanced into view along the garden-path, walking arm-in-arm through the ra=
in,
sheltered by the same umbrella. The lawyer bowed as they passed the windows;
Mr. Clare walked straight on, deep in his own thoughts--noticing nothing.
After a delay which seemed interminable; after=
a
weary scraping of wet feet on the hall mat; after a mysterious, muttered
interchange of question and answer outside the door, the two came in--Mr. C=
lare
leading the way. The old man walked straight up to the table, without any p=
reliminary
greeting, and looked across it at the three women, with a stern pity for th=
em
in his ragged, wrinkled face.
"Bad news," he said. "I am an e=
nemy
to all unnecessary suspense. Plainness is kindness in such a case as this. I
mean to be kind--and I tell you plainly--bad news."
Mr. Pendril followed him. He shook hands, in
silence, with Miss Garth and the two sisters, and took a seat near them. Mr.
Clare placed himself apart on a chair by the window. The gray rainy light f=
ell
soft and sad on the faces of Norah and Magdalen, who sat together opposite =
to
him. Miss Garth had placed herself a little behind them, in partial shadow;=
and
the lawyer's quiet face was seen in profile, close beside her. So the four
occupants of the room appeared to Mr. Clare, as he sat apart in his corner;=
his
long claw-like fingers interlaced on his knee; his dark vigilant eyes fixed
searchingly now on one face, now on another. The dripping rustle of the rain
among the leaves, and the clear, ceaseless tick of the clock on the
mantel-piece, made the minute of silence which followed the settling of the
persons present in their places indescribably oppressive. It was a relief to
every one when Mr. Pendril spoke.
"Mr. Clare has told you already," he
began, "that I am the bearer of bad news. I am grieved to say, Miss Ga=
rth,
that your doubts, when I last saw you, were better founded than my hopes. W=
hat
that heartless elder brother was in his youth, he is still in his old age. =
In
all my unhappy experience of the worst side of human nature, I have never m=
et
with a man so utterly dead to every consideration of mercy as Michael Vanst=
one."
"Do you mean that he takes the whole of h=
is
brother's fortune, and makes no provision whatever for his brother's
children?" asked Miss Garth.
"He offers a sum of money for present
emergencies," replied Mr. Pendril, "so meanly and disgracefully
insufficient that I am ashamed to mention it."
"And nothing for the future?"
"Absolutely nothing."
As that answer was given, the same thought pas=
sed,
at the same moment, through Miss Garth's mind and through Norah's. The
decision, which deprived both the sisters alike of the resources of fortune=
, did
not end there for the younger of the two. Michael Vanstone's merciless reso=
lution
had virtually pronounced the sentence which dismissed Frank to China, and w=
hich
destroyed all present hope of Magdalen's marriage. As the words passed the
lawyer's lips, Miss Garth and Norah looked at Magdalen anxiously. Her face
turned a shade paler--but not a feature of it moved; not a word escaped her.
Norah, who held her sister's hand in her own, felt it tremble for a moment,=
and
then turn cold--and that was all.
"Let me mention plainly what I have
done," resumed Mr. Pendril; "I am very desirous you should not th=
ink
that I have left any effort untried. When I wrote to Michael Vanstone, in t=
he
first instance, I did not confine myself to the usual formal statement. I p=
ut before
him, plainly and earnestly, every one of the circumstances under which he h=
as become
possessed of his brother's fortune. When I received the answer, referring m=
e to
his written instructions to his lawyer in London--and when a copy of those
instructions was placed in my hands--I positively declined, on becoming
acquainted with them, to receive the writer's decision as final. I induce d=
the
solicitor, on the other side, to accord us a further term of delay; I attem=
pted
to see Mr. Noel Vanstone in London for the purpose of obtaining his
intercession; and, failing in that, I myself wrote to his father for the se=
cond
time. The answer referred me, in insolently curt terms, to the instructions
already communicated; declared those instructions to be final; and declined=
any
further correspondence with me. There is the beginning and the end of the
negotiation. If I have overlooked any means of touching this heartless
man--tell me, and those means shall be tried."
He looked at Norah. She pressed her sister's h=
and
encouragingly, and answered for both of them.
"I speak for my sister, as well as for
myself," she said, with her color a little heightened, with her natural
gentleness of manner just touched by a quiet, uncomplaining sadness. "=
You
have done all that could be done, Mr. Pendril. We have tried to restrain
ourselves from hoping too confidently; and we are deeply grateful for your
kindness, at a time when kindness is sorely needed by both of us."
Magdalen's hand returned the pressure of her
sister's--withdrew itself--trifled for a moment impatiently with the
arrangement of her dress--then suddenly moved the chair closer to the table.
Leaning one arm on it (with the hand fast clinched), she looked across at M=
r. Pendril.
Her face, always remarkable for its want of color, was now startling to
contemplate, in its blank, bloodless pallor. But the light in her large gray
eyes was bright and steady as ever; and her voice, though low in tone, was
clear and resolute in accent as she addressed the lawyer in these terms:
"I understood you to say, Mr. Pendril, th=
at
my father's brother had sent his written orders to London, and that you had=
a
copy. Have you preserved it?"
"Certainly."
"Have you got it about you?"
"I have."
"May I see it?"
Mr. Pendril hesitated, and looked uneasily from
Magdalen to Miss Garth, and from Miss Garth back again to Magdalen.
"Pray oblige me by not pressing your
request," he said. "It is surely enough that you know the result =
of
the instructions. Why should you agitate yourself to no purpose by reading
them? They are expressed so cruelly; they show such abominable want of feel=
ing,
that I really cannot prevail upon myself to let you see them."
"I am sensible of your kindness, Mr. Pend=
ril,
in wishing to spare me pain. But I can bear pain; I promise to distress nob=
ody.
Will you excuse me if I repeat my request?"
She held out her hand--the soft, white, virgin
hand that had touched nothing to soil it or harden it yet.
"Oh, Magdalen, think again!" said No=
rah.
"You distress Mr. Pendril," added Mi=
ss
Garth; "you distress us all."
"There can be no end gained," pleaded
the lawyer--"forgive me for saying so--there can really be no useful e=
nd
gained by my showing you the instructions."
("Fools!" said Mr. Clare to himself.
"Have they no eyes to see that she means to have her own way?")
"Something tells me there is an end to be
gained," persisted Magdalen. "This decision is a very serious one=
. It
is more serious to me--" She looked round at Mr. Clare, who sat closely
watching her, and instantly looked back again, with the first outward betra=
yal
of emotion which had escaped her yet. "It is even more serious to
me," she resumed, "for private reasons--than it is to my sister. I
know nothing yet but that our father's brother has taken our fortunes from =
us.
He must have some motives of his own for such conduct as that. It is not fa=
ir
to him, or fair to us, to keep those motives concealed. He has deliberately
robbed Norah, and robbed me; and I think we have a right, if we wish it, to=
know
why?"
"I don't wish it," said Norah.
"I do," said Magdalen; and once more=
she
held out her hand.
At this point Mr. Clare roused himself and
interfered for the first time.
"You have relieved your conscience,"=
he
said, addressing the lawyer. "Give her the right she claims. It is her
right--if she will have it."
Mr. Pendril quietly took the written instructi=
ons
from his pocket. "I have warned you," he said--and handed the pap=
ers
across the table without another word. One of the pages of writing--was fol=
ded
down at the corner; and at that folded page the manuscript opened, when
Magdalen first turned the leaves. "Is this the place which refers to my
sister and myself?" she inquired. Mr. Pendril bowed; and Magdalen smoo=
thed
out the manuscript before her on the table.
"Will you decide, Norah?" she asked,
turning to her sister. "Shall I read this aloud, or shall I read it to
myself?"
"To yourself," said Miss Garth;
answering for Norah, who looked at her in mute perplexity and distress.
"It shall be as you wish," said
Magdalen. With that reply, she turned again to the manuscript and read these
lines:
=
"....
You are now in possession of my wishes in relation to the property in money,
and to the sale of the furniture, carriages, horses, and so forth. The last
point left on which it is necessary for me to instruct you refers to the
persons inhabiting the house, and to certain preposterous claims on their
behalf set up by a solicitor named Pendril; who has, no doubt, interested
reasons of his own for making application to me.
"I understand that my late brother has le=
ft
two illegitimate children; both of them young women, who are of an age to e=
arn
their own livelihood. Various considerations, all equally irregular, have b=
een urged
in respect to these persons by the solicitor representing them. Be so good =
as
to tell him that neither you nor I have anything to do with questions of me=
re
sentiment; and then state plainly, for his better information, what the mot=
ives
are which regulate my conduct, and what the provision is which I feel mysel=
f justified
in making for the two young women. Your instructions on both these points y=
ou
will find detailed in the next paragraph.
"I wish the persons concerned to know, on=
ce
for all, how I regard the circumstances which have placed my late brother's
property at my disposal. Let them understand that I consider those
circumstances to be a Providential interposition which has restored to me t=
he
inheritance that ought always to have been mine. I receive the money, not o=
nly
as my right, but also as a proper compensation for the injustice which I su=
ffered
from my father, and a proper penalty paid by my younger brother for the vile
intrigue by which he succeeded in disinheriting me. His conduct, when a you=
ng
man, was uniformly discreditable in all the relations of life; and what it =
then
was it continued to be (on the showing of his own legal representative) aft=
er
the time when I ceased to hold any communication with him. He appears to ha=
ve
systematically imposed a woman on Society as his wife who was not his wife,=
and
to have completed the outrage on morality by afterward marrying her. Such c=
onduct
as this has called down a Judgment on himself and his children. I will not
invite retribution on my own head by assisting those children to continue t=
he
imposition which their parents practiced, and by helping them to take a pla=
ce
in the world to which they are not entitled. Let them, as becomes their bir=
th,
gain their bread in situations. If they show themselves disposed to accept
their proper position I will assist them to start virtuously in life by a
present of one hundred pounds each. This sum I authorize you to pay them, on
their personal application, with the necessary acknowledgment of receipt; a=
nd
on the express understanding that the transaction, so completed, is to be t=
he beginning
and the end of my connection with them. The arrangements under which they q=
uit
the house I leave to your discretion; and I have only to add that my decisi=
on
on this matter, as on all other matters, is positive and final."
=
Line
by line--without once looking up from the pages before her --Magdalen read
those atrocious sentences through, from beginning to end. The other persons
assembled in the room, all eagerly looking at her together, saw the dress
rising and falling faster and faster over her bosom--saw the hand in which =
she
lightly held the manuscript at the outset close unconsciously on the paper =
and
crush it, as she advanced nearer and nearer to the end--but detected no oth=
er
outward signs of what was passing within her. As soon as she had done, she
silently pushed the manuscript away, and put her hands on a sudden over her=
face.
When she withdrew them, all the four persons in the room noticed a change in
her. Something in her expression had altered, subtly and silently; something
which made the familiar features suddenly look strange, even to her sister =
and
Miss Garth; something, through all after years, never to be forgotten in
connection with that day--and never to be described.
The first words she spoke were addressed to Mr.
Pendril.
"May I ask one more favor," she said,
"before you enter on your business arrangements?"
Mr. Pendril replied ceremoniously by a gesture=
of
assent. Magdalen's resolution to possess herself of the Instructions did not
appear to have produced a favorable impression on the lawyer's mind.
"You mentioned what you were so kind as to
do, in our interests, when you first wrote to Mr. Michael Vanstone," s=
he
continued. "You said you had told him all the circumstances. I want--if
you will allow me--to be made quite sure of what he really knew about us--w=
hen
he sent these orders to his lawyer. Did he know that my father had made a w=
ill,
and that he had left our fortunes to my sister and myself?"
"He did know it," said Mr. Pendril.<= o:p>
"Did you tell him how it happened that we=
are
left in this helpless position?"
"I told him that your father was entirely
unaware, when he married, of the necessity for making another will."
"And that another will would have been ma=
de,
after he saw Mr. Clare, but for the dreadful misfortune of his death?"=
"He knew that also."
"Did he know that my father's untiring
goodness and kindness to both of us--"
Her voice faltered for the first time: she sig=
hed,
and put her hand to her head wearily. Norah spoke entreatingly to her; Miss
Garth spoke entreatingly to her; Mr. Clare sat silent, watching her more and
more earnestly. She answered her sister's remonstrance with a faint smile. =
"I
will keep my promise," she said; "I will distress nobody." W=
ith
that reply, she turned again to Mr. Pendril; and steadily reiterated the qu=
estion--but
in another form of words.
"Did Mr. Michael Vanstone know that my
father's great anxiety was to make sure of providing for my sister and
myself?"
"He knew it in your father's own words. I
sent him an extract from your father's last letter to me."
"The letter which asked you to come for G=
od's
sake, and relieve him from the dreadful thought that his daughters were
unprovided for? The letter which said he should not rest in his grave if he
left us disinherited?"
"That letter and those words."
She paused, still keeping her eyes steadily fi=
xed
on the lawyer's face.
"I want to fasten it all in my mind,"
she said "before I go on. Mr. Michael Vanstone knew of the first will;=
he
knew what prevented the making of the second will; he knew of the letter an=
d he
read the words. What did he know of besides? Did you tell him of my mother's
last illness? Did you say that her share in the money would have been left =
to
us, if she could have lifted her dying hand in your presence? Did you try to
make him ashamed of the cruel law which calls girls in our situation Nobody=
's
Children, and which allows him to use us as he is using us now?"
"I put all those considerations to him. I
left none of them doubtful; I left none of them out."
She slowly reached her hand to the copy of the
Instructions, and slowly folded it up again, in the shape in which it had b=
een
presented to her. "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Pendril." With t=
hose
words, she bowed, and gently pushed the manuscript back across the table; t=
hen
turned to her sister.
"Norah," she said, "if we both =
of
us live to grow old, and if you ever forget all that we owe to Michael
Vanstone--come to me, and I will remind you."
She rose and walked across the room by herself=
to
the window. As she passed Mr. Clare, the old man stretched out his claw-like
fingers and caught her fast by the arm before she was aware of him.
"What is this mask of yours hiding?"=
he
asked, forcing her to bend to him, and looking close into her face. "W=
hich
of the extremes of human temperature does your courage start from--the dead
cold or the white hot?"
She shrank back from him and turned away her h=
ead
in silence. She would have resented that unscrupulous intrusion on her own
thoughts from any man alive but Frank's father. He dropped her arm as sudde=
nly
as he had taken it, and let her go on to the window. "No," he sai=
d to
himself, "not the cold extreme, whatever else it may be. So much the w=
orse
for her, and for all belonging to her."
There was a momentary pause. Once more the
dripping rustle of the rain and the steady ticking of the clock filled up t=
he
gap of silence. Mr. Pendril put the Instructions back in his pocket, consid=
ered
a little, and, turning toward Norah and Miss Garth, recalled their attentio=
n to
the present and pressing necessities of the time.
"Our consultation has been needlessly
prolonged," he sail, "by painful references to the past. We shall=
be
better employed in settling our arrangements for the future. I am obliged to
return to town this evening. Pray let me hear how I can best assist you; pr=
ay
tell me what trouble and what responsibility I can take off your hands.&quo=
t;
For the moment, neither Norah nor Miss Garth
seemed to be capable of answering him. Magdalen's reception of the news whi=
ch
annihilated the marriage prospect that her father's own lips had placed bef=
ore
her not a month since, had bewildered and dismayed them alike. They had
summoned their courage to meet the shock of her passionate grief, or to face
the harder trial of witnessing her speechless despair. But they were not pr=
epared
for her invincible resolution to read the Instructions; for the terrible
questions which she had put to the lawyer; for her immovable determination =
to
fix all the circumstances in her mind, under which Michael Vanstone's decis=
ion
had been pronounced. There she stood at the window, an unfathomable mystery=
to
the sister who had never been parted from her, to the governess who had tra=
ined
her from a child. Miss Garth remembered the dark doubts which had crossed h=
er
mind on the day when she and Magdalen had met in the garden. Norah looked
forward to the coming time, with the first serious dread of it on her siste=
r's
account which she had felt yet. Both had hitherto remained passive, in desp=
air of
knowing what to do. Both were now silent, in despair of knowing what to say=
.
Mr. Pendril patiently and kindly helped them, =
by
returning to the subject of their future plans for the second time.
"I am sorry to press any business matters=
on
your attention," he said, "when you are necessarily unfitted to d=
eal
with them. But I must take my instructions back to London with me to night.
With reference, in the first place, to the disgraceful pecuniary offer, to
which I have already alluded. The younger Miss Vanstone having read the
Instructions, needs no further information from my lips. The elder will, I
hope, excuse me if I tell her (what I should be ashamed to tell her, but th=
at
it is a matter of necessity), that Mr. Michael Vanstone's provision for his=
brother's
children begins and ends with an offer to each of them of one hundred
pounds."
Norah's face crimsoned with indignation. She
started to her feet, as if Michael Vanstone had been present in the room, a=
nd
had personally insulted her.
"I see," said the lawyer, wishing to
spare her; "I may tell Mr. Michael Vanstone you refuse the money."=
;
"Tell him," she broke out passionate=
ly,
"if I was starving by the roadside, I wouldn't touch a farthing of
it!"
"Shall I notify your refusal also?"
asked Mr. Pendril, speaking to Magdalen next.
She turned round from the window--but kept her
face in shadow, by standing close against it with her back to the light.
"Tell him, on my part," she said,
"to think again before he starts me in life with a hundred pounds. I w=
ill
give him time to think." She spoke those strange words with a marked
emphasis; and turning back quickly to the window, hid her face from the
observation of every one in the room.
"You both refuse the offer," said Mr.
Pendril, taking out his pencil, and making his professional note of the
decision. As he shut up his pocketbook, he glanced toward Magdalen doubtful=
ly.
She had roused in him the latent distrust which is a lawyer's second nature=
: he
had his suspicions of her looks; he had his suspicions of her language. Her=
sister
seemed to have mere influence over her than Miss Garth. He resolved to speak
privately to her sister before he went away.
While the idea was passing through his mind, h=
is
attention was claimed by another question from Magdalen.
"Is he an old man?" she asked, sudde=
nly,
without turning round from the window.
"If you mean Mr. Michael Vanstone, he is
seventy-five or seventy-six years of age."
"You spoke of his son a little while sinc=
e.
Has he any other sons--or daughters?"
"None."
"Do you know anything of his wife?"<= o:p>
"She has been dead for many years."<= o:p>
There was a pause. "Why do you ask these
questions?" said Norah.
"I beg your pardon," replied Magdale=
n,
quietly; "I won't ask any more."
For the third time, Mr. Pendril returned to the
business of the interview.
"The servants must not be forgotten,"=
; he
said. "They must be settled with and discharged: I will give them the
necessary explanation before I leave. As for the house, no questions connec=
ted
with it need trouble you. The carriages and horses, the furniture and plate,
and so on, must simply be left on the premises to await Mr. Michael Vanston=
e's
further orders. But any possessions, Miss Vanstone, personally belonging to=
you
or to your sister--jewelry and dresses, and any little presents which may h=
ave
been made to you--are entirely at your disposal. With regard to the time of
your departure, I understand that a month or more will elapse before Mr.
Michael Vanstone can leave Zurich; and I am sure I only do his solicitor
justice in saying--"
"Excuse me, Mr. Pendril," interposed
Norah; "I think I understand, from what you have just said, that our h=
ouse
and everything in it belongs to--?" She stopped, as if the mere uttera=
nce
of the man's name was abhorrent to her.
"To Michael Vanstone," said Mr. Pend=
ril.
"The house goes to him with the rest of the property."
"Then I, for one, am ready to leave it
tomorrow!"
Magdalen started at the window, as her sister
spoke, and looked at Mr. Clare, with the first open signs of anxiety and al=
arm
which she had shown yet.
"Don't be angry with me," she whispe=
red,
stooping over the old man with a sudden humility of look, and a sudden
nervousness of manner. "I can't go without seeing Frank first!"
"You shall see him," replied Mr. Cla= re. "I am here to speak to you about it, when the business is done."<= o:p>
"It is quite unnecessary to hurry your departure, as you propose," continued Mr. Pendril, addressing Norah. "I can safely assure you that a week hence will be time enough."<= o:p>
"If this is Mr. Michael Vanstone's
house," repeated Norah; "I am ready to leave it tomorrow."
She impatiently quitted her chair and seated
herself further away on the sofa. As she laid her hand on the back of it, h=
er
face changed. There, at the head of the sofa, were the cushions which had
supported her mother when she lay down for the last time to repose. There, =
at
the foot of the sofa, was the clumsy, old-fashioned arm-chair, which had be=
en
her father's favorite seat on rainy days, when she and her sister used to a=
muse
him at the piano opposite, by playing his favorite tunes. A heavy sigh, whi=
ch
she tried vainly to repress, burst from her lips. "Oh," she thoug=
ht,
"I had forgotten these old friends! How shall we part from them when t=
he
time comes!"
"May I inquire, Miss Vanstone, whether you
and your sister have formed any definite plans for the future?" asked =
Mr.
Pendril. "Have you thought of any place of residence?"
"I may take it on myself, sir," said
Miss Garth, "to answer your question for them. When they leave this ho=
use,
they leave it with me. My home is their home, and my bread is their bread.
Their parents honored me, trusted me, and loved me. For twelve happy years =
they
never let me remember that I was their governess; they only let me know mys=
elf
as their companion and their friend. My memory of them is the memory of unv=
arying
gentleness and generosity; and my life shall pay the debt of my gratitude to
their orphan children."
Norah rose hastily from the sofa; Magdalen
impetuously left the window. For once, there was no contrast in the conduct=
of
the sisters. For once, the same impulse moved their hearts, the same earnest
feeling inspired their words. Miss Garth waited until the first outburst of
emotion had passed away; then rose, and, taking Norah and Magdalen each by =
the
hand, addressed herself to Mr. Pendril and Mr. Clare. She spoke with perfec=
t self-possession;
strong in her artless unconsciousness of her own good action.
"Even such a trifle as my own story,"
she said, "is of some importance at such a moment as this. I wish you
both, gentlemen, to understand that I am not promising more to the daughter=
s of
your old friend than I can perform. When I first came to this house, I ente=
red
it under such independent circumstances as are not common in the lives of
governesses. In my younger days, I was associated in teaching with my elder
sister: we established a school in London, which grew to be a large and pro=
sperous
one. I only left it, and became a private governess, because the heavy
responsibility of the school was more than my strength could bear. I left my
share in the profits untouched, and I possess a pecuniary interest in our
establishment to this day. That is my story, in few words. When we leave th=
is
house, I propose that we shall go back to the school in London, which is st=
ill
prosperously directed by my elder sister. We can live there as quietly as we
please, until time has helped us to bear our affliction better than we can =
bear
it now. If Norah's and Magdalen's altered prospects oblige them to earn the=
ir
own independence, I can help them to earn it, as a gentleman's daughters sh=
ould.
The best families in this land are glad to ask my sister's advice where the
interests of their children's home-training are concerned; and I answer,
beforehand, for her hearty desire to serve Mr. Vanstone's daughters, as I
answer for my own. That is the future which my gratitude to their father and
mother, and my love for themselves, now offers to them. If you think my
proposal, gentlemen, a fit and fair proposal--and I see in your faces that =
you
do--let us not make the hard necessities of our position harder still, by a=
ny
useless delay in meeting them at once. Let us do what we must do; let us ac=
t on
Norah's decision, and leave this house to-morrow. You mentioned the servant=
s just
now, Mr. Pendril: I am ready to call them together in the next room, and to
assist you in the settlement of their claims, whenever you please."
Without waiting for the lawyer's answer, witho=
ut
leaving the sisters time to realize their own terrible situation, she moved=
at
once toward the door. It was her wise resolution to meet the coming trial by
doing much and saying little. Before she could leave the room, Mr. Clare fo=
llowed,
and stopped her on the threshold.
"I never envied a woman's feelings
before," said the old man. "It may surprise you to hear it; but I
envy yours. Wait! I have something more to say. There is an obstacle still
left--the everlasting obstacle of Frank. Help me to sweep him off. Take the
elder sister along with you and the lawyer, and leave me here to have it out
with the younger. I want to see what metal she's really made of."
While Mr. Clare was addressing these words to =
Miss
Garth, Mr. Pendril had taken the opportunity of speaking to Norah. "Be=
fore
I go back to town," he said, "I should like to have a word with y=
ou
in private. From what has passed today, Miss Vanstone, I have formed a very
high opinion of your discretion; and, as an old friend of your father's, I =
want
to take the freedom of speaking to you about your sister."
Before Norah could answer, she was summoned, in
compliance with Mr. Clare's request, to the conference with the servants. M=
r.
Pendril followed Miss Garth, as a matter of course. When the three were out=
in the
hall, Mr. Clare re-entered the room, closed the door, and signed peremptori=
ly
to Magdalen to take a chair.
She obeyed him in silence. He took a turn up a=
nd
down the room, with his hands in the side-pockets of the long, loose, shape=
less
coat which he habitually wore.
"How old are you?" he said, stopping
suddenly, and speaking to her with the whole breadth of the room between th=
em.
"I was eighteen last birthday," she
answered, humbly, without looking up at him.
"You have shown extraordinary courage for=
a
girl of eighteen. Have you got any of that courage left?"
She clasped her hands together, and wrung them hard. A few tears gathered in her eyes, and rolled slowly over her cheeks.<= o:p>
"I can't give Frank up," she said,
faintly. "You don't care for me, I know; but you used to care for my
father. Will you try to be kind to me for my father's sake?"
The last words died away in a whisper; she cou=
ld
say no more. Never had she felt the illimitable power which a woman's love
possesses of absorbing into itself every other event, every other joy or so=
rrow
of her life, as she felt it then. Never had she so tenderly associated Frank
with the memory of her lost parents, as at that moment. Never had the
impenetrable atmosphere of illusion through which women behold the man of t=
heir
choice--the atmosphere which had blinded her to all that was weak, selfish,=
and
mean in Frank's nature--surrounded him with a brighter halo than now, when =
she
was pleading with the father for the possession of the son. "Oh, don't=
ask
me to give him up!" she said, trying to take courage, and shuddering f=
rom
head to foot. In the next instant, she flew to the opposite extreme, with t=
he
suddenness of a flash of lightning. "I won't give him up!" she bu=
rst
out violently. "No! not if a thousand fathers ask me!"
"I am one father," said Mr. Clare.
"And I don't ask you."
In the first astonishment and delight of heari=
ng
those unexpected words, she started to her feet, crossed the room, and trie=
d to
throw her arms round his neck. She might as well have attempted to move the
house from its foundations. He took her by the shoulders and put her back in
her chair. His inexorable eyes looked her into submission; and his lean for=
efinger
shook at her warningly, as if he was quieting a fractious child.
"Hug Frank," he said; "don't hug
me. I haven't done with you yet; when I have, you may shake hands with me, =
if
you like. Wait, and compose yourself."
He left her. His hands went back into his pock=
ets,
and his monotonous march up and down the room began again.
"Ready?" he asked, stopping short af=
ter
a while. She tried to answer. "Take two minutes more," he said, a=
nd
resumed his walk with the regularity of clock-work. "These are the
creatures," he thought to himself, "into whose keeping men otherw=
ise
sensible give the happiness of their lives. Is there any other object in
creation, I wonder, which answers its end as badly as a woman does?"
He stopped before her once more. Her breathing=
was
easier; the dark flush on her face was dying out again.
"Ready?" he repeated. "Yes; rea=
dy
at last. Listen to me; and let's get it over. I don't ask you to give Frank=
up.
I ask you to wait."
"I will wait," she said.
"Patiently, willingly."
"Will you make Frank wait?"
"Yes."
"Will you send him to China?"
Her head drooped upon her bosom, and she clasp=
ed
her hands again, in silence. Mr. Clare saw where the difficulty lay, and
marched straight up to it on the spot.
"I don't pretend to enter into your feeli=
ngs
for Frank, or Frank's for you," he said. "The subject doesn't
interest me. But I do pretend to state two plain truths. It is one plain tr=
uth
that you can't be married till you have money enough to pay for the roof th=
at
shelters you, the clothes that cover you, and the victuals you eat. It is
another plain truth that you can't find the money; that I can't find the mo=
ney;
and that Frank's only chance of finding it, is going to China. If I tell hi=
m to
go, he'll sit in a corner and cry. If I insist, he'll say Yes, and deceive =
me.
If I go a step further, and see him on board ship with my own eyes, he'll s=
lip
off in the pilot's boat, and sneak back secretly to you. That's his
disposition."
"No!" said Magdalen. "It's not =
his
disposition; it's his love for Me."
"Call it what you like," retorted Mr.
Clare. "Sneak or Sweetheart --he's too slippery, in either capacity, f=
or
my fingers to hold him. My shutting the door won't keep him from coming bac=
k.
Your shutting the door will. Have you the courage to shut it? Are you fond
enough of him not to stand in his light?"
"Fond! I would die for him!"
"Will you send him to China?"
She sighed bitterly.
"Have a little pity for me," she sai=
d.
"I have lost my father; I have lost my mother; I have lost my fortune-=
-and
now I am to lose Frank. You don't like women, I know; but try to help me wi=
th a
little pity. I don't say it's not for his own interests to send him to Chin=
a; I
only say it's hard--very, very hard on me."
Mr. Clare had been deaf to her violence,
insensible to her caresses, blind to her tears; but under the tough integum=
ent
of his philosophy he had a heart--and it answered that hopeless appeal; it =
felt
those touching words.
"I don't deny that your case is a hard
one," he said. "I don't want to make it harder. I only ask you to=
do
in Frank's interests what Frank is too weak to do for himself. It's no faul=
t of
yours; it's no fault of mine--but it's not the less true that the fortune y=
ou
were to have brought him has changed owners."
She suddenly looked up, with a furtive light in
her eyes, with a threatening smile on her lips.
"It may change owners again," she sa=
id.
Mr. Clare saw the alteration in her expression,
and heard the tones of her voice. But the words were spoken low; spoken as =
if
to herself--they failed to reach him across the breadth of the room. He sto=
pped
instantly in his walk and asked what she had said.
"Nothing," she answered, turning her
head away toward the window, and looking out mechanically at the falling ra=
in.
"Only my own thoughts."
Mr. Clare resumed his walk, and returned to his
subject.
"It's your interest," he went on,
"as well as Frank's interest, that he should go. He may make money eno=
ugh
to marry you in China; he can't make it here. If he stops at home, he'll be=
the
ruin of both of you. He'll shut his eyes to every consideration of prudence,
and pester you to marry him; and when he has carried his point, he will be =
the
first to turn round afterward and complain that you're a burden on him. Hea=
r me
out! You're in love with Frank--I'm not, and I know him. Put you two togeth=
er
often enough; give him time enough to hug, cry, pester, and plead; and I'll
tell you what the end will be--you'll marry him."
He had touched the right string at last. It ru=
ng
back in answer before he could add another word.
"You don't know me," she said, firml=
y.
"You don't know what I can suffer for Frank's sake. He shall never mar=
ry
me till I can be what my father said I should be--the making of his fortune=
. He
shall take no burden, when he takes me; I promise you that! I'll be the good
angel of Frank's life; I'll not go a penniless girl to him, and drag him
down." She abruptly left her seat, advanced a few steps toward Mr. Cla=
re,
and stopped in the middle of the room. Her arms fell helpless on either sid=
e of
her, and she burst into tears. "He shall go," she said. "If =
my
heart breaks in doing it, I'll tell him to-morrow that we must say
Good-by!"
Mr. Clare at once advanced to meet her, and he=
ld
out his hand.
"I'll help you," he said. "Frank
shall hear every word that has passed between us. When he comes to-morrow he
shall know, beforehand, that he comes to say Good-by."
She took his hand in both her own--hesitated--=
looked
at him--and pressed it to her bosom. "May I ask a favor of you, before=
you
go?" she said, timidly. He tried to take his hand from her; but she kn=
ew
her advantage, and held it fast. "Suppose there should be some change =
for the
better?" she went on. "Sup pose I could come to Frank, as my fat =
her said
I should come to him--?"
Before she could complete the question, Mr. Cl=
are
made a second effort and withdrew his hand. "As your father said you
should come to him?" he repeated, looking at her attentively.
"Yes," she replied. "Strange th=
ings
happen sometimes. If strange things happen to me will you let Frank come ba=
ck
before the five years are out?"
What did she mean? Was she clinging desperatel=
y to
the hope of melting Michael Vanstone's heart? Mr. Clare could draw no other
conclusion from what she had just said to him. At the beginning of the
interview he would have roughly dispelled her delusion. At the end of the
interview he left her compassionately in possession of it.
"You are hoping against all hope," he
said; "but if it gives you courage, hope on. If this impossible good
fortune of yours ever happens, tell me, and Frank shall come back. In the
meantime--"
"In the meantime," she interposed sa=
dly,
"you have my promise."
Once more Mr. Clare's sharp eyes searched her =
face
attentively.
"I will trust your promise," he said.
"You shall see Frank to-morrow."
She went back thoughtfully to her chair, and s=
at
down again in silence. Mr. Clare made for the door before any formal
leave-taking could pass between them. "Deep!" he thought to himse=
lf,
as he looked back at her before he went out; "only eighteen; and too d=
eep
for my sounding!"
In the hall he found Norah, waiting anxiously =
to
hear what had happened.
"Is it all over?" she asked. "D=
oes
Frank go to China?"
"Be careful how you manage that sister of
yours," said Mr. Clare, without noticing the question. "She has o=
ne
great misfortune to contend with: she's not made for the ordinary jog-trot =
of a
woman's life. I don't say I can see straight to the end of the good or evil=
in
her--I only warn you, her future will be no common one."
=
An
hour later, Mr. Pendril left the house; and, by that night's post, Miss Gar=
th
dispatched a letter to her sister in London.
THE END OF THE FIRST SCENE.
From Norah Vanstone to Mr. Pendril.
"Westmoreland House, Kensington,
"August 14th, 1846.
"DEAR MR. PENDRIL--The date of this letter
will show you that the last of many hard partings is over. We have left Com=
be-Raven;
we have said farewell to home.
"I have been thinking seriously of what y=
ou
said to me on Wednesday, before you went back to town. I entirely agree with
you that Miss Garth is more shaken by all she has gone through for our sakes
than she is herself willing to admit; and that it is my duty, for the futur=
e,
to spare her all the anxiety that I can on the subject of my sister and mys=
elf.
This is very little to do for our dearest friend, for our second mother. Su=
ch
as it is, I will do it with all my heart.
"But, forgive me for saying that I am as =
far
as ever from agreeing with you about Magdalen. I am so sensible, in our
helpless position, of the importance of your assistance; so anxious to be
worthy of the interest of my father's trusted adviser and oldest friend, th=
at I
feel really and truly disappointed with myself for differing with you--and =
yet
I do differ. Magdalen is very strange, very unaccountable, to those who don=
't know
her intimately. I can understand that she has innocently misled you; and th=
at
she has presented herself, perhaps, under her least favorable aspect. But t=
hat
the clew to her language and her conduct on Wednesday last is to be found in
such a feeling toward the man who has ruined us, as the feeling at which you
hinted, is what I can not and will not believe of my sister. If you knew, a=
s I
do, what a noble nature she has, you would not be surprised at this obstina=
te
resistance of mine to your opinion. Will you try to alter it? I don't mind =
what
Mr. Clare says; he believes in nothing. But I attach a very serious importa=
nce
to what you say; and, kind as I know your motives to be, it distresses me to
think you are doing Magdalen an injustice.
"Having relieved my mind of this confessi=
on,
I may now come to the proper object of my letter. I promised, if you could =
not
find leisure time to visit us to-day, to write and tell you all that happen=
ed
after you left us. The day has passed without our seeing you. So I open my =
writing-case
and perform my promise.
"I am sorry to say that three of the
women-servants--the house-maid, the kitchen-maid, and even our own maid (to
whom I am sure we have always been kind)--took advantage of your having paid
them their wages to pack up and go as soon as your back was turned. They ca=
me
to say good-by with as much ceremony and as little feeling as if they were
leaving the house under ordinary circumstances. The cook, for all her viole=
nt
temper, behaved very differently: she sent up a message to say that she wou=
ld stop
and help us to the last. And Thomas (who has never yet been in any other pl=
ace
than ours) spoke so gratefully of my dear father's unvarying kindness to hi=
m,
and asked so anxiously to be allowed to go on serving us while his little
savings lasted, that Magdalen and I forgot all formal considerations and bo=
th
shook hands with him. The poor lad went out of the room crying. I wish him
well; I hope he will find a kind master and a good place.
"The long, quiet, rainy evening
out-of-doors--our last evening at Combe-Raven--was a sad trial to us. I thi=
nk
winter-time would have weighed less on our spirits; the drawn curtains and =
the
bright lamps, and the companionable fires would have helped us. We were only
five in the house altogether--after having once been so many! I can't tell =
you how
dreary the gray daylight looked, toward seven o'clock, in the lonely rooms,=
and
on the noiseless staircase. Surely, the prejudice in favor of long summer
evenings is the prejudice of happy people? We did our best. We kept ourselv=
es
employed, and Miss Garth helped us. The prospect of preparing for our
departure, which had seemed so dreadful earlier in the day, altered into the
prospect of a refuge from ourselves as the evening came on. We each tried at
first to pack up in our own rooms--but the loneliness was more than we could
bear. We carried all our possessions downstairs, and heaped them on the lar=
ge
dining-table, and so made our preparations together in the same room. I am =
sure
we have taken nothing away which does not properly belong to us.
"Having already mentioned to you my own
conviction that Magdalen was not herself when you saw her on Wednesday, I f=
eel
tempted to stop here and give you an instance in proof of what I say. The
little circumstance happened on Wednesday night, just before we went up to =
our
rooms.
"After we had packed our dresses and our
birthday presents, our books and our music, we began to sort our letters, w=
hich
had got confused from being placed on the table together. Some of my letters
were mixed with Magdalen's, and some of hers with mine. Among these last I
found a card, which had been given to my sister early in the year by an act=
or
who managed an amateur theatrical performance in which she took a part. The=
man
had given her the card, containing his name and address, in the belief that=
she
would be invited to many more amusements of the same kind, and in the hope =
that
she would recommend him as a superintendent on future occasions. I only rel=
ate
these trifling particulars to show you how little worth keeping such a card
could be, in such circumstances as ours. Naturally enough, I threw it away =
from
me across the table, meaning to throw it on the floor. It fell short, close=
to
the place in which Magdalen was sitting. She took it up, looked at it, and =
immediately
declared that she would not have had this perfectly worthless thing destroy=
ed
for the world. She was almost angry with me for having thrown it away; almo=
st
angry with Miss Garth for asking what she could possibly want with it! Could
there be any plainer proof than this that our misfortunes--falling so much =
more
heavily on her than on me--have quite unhinged her, and worn her out? Surely
her words and looks are not to be interpreted against her, when she is not =
sufficiently
mistress of herself to exert her natural judgment--when she shows the unrea=
sonable
petulance of a child on a question which is not of the slightest importance=
.
"A little after eleven we went upstairs to
try if we could get some rest.
"I drew aside the curtain of my window and
looked out. Oh, what a cruel last night it was: no moon, no stars; such deep
darkness that not one of the dear familiar objects in the garden was visible
when I looked for them; such deep stillness that even my own movements about
the room almost frightened me! I tried to lie down and sleep, but the sense=
of loneliness
came again and quite overpowered me. You will say I am old enough, at
six-and-twenty, to have exerted more control over myself. I hardly know how=
it
happened, but I stole into Magdalen's room, just as I used to steal into it
years and years ago, when we were children. She was not in bed; she was sit=
ting
with her writing materials before her, thinking. I said I wanted to be with=
her
the last night; and she kissed me, and told me to lie down, and promised so=
on
to follow me. My mind was a little quieted and I fell asleep. It was daylig=
ht
when I woke--and the first sight I saw was Magdalen, still sitting in the
chair, and still thinking. She had never been to bed; she had not slept all
through the night.
"'I shall sleep when we have left Combe-R=
aven,'
she said. 'I shall be better when it is all over, and I have bid Frank
good-by.' She had in her hand our father's will, and the letter he wrote to
you; and when she had done speaking, she gave them into my possession. I was
the eldest (she said), and those last precious relics ought to be in my
keeping. I tried to propose to her that we should divide them; but she shook
her head. 'I have copied for myself,' was her answer, 'all that he says of =
us
in the will, and all that he says in the letter.' She told me this, and took
from her bosom a tiny white silk bag, which she had made in the night, and =
in
which she had put the extracts, so as to keep them always about her. 'This
tells me in his own words what his last wishes were for both of us,' she sa=
id;
'and this is all I want for the future.'
"These are trifles to dwell on; and I am
almost surprised at myself for not feeling ashamed to trouble you with them.
But, since I have known what your early connection was with my father and
mother, I have learned to think of you (and, I suppose, to write to you) as=
an
old friend. And, besides, I have it so much at heart to change your opinion=
of
Magdalen, that I can't help telling you the smallest things about her which
may, in my judgment, end in making you think of her as I do.
"When breakfast-time came (on Thursday
morning), we were surprised to find a strange letter on the table. Perhaps I
ought to mention it to you, in case of any future necessity for your
interference. It was addressed to Miss Garth, on paper with the deepest
mourning-border round it; and the writer was the same man who followed us on
our way home from a walk one day last spring--Captain Wragge. His object
appears to be to assert once more his audacious claim to a family connection
with my poor mother, under cover of a letter of condolence; which it is an =
insolence
in such a person to have written at all. He expresses as much sympathy--on =
his
discovery of our affliction in the newspaper--as if he had been really inti=
mate
with us; and he begs to know, in a postscript (being evidently in total
ignorance of all that has really happened), whether it is thought desirable
that he should be present, among the other relatives, at the reading of the
will! The address he gives, at which letters will reach him for the next
fortnight, is, 'Post-office, Birmingham.' This is all I have to tell you on=
the
subject. Both the letter and the writer seem to me to be equally unworthy of
the slightest notice, on our part or on yours.
"After breakfast Magdalen left us, and we=
nt
by herself into the morning-room. The weather being still showery, we had
arranged that Francis Clare should see her in that room, when he presented
himself to take his leave. I was upstairs when he came; and I remained upst=
airs
for more than half an hour afterward, sadly anxious, as you may well believ=
e,
on Magdalen's account.
"At the end of the half-hour or more, I c=
ame
downstairs. As I reached the landing I suddenly heard her voice, raised
entreatingly, and calling on him by his name--then loud sobs--then a fright=
ful
laughing and screaming, both together, that rang through the house. I insta=
ntly
ran into the room, and found Magdalen on the sofa in violent hysterics, and=
Frank
standing staring at her, with a lowering, angry face, biting his nails.
"I felt so indignant--without knowing pla=
inly
why, for I was ignorant, of course, of what had passed at the interview--th=
at I
took Mr. Francis Clare by the shoulders and pushed him out of the room. I am
careful to tell you how I acted toward him, and what led to it; because I u=
nderstand
that he is excessively offended with me, and that he is likely to mention
elsewhere what he calls my unladylike violence toward him. If he should men=
tion
it to you, I am anxious to acknowledge, of my own accord, that I forgot
myself--not, I hope you will think, without some provocation.
"I pushed him into the hall, leaving
Magdalen, for the moment, to Miss Garth's care. Instead of going away, he s=
at
down sulkily on one of the hall chairs. 'May I ask the reason of this extra=
ordinary
violence?' he inquired, with an injured look. 'No,' I said. 'You will be go=
od
enough to imagine the reason for yourself, and to leave us immediately, if =
you please.'
He sat doggedly in the chair, biting his nails and considering. 'What have =
I done
to be treated in this unfeeling manner?' he asked, after a while. 'I can en=
ter
into no discussion with you,' I answered; 'I can only request you to leave =
us.
If you persist in waiting to see my sister again, I will go to the cottage
myself and appeal to your father.' He got up in a great hurry at those word=
s.
'I have been infamously used in this business,' he said. 'All the hardships=
and
the sacrifices have fallen to my share. I'm the only one among you who has =
any
heart: all the rest are as hard as stones--Magdalen included. In one breath=
she
says she loves me, and in another she tells me to go to China. What have I =
done
to be treated with this heartless inconsistency? I am consistent myself--I =
only
want to stop at home--and (what's the consequence?) you're all against me!'=
In
that manner he grumbled his way down the steps, and so I saw the last of hi=
m.
This was all that passed between us. If he gives you any other account of i=
t,
what he says will be false. He made no attempt to return. An hour afterward=
his
father came alone to say good-by. He saw Miss Garth and me, but not Magdale=
n; and
he told us he would take the necessary measures, with your assistance, for
having his son properly looked after in London, and seen safely on board the
vessel when the time came. It was a short visit, and a sad leave-taking. Ev=
en
Mr. Clare was sorry, though he tried hard to hide it.
"We had barely two hours, after Mr. Clare=
had
left us, before it would be time to go. I went back to Magdalen, and found =
her
quieter and better, though terribly pale and exhausted, and oppressed, as I
fancied, by thoughts which she could not prevail on herself to communicate.=
She
would tell me nothing then--she has told me nothing since--of what passed
between herself and Francis Clare. When I spoke of him angrily (feeling as I
did that he had distressed and tortured her, when she ought to have had all=
the
encouragement and comfort from him that man could give), she refused to hear
me: she made the kindest allowances and the sweetest excuses for him, and l=
aid
all the blame of the dreadful state in which I had found her entirely on
herself. Was I wrong in telling you that she had a noble nature? And won't =
you
alter your opinion when you read these lines?
"We had no friends to come and bid us goo=
d-by;
and our few acquaintances were too far from us--perhaps too indifferent abo=
ut
us--to call. We employed the little leisure left in going over the house
together for the last time. We took leave of our old schoolroom, our bedroo=
ms,
the room where our mother died, the little study where our father used to s=
ettle
his accounts and write his letters--feeling toward them, in our forlorn
condition, as other girls might have felt at parting with old friends. From=
the
house, in a gleam of fine weather, we went into the garden, and gathered our
last nosegay; with the purpose of drying the flowers when they begin to wit=
her,
and keeping them in remembrance of the happy days that are gone. When we had
said good-by to the garden, there was only half an hour left. We went toget=
her
to the grave; we knelt down, side by side, in silence, and kissed the sacred
ground. I thought my heart would have broken. August was the month of my
mother's birthday; and, this time last year, my father and Magdalen and I w=
ere all
consulting in secret what present we could make to surprise her with on the
birthday morning.
"If you had seen how Magdalen suffered, y=
ou
would never doubt her again. I had to take her from the last resting-place =
of
our father and mother almost by force. Before we were out of the churchyard=
she
broke from me and ran back. She dropped on her knees at the grave; tore up =
from
it passionately a handful of grass; and said something to herself, at the s=
ame
moment, which, though I followed her instantly, I did not get near enough to
hear. She turned on me in such a frenzied manner, when I tried to raise her
from the ground--she looked at me with such a fearful wildness in her
eyes--that I felt absolutely terrified at the sight of her. To my relief, t=
he
paroxysm left her as suddenly as it had come. She thrust away the tuft of g=
rass
into the bosom of her dress, and took my arm and hurried with me out of the
churchyard. I asked her why she had gone back--I asked what those words were
which she had spoken at the grave. 'A promise to our dead father,' she
answered, with a momentary return of the wild look and the frenzied manner
which had startled me already. I was afraid to agitate her by saying more; I
left all other questions to be asked at a fitter and a quieter time. You wi=
ll understand
from this how terribly she suffers, how wildly and strangely she acts under
violent agitation; and you will not interpret against her what she said or =
did
when you saw her on Wednesday last.
"We only returned to the house in time to
hasten away from it to the train. Perhaps it was better for us so--better t=
hat
we had only a moment left to look back before the turn in the road hid the =
last
of Combe-Raven from our view. There was not a soul we knew at the station; =
nobody
to stare at us, nobody to wish us good-by. The rain came on again as we took
our seats in the train. What we felt at the sight of the railway--what horr=
ible
remembrances it forced on our minds of the calamity which has made us
fatherless--I cannot, and dare not, tell you. I have tried anxiously not to
write this letter in a gloomy tone; not to return all your kindness to us by
distressing you with our grief. Perhaps I have dwelt too long already on the
little story of our parting from home? I can only say, in excuse, that my h=
eart
is full of it; and what is not in my heart my pen won't write.
"We have been so short a time in our new
abode that I have nothing more to tell you--except that Miss Garth's sister=
has
received us with the heartiest kindness. She considerately leaves us to
ourselves, until we are fitter than we are now to think of our future plans,
and to arrange as we best can for earning our own living. The house is so
large, and the position of our rooms has been so thoughtfully chosen, that I
should hardly know--except when I hear the laughing of the younger girls in=
the
garden--that we were living in a school.
"With kindest and best wishes from Miss G=
arth
and my sister, believe me, dear Mr. Pendril, gratefully yours,
"NORAH VANSTONE."
From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril.
"Westmoreland House, Kensington,
"September 23d, 1846.
"MY DEAR SIR--I write these lines in such
misery of mind as no words can describe. Magdalen has deserted us. At an ea=
rly
hour this morning she secretly left the house, and she has not been heard of
since.
"I would come and speak to you personally;
but I dare not leave Norah. I must try to control myself; I must try to wri=
te.
"Nothing happened yesterday to prepare me=
or
to prepare Norah for this last--I had almost said, this worst--of all our
afflictions. The only alteration we either of us noticed in the unhappy girl
was an alteration for the better when we parted for the night. She kissed m=
e,
which she has not done latterly; and she burst out crying when she embraced=
her
sister next. We had so little suspicion of the truth that we thought these
signs of renewed tenderness and affection a promise of better things for the
future.
"This morning, when her sister went into =
her
room, it was empty, and a note in her handwriting, addressed to Norah, was
lying on the dressing-table. I cannot prevail on Norah to part with the not=
e; I
can only send you the inclosed copy of it. You will see that it affords no =
clew
to the direction she has taken.
"Knowing the value of time, in this dread=
ful
emergency, I examined her room, and (with my sister's help) questioned the
servants immediately on the news of her absence reaching me. Her wardrobe w=
as
empty; and all her boxes but one, which she has evidently taken away with h=
er,
are empty, too. We are of opinion that she has privately turned her dresses=
and
jewelry into money; that she had the one trunk she took with her removed fr=
om
the house yesterday; and that she left us this morning on foot. The answers
given by one of the servants are so unsatisfactory that we believe the woman
has been bribed to assist her; and has managed all those arrangements for h=
er
flight which she could not have safely undertaken by herself.
"Of the immediate object with which she h=
as
left us, I entertain no doubt.
"I have reasons (which I can tell you at a
fitter time) for feeling assured that she has gone away with the intention =
of
trying her fortune on the stage. She has in her possession the card of an a=
ctor
by profession, who superintended an amateur theatrical performance at Clift=
on,
in which she took part; and to him she has gone to help her. I saw the card=
at
the time, and I know the actor's name to be Huxtable. The address I cannot =
call
to mind quite so correctly; but I am almost sure it was at some theatrical
place in Bow Street, Covent Garden. Let me entreat you not to lose a moment=
in
sending to make the necessary inquiries; the first trace of her will, I fir=
mly
believe, be found at that address.
"If we had nothing worse to dread than her
attempting to go on the stage, I should not feel the distress and dismay wh=
ich
now overpower me. Hundreds of other girls have acted as recklessly as she h=
as
acted, and have not ended ill after all. But my fears for Magdalen do not b=
egin
and end with the risk she is running at present.
"There has been something weighing on her
mind ever since we left Combe-Raven--weighing far more heavily for the last=
six
weeks than at first. Until the period when Francis Clare left England, I am
persuaded she was secretly sustained by the hope that he would contrive to =
see
her again. From the day when she knew that the measures you had taken for p=
reventing
this had succeeded; from the day when she was assured that the ship had rea=
lly
taken him away, nothing has roused, nothing has interested her. She has giv=
en
herself up, more and more hopelessly, to her own brooding thoughts; thoughts
which I believe first entered her mind on the day when the utter ruin of the
prospects on which her marriage depended was made known to her. She has for=
med
some desperate project of contesting the possession of her father's fortune
with Michael Vanstone; and the stage career which she has gone away to try =
is nothing
more than a means of freeing herself from all home dependence, and of enabl=
ing
her to run what mad risks she pleases, in perfect security from all home
control. What it costs me to write of her in these terms, I must leave you =
to
imagine. The time has gone by when any consideration of distress to my own
feelings can weigh with me. Whatever I can say which will open your eyes to=
the
real danger, and strengthen your conviction of the instant necessity of
averting it, I say in despite of myself, without hesitation and without
reserve.
"One word more, and I have done.
"The last time you were so good as to com=
e to
this house, do you remember how Magdalen embarrassed and distressed us by
questioning you about her right to bear her father's name? Do you remember =
her persisting
in her inquiries, until she had forced you to acknowledge that, legally
speaking, she and her sister had No Name? I venture to remind you of this,
because you have the affairs of hundreds of clients to think of, and you mi=
ght
well have forgotten the circumstance. Whatever natural reluctance she might
otherwise have had to deceiving us, and degrading herself, by the use of an
assumed name, that conversation with you is certain to have removed. We must
discover her by personal description--we can trace her in no other way.
"I can think of nothing more to guide your
decision in our deplorable emergency. For God's sake, let no expense and no
efforts be spared. My letter ought to reach you by ten o'clock this morning=
, at
the latest. Let me have one line in answer, to say you will act instantly f=
or the
best. My only hope of quieting Norah is to show her a word of encouragement
from your pen. Believe me, dear sir, yours sincerely and obliged,
"HARRIET GARTH."
From Magdalen to Norah (inclosed in the preced=
ing
Letter).
"MY DARLING--Try to forgive me. I have
struggled against myself till I am worn out in the effort. I am the wretche=
dest
of living creatures. Our quiet life here maddens me; I can bear it no longe=
r; I
must go. If you knew what my thoughts are; if you knew how hard I have foug=
ht
against them, and how horribly they have gone on haunting me in the lonely
quiet of this house, you would pity and forgive me. Oh, my love, don't feel=
hurt
at my not opening my heart to you as I ought! I dare not open it. I dare not
show myself to you as I really am.
"Pray don't send and seek after me; I will
write and relieve all your anxieties. You know, Norah, we must get our livi=
ng
for ourselves; I have only gone to get mine in the manner which is fittest =
for
me. Whether I succeed, or whether I fail, I can do myself no harm either wa=
y. I
have no position to lose, and no name to degrade. Don't doubt I love you--d=
on't
let Miss Garth doubt my gratitude. I go away miserable at leaving you; but I
must go. If I had loved you less dearly, I might have had the courage to say
this in your presence--but how could I trust myself to resist your persuasi=
ons,
and to bear the sight of your distress? Farewell, my darling! Take a thousa=
nd
kisses from me, my own best, dearest love, till we meet again.
"MAGDALEN."
From Sergeant Bulmer (of the Detective Police)=
to
Mr. Pendril.
"Scotland Yard, September 29th, 1846.
"SIR--Your clerk informs me that the part=
ies
interested in our inquiry after the missing young lady are anxious for news=
of
the same. I went to your office to speak to you about the matter to-day. Not
having found you, and not being able to return and try again to-morrow, I w=
rite
these lines to save delay, and to tell you how we stand thus far.
"I am sorry to say, no advance has been m=
ade
since my former report. The trace of the young lady which we found nearly a
week since, still remains the last trace discovered of her. This case seems=
a
mighty simple one looked at from a distance. Looked at close, it alters ver=
y considerably
for the worse, and becomes, to speak the plain truth--a Poser.
"This is how we now stand:
"We have traced the young lady to the
theatrical agent's in Bow Street. We know that at an early hour on the morn=
ing
of the twenty-third the agent was called downstairs, while he was dressing,=
to
speak to a young lady in a cab at the door. We know that, on her production=
of
Mr. Huxtable's card, he wrote on it Mr. Huxtable's address in the country, =
and
heard her order the cabman to drive to the Great Northern terminus. We beli=
eve
she left by the nine o'clock train. We followed her by the twelve o'clock
train. We have ascertained that she called at half-past two at Mr. Huxtable=
's
lodgings; that she found he was away, and not expected back till eight in t=
he
evening; that she left word she would call again at eight; and that she nev=
er
returned. Mr. Huxtable's statement is--he and the young lady have never set
eyes on each other. The first consideration which follows, is this: Are we =
to
believe Mr. Huxtable? I have carefully inquired into his character; I know =
as
much, or more, about him than he knows about himself; and my opinion is, th=
at we
are to believe him. To the best of my knowledge, he is a perfectly honest m=
an.
"Here, then, is the hitch in the case. The
young lady sets out with a certain object before her. Instead of going on to
the accomplishment of that object, she stops short of it. Why has she stopp=
ed?
and where? Those are, unfortunately, just the questions which we can't answ=
er
yet.
"My own opinion of the matter is, briefly=
, as
follows: I don't think she has met with any serious accident. Serious accid=
ents,
in nine cases out of ten, discover themselves. My own notion is, that she h=
as
fallen into the hands of some person or persons interested in hiding her aw=
ay, and
sharp enough to know how to set about it. Whether she is in their charge, w=
ith
or without her own consent, is more than I can undertake to say at present.=
I
don't wish to raise false hopes or false fears; I wish to stop short at the
opinion I have given already.
"In regard to the future, I may tell you =
that
I have left one of my men in daily communication with the authorities. I ha=
ve
also taken care to have the handbills offering a reward for the discovery of
her widely circulated. Lastly, I have completed the necessary arrangements =
for seeing
the play-bills of all country theaters, and for having the dramatic compani=
es
well looked after. Some years since, this would have cost a serious expendi=
ture
of time and money. Luckily for our purpose, the country theaters are in a b=
ad
way. Excepting the large cities, hardly one of them is open, and we can keep
our eye on them, with little expense and less difficulty.
"These are the steps which I think it nee=
dful
to take at present. If you are of another opinion, you have only to give me
your directions, and I will carefully attend to the same. I don't by any me=
ans
despair of our finding the young lady and bringing her back to her friends =
safe
and well. Please to tell them so; and allow me to subscribe myself, yours r=
espectfully,
"ABRAHAM BULMER."
Anonymous Letter addressed to Mr. Pendril.
"SIR--A word to the wise. The friends of a
certain young lady are wasting time and money to no purpose. Your confident=
ial
clerk and your detective policeman are looking for a needle in a bottle of =
hay.
This is the ninth of October, and they have not found her yet: they will as
soon find the Northwest Passage. Call your dogs off; and you may hear of th=
e young
lady's safety under her own hand. The longer you look for her, the longer s=
he
will remain, what she is now--lost."
[The preceding letter is thus indorsed, in Mr.
Pendril's handwriting: "No apparent means of tracing the inclosed to i=
ts
source. Post-mark, 'Charing Cross.' Stationer's stamp cut off the inside of=
the
envelope. Handwriting, probably a man's, in disguise. Writer, whoever he is=
, correctly
informed. No further trace of the younger Miss Vanstone discovered yet.&quo=
t;]
IN that part of the city of York which is situ=
ated
on the western bank of the Ouse there is a narrow street, called Skeldergat=
e,
running nearly north and south, parallel with the course of the river. The
postern by which Skeldergate was formerly approached no longer exists; and =
the
few old houses left in the street are disguised in melancholy modern costum=
e of
whitewash and cement. Shops of the smaller and poorer order, intermixed here
and there with dingy warehouses and joyless private residences of red brick,
compose the present a spect of Skeldergate. On the river-side the houses are
separated at intervals by lanes running down to the water, and disclosing
lonely little plots of open ground, with the masts of sailing-barges rising
beyond. At its southward extremity the street ceases on a sudden, and the b=
road
flow of the Ouse, the trees, the meadows, the public-walk on one bank and t=
he
towing-path on the other, open to view.
Here, where the street ends, and on the side o=
f it
furthest from the river, a narrow little lane leads up to the paved footway
surmounting the ancient Walls of York. The one small row of buildings, whic=
h is
all that the lane possesses, is composed of cheap lodging-houses, with an
opposite view, at the distance of a few feet, of a portion of the massive c=
ity
wall. This place is called Rosemary Lane. Very little light enters it; very=
few
people live in it; the floating population of Skeldergate passes it by; and
visitors to the Walk on the Walls, who use it as the way up or the way down,
get out of the dreary little passage as fast as they can.
The door of one of the houses in this lost cor=
ner
of York opened softly on the evening of the twenty-third of September, eigh=
teen
hundred and forty-six; and a solitary individual of the male sex sauntered =
into
Skeldergate from the seclusion of Rosemary Lane.
Turning northward, this person directed his st=
eps
toward the bridge over the Ouse and the busy center of the city. He bore the
external appearance of respectable poverty; he carried a gingham umbrella, =
preserved
in an oilskin case; he picked his steps, with the neatest avoidance of all
dirty places on the pavement; and he surveyed the scene around him with eye=
s of
two different colors--a bilious brown eye on the lookout for employment, an=
d a
bilious green eye in a similar predicament. In plainer terms, the stranger =
from
Rosemary Lane was no other than--Captain Wragge.
Outwardly speaking, the captain had not altered
for the better since the memorable spring day when he had presented himself=
to
Miss Garth at the lodge-gate at Combe-Raven. The railway mania of that famo=
us
year had attacked even the wary Wragge; had withdrawn him from his customar=
y pursuits;
and had left him prostrate in the end, like many a better man. He had lost =
his
clerical appearance--he had faded with the autumn leaves. His crape hat-band
had put itself in brown mourning for its own bereavement of black. His ding=
y white
collar and cravat had died the death of old linen, and had gone to their lo=
ng
home at the paper-maker's, to live again one day in quires at a stationer's
shop. A gray shooting-jacket in the last stage of woolen atrophy replaced t=
he black
frockcoat of former times, and, like a faithful servant, kept the dark secr=
et
of its master's linen from the eyes of a prying world. From top to toe every
square inch of the captain's clothing was altered for the worse; but the man
himself remained unchanged--superior to all forms of moral mildew, impervio=
us
to the action of social rust. He was as courteous, as persuasive, as blandly
dignified as ever. He carried his head as high without a shirt-collar as ev=
er
he had carried it with one. The threadbare black handkerchief round his neck
was perfectly tied; his rotten old shoes were neatly blacked; he might have
compared chins, in the matter of smooth shaving, with the highest church
dignitary in York. Time, change, and poverty had all attacked the captain
together, and had all failed alike to get him down on the ground. He paced =
the
streets of York, a man superior to clothes and circumstances--his vagabond
varnish as bright on him as ever.
Arrived at the bridge, Captain Wragge stopped =
and
looked idly over the parapet at the barges in the river. It was plainly evi=
dent
that he had no particular destination to reach and nothing whatever to do.
While he was still loitering, the clock of York Minster chimed the half-hour
past five. Cabs rattled by him over the bridge on their way to meet the tra=
in from
London, at twenty minutes to six. After a moment's hesitation, the captain
sauntered after the cabs. When it is one of a man's regular habits to live =
upon
his fellow-creatures, that man is always more or less fond of haunting large
railway stations. Captain Wragge gleaned the human field, and on that
unoccupied afternoon the York terminus was as likely a corner to look about=
in
as any other.
He reached the platform a few minutes after the
train had arrived. That entire incapability of devising administrative meas=
ures
for the management of large crowds, which is one of the characteristics of =
Englishmen
in authority, is nowhere more strikingly exemplified than at York. Three
different lines of railway assemble three passenger mobs, from morning to
night, under one roof; and leave them to raise a traveler's riot, with all =
the
assistance which the bewildered servants of the company can render to incre=
ase
the confusion. The customary disturbance was rising to its climax as Captain
Wragge approached the platform. Dozens of different people were trying to
attain dozens of different objects, in dozens of different directions, all
starting from the same common point and all equally deprived of the means o=
f information.
A sudden parting of the crowd, near the second-class carriages, attracted t=
he
captain's curiosity. He pushed his way in; and found a decently-dressed
man--assisted by a porter and a policeman--attempting to pick up some print=
ed
bills scattered from a paper parcel, which his frenzied fellow-passengers h=
ad
knocked out of his hand.
Offering his assistance in this emergency, with
the polite alacrity which marked his character, Captain Wragge observed the
three startling words, "Fifty Pounds Reward," printed in capital
letters on the bills which he assisted in recovering; and instantly secreted
one of them, to be more closely examined at the first convenient opportunit=
y.
As he crumpled up the bill in the palm of his hand, his party-colored eyes =
fixed
with hungry interest on the proprietor of the unlucky parcel. When a man
happens not to be possessed of fifty pence in his own pocket, if his heart =
is
in the right place, it bounds; if his mouth is properly constituted, it wat=
ers,
at the sight of another man who carries about with him a printed offer of f=
ifty
pounds sterling, addressed to his fellow-creatures.
The unfortunate traveler wrapped up his parcel=
as
he best might, and made his way off the platform, after addressing an inqui=
ry
to the first official victim of the day's passenger-traffic, who was
sufficiently in possession of his senses to listen to it. Leaving the stati=
on
for the river-side, which was close at hand, the stranger entered the ferry=
boat
at the North Street Postern. The captain, who had carefully dogged his steps
thus far, entered the boat also; and employed the short interval of transit=
to
the opposite bank in a perusal of the handbill which he had kept for his own
private enlightenment. With his back carefully turned on the traveler, Capt=
ain
Wragge now possessed his mind of the following lines:
"FIFTY POUNDS REWARD.
"Left her home, in London, early on the
morning of September 23d, 1846, A YOUNG LADY. Age--eighteen. Dress--deep
mourning. Personal appearance--hair of a very light brown; eyebrows and
eyelashes darker; eyes light gray; complexion strikingly pale; lower part of
her face large and full; tall upright figure; walks with remarkable grace a=
nd ease;
speaks with openness and resolution; has the manners and habits of a refine=
d,
cultivated lady. Personal marks--two little moles, close together, on the l=
eft
side of the neck. Mark on the under-clothing--'Magdalen Vanstone.' Is suppo=
sed
to have joined, or attempted to join, under an assumed name, a theatrical
company now performing at York. Had, when she left London, one black box, a=
nd
no other luggage. Whoever will give such information as will restore her to=
her
friends shall receive the above Reward. Apply at the office of Mr. Harkness,
solicitor, Coney Street, York. Or to Messrs. Wyatt, Pendril, and Gwilt, Ser=
le
Street, Lincoln's Inn, London."
=
Accustomed
as Captain Wragge was to keep the completest possession of himself in all h=
um
an emergencies, his own profound astonishment, when the course of his readi=
ng
brought him to the mark on the linen of the missing young lady, betrayed him
into an exclamation of surprise which even startled the ferryman. The trave=
ler
was less observant; his whole attention was fixed on the opposite bank of t=
he
river, and he left the boat hastily the moment it touched the landing-place.
Captain Wragge recovered himself, pocketed the handbill, and followed his
leader for the second time.
The stranger directed his steps to the nearest
street which ran down to the river, compared a note in his pocketbook with =
the
numbers of the houses on the left-hand side, stopped at one of them, and ra=
ng
the bell. The captain went on to the next house; affected to ring the bell,=
in
his turn, and stood with his back to the traveler--in appearance, waiting t=
o be
let in; in reality, listening with all his might for any scraps of dialogue
which might reach his ears on the opening of the door behind him.
The door was answered with all due alacrity, a=
nd a
sufficiently instructive interchange of question and answer on the threshold
rewarded the dexterity of Captain Wragge.
"Does Mr. Huxtable live here?" asked=
the
traveler.
"Yes, sir," was the answer, in a wom=
an's
voice.
"Is he at home?"
"Not at home now, sir; but he will be in
again at eight to-night."
"I think a young lady called here early in
the day, did she not?"
"Yes; a young lady came this afternoon.&q=
uot;
"Exactly; I come on the same business. Did
she see Mr. Huxtable?"
"No, sir; he has been away all day. The y=
oung
lady told me she would come back at eight o'clock."
"Just so. I will call and see Mr. Huxtabl=
e at
the same time."
"Any name, sir?"
"No; say a gentleman called on theatrical
business--that will be enough. Wait one minute, if you please. I am a stran=
ger
in York; will you kindly tell me which is the way to Coney Street?"
The woman gave the required information, the d=
oor
closed, and the stranger hastened away in the direction of Coney Street.
On this occasion Captain Wragge made no attemp=
t to
follow him. The handbill revealed plainly enough that the man's next object=
was
to complete the necessary arrangements with the local solicitor on the subj=
ect
of the promised reward.
Having seen and heard enough for his immediate
purpose, the captain retraced his steps down the street, turned to the righ=
t,
and entered on the Esplanade, which, in that quarter of the city, borders t=
he river-side
between the swimming-baths and Lendal Tower. "This is a family
matter," said Captain Wragge to himself, persisting, from sheer force =
of
habit, in the old assertion of his relationship to Magdalen's mother; "=
;I
must consider it in all its bearings." He tucked the umbrella under his
arm, crossed his hands behind him, and lowered himself gently into the abys=
s of
his own reflections. The order and propriety observable in the captain's sh=
abby
garments accurately typified the order and propriety which distinguished the
operations of the captain's mind. It was his habit always to see his way be=
fore
him through a neat succession of alternatives--and so he saw it now.
Three courses were open to him in connection w=
ith
the remarkable discovery which he had just made. The first course was to do
nothing in the matter at all. Inadmissible, on family grounds: equally
inadmissible on pecuniary grounds: rejected accordingly. The second course =
was to
deserve the gratitude of the young lady's friends, rated at fifty pounds. T=
he
third course was, by a timely warning to deserve the gratitude of the young
lady herself, rated--at an unknown figure. Between these two last alternati=
ves
the wary Wragge hesitated; not from doubt of Magdalen's pecuniary
resources--for he was totally ignorant of the circumstances which had depri=
ved
the sisters of their inheritance--but from doubt whether an obstacle in the
shape of an undiscovered gentleman might not be privately connected with he=
r disappearance
from home. After mature reflection, he determined to pause, and be guided by
circumstances. In the meantime, the first consideration was to be beforehand
with the messenger from London, and to lay hands securely on the young lady
herself.
"I feel for this misguided girl," mu=
sed
the captain, solemnly strutting backward and forward by the lonely river-si=
de.
"I always have looked upon her--I always shall look upon her--in the l=
ight
of a niece."
Where was the adopted relative at that moment?=
In
other words, how was a young lady in Magdalen's critical position likely to
while away the hours until Mr. Huxtable 's return? If there was an obstruct=
ive gentleman
in the background, it would be mere waste of time to pursue the question. B=
ut
if the inference which the handbill suggested was correct--if she was really
alone at that moment in the city of York--where was she likely to be?
Not in the crowded thoroughfares, to begin wit=
h.
Not viewing the objects of interest in the Minster, for it was now past the
hour at which the cathedral could be seen. Was she in the waiting-room at t=
he
railway? She would hardly run that risk. Was she in one of the hotels?
Doubtful, considering that she was entirely by herself. In a pastry-cook's
shop? Far more likely. Driving about in a cab? Possible, certainly; but no =
more.
Loitering away the time in some quiet locality, out-of-doors? Likely enough,
again, on that fine autumn evening. The captain paused, weighed the relative
claims on his attention of the quiet locality and the pastry-cook's shop; a=
nd
decided for the first of the two. There was time enough to find her at the
pastry-cook's, to inquire after her at the principal hotels, or, finally, to
intercept her in Mr. Huxtable's immediate neighborhood from seven to eight.
While the light lasted, the wise course was to use it in looking for her
out-of-doors. Where? The Esplanade was a quiet locality; but she was not
there--not on the lonely road beyond, which ran back by the Abbey Wall. Whe=
re
next? The captain stopped, looked across the river, brightened under the
influence of a new idea, and suddenly hastened back to the ferry.
"The Walk on the Walls," thought this
judicious man, with a twinkle of his party-colored eyes. "The quietest
place in York; and the place that every stranger goes to see."
In ten minutes more Captain Wragge was explori=
ng
the new field of search. He mounted to the walls (which inclose the whole
western portion of the city) by the North Street Postern, from which the wa=
lk
winds round until it ends again at its southernly extremity in the narrow p=
assage
of Rosemary Lane. It was then twenty minutes to seven. The sun had set more
than half an hour since; the red light lay broad and low in the cloudless
western heaven; all visible objects were softening in the tender twilight, =
but
were not darkening yet. The first few lamps lit in the street below looked =
like
faint little specks of yellow light, as the captain started on his walk thr=
ough
one of the most striking scenes which England can show.
On his right hand, as he set forth, stretched =
the
open country beyond the walls--the rich green meadows, the boundary-trees
dividing them, the broad windings of the river in the distance, the scatter=
ed
buildings nearer to view; all wrapped in the evening stillness, all made
beautiful by the evening peace. On his left hand, the majestic west front of
York Minster soared over the city and caught the last brightest light of he=
aven
on the summits of its lofty towers. Had this noble prospect tempted the lost
girl to linger and look at it? No; thus far, not a sign of her. The captain
looked round him attentively, and walked on.
He reached the spot where the iron course of t=
he
railroad strikes its way through arches in the old wall. He paused at this
place--where the central activity of a great railway enterprise beats, with=
all
the pulses of its loud-clanging life, side by side with the dead majesty of=
the
past, deep under the old historic stones which tell of fortified York and t=
he
sieges of two centuries since--he stood on this spot, and searched for her
again, and searched in vain. Others were looking idly down at the desolate
activity on the wilderness of the iron rails; but she was not among them. T=
he
captain glanced doubtfully at the darkening sky, and walked on.
He stopped again where the postern of Micklega=
te
still stands, and still strengthens the city wall as of old. Here the paved
walk descends a few steps, passes through the dark stone guardroom of the
ancient gate, ascends again, and continues its course southward until the w=
alls
reach the river once more. He paused, and peered anxiously into the dim inn=
er corners
of the old guard-room. Was she waiting there for the darkness to come, and =
hide
her from prying eyes? No: a solitary workman loitered through the stone
chamber; but no other living creature stirred in the place. The captain mou=
nted
the steps which led out from the postern and walked on.
He advanced some fifty or sixty yards along the
paved footway; the outlying suburbs of York on one side of him, a rope-walk=
and
some patches of kitchen garden occupying a vacant strip of ground on the ot=
her.
He advanced with eager eyes and quickened step; for he saw before him the
lonely figure of a woman, standing by the parapet of the wall, with her face
set toward the westward view. He approached cautiously, to make sure of her
before she turned and observed him. There was no mistaking that tall, dark
figure, as it rested against the parapet with a listless grace. There she
stood, in her long black cloak and gown, the last dim light of evening fall=
ing
tenderly on her pale, resolute young face. There she stood--not three months
since the spoiled darling of her parents; the priceless treasure of the
household, never left unprotected, never trusted alone--there she stood in =
the
lovely dawn of her womanhood, a castaway in a strange city, wrecked on the
world!
Vagabond as he was, the first sight of her
staggered even the dauntless assurance of Captain Wragge. As she slowly tur=
ned
her face and looked at him, he raised his hat, with the nearest approach to
respect which a long life of unblushing audacity had left him capable of
making.
"I think I have the honor of addressing t=
he
younger Miss Vanstone?" he began. "Deeply gratified, I am sure--f=
or
more reasons than one."
She looked at him with a cold surprise. No
recollection of the day when he had followed her sister and herself on their
way home with Miss Garth rose in her memory, while he now confronted her, w=
ith
his altered manner and his altered dress.
"You are mistaken," she said, quietl=
y.
"You are a perfect stranger to me."
"Pardon me," replied the captain;
"I am a species of relation. I had the pleasure of seeing you in the
spring of the present year. I presented myself on that memorable occasion t=
o an
honored preceptress in your late father's family. Permit me, under equally
agreeable circumstances, to present myself to you. My name is Wragge."=
By this time he had recovered complete possess=
ion
of his own impudence; his party-colored eyes twinkled cheerfully, and he
accompanied his modest announcement of himself with a dancing-master's bow.=
Magdalen frowned, and drew back a step. The
captain was not a man to be daunted by a cold reception. He tucked his umbr=
ella
under his arm and jocosely spelled his name for her further enlightenment.
"W, R, A, double G, E--Wragge," said the captain, ticking off the
letters persuasively on his fingers.
"I remember your name," said Magdale=
n.
"Excuse me for leaving you abruptly. I have an engagement."
She tried to pass him and walk on northward to=
ward
the railway. He instantly met the attempt by raising both hands, and displa=
ying
a pair of darned black gloves outspread in polite protest.
"Not that way," he said; "not t=
hat
way, Miss Vanstone, I beg and entreat!"
"Why not?" she asked haughtily.
"Because," answered the captain,
"that is the way which leads to Mr. Huxtable's."
In the ungovernable astonishment of hearing his
reply she suddenly bent forward, and for the first time looked him close in=
the
face. He sustained her suspicious scrutiny with every appearance of feeling=
highly
gratified by it. "H, U, X--Hux," said the captain, playfully turn=
ing
to the old joke: "T, A--ta, Huxta; B, L, E--ble; Huxtable."
"What do you know about Mr. Huxtable?&quo=
t;
she asked. "What do you mean by mentioning him to me?"
The captain's curly lip took a new twist upwar=
d.
He immediately replied, to the best practical purpose, by producing the
handbill from his pocket.
"There is just light enough left," he
said, "for young (and lovely) eyes to read by. Before I enter upon the
personal statement which your flattering inquiry claims from me, pray besto=
w a
moment's attention on this Document."
She took the handbill from him. By the last gl=
eam
of twilight she read the lines which set a price on her recovery--which
published the description of her in pitiless print, like the description of=
a
strayed dog. No tender consideration had prepared her for the shock, no kin=
d word
softened it to her when it came. The vagabond, whose cunning eyes watched h=
er
eagerly while she read, knew no more that the handbill which he had stolen =
had
only been prepared in anticipation of the worst, and was only to be publicly
used in the event of all more considerate means of tracing her being tried =
in
vain--than she knew it. The bill dropped from her hand; her face flushed
deeply. She turned away from Captain Wragge, as if all idea of his existence
had passed out of her mind.
"Oh, Norah, Norah!" she said to hers=
elf,
sorrowfully. "After the letter I wrote you--after the hard struggle I =
had
to go away! Oh, Norah, Norah!"
"How is Norah?" inquired the captain,
with the utmost politeness.
She turned upon him with an angry brightness in
her large gray eyes. "Is this thing shown publicly?" she asked,
stamping her foot on it. "Is the mark on my neck described all over Yo=
rk?"
"Pray compose yourself," pleaded the
persuasive Wragge. "At present I have every reason to believe that you
have just perused the only copy in circulation. Allow me to pick it up.&quo=
t;
Before he could touch the bill she snatched it
from the pavement, tore it into fragments, and threw them over the wall.
"Bravo!" cried the captain. "You
remind me of your poor dear mother. The family spirit, Miss Vanstone. We all
inherit our hot blood from my maternal grandfather."
"How did you come by it?" she asked,
suddenly.
"My dear creature, I have just told
you," remonstrated the captain. "We all come by it from my matern=
al
grandfather."
"How did you come by that handbill?"=
she
repeated, passionately.
"I beg ten thousand pardons! My head was
running on the family spirit.--How did I come by it? Briefly thus." He=
re
Captain Wragge entered on his personal statement; taking his customary vocal
exercise through the longest words of the English language, with the highes=
t elocutionary
relish. Having, on this rare occasion, nothing to gain by concealment, he
departed from his ordinary habits, and, with the utmost amazement at the
novelty of his own situation, permitted himself to tell the unmitigated tru=
th.
The effect of the narrative on Magdalen by no
means fulfilled Captain Wragge's anticipations in relating it. She was not
startled; she was not irritated; she showed no disposition to cast herself =
on
his mercy, and to seek his advice. She looked him steadily in the face; and=
all
she said, when he had neatly rounded his last sentence, was--"Go on.&q=
uot;
"Go on?" repeated the captain.
"Shocked to disappoint you, I am sure; but the fact is, I have done.&q=
uot;
"No, you have not," she rejoined;
"you have left out the end of your story. The end of it is, you came h=
ere
to look for me; and you mean to earn the fifty pounds reward."
Those plain words so completely staggered Capt=
ain
Wragge that for the moment he stood speechless. But he had faced awkward tr=
uths
of all sorts far too often to be permanently disconcerted by them. Before
Magdalen could pursue her advantage, the vagabond had recovered his balance=
: Wragge
was himself again.
"Smart," said the captain, laughing
indulgently, and drumming with his umbrella on the pavement. "Some men
might take it seriously. I'm not easily offended. Try again."
Magdalen looked at him through the gathering
darkness in mute perplexity. All her little experience of society had been
experience among people who possessed a common sense of honor, and a common=
responsibility
of social position. She had hitherto seen nothing but the successful human
product from the great manufactory of Civilization. Here was one of the
failures, and, with all her quickness, she was puzzled how to deal with it.=
"Pardon me for returning to the
subject," pursued the captain. "It has just occurred to my mind t=
hat
you might actually have spoken in earnest. My poor child! how can I earn the
fifty pounds before the reward is offered to me? Those handbills may not be
publicly posted for a week to come. Precious as you are to all your relativ=
es
(myself included), take my word for it, the lawyers who are managing this c=
ase
will not pay fifty pounds for you if they can possibly help it. Are you sti=
ll persuaded
that my needy pockets are gaping for the money? Very good. Button them up in
spite of me with your own fair fingers. There is a train to London at nine
forty-five to-night. Submit yourself to your friend's wishes and go back by
it."
"Never!" said Magdalen, firing at the
bare suggestion, exactly as the captain had intended she should. "If my
mind had not been made up before, that vile handbill would have decided me.=
I
forgive Norah," she added, turning away and speaking to herself, "=
;but
not Mr. Pendril, and not Miss Garth."
"Quite right!" said Captain Wragge.
"The family spirit. I should have done the same myself at your age. It
runs in the blood. Hark! there goes the clock again--half-past seven. Miss
Vanstone, pardon this seasonable abruptness! If you are to carry out your
resolution--if you are to be your own mistress much longer, you must take a
course of some kind before eight o'clock. You are young, you are inexperien=
ced,
you are in imminent danger. Here is a position of emergency on one side--and
here am I, on the other, with an uncle's interest in you, full of advice. T=
ap me."
"Suppose I choose to depend on nobody, an=
d to
act for myself?" said Magdalen. "What then?"
"Then," replied the captain, "y=
ou
will walk straight into one of the four traps which are set to catch you in=
the
ancient and interesting city of York. Trap the first, at Mr. Huxtable's hou=
se;
trap the second, at all the hotels; trap the third, at the railway station;
trap the fourth, at the theater. That man with the handbills has had an hou=
r at
his disposal. If he has not set those four traps (with the assistance of the
local solicitor) by this time, he is not the competent lawyer's clerk I take
him for. Come, come, my dear girl! if there is somebody else in the backgro=
und,
whose advice you prefer to mine--"
"You see that I am alone," she
interposed, proudly. "If you knew me better, you would know that I dep=
end
on nobody but myself."
Those words decided the only doubt which now
remained in the captain's mind--the doubt whether the course was clear befo=
re
him. The motive of her flight from home was evidently what the handbills
assumed it to be--a reckless fancy for going on the stage. "One of two
things," thought Wragge to himself, in his logical way. "She's wo=
rth
more than fifty pounds to me in her present situation, or she isn't. If she=
is,
her friends may whistle for her. If she isn't, I have only to keep her till=
the
bills are posted." Fortified by this simple plan of action, the captain
returned to the charge, and politely placed Magdalen between the two inevit=
able
alternatives of trusting herself to him, on the one hand, or of returning to
her friends, on the other.
"I respect independence of character wher=
ever
I find it," he said, with an air of virtuous severity. "In a young
and lovely relative, I more than respect--I admire it. But (excuse the bold
assertion), to walk on a way of your own, you must first have a way to walk=
on.
Under existing circumstances, where is your way? Mr. Huxtable is out of the
question, to begin with."
"Out of the question for to-night," =
said
Magdalen; "but what hinders me from writing to Mr. Huxtable, and makin=
g my
own private arrangements with him for to-morrow?"
"Granted with all my heart--a hit, a palp= able hit. Now for my turn. To get to to-morrow (excuse the bold assertion, once more), you must first pass through to-night. Where are you to sleep?"<= o:p>
"Are there no hotels in York?"
"Excellent hotels for large families;
excellent hotels for single gentlemen. The very worst hotels in the world f=
or
handsome young ladies who present themselves alone at the door without male
escort, without a maid in attendance, and without a single article of lugga=
ge.
Dark as it is, I think I could see a lady's box, if there was anything of t=
he
sort in our immediate neighborhood."
"My box is at the cloak-room. What is to
prevent my sending the ticket for it?"
"Nothing--if you want to communicate your
address by means of your box--nothing whatever. Think; pray think! Do you
really suppose that the people who are looking for you are such fools as no=
t to
have an eye on the cloakroom? Do you think they are such fools--when they f=
ind
you don't come to Mr. Huxtable's at eight to-night--as not to inquire at al=
l the
hotels? Do you think a young lady of your striking appearance (even if they
consented to receive you) could take up her abode at an inn without becoming
the subject of universal curiosity and remark? Here is night coming on as f=
ast
as it can. Don't let me bore you; only let me ask once more--Where are you =
to
sleep?"
There was no answer to that question: in
Magdalen's position, there was literally no answer to it on her side. She w=
as
silent.
"Where are you to sleep?" repeated t=
he
captain. "The reply is obvious--under my roof. Mrs. Wragge will be cha=
rmed
to see you. Look upon her as your aunt; pray look upon her as your aunt. The
landlady is a widow, the house is close by, there are no other lodgers, and
there is a bedroom to let. Can anything be more satisfactory, under all the=
circumstances?
Pray observe, I say nothing about to-morrow--I leave to-morrow to you, and
confine myself exclusively to the night. I may, or may not, command theatri=
cal
facilities, which I am in a position to offer you. Sympathy and admiration =
may,
or may not, be strong within me, when I contemplate the dash and independen=
ce
of your character. Hosts of examples of bright stars of the British drama, =
who
have begun their apprenticeship to the stage as you are beginning yours, ma=
y,
or may not, crowd on my memory. These are topics for the future. For the
present, I confine myself within my strict range of duty. We are within fiv=
e minutes'
walk of my present address. Allow me to offer you my arm. No? You hesitate?=
You
distrust me? Good heavens! is it possible you can have heard anything to my
disadvantage?"
"Quite possible," said Magdalen, wit=
hout
a moment's flinching from the answer.
"May I inquire the particulars?" ask= ed the captain, with the politest composure. "Don't spare my feelings; ob= lige me by speaking out. In the plainest terms, now, what have you heard?"<= o:p>
She answered him with a woman's desperate
disregard of consequences when she is driven to bay--she answered him
instantly,
"I have heard you are a Rogue."
"Have you, indeed?" said the
impenetrable Wragge. "A Rogue? Well, I waive my privilege of setting y=
ou
right on that point for a fitter time. For the sake of argument, let us say=
I
am a Rogue. What is Mr. Huxtable?"
"A respectable man, or I should not have =
seen
him in the house where we first met."
"Very good. Now observe! You talked of
writing to Mr. Huxtable a minute ago. What do you think a respectable man is
likely to do with a young lady who openly acknowledges that she has run away
from her home and her friends to go on the stage? My dear girl, on your own
showing, it's not a respectable man you want in your present predicament. I=
t's
a Rogue--like me."
Magdalen laughed, bitterly.
"There is some truth in that," she s=
aid.
"Thank you for recalling me to myself and my circumstances. I have my =
end
to gain--and who am I, to pick and choose the way of getting to it? It is my
turn to beg pardon now. I have been talking as if I was a young lady of fam=
ily
and position. Absurd! We know better than that, don't we, Captain Wragge? Y=
ou
are quite right. Nobody's child must sleep under Somebody's roof--and why n=
ot
yours?"
"This way," said the captain,
dexterously profiting by the sudden change in her humor, and cunningly
refraining from exasperating it by saying more himself. "This way.&quo=
t;
She followed him a few steps, and suddenly
stopped.
"Suppose I am discovered?" she broke
out, abruptly. "Who has any authority over me? Who can take me back, i=
f I
don't choose to go? If they all find me to-morrow, what then? Can't I say N=
o to
Mr. Pendril? Can't I trust my own courage with Miss Garth?"
"Can you trust your courage with your
sister?" whispered the captain, who had not forgotten the references to
Norah which had twice escaped her already.
Her head drooped. She shivered as if the cold
night air had struck her, and leaned back wearily against the parapet of the
wall.
"Not with Norah," she said, sadly.
"I could trust myself with the others. Not with Norah."
"This way," repeated Captain Wragge.=
She
roused herself; looked up at the darkening heaven, looked round at the
darkening view. "What must be, must," she said, and followed him.=
The Minster clock struck the quarter to eight =
as
they left the Walk on the Wall and descended the steps into Rosemary Lane.
Almost at the same moment the lawyer's clerk from London gave the last
instructions to his subordinates, and took up his own position, on the oppo=
site
side of the river, within easy view of Mr. Huxtable's door.
=
CAPTAIN WRAGGE stopped nearly midway in the one
little row of houses composing Rosemary Lane, and let himself and his guest=
in
at the door of his lodgings with his own key. As they entered the passage, a
care-worn woman in a widow's cap made her appearance with a candle. "My
niece," said the captain, presenting Magdalen; "my niece on a vis=
it
to York. She has kindly consented to occupy your empty bedroom. Consider it
let, if you please, to my niece--and be very particular in airing the sheet=
s? Is
Mrs. Wragge upstairs? Very good. You may lend me your candle. My dear girl,
Mrs. Wragge's boudoir is on the first floor; Mrs. Wragge is visible. Allow =
me
to show you the way up."
As he ascended the stairs first, the care-worn
widow whispered, piteously, to Magdalen, "I hope you'll pay me, miss. =
Your
uncle doesn't."
The captain threw open the door of the front r=
oom
on the first floor, and disclosed a female figure, arrayed in a gown of
tarnished amber-colored satin, seated solitary on a small chair, with dingy=
old
gloves on its hands, with a tattered old book on its knees, and with one li=
ttle
bedroom candle by its side. The figure terminated at its upper extremity in=
a
large, smooth, white round face--like a moon--encircled by a cap and green
ribbons, and dimly irradiated by eyes of mild and faded blue, which looked
straightforward into vacancy, and took not the smallest notice of Magdalen's
appearance, on the opening of the door.
"Mrs. Wragge!" cried the captain,
shouting at her as if she was fast asleep. "Mrs. Wragge!"
The lady of the faded blue eyes slowly rose to=
an
apparently interminable height. When she had at last attained an upright
position, she towered to a stature of two or three inches over six feet. Gi=
ants
of both sexes are, by a wise dispensation of Providence, created, for the m=
ost
part, gentle. If Mrs. Wragge and a lamb had been placed side by side,
comparison, under those circumstances, would have exposed the lamb as a rank
impostor.
"Tea, captain?" inquired Mrs. Wragge,
looking submissively down at her husband, whose head, when he stood on tipt=
oe,
barely reached her shoulder.
"Miss Vanstone, the younger," said t=
he
captain, presenting Magdalen. "Our fair relative, whom I have met by
fortunate accident. Our guest for the night. Our guest!" reiterated the
captain, shouting once more as if the tall lady was still fast asleep, in s=
pite
of the plain testimony of her own eyes to the contrary.
A smile expressed itself (in faint outline) on=
the
large vacant space of Mrs. Wragge's countenance. "Oh?" she said,
interrogatively. "Oh, indeed? Please, miss, will you sit down? I'm
sorry--no, I don't mean I'm sorry; I mean I'm glad--" she stopped, and
consulted her husband by a helpless look.
"Glad, of course!" shouted the capta=
in.
"Glad, of course," echoed the giante=
ss
of the amber satin, more meekly than ever.
"Mrs. Wragge is not deaf," explained=
the
captain. "She's only a little slow. Constitutionally torpid--if I may =
use
the expression. I am merely loud with her (and I beg you will honor me by b=
eing
loud, too) as a necessary stimulant to her ideas. Shout at her--and her mind
comes up to time. Speak to her--and she drifts miles away from you directly.
Mrs. Wragge!"
Mrs. Wragge instantly acknowledged the stimula=
nt.
"Tea, captain?" she inquired, for the second time.
"Put your cap straight!" shouted her
husband. "I beg ten thousand pardons," he resumed, again addressi=
ng
himself to Magdalen. "The sad truth is, I am a martyr to my own sense =
of
order. All untidiness, all want of system and regularity, cause me the acut=
est
irritation. My attention is distracted, my composure is upset; I can't rest
till things are set straight again. Externally speaking, Mrs. Wragge is, to=
my infinite
regret, the crookedest woman I ever met with. More to the right!" shou=
ted
the captain, as Mrs. Wragge, like a well-trained child, presented herself w=
ith
her revised head-dress for her husband's inspection.
Mrs. Wragge immediately pulled the cap to the
left. Magdalen rose, and set it right for her. The moon-face of the giantess
brightened for the first time. She looked admiringly at Magdalen's cloak and
bonnet. "Do you like dress, miss?" she asked, suddenly, in a
confidential whisper. "I do."
"Show Miss Vanstone her room," said =
the
captain, looking as if the whole house belonged to him. "The spare-roo=
m,
the landlady's spare-room, on the third floor front. Offer Miss Vanstone all
articles connected with the toilet of which she may stand in need. She has =
no
luggage with her. Supply the deficiency, and then come back and make tea.&q=
uot;
Mrs. Wragge acknowledged the receipt of these
lofty directions by a look of placid bewilderment, and led the way out of t=
he
room; Magdalen following her, with a candle presented by the attentive capt=
ain.
As soon as they were alone on the landing outside, Mrs. Wragge raised the t=
attered
old book which she had been reading when Magdalen was first presented to he=
r,
and which she had never let out of her hand since, and slowly tapped hersel=
f on
the forehead with it. "Oh, my poor head!" said the tall lady, in =
meek
soliloquy; "it's Buzzing again worse than ever!"
"Buzzing?" repeated Magdalen, in the
utmost astonishment.
Mrs. Wragge ascended the stairs, without offer=
ing
any explanation, stopped at one of the rooms on the second floor, and led t=
he
way in.
"This is not the third floor," said
Magdalen. "This is not my room, surely?"
"Wait a bit," pleaded Mrs. Wragge.
"Wait a bit, miss, before we go up any higher. I've got the Buzzing in=
my
head worse than ever. Please wait for me till I'm a little better again.&qu=
ot;
"Shall I ask for help?" inquired
Magdalen. "Shall I call the landlady?"
"Help?" echoed Mrs. Wragge. "Bl=
ess
you, I don't want help! I'm used to it. I've had the Buzzing in my head, off
and on--how many years?" She stopped, reflected, lost herself, and
suddenly tried a question in despair. "Have you ever been at Darch's
Dining-rooms in London?" she asked, with an appearance of the deepest
interest.
"No," replied Magdalen, wondering at=
the
strange inquiry.
"That's where the Buzzing in my head first
began," said Mrs. Wragge, following the new clew with the deepest
attention and anxiety. "I was employed to wait on the gentlemen at Dar=
ch's
Dining-rooms--I was. The gentlemen all came together; the gentlemen were all
hungry together; the gentlemen all gave their orders together--" She
stopped, and tapped her head again, despondently, with the tattered old boo=
k.
"And you had to keep all their orders in =
your
memory, separate one from the other?" suggested Magdalen, helping her =
out.
"And the trying to do that confused you?"
"That's it!" said Mrs. Wragge, becom=
ing
violently excited in a moment. "Boiled pork and greens and pease-puddi=
ng,
for Number One. Stewed beef and carrots and gooseberry tart, for Number Two.
Cut of mutton, and quick about it, well done, and plenty of fat, for Number
Three. Codfish and parsnips, two chops to follow, hot-and-hot, or I'll be t=
he
death of you, for Number Four. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Carrots =
and gooseberry
tart--pease-pudding and plenty of fat--pork and beef and mutton, and cut 'em
all, and quick about it--stout for one, and ale for t'other--and stale bread
here, and new bread there--and this gentleman likes cheese, and that gentle=
man
doesn't--Matilda, Tilda, Tilda, Tilda, fifty times over, till I didn't know=
my
own name again--oh lord! oh lord!! oh lord!!! all together, all at the same
time, all out of temper, all buzzing in my poor head like forty thousand
million bees--don't tell the captain! don't tell the captain!" The
unfortunate creature dropped the tattered old book, and beat both her hands=
on
her head, with a look of blank terror fixed on the door.
"Hush! hush!" said Magdalen. "T=
he
captain hasn't heard you. I know what is the matter with your head now. Let=
me
cool it."
She dipped a towel in water, and pressed it on=
the
hot and helpless head which Mrs. Wragge submitted to her with the docility =
of a
sick child.
"What a pretty hand you've got!" said
the poor creature, feeling the relief of the coolness and taking Magdalen's
hand, admiringly, in her own. "How soft and white it is! I try to be a
lady; I always keep my gloves on--but I can't get my hands like yours. I'm
nicely dressed, though, ain't I? I like dress; it's a comfort to me. I'm al=
ways
happy when I'm looking at my things. I say--you won't be angry with me?--I =
should
so like to try your bonnet on."
Magdalen humored her, with the ready compassio=
n of
the young. She stood smiling and nodding at herself in the glass, with the
bonnet perched on the top of her head. "I had one as pretty as this,
once," she said--"only it was white, not black. I wore it when the
captain married me."
"Where did you meet with him?" asked
Magdalen, putting the question as a chance means of increasing her scanty s=
tock
of information on the subject of Captain Wragge.
"At the Dining-rooms," said Mrs. Wra=
gge.
"He was the hungriest and the loudest to wait upon of the lot of 'em. I
made more mistakes with him than I did with all the rest of them put togeth=
er.
He used to swear--oh, didn't he use to swear! When he left off swearing at =
me
he married me. There was others wanted me besides him. Bless you, I had my
pick. Why not? When you have a trifle of money left you that you didn't exp=
ect,
if that don't make a lady of you, what does? Isn't a lady to have her pick?=
I had
my trifle of money, and I had my pick, and I picked the captain--I did. He =
was
the smartest and the shortest of them all. He took care of me and my money.=
I'm
here, the money's gone. Don't you put that towel down on the table--he won't
have that! Don't move his razors--don't, please, or I shall forget which is
which. I've got to remember which is which to-morrow morning. Bless you, the
captain don't shave himself! He had me taught. I shave him. I do his hair, =
and
cut his nails--he's awfully particular about his nails. So he is about his
trousers. And his shoes. And his newspaper in the morning. And his breakfas=
ts,
and lunches, and dinners, and teas--" She stopped, struck by a sudden =
recollection,
looked about her, observed the tattered old book on the floor, and clasped =
her
hands in despair. "I've lost the place!" she exclaimed helplessly.
"Oh, mercy, what will become of me! I've lost the place."
"Never mind," said Magdalen; "I=
'll
soon find the place for you again."
She picked up the book, looked into the pages,=
and
found that the object of Mrs. Wragge's anxiety was nothing more important t=
han
an old-fashioned Treatise on the Art of Cookery, reduced under the usual he=
ads
of Fish, Flesh, and Fowl, and containing the customary series of recipes.
Turning over the leaves, Magdalen came to one particular page, thickly stud=
ded
with little drops of moisture half dry. "Curious!" she said. &quo=
t;If
this was anything but a cookery-book, I should say somebody had been crying
over it."
"Somebody?" echoed Mrs. Wragge, with=
a
stare of amazement. "It isn't somebody--it's Me. Thank you kindly, tha=
t's
the place, sure enough. Bless you, I'm used to crying over it. You'd cry, t=
oo,
if you had to get the captain's dinners out of it. As sure as ever I sit do=
wn
to this book the Buzzing in my head begins again. Who's to make it out?
Sometimes I think I've got it, and it all goes away from me. Sometimes I th=
ink
I haven't got it, and it all comes back in a heap. Look here! Here's what h=
e's
ordered for his breakfast to-morrow: 'Omelette with Herbs. Beat up two eggs
with a little water or milk, salt, pepper, chives, and parsley. Mince
small.'--There! mince small! How am I to mince small when it's all mixed up=
and
running? 'Put a piece of butter the size of your thumb into the frying-pan.=
'--Look
at my thumb, and look at yours! whose size does she mean? 'Boil, but not
brown.'--If it mustn't be brown, what color must it be? She won't tell me; =
she
expects me to know, and I don't. 'Pour in the omelette.'--There! I can do t=
hat.
'Allow it to set, raise it round the edge; when done, turn it over to double
it.'--Oh, the number of times I turned it over and doubled it in my head,
before you came in to-night! 'Keep it soft; put the dish on the frying-pan,=
and
turn it over.' Which am I to turn over--oh, mercy, try the cold towel again,
and tell me which--the dish or the frying-pan?"
"Put the dish on the frying-pan," sa=
id
Magdalen; "and then turn the frying-pan over. That is what it means, I
think."
"Thank you kindly," said Mrs. Wragge,
"I want to get it into my head; please say it again."
Magdalen said it again.
"And then turn the frying-pan over,"
repeated Mrs. Wragge, with a sudden burst of energy. "I've got it now!=
Oh,
the lots of omelettes all frying together in my head; and all frying wrong!
Much obliged, I'm sure. You've put me all right again: I'm only a little ti=
red
with talking. And then turn the frying-pan, then turn the frying-pan, then =
turn
the frying-pan over. It sounds like poetry, don't it?"
Her voice sank, and she drowsily closed her ey=
es.
At the same moment the door of the room below opened, and the captain's
mellifluous bass notes floated upstairs, charged with the customary stimula=
nt
to his wife's faculties.
"Mrs. Wragge!" cried the captain.
"Mrs. Wragge!"
She started to her feet at that terrible summo=
ns.
"Oh, what did he tell me to do?" she asked, distractedly. "L=
ots
of things, and I've forgotten them all!"
"Say you have done them when he asks
you," suggested Magdalen. "They were things for me--things I don't
want. I remember all that is necessary. My room is the front room on the th=
ird
floor. Go downstairs and say I am coming directly."
She took up the candle and pushed Mrs. Wragge =
out
on the landing. "Say I am coming directly," she whispered again--=
and
went upstairs by herself to the third story.
The room was small, close, and very poorly
furnished. In former days Miss Garth would have hesitated to offer such a r=
oom
to one of the servants at Combe-Raven. But it was quiet; it gave her a few
minutes alone; and it was endurable, even welcome, on that account. She loc=
ked herself
in and walked mechanically, with a woman's first impulse in a strange bedro=
om,
to the rickety little table and the dingy little looking-glass. She waited
there for a moment, and then turned away with weary contempt. "What do=
es
it matter how pale I am?" she thought to herself. "Frank can't see
me--what does it matter now!"
She laid aside her cloak and bonnet, and sat d=
own
to collect herself. But the events of the day had worn her out. The past, w=
hen
she tried to remember it, only made her heart ache. The future, when she tr=
ied to
penetrate it, was a black void. She rose again, and stood by the uncurtained
window--stood looking out, as if there was some hidden sympathy for her own
desolation in the desolate night.
"Norah!" she said to herself, tender=
ly;
"I wonder if Norah is thinking of me? Oh, if I could be as patient as =
she
is! If I could only forget the debt we owe to Michael Vanstone!"
Her face darkened with a vindictive despair, a=
nd
she paced the little cage of a room backward and forward, softly. "No:
never till the debt is paid!" Her thoughts veered back again to Frank.
"Still at sea, poor fellow; further and further away from me; sailing
through the day, sailing through the night. Oh, Frank, love me!"
Her eyes filled with tears. She dashed them aw=
ay,
made for the door, and laughed with a desperate levity, as she unlocked it
again.
"Any company is better than my own
thoughts," she burst out, recklessly, as she left the room. "I'm
forgetting my ready-made relations--my half-witted aunt, and my uncle the
rogue." She descended the stairs to the landing on the first floor, and
paused there in momentary hesitation. "How will it end?" she asked
herself. "Where is my blindfolded journey taking me to now? Who knows,=
and
who cares?"
She entered the room.
=
Captain
Wragge was presiding at the tea-tray with the air of a prince in his own
banqueting-hall. At one side of the table sat Mrs. Wragge, watching her
husband's eye like an animal waiting to be fed. At the other side was an em=
pty
chair, toward which the captain waved his persuasive hand when Magdalen came
in. "How do you like your room?" he inquired; "I trust Mrs.
Wragge has made herself useful? You take milk and sugar? Try the local brea=
d,
honor the York butter, test the freshness of a new and neighboring egg. I o=
ffer
my little all. A pauper's meal, my dear girl--seasoned with a gentleman's
welcome."
"Seasoned with salt, pepper, chives and
parsley," murmured Mrs. Wragge, catching instantly at a word in connec=
tion
with cookery, and harnessing her head to the omelette for the rest of the
evening.
"Sit straight at the table!" shouted=
the
captain. "More to the left, more still--that will do. During your abse=
nce
upstairs," he continued, addressing himself to Magdalen, "my mind=
has
not been unemployed. I have been considering your position with a view
exclusively to your own benefit. If you decide on being guided to-morrow by=
the
light of my experience, that light is unreservedly at your service. You may=
naturally
say: 'I know but little of you, captain, and that little is unfavorable.'
Granted, on one condition--that you permit me to make myself and my charact=
er
quite familiar to you when tea is over. False shame is foreign to my nature.
You see my wife, my house, my bread, my butter, and my eggs, all exactly as
they are. See me, too, my dear girl, while you are about it."
When tea was over, Mrs. Wragge, at a signal fr=
om
her husband, retired to a corner of the room, with the eternal cookery-book
still in her hand. "Mince small," she whispered, confidentially, =
as
she passed Magdalen. "That's a teaser, isn't it?"
"Down at heel again!" shouted the
captain, pointing to his wife's heavy flat feet as they shuffled across the
room. "The right shoe. Pull it up at heel, Mrs. Wragge--pull it up at
heel! Pray allow me," he continued, offering his arm to Magdalen, and
escorting her to a dirty little horse-hair sofa. "You want repose--aft=
er
your long journey, you really want repose." He drew his chair to the s=
ofa,
and surveyed her with a bland look of investigation--as if he had been her
medical attendant, with a diagnosis on his mind.
"Very pleasant! very pleasant!" said=
the
captain, when he had seen his guest comfortable on the sofa. "I feel q=
uite
in the bosom of my family. Shall we return to our subject--the subject of my
rascally self? No! no! No apologies, no protestations, pray. Don't mince the
matter on your side--and depend on me not to mince it on mine. Now come to
facts; pray come to facts. Who, and what am I? Carry your mind back to our =
conversation
on the Walls of this interesting City, and let us start once more from your
point of view. I am a Rogue; and, in that capacity (as I have already point=
ed
out), the most useful man you possibly could have met with. Now observe! Th=
ere
are many varieties of Rogue; let me tell you my variety, to begin with. I a=
m a
Swindler."
His entire shamelessness was really super-huma=
n.
Not the vestige of a blush varied the sallow monotony of his complexion; the
smile wreathed his curly lips as pleasantly as ever his party-colored eyes
twinkled at Magdalen with the self-enjoying frankness of a naturally harmle=
ss
man. Had his wife heard him? Magdalen looked over his shoulder to the corne=
r of
the room in which she was sitting behind him. No the self-taught student of
cookery was absorbed in her subject. She had advanced her imaginary omelett=
e to
the critical stage at which the butter was to be thrown in--that
vaguely-measured morsel of butter, the size of your thumb. Mrs. Wragge sat =
lost
in contemplation of one of her own thumbs, and shook her head over it, as i=
f it
failed to satisfy her.
"Don't be shocked," proceeded the
captain; "don't be astonished. Swindler is nothing but a word of two
syllables. S, W, I, N, D--swind; L, E, R--ler; Swindler. Definition: A moral
agriculturist; a man who cultivates the field of human sympathy. I am that
moral agriculturist, that cultivating man. Narrow-minded mediocrity, enviou=
s of
my success in my profession, calls me a Swindler. What of that? The same low
tone of mind assails men in other professions in a similar manner--calls gr=
eat writers
scribblers--great generals, butchers--and so on. It entirely depends on the
point of view. Adopting your point, I announce myself intelligibly as a
Swindler. Now return the obligation, and adopt mine. Hear what I have to say
for myself, in the exercise of my profession.--Shall I continue to put it
frankly?"
"Yes," said Magdalen; "and I'll
tell you frankly afterward what I think of it."
The captain cleared his throat; mentally assem=
bled
his entire army of words--horse, foot, artillery, and reserves; put himself=
at
the head; and dashed into action, to carry the moral intrenchments of Socie=
ty
by a general charge.
"Now observe," he began. "Here =
am
I, a needy object. Very good. Without complicating the question by asking h=
ow I
come to be in that condition, I will merely inquire whether it is, or is no=
t,
the duty of a Christian community to help the needy. If you say No, you sim=
ply
shock me; and there is an end of it; if you say Yes, then I beg to ask, Why=
am
I to blame for making a Christian community do its duty? You may say, Is a =
careful
man who has saved money bound to spend it again on a careless stranger who =
has
saved none? Why of course he is! And on what ground, pray? Good heavens! on=
the
ground that he has got the money, to be sure. All the world over, the man w=
ho
has not got the thing, obtains it, on one pretense or another, of the man w=
ho
has--and, in nine cases out of ten, the pretense is a false one. What! your
pockets are full, and my pockets are empty; and you refuse to help me? Sord=
id
wretch! do you think I will allow you to violate the sacred obligations of
charity in my person? I won't allow you--I say, distinctly, I won't allow y=
ou. Those
are my principles as a moral agriculturist. Principles which admit of trick=
ery?
Certainly. Am I to blame if the field of human sympathy can't be cultivated=
in
any other way? Consult my brother agriculturists in the mere farming line--=
do
they get their crops for the asking? No! they must circumvent arid Nature
exactly as I circumvent sordid Man. They must plow, and sow, and top-dress,=
and
bottom-dress, and deep-drain, and surface-drain, and all the rest of it. Wh=
y am
I to be checked in the vast occupation of deep-draining mankind? Why am I t=
o be
persecuted for habitually exciting the noblest feelings of our common natur=
e?
Infamous!--I can characterize it by no other word--infamous! If I hadn't
confidence in the future, I should despair of humanity--but I have confiden=
ce
in the future. Yes! one of these days (when I am dead and gone), as ideas
enlarge and enlightenment progresses, the abstract merits of the profession=
now
called swindling will be recognized. When that day comes, don't drag me out=
of
my grave and give me a public funeral; don't take advantage of my having no
voice to raise in my own defense, and insult me by a national statue. No! d=
o me
justice on my tombstone; dash me off, in one masterly sentence, on my epita=
ph.
Here lies Wragge, embalmed in the tardy recognition of his species: he plow=
ed,
sowed, and reaped his fellow-creatures; and enlightened posterity congratul=
ates
him on the uniform excellence of his crops."
He stopped; not from want of confidence, not f=
rom
want of words--purely from want of breath. "I put it frankly, with a d=
ash
of humor," he said, pleasantly. "I don't shock you--do I?" W=
eary
and heart-sick as she was--suspicious of others, doubtful of herself--the
extravagant impudence of Captain Wragge's defense of swindling touched
Magdalen's natural sense of humor, and forced a smile to her lips. "Is=
the
Yorkshire crop a particularly rich one just at present?" she inquired,=
meeting
him, in her neatly feminine way, with his own weapons.
"A hit--a palpable hit," said the
captain, jocosely exhibiting the tails of his threadbare shooting jacket, a=
s a
practical commentary on Magdalen's remark. "My dear girl, here or
elsewhere, the crop never fails--but one man can't always gather it in. The
assistance of intelligent co-operation is, I regret to say, denied me. I ha=
ve
nothing in common with the clumsy rank and file of my profession, who convi=
ct themselves,
before recorders and magistrates, of the worst of all offenses--incurable
stupidity in the exercise of their own vocation. Such as you see me, I stand
entirely alone. After years of successful self-dependence, the penalties of
celebrity are beginning to attach to me. On my way from the North, I pause =
at
this interesting city for the third time; I consult my Books for the custom=
ary
references to past local experience; I find under the heading, 'Personal
position in York,' the initials, T. W. K., signifying Too Well Known. I ref=
er
to my Index, and turn to the surrounding neighborhood. The same brief marks
meet my eye. 'Leeds. T. W. K.--Scarborough. T. W. K.--Harrowgate. T. W.
K.'--and so on. What is the inevitable consequence? I suspend my proceeding=
s;
my resources evaporate; and my fair relative finds me the pauper gentleman =
whom
she now sees before her."
"Your books?" said Magdalen. "W=
hat
books do you mean?"
"You shall see," replied the captain.
"Trust me, or not, as you like--I trust you implicitly. You shall
see."
With those words he retired into the back room.
While he was gone, Magdalen stole another look at Mrs. Wragge. Was she still
self-isolated from her husband's deluge of words? Perfectly self-isolated. =
She
had advanced the imaginary omelette to the last stage of culinary progress;=
and
she was now rehearsing the final operation of turning it over--with the pal=
m of
her hand to represent the dish, and the cookery-book to impersonate the
frying-pan. "I've got it," said Mrs. Wragge, nodding across the r=
oom
at Magdalen. "First put the frying-pan on the dish, and then tumble bo=
th
of them over."
Captain Wragge returned, carrying a neat black
dispatch-box, adorned with a bright brass lock. He produced from the box fi=
ve
or six plump little books, bound in commercial calf and vellum, and each fi=
tted
comfortably with its own little lock.
"Mind!" said the moral agriculturist,
"I take no credit to myself for this: it is my nature to be orderly, a=
nd
orderly I am. I must have everything down in black and white, or I should go
mad! Here is my commercial library: Daybook, Ledger, Book of Districts, Boo=
k of
Letters, Book of Remarks, and so on. Kindly throw your eye over any one of =
them.
I flatter myself there is no such thing as a blot, or a careless entry in i=
t,
from the first page to the last. Look at this room--is there a chair out of
place? Not if I know it! Look at me. Am I dusty? am I dirty? am I half shav=
ed?
Am I, in brief, a speckless pauper, or am I not? Mind! I take no credit to
myself; the nature of the man, my dear girl--the nature of the man!"
He opened one of the books. Magdalen was no ju=
dge
of the admirable correctness with which the accounts inside were all kept; =
but she
could estimate the neatness of the handwriting, the regularity in the rows =
of figures,
the mathematical exactness of the ruled lines in red and black ink, the cle=
anly
absence of blots, stains, or erasures. Although Captain Wragge's inborn sen=
se
of order was in him--as it is in others--a sense too inveterately mechanica=
l to
exercise any elevating moral influence over his actions, it had produced its
legitimate effect on his habits, and had reduced his rogueries as strictly =
to
method and system as if they had been the commercial transactions of an hon=
est
man.
"In appearance, my system looks
complicated?" pursued the captain. "In reality, it is simplicity
itself. I merely avoid the errors of inferior practitioners. That is to say=
, I
never plead for myself; and I never apply to rich people--both fatal mistak=
es
which the inferior practitioner perpetually commits. People with small means
sometimes have generous impulses in connection with money--rich people, nev=
er.
My lord, with forty thousand a year; Sir John, with property in half a dozen
counties--those are the men who never forgive the genteel beggar for swindl=
ing
them out of a sovereign; those are the men who send for the mendicity offic=
ers;
those are the men who take care of their money. Who are the people who lose
shillings and sixpences by sheer thoughtlessness? Servants and small clerks=
, to
whom shillings and sixpences are of consequence. Did you ever hear of
Rothschild or Baring dropping a fourpenny-piece down a gutter-hole? Fourpen=
ce
in Rothschild's pocket is safer than fourpence in the pocket of that woman =
who
is crying stale shrimps in Skeldergate at this moment. Fortified by these s=
ound
principles, enlightened by the stores of written information in my commerci=
al
library, I have ranged through the population for years past, and have rais=
ed
my charitable crops with the most cheering success. Here, in book Number On=
e,
are all my Districts mapped out, with the prevalent public feeling to appea=
l to
in each: Military District, Clerical District, Agricultural District; et
cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Two, are my cases that I plead: Family o=
f an
officer who fell at Waterloo; Wife of a poor curate stricken down by nervous
debility; Widow of a grazier in difficulties gored to death by a mad bull; =
et
cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Three, are the people who have heard of =
the officer's
family, the curate's wife, the grazier's widow, and the people who haven't;=
the
people who have said Yes, and the people who have said No; the people to try
again, the people who want a fresh case to stir them up, the people who are
doubtful, the people to beware of; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Number Fo=
ur,
are my Adopted Handwritings of public characters; my testimonials to my own
worth and integrity; my Heartrending Statements of the officer's family, the
curate's wife, and the grazier's widow, stained with tears, blotted with
emotion; et cetera, et cetera. Here, in Numbers Five and Six, are my own
personal subscriptions to local charities, actually paid in remunerative ne=
ighborhoods,
on the principle of throwing a sprat to catch a herring; also, my diary of =
each
day's proceedings, my personal reflections and remarks, my statement of
existing difficulties (such as the difficulty of finding myself T. W. K. in
this interesting city); my outgivings and incomings; wind and weather; poli=
tics
and public events; fluctuations in my own health; fluctuations in Mrs. Wrag=
ge's
head; fluctuations in our means and meals, our payments, prospects, and
principles; et cetera, et cetera. So, my dear girl, the Swindler's Mill goe=
s.
So you see me exactly as I am. You knew, before I met you, that I lived on =
my
wits. Well! have I, or have I not, shown you that I have wits to live on?&q=
uot;
"I have no doubt you have done yourself f=
ull
justice," said Magdalen, quietly.
"I am not at all exhausted," continu=
ed
the captain. "I can go on, if necessary, for t he rest of the
evening.--However, if I have do ne myself full justice, perhaps I may leave=
the
remaining points in my character to develop themselves at future opportunit=
ies.
For the present, I withdraw myself from notice. Exit Wragge. And now to bus=
iness!
Permit me to inquire what effect I have produced on your own mind? Do you s=
till
believe that the Rogue who has trusted you with all his secrets is a Rogue =
who
is bent on taking a mean advantage of a fair relative?"
"I will wait a little," Magdalen
rejoined, "before I answer that question. When I came down to tea, you
told me you had been employing your mind for my benefit. May I ask how?&quo=
t;
"By all means," said Captain Wragge.
"You shall have the net result of the whole mental process. Said proce=
ss
ranges over the present and future proceedings of your disconsolate friends,
and of the lawyers who are helping them to find you. Their present proceedi=
ngs
are, in all probability, assuming the following form: the lawyer's clerk has
given you up at Mr. Huxtable's, and has also, by this time, given you up, a=
fter
careful inquiry, at all the hotels. His last chance is that you may send for
your box to the cloak-room--you don't send for it--and there the clerk is
to-night (thanks to Captain Wragge and Rosemary Lane) at the end of his
resources. He will forthwith communicate that fact to his employers in Lond=
on;
and those employers (don't be alarmed!) will apply for help to the detective
police. Allowing for inevitable delays, a professional spy, with all his wi=
ts
about him, and with those handbills to help him privately in identifying yo=
u,
will be here certainly not later than the day after tomorrow--possibly earl=
ier.
If you remain in York, if you attempt to communicate with Mr. Huxtable, that
spy will find you out. If, on the other hand, you leave the city before he
comes (taking your departure by other means than the railway, of course) you
put him in the same predicament as the clerk--you defy him to find a fresh
trace of you. There is my brief abstract of your present position. What do =
you
think of it?"
"I think it has one defect," said
Magdalen. "It ends in nothing."
"Pardon me," retorted the captain.
"It ends in an arrangement for your safe departure, and in a plan for =
the
entire gratification of your wishes in the direction of the stage. Both dra=
wn
from the resources of my own experience, and both waiting a word from you, =
to
be poured forth immediately in the fullest detail."
"I think I know what that word is,"
replied Magdalen, looking at him attentively.
"Charmed to hear it, I am sure. You have =
only
to say, 'Captain Wragge, take charge of me'--and my plans are yours from th=
at
moment."
"I will take to-night to consider your
proposal," she said, after an instant's reflection. "You shall ha=
ve
my answer to-morrow morning."
Captain Wragge looked a little disappointed. He
had not expected the reservation on his side to be met so composedly by a
reservation on hers.
"Why not decide at once?" he
remonstrated, in his most persuasive tones. "You have only to
consider--"
"I have more to consider than you think
for," she answered. "I have another object in view besides the ob=
ject
you know of."
"May I ask--?"
"Excuse me, Captain Wragge--you may not a=
sk.
Allow me to thank you for your hospitality, and to wish you good-night. I am
worn out. I want rest."
Once more the captain wisely adapted himself to
her humor with the ready self-control of an experienced man.
"Worn out, of course!" he said,
sympathetically. "Unpardonable on my part not to have thought of it
before. We will resume our conversation to-morrow. Permit me to give you a
candle. Mrs. Wragge!"
Prostrated by mental exertion, Mrs. Wragge was
pursuing the course of the omelette in dreams. Her head was twisted one way,
and her body the other. She snored meekly. At intervals one of her hands ra=
ised
itself in the air, shook an imaginary frying-pan, and dropped again with a
faint thump on the cookery-book in her lap. At the sound of her husband's v=
oice,
she started to her feet, and confronted him with her mind fast asleep, and =
her
eyes wide open.
"Assist Miss Vanstone," said the
captain. "And the next time you forget yourself in your chair, fall as=
leep
straight--don't annoy me by falling asleep crooked."
Mrs. Wragge opened her eyes a little wider, and
looked at Magdalen in helpless amazement.
"Is the captain breakfasting by
candle-light?" she inquired, meekly. "And haven't I done the
omelette?"
Before her husband's corrective voice could ap=
ply
a fresh stimulant, Magdalen took her compassionately by the arm and led her=
out
of the room.
=
"Another
object besides the object I know of?" repeated Captain Wragge, when he=
was
left by himself. "Is there a gentleman in the background, after all? Is
there mischief brewing in the dark that I don't bargain for?"
TOWARD six o'clock the next morning, the light
pouring in on her face awoke Magdalen in the bedroom in Rosemary Lane.
She started from her deep, dreamless repose of=
the
past night with that painful sense of bewilderment, on first waking, which =
is
familiar to all sleepers in strange beds. "Norah!" she called out
mechanically, when she opened her eyes. The next instant her mind roused
itself, and her senses told her the truth. She looked round the miserable r=
oom
with a loathing recognition of it. The sordid contrast which the place
presented to all that she had been accustomed to see in her own
bed-chamber--the practical abandonment, implied in its scanty furniture, of
those elegant purities of personal habit to which she had been accustomed f=
rom
her childhood--shocked that sense of bodily self-respect in Magdalen which =
is a
refined woman's second nature. Contemptible as the influence seemed, when
compared with her situation at that moment, the bare sight of the jug and b=
asin
in a corner of the room decided her first resolution when she woke. She
determined, then and there, to leave Rosemary Lane.
How was she to leave it? With Captain Wragge, =
or
without him?
She dressed herself, with a dainty shrinking f=
rom
everything in the room which her hands or her clothes touched in the proces=
s,
and then opened the window. The autumn air felt keen and sweet; and the lit=
tle
patch of sky that she could see was warmly bright already with the new
sunlight. Distant voices of bargemen on the river, and the chirping of birds
among the weeds which topped the old city wall, were the only sounds that b=
roke
the morning silence. She sat down by the window; and searched her mind for =
the
thoughts which she had lost, when weariness overcame her on the night befor=
e.
The first subject to which she returned was the
vagabond subject of Captain Wragge.
The "moral agriculturist" had failed=
to
remove her personal distrust of him, cunningly as he had tried to plead aga=
inst
it by openly confessing the impostures that he had practiced on others. He =
had
raised her opinion of his abilities; he had amused her by his humor; he had=
astonished
her by his assurance; but he had left her original conviction that he was a
Rogue exactly where it was when he first met with her. If the one design th=
en
in her mind had been the design of going on the stage, she would, at all
hazards, have rejected the more than doubtful assistance of Captain Wragge =
on
the spot.
But the perilous journey on which she had now
adventured herself had another end in view--an end, dark and distant--an en=
d,
with pitfalls hidden on the way to it, far other than the shallow pitfalls =
on
the way to the stage. In the mysterious stillness of the morning, her mind =
looked
on to its second and its deeper design, and the despicable figure of the
swindler rose before her in a new view.
She tried to shut him out--to feel above him a=
nd
beyond him again, as she had felt up to this time.
After a little trifling with her dress, she to=
ok
from her bosom the white silk bag which her own hands had made on the farew=
ell
night at Combe-Raven. It drew together at the mouth with delicate silken
strings. The first thing she took out, on opening it, was a lock of Frank's
hair, tied with a morsel of silver thread; the next was a sheet of paper co=
ntaining
the extracts which she had copied from her father's will and her father's
letter; the last was a closely-folded packet of bank-notes, to the value of
nearly two hundred pounds--the produce (as Miss Garth had rightly conjectur=
ed)
of the sale of her jewelry and her dresses, in which the servant at the
boarding-school had privately assisted her. She put back the notes at once,
without a second glance at them, and then sat looking thoughtfully at the l=
ock
of hair as it lay on her lap. "You are better than nothing," she
said, speaking to it with a girl's fanciful tenderness. "I can sit and
look at you sometimes, till I almost think I am looking at Frank. Oh, my
darling! my darling!" Her voice faltered softly, and she put the lock =
of
hair, with a languid gentleness, to her lips. It fell from her fingers into=
her
bosom. A lovely tinge of color rose on her cheeks, and spread downward to h=
er neck,
as if it followed the falling hair. She closed her eyes, and let her fair h=
ead
droop softly. The world passed from her; and, for one enchanted moment, Love
opened the gates of Paradise to the daughter of Eve.
The trivial noises in the neighboring street,
gathering in number as the morning advanced, forced her back to the hard
realities of the passing time. She raised her head with a heavy sigh, and
opened her eyes once more on the mean and miserable little room.
The extracts from the will and the letter--tho=
se
last memorials of her father, now so closely associated with the purpose wh=
ich
had possession of her mind--still lay before her. The transient color faded
from her face, as she spread the little manuscript open on her lap. The
extracts from the will stood highest on the page; they were limited to thos=
e few
touching words in which the dead father begged his children's forgiveness f=
or
the stain on their birth, and implored them to remember the untiring love a=
nd
care by which he had striven to atone for it. The extract from the letter to
Mr. Pendril came next. She read the last melancholy sentences aloud to hers=
elf:
"For God's sake come on the day when you receive this--come and reliev=
e me
from the dreadful thought that my two darling girls are at this moment
unprovided for. If anything happened to me, and if my desire to do their mo=
ther
justice ended (through my miserable ignorance of the law) in leaving Norah =
and Magdalen
disinherited, I should not rest in my grave!" Under these lines again,=
and
close at the bottom of the page, was written the terrible commentary on that
letter which had fallen from Mr. Pendril's lips: "Mr. Vanstone's daugh=
ters
are Nobody's Children, and the law leaves them helpless at their uncle's
mercy."
Helpless when those words were spoken--helpless
still, after all that she had resolved, after all that she had sacrificed. =
The
assertion of her natural rights and her sister's, sanctioned by the direct
expression of her father's last wishes; the recall of Frank from China; the=
justification
of her desertion of Norah--all hung on her desperate purpose of recovering =
the
lost inheritance, at any risk, from the man who had beggared and insulted h=
is
brother's children. And that man was still a shadow to her! So little did s=
he
know of him that she was even ignorant at that moment of his place of abode=
.
She rose and paced the room with the noiseless,
negligent grace of a wild creature of the forest in its cage. "How can=
I
reach him in the dark?" she said to herself. "How can I find
out--?" She stopped suddenly. Before the question had shaped itself to=
an
end in her thoughts, Captain Wragge was back in her mind again.
A man well used to working in the dark; a man =
with
endless resources of audacity and cunning; a man who would hesitate at no m=
ean
employment that could be offered to him, if it was employment that filled h=
is pockets--was
this the instrument for which, in its present need, her hand was waiting? T=
wo
of the necessities to be met, before she could take a single step in advanc=
e,
were plainly present to her--the necessity of knowing more of her father's
brother than she knew now; and the necessity of throwing him off his guard =
by
concealing herself personally during the process of inquiry. Resolutely
self-dependent as she was, the inevitable spy's work at the outset must be =
work
delegated to another. In her position, was there any ready human creature
within reach but the vagabond downstairs? Not one. She thought of it anxiou=
sly,
she thought of it long. Not one! There the choice was, steadily confronting
her: the choice of taking the Rogue, or of turning her back on the Purpose.=
She paused in the middle of the room. "Wh=
at
can he do at his worst?" she said to herself. "Cheat me. Well! if=
my
money governs him for me, what then? Let him have my money!" She retur=
ned
mechanically to her place by the window. A moment more decided her. A moment
more, and she took the first fatal step downward-she determined to face the
risk, and try Captain Wragge.
At nine o'clock the landlady knocked at Magdal=
en's
door, and informed her (with the captain's kind compliments) that breakfast=
was
ready.
She found Mrs. Wragge alone, attired in a
voluminous brown holland wrapper, with a limp cape and a trimming of dingy =
pink
ribbon. The ex-waitress at Darch's Dining-rooms was absorbed in the contemp=
lation
of a large dish, containing a leathery-looking substance of a mottled yellow
color, profusely sprinkled with little black spots.
"There it is!" said Mrs. Wragge.
"Omelette with herbs. The landlady helped me. And that's what we've ma=
de
of it. Don't you ask the captain for any when he comes in--don't, there's a
good soul. It isn't nice. We had some accidents with it. It's been under the
grate. It's been spilled on the stairs. It's scalded the landlady's youngest
boy--he went and sat on it. Bless you, it isn't half as nice as it looks! D=
on't
you ask for any. Perhaps he won't notice if you say nothing about it. What =
do
you think of my wrapper? I should so like to have a white one. Have you got=
a
white one? How is it trimmed? Do tell me!"
The formidable entrance of the captain suspend=
ed
the next question on her lips. Fortunately for Mrs. Wragge, her husband was=
far
too anxious for the promised expression of Magdalen's decision to pay his
customary attention to questions of cookery. When breakfast was over, he
dismissed Mrs. Wragge, and merely referred to the omelette by telling her t=
hat
she had his full permission to "give it to the dogs."
"How does my little proposal look by
daylight?" he asked, placing chairs for Magdalen and himself. "Wh=
ich
is it to be: 'Captain Wragge, take charge of me?' or, 'Captain Wragge,
good-morning?'"
"You shall hear directly," replied
Magdalen. "I have something to say first. I told you, last night, that=
I
had another object in view besides the object of earning my living on the
stage--"
"I beg your pardon," interposed Capt=
ain
Wragge. "Did you say, earning your living?"
"Certainly. Both my sister and myself must
depend on our own exertions to gain our daily bread."
"What!!!" cried the captain, startin=
g to
his feet. "The daughters of my wealthy and lamented relative by marria=
ge
reduced to earn their own living? Impossible--wildly, extravagantly
impossible!" He sat down again, and looked at Magdalen as if she had
inflicted a personal injury on him.
"You are not acquainted with the full ext=
ent
of our misfortune," she said, quietly. "I will tell you what has
happened before I go any further." She told him at once, in the plaine=
st
terms she could find, and with as few details as possible.
Captain Wragge's profound bewilderment left him
conscious of but one distinct result produced by the narrative on his own m=
ind.
The lawyer's offer of Fifty Pounds Reward for the missing young lady ascend=
ed instantly
to a place in his estimation which it had never occupied until that moment.=
"Do I understand," he inquired,
"that you are entirely deprived of present resources?"
"I have sold my jewelry and my dresses,&q=
uot;
said Magdalen, impatient of his mean harping on the pecuniary string. "=
;If
my want of experience keeps me back in a theater, I can afford to wait till=
the
stage can afford to pay me."
Captain Wragge mentally appraised the rings,
bracelets, and necklaces, the silks, satins, and laces of the daughter of a
gentleman of fortune, at--say, a third of their real value. In a moment mor=
e,
the Fifty Pounds Reward suddenly sank again to the lowest depths in the deep
estimation of this judicious man.
"Just so," he said, in his most
business-like manner. "There is not the least fear, my dear girl, of y=
our
being kept back in a theater, if you possess present resources, and if you
profit by my assistance."
"I must accept more assistance than you h=
ave
already offered--or none," said Magdalen. "I have more serious
difficulties before me than the difficulty of leaving York, and the difficu=
lty
of finding my way to the stage."
"You don't say so! I am all attention; pr=
ay
explain yourself!"
She considered her next words carefully before
they passed her lips.
"There are certain inquiries," she s=
aid,
"which I am interested in making. If I undertook them myself, I should
excite the suspicion of the person inquired after, and should learn little =
or
nothing of what I wish to know. If the inquiries could be made by a strange=
r,
without my being seen in the matter, a service would be rendered me of much=
greater
importance than the service you offered last night."
Captain Wragge's vagabond face became gravely =
and
deeply attentive.
"May I ask," he said, "what the
nature of the inquiries is likely to be?"
Magdalen hesitated. She had necessarily mentio=
ned
Michael Vanstone's name in informing the captain of the loss of her
inheritance. She must inevitably mention it to him again if she employed his
services. He would doubtless discover it for himself, by a plain process of=
inference,
before she said many words more, frame them as carefully as she might. Under
these circumstances, was there any intelligible reason for shrinking from
direct reference to Michael Vanstone? No intelligible reason--and yet she
shrank.
"For instance," pursued Captain Wrag=
ge,
"are they inquiries about a man or a woman; inquiries about an enemy o=
r a
friend--?"
"An enemy," she answered, quickly.
Her reply might still have kept the captain in=
the
dark--but her eyes enlightened him. "Michael Vanstone!" thought t=
he
wary Wragge. "She looks dangerous; I'll feel my way a little
further."
"With regard, now, to the person who is t=
he
object of these inquiries," he resumed. "Are you thoroughly clear=
in
your own mind about what you want to know?"
"Perfectly clear," replied Magdalen.
"I want to know where he lives, to begin with."
"Yes. And after that?"
"I want to know about his habits; about w=
ho
the people are whom he associates with; about what he does with his
money--" She considered a little. "And one thing more," she
said; "I want to know whether there is any woman about his house--a
relation, or a housekeeper--who has an influence over him."
"Harmless enough, so far," said the
captain. "What next?"
"Nothing. The rest is my secret."
The clouds on Captain Wragge's countenance beg=
an
to clear away again. He reverted, with his customary precision, to his
customary choice of alternatives. "These inquiries of hers," he
thought, "mean one of two things--Mischief, or Money! If it's Mischief,
I'll slip through her fingers. If it's Money, I'll make myself useful, with=
a
view to the future."
Magdalen's vigilant eyes watched the progress =
of
his reflections suspiciously. "Captain Wragge," she said, "if
you want time to consider, say so plainly."
"I don't want a moment," replied the
captain. "Place your departure from York, your dramatic career, and yo=
ur
private inquiries under my care. Here I am, unreservedly at your disposal. =
Say
the word--do you take me?"
Her heart beat fast; her lips turned dry--but =
she
said the word.
"I do."
There was a pause. Magdalen sat silent, strugg=
ling
with the vague dread of the future which had been roused in her mind by her=
own
reply. Captain Wragge, on his side, was apparently absorbed in the consider=
ation
of a new set of alternatives. His hands descended into his empty pockets, a=
nd
prophetically tested their capacity as receptacles for gold and silver. The
brightness of the precious metals was in his face, the smoothness of the
precious metals was in his voice, as he provided himself with a new supply =
of
words, and resumed the conversation.
"The next question," he said, "=
is
the question of time. Do these confidential investigations of ours require
immediate attention--or can they wait?"
"For the present, they can wait,"
replied Magdalen. "I wish to secure my freedom from all interference on
the part of my friends before the inquiries are made."
"Very good. The first step toward
accomplishing that object is to beat our retreat--excuse a professional
metaphor from a military man--to beat our retreat from York to-morrow. I se=
e my
way plainly so far; but I am all abroad, as we used to say in the militia,
about my marching orders afterward. The next direction we take ought to be
chosen with an eye to advancing your dramatic views. I am all ready, when I
know what your views are. How came you to think of the theater at all? I see
the sacred fire burning in you; tell me, who lit it?"
Magdalen could only answer him in one way. She
could only look back at the days that were gone forever, and tell him the s=
tory
of her first step toward the stage at Evergreen Lodge. Captain Wragge liste=
ned with
his usual politeness; but he evidently derived no satisfactory impression f=
rom
what he heard. Audiences of friends were audiences whom he privately declin=
ed
to trust; and the opinion of the stage-manager was the opinion of a man who
spoke with his fee in his pocket and his eye on a future engagement.
"Interesting, deeply interesting," he
said, when Magdalen had done. "But not conclusive to a practical man. A
specimen of your abilities is necessary to enlighten me. I have been on the
stage myself; the comedy of the Rivals is familiar to me from beginning to =
end.
A sample is all I want, if you have not forgotten the words--a sample of
'Lucy,' and a sample of 'Julia.'"
"I have not forgotten the words," sa=
id
Magdalen, sorrowfully; "and I have the little books with me in which my
dialogue was written out. I have never parted with them; they remind me of a
time--" Her lip trembled, and a pang of the heart-ache silenced her.
"Nervous," remarked the captain,
indulgently. "Not at all a bad sign. The greatest actresses on the sta=
ge
are nervous. Follow their example, and get over it. Where are the parts? Oh,
here they are! Very nicely written, and remarkably clean. I'll give you the
cues--it will all be over (as the dentists say) in no time. Take the back
drawing-room for the stage, and take me for the audience. Tingle goes the b=
ell;
up runs the curtain; order in the gallery, silence in the pit--enter
Lucy!"
She tried hard to control herself; she forced =
back
the sorrow--the innocent, natural, human sorrow for the absent and the
dead--pleading hard with her for the tears that she refused. Resolutely, wi=
th
cold, clinched hands, she tried to begin. As the first familiar words passe=
d her
lips, Frank came back to her from the sea, and the face of her dead father
looked at her with the smile of happy old times. The voices of her mother a=
nd
her sister talked gently in the fragrant country stillness, and the
garden-walks at Combe-Raven opened once more on her view. With a faint, wai=
ling
cry, she dropped into a chair; her head fell forward on the table, and she
burst passionately into tears.
Captain Wragge was on his feet in a moment. She
shuddered as he came near her, and waved him back vehemently with her hand.
"Leave me!" she said; "leave me a minute by myself!" The
compliant Wragge retired to the front room; looked out of the window; and
whistled under his breath. "The family spirit again!" he said.
"Complicated by hysterics."
After waiting a minute or two he returned to m=
ake
inquiries.
"Is there anything I can offer you?"=
he
asked. "Cold water? burned feathers? smelling salts? medical assistanc=
e?
Shall I summon Mrs. Wragge? Shall we put it off till to-morrow?"
She started up, wild and flushed, with a despe=
rate
s elf-command in her face, with an angry resolution in her manner.
"No!" she said. "I must harden
myself--and I will! Sit down again and see me act."
"Bravo!" cried the captain. "Da=
sh
at it, my beauty--and it's done!"
She dashed at it, with a mad defiance of
herself--with a raised voice, and a glow like fever in her cheeks. All the
artless, girlish charm of the performance in happier and better days was go=
ne.
The native dramatic capacity that was in her came, hard and bold, to the
surface, stripped of every softening allurement which had once adorned it. =
She
would have saddened and disappointed a man with any delicacy of feeling. Sh=
e absolutely
electrified Captain Wragge. He forgot his politeness, he forgot his long wo=
rds.
The essential spirit of the man's whole vagabond life burst out of him
irresistibly in his first exclamation. "Who the devil would have thoug=
ht
it? She can act, after all!" The instant the words escaped his lips he
recovered himself, and glided off into his ordinary colloquial channels.
Magdalen stopped him in the middle of his first compliment. "No,"=
she
said; "I have forced the truth out of you for once. I want no more.&qu=
ot;
"Pardon me," replied the incorrigible
Wragge. "You want a little instruction; and I am the man to give it
you."
With that answer, he placed a chair for her, a=
nd
proceeded to explain himself.
She sat down in silence. A sullen indifference
began to show itself in her manner; her cheeks turned pale again; and her e=
yes
looked wearily vacant at the wall before her. Captain Wragge noticed these
signs of heart-sickness and discontent with herself, after the effort she h=
ad made,
and saw the importance of rousing her by speaking, for once, plainly and
directly to the point. She had set a new value on herself in his mercenary =
eyes.
She had suggested to him a speculation in her youth, her beauty, and her ma=
rked
ability for the stage, which had never entered his mind until he saw her ac=
t.
The old militia-man was quick at his shifts. He and his plans had both turn=
ed
right about together when Magdalen sat down to hear what he had to say.
"Mr. Huxtable's opinion is my opinion,&qu=
ot;
he began. "You are a born actress. But you must be trained before you =
can
do anything on the stage. I am disengaged--I am competent--I have trained
others--I can train you. Don't trust my word: trust my eye to my own intere=
sts.
I'll make it my interest to take pains with you, and to be quick about it. =
You
shall pay me for my instructions from your profits on the stage. Half your
salary for the first year; a third of your salary for the second year; and =
half
the sum you clear by your first benefit in a London theater. What do you sa=
y to
that? Have I made it my interest to push you, or have I not?"
So far as appearances went, and so far as the
stage went, it was plain that he had linked his interests and Magdalen's
together. She briefly told him so, and waited to hear more.
"A month or six weeks' study," conti=
nued
the captain, "will give me a reasonable idea of what you can do best. =
All
ability runs in grooves; and your groove remains to be found. We can't find=
it
here--for we can't keep you a close prisoner for weeks together in Rosemary
Lane. A quiet country place, secure from all interference and interruption,=
is
the place we want for a month certain. Trust my knowledge of Yorkshire, and=
consider
the place found. I see no difficulties anywhere, except the difficulty of
beating our retreat to-morrow."
"I thought your arrangements were made la=
st
night?" said Magdalen.
"Quite right," rejoined the captain.
"They were made last night; and here they are. We can't leave by railw=
ay,
because the lawyer's clerk is sure to be on the lookout for you at the York
terminus. Very good; we take to the road instead, and leave in our own
carriage. Where the deuce do we get it? We get it from the landlady's broth=
er,
who has a horse and chaise which he lets out for hire. That chaise comes to=
the
end of Rosemary Lane at an early hour to-morrow morning. I take my wife and=
my
niece out to show them the beauties of the neighborhood. We have a picnic
hamper with us, which marks our purpose in the public eye. You disfigure
yourself in a shawl, bonnet, and veil of Mrs. Wragge's; we turn our backs on
York; and away we drive on a pleasure trip for the day--you and I on the fr=
ont
seat, Mrs. Wragge and the hamper behind. Good again. Once on the highroad, =
what
do we do? Drive to the first station beyond York, northward, southward, or
eastward, as may be hereafter determined. No lawyer's clerk is waiting for =
you
there. You and Mrs. Wragge get out--first opening the hamper at a convenien=
t opportunity.
Instead of containing chickens and Champagne, it contains a carpet-bag, with
the things you want for the night. You take your tickets for a place previo=
usly
determined on, and I take the chaise back to York. Arrived once more in this
house, I collect the luggage left behind, and send for the woman downstairs.
'Ladies so charmed with such and such a place (wrong place of course), that
they have determined to stop there. Pray accept the customary week's rent, =
in
place of a week's warning. Good day.' Is the clerk looking for me at the Yo=
rk
terminus? Not he. I take my ticket under his very nose; I follow you with t=
he luggage
along your line of railway--and where is the trace left of your departure?
Nowhere. The fairy has vanished; and the legal authorities are left in the
lurch."
"Why do you talk of difficulties?" a=
sked
Magdalen. "The difficulties seem to be provided for."
"All but ONE," said Captain Wragge, =
with
an ominous emphasis on the last word. "The Grand Difficulty of humanity
from the cradle to the grave--Money." He slowly winked his green eye;
sighed with deep feeling; and buried his insolvent hands in his unproductive
pockets.
"What is the money wanted for?" inqu=
ired
Magdalen.
"To pay my bills," replied the capta=
in,
with a touching simplicity. "Pray understand! I never was--and never s=
hall
be--personally desirous of paying a single farthing to any human creature on
the habitable globe. I am speaking in your interest, not in mine."
"My interest?"
"Certainly. You can't get safely away from
York to-morrow without the chaise. And I can't get the chaise without money.
The landlady's brother will lend it if he sees his sister's bill receipted,=
and
if he gets his day's hire beforehand--not otherwise. Allow me to put the
transaction in a business light. We have agreed that I am to be remunerated=
for
my course of dramatic instruction out of your future earnings on the stage.=
Very
good. I merely draw on my future prospects; and you, on whom those prospects
depend, are naturally my banker. For mere argument's sake, estimate my shar=
e in
your first year's salary at the totally inadequate value of a hundred pound=
s.
Halve that sum; quarter that sum--"
"How much do you want?" said Magdale=
n,
impatiently.
Captain Wragge was sorely tempted to take the
Reward at the top of the handbills as his basis of calculation. But he felt=
the
vast future importance of present moderation; and actually wanting some twe=
lve or
thirteen pounds, he merely doubled the amount, and said, "Five-and-twe=
nty."
Magdalen took the little bag from her bosom, a=
nd
gave him the money, with a contemptuous wonder at the number of words which=
he
had wasted on her for the purpose of cheating on so small a scale. In the o=
ld
days at Combe-Raven, five-and-twenty pounds flowed from a stroke of her
father's pen into the hands of any one in the house who chose to ask for it=
.
Captain Wragge's eyes dwelt on the little bag =
as
the eyes of lovers dwell on their mistresses. "Happy bag!" he
murmured, as she put it back in her bosom. He rose; dived into a corner of =
the
room; produced his neat dispatch-box; and solemnly unlocked it on the table
between Magdalen and himself.
"The nature of the man, my dear girl--the
nature of the man," he said, opening one of his plump little books bou=
nd
in calf and vellum. "A transaction has taken place between us. I must =
have
it down in black and white." He opened the book at a blank page, and w=
rote
at the top, in a fine mercantile hand: "Miss Vanstone, the Younger: In
account with Horatio Wragge, late o f the Royal Militia. Dr.--Cr. Sept. 24t=
h,
1846. Dr.: To estimated value of H. Wragge's interest in Miss V.'s first ye=
ar's
salary--say--200 pounds. Cr. By paid on account, 25 pounds." Having
completed the entry--and having also shown, by doubling his original estima=
te
on the Debtor side, that Magdalen's easy compliance with his demand on her =
had
not been thrown away on him--the captain pressed his blotting-paper over the
wet ink, and put away the book with the air of a man who had done a virtuous
action, and who was above boasting about it.
"Excuse me for leaving you abruptly,"=
; he
said. "Time is of importance; I must make sure of the chaise. If Mrs.
Wragge comes in, tell her nothing--she is not sharp enough to be trusted. If
she presumes to ask questions, extinguish her immediately. You have only to=
be
loud. Pray take my authority into your own hands, and be as loud with Mrs.
Wragge as I am!" He snatched up his tall hat, bowed, smiled, and tripp=
ed
out of the room.
Sensible of little else but of the relief of b=
eing
alone; feeling no more distinct impression than the vague sense of some ser=
ious
change having taken place in herself and her position, Magdalen let the eve=
nts of
the morning come and go like shadows on her mind, and waited wearily for wh=
at
the day might bring forth. After the lapse of some time, the door opened
softly. The giant figure of Mrs. Wragge stalked into the room, and stopped
opposite Magdalen in solemn astonishment.
"Where are your Things?" asked Mrs.
Wragge, with a burst of incontrollable anxiety. "I've been upstairs
looking in your drawers. Where are your night-gowns and night-caps? and your
petticoats and stockings? and your hair-pins and bear's grease, and all the
rest of it?"
"My luggage is left at the railway statio=
n,"
said Magdalen.
Mrs. Wragge's moon-face brightened dimly. The
ineradicable female instinct of Curiosity tried to sparkle in her faded blue
eyes--flickered piteously--and died out.
"How much luggage?" she asked,
confidentially. "The captain's gone out. Let's go and get it!"
"Mrs. Wragge!" cried a terrible voic=
e at
the door.
For the first time in Magdalen's experience, M=
rs.
Wragge was deaf to the customary stimulant. She actually ventured on a feeb=
le
remonstrance in the presence of her husband.
"Oh, do let her have her Things!"
pleaded Mrs. Wragge. "Oh, poor soul, do let her have her Things!"=
The captain's inexorable forefinger pointed to=
a
corner of the room--dropped slowly as his wife retired before it--and sudde=
nly
stopped at the region of her shoes.
"Do I hear a clapping on the floor!"
exclaimed Captain Wragge, with an expression of horror. "Yes; I do. Do=
wn
at heel again! The left shoe this time. Pull it up, Mrs. Wragge! pull it
up!--The chaise will be here to-morrow morning at nine o'clock," he
continued, addressing Magdalen. "We can't possibly venture on claiming
your box. There is note-paper. Write down a list of the necessaries you wan=
t. I
will take it myself to the shop, pay the bill for you, and bring back the
parcel. We must sacrifice the box--we must, indeed."
While her husband was addressing Magdalen, Mrs.
Wragge had stolen out again from her corner, and had ventured near enough to
the captain to hear the words "shop" and "parcel." She
clapped her great hands together in ungovernable excitement, and lost all
control over herself immediately.
"Oh, if it's shopping, let me do it!"
cried Mrs. Wragge. "She's going out to buy her Things! Oh, let me go w=
ith
her--please let me go with her!"
"Sit down!" shouted the captain.
"Straight! more to the right--more still. Stop where you are!"
Mrs. Wragge crossed her helpless hands on her =
lap,
and melted meekly into tears.
"I do so like shopping," pleaded the
poor creature; "and I get so little of it now!"
Magdalen completed her list; and Captain Wragg=
e at
once left the room with it. "Don't let my wife bore you," he said,
pleasantly, as he went out. "Cut her short, poor soul--cut her
short!"
"Don't cry," said Magdalen, trying to
comfort Mrs. Wragge by patting her on the shoulder. "When the parcel c=
omes
back you shall open it."
"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Wrag=
ge,
meekly, drying her eyes; "thank you kindly. Don't notice my handkerchi=
ef,
please. It's such a very little one! I had a nice lot of them once, with la=
ce
borders. They're all gone now. Never mind! It will comfort me to unpack your
Things. You're very good to me. I like you. I say--you won't be angry, will
you? Give us a kiss."
Magdalen stooped over her with the frank grace=
and
gentleness of past days, and touched her faded cheek. "Let me do somet=
hing
harmless!" she thought, with a pang at her heart--"oh let me do
something innocent and kind for the sake of old times!"
She felt her eyes moistening, and silently tur=
ned
away.
That night no rest came to her. That night the
roused forces of Good and Evil fought their terrible fight for her soul--and
left the strife between them still in suspense when morning came. As the cl=
ock
of York Minster struck nine, she followed Mrs. Wragge to the chaise, and to=
ok her
seat by the captain's side. In a quarter of an hour more York was in the
distance, and the highroad lay bright and open before them in the morning
sunlight.
THE END OF THE SECOND SCENE.
CHRONICLE OF EVENTS: PRESERVED IN CAPTAIN WRAG=
GE'S
DISPATCH-BOX.
Chronicle for October, 1846.
I HAVE retired into the bosom of my family. We=
are
residing in the secluded village of Ruswarp, on the banks of the Esk, about=
two
miles inland from Whitby. Our lodgings are comfortable, and we possess the =
additional
blessing of a tidy landlady. Mrs. Wragge and Miss Vanstone preceded me here=
, in
accordance with the plan I laid down for effecting our retreat from York. On
the next day I followed them alone, with the luggage. On leaving the termin=
us,
I had the satisfaction of seeing the lawyer's clerk in close confabulation =
with
the detective officer whose advent I had prophesied. I left him in peaceable
possession of the city of York, and the whole surrounding neighborhood. He =
has
returned the compliment, and has left us in peaceable possession of the val=
ley
of the Esk, thirty miles away from him.
Remarkable results have followed my first effo=
rts
at the cultivation of Miss Vanstone's dramatic abilities.
I have discovered that she possesses extraordi=
nary
talent as a mimic. She has the flexible face, the manageable voice, and the
dramatic knack which fit a woman for character-parts and disguises on the
stage. All she now wants is teaching and practice, to make her sure of her =
own resources.
The experience of her, thus gained, has revived an idea in my mind which
originally occurred to me at one of the "At Homes" of the late
inimitable Charles Mathews, comedian. I was in the Wine Trade at the time, I
remember. We imitated the Vintage-processes of Nature in a back-kitchen at
Brompton, and produced a dinner-sherry, pale and curious, tonic in characte=
r,
round in the mouth, a favorite with the Court of Spain, at
nineteen-and-sixpence a dozen, bottles included--Vide Prospectus of the per=
iod.
The profits of myself and partners were small; we were in advance of the ta=
stes
of the age, and in debt to the bottle merchant. Being at my wits' end for w=
ant
of money, and seeing what audiences Mathews drew, the idea occurred to me o=
f starting
an imitation of the great Imitator himself, in the shape of an "At Hom=
e,"
given by a woman. The one trifling obstacle in the way was the difficulty of
finding the woman. From that time to this, I have hitherto failed to overco=
me
it. I have conquered it at last; I have found the woman now. Miss Vanstone
possesses youth and beauty as well as talent. Train her in the art of drama=
tic
disguise; provide her with appropriate dresses for different characters;
develop her accomplishments in singing and playing; give her plenty of smart
talk addressed to the audience; advertise her as a Young Lady at Home; asto=
nish
the public by a dramatic entertainment which depends from first to last on =
that
young lady's own sole exertions; commit the entire management of the t hing=
to
my care--and what follows as a necessary con sequence? Fame for my fair
relative, and a fortune for myself.
I put these considerations, as frankly as usua=
l,
to Miss Vanstone; offering to write the Entertainment, to manage all the
business, and to share the profits. I did not forget to strengthen my case =
by
informing her of the jealousies she would encounter, and the obstacles she
would meet, if she went on the stage. And I wound up by a neat reference to=
the
private inquiries which she is interested in making, and to the personal
independence which she is desirous of securing before she acts on her
information. "If you go on the stage," I said, "your service=
s will
be bought by a manager, and he may insist on his claims just at the time wh=
en
you want to get free from him. If, on the contrary, you adopt my views, you
will be your own mistress and your own manager, and you can settle your cou=
rse
just as you like." This last consideration appeared to strike her. She
took a day to consider it; and, when the day was over, gave her consent.
I had the whole transaction down in black and
white immediately. Our arrangement is eminently satisfactory, except in one
particular. She shows a morbid distrust of writing her name at the bottom of
any document which I present to her, and roundly declares she will sign not=
hing.
As long as it is her interest to provide herself with pecuniary resources f=
or
the future, she verbally engages to go on. When it ceases to be her interes=
t,
she plainly threatens to leave off at a week's notice. A difficult girl to =
deal
with; she has found out her own value to me already. One comfort is, I have=
the
cooking of the accounts; and my fair relative shall not fill her pockets too
suddenly if I can help it.
My exertions in training Miss Vanstone for the
coming experiment have been varied by the writing of two anonymous letters =
in
that young lady's interests. Finding her too fidgety about arranging matters
with her friends to pay proper attention to my instructions, I wrote
anonymously to the lawyer who is conducting the inquiry after her, recommen=
ding
him, in a friendly way, to give it up. The letter was inclosed to a friend =
of
mine in London, with instructions to post it at Charing Cross. A week later=
I
sent a second letter, through the same channel, requesting the lawyer to in=
form
me, in writing, whether he and his clients had or had not decided on taking=
my
advice. I directed him, with jocose reference to the collision of interests
between us, to address his letter: "Tit for Tat, Post-office, West
Strand."
In a few days the answer arrived--privately
forwarded, of course, to Post-office, Whitby, by arrangement with my friend=
in
London.
The lawyer's reply was short and surly:
"SIR--If my advice had been followed, you and your anonymous letter wo=
uld
both be treated with the contempt which they deserve. But the wishes of Miss
Magdalen Vanstone's eldest sister have claims on my consideration which I
cannot dispute; and at her entreaty I inform you that all further proceedin=
gs
on my part are withdrawn--on the express understanding that this concession=
is to
open facilities for written communication, at least, between the two sister=
s. A
letter from the elder Miss Vanstone is inclosed in this. If I don't hear in=
a
week's time that it has been received, I shall place the matter once more in
the hands of the police.--WILLIAM PENDRIL." A sour man, this William
Pendril. I can only say of him what an eminent nobleman once said of his su=
lky
servant--"I wouldn't have such a temper as that fellow has got for any
earthly consideration that could be offered me!"
As a matter of course, I looked into the letter
which the lawyer inclosed, before delivering it. Miss Vanstone, the elder,
described herself as distracted at not hearing from her sister; as suited w=
ith
a governess's situation in a private family; as going into the situation in=
a
week's time; and as longing for a letter to comfort her, before she faced t=
he
trial of undertaking her new duties. After closing the envelope again, I
accompanied the delivery of the letter to Miss Vanstone, the younger, by a =
word
of caution. "Are you more sure of your own courage now," I said,
"than you were when I met you?" She was ready with her answer.
"Captain Wragge, when you met me on the Walls of York I had not gone t=
oo
far to go back. I have gone too far now."
If she really feels this--and I think she
does--her corresponding with her sister can do no harm. She wrote at great
length the same day; cried profusely over her own epistolary composition; a=
nd
was remarkably ill-tempered and snappish toward me, when we met in the even=
ing.
She wants experience, poor girl--she sadly wants experience of the world. H=
ow
consoling to know that I am just the man to give it her!
Chronicle for November.
We are established at Derby. The Entertainment=
is
written; and the rehearsals are in steady progress. All difficulties are
provided for, but the one eternal difficulty of money. Miss Vanstone's
resources stretch easily enough to the limits of our personal wants; includ=
ing piano-forte
hire for practice, and the purchase and making of the necessary dresses. But
the expenses of starting the Entertainment are beyond the reach of any mean=
s we
possess. A theatrical friend of mine here, whom I had hoped to interest in =
our
undertaking, proves, unhappily, to be at a crisis in his career. The field =
of
human sympathy, out of which I might have raised the needful pecuniary crop=
, is
closed to me from want of time to cultivate it. I see no other resource lef=
t--if
we are to be ready by Christmas--than to try one of the local music-sellers=
in
this town, who is said to be a speculating man. A private rehearsal at these
lodgings, and a bargain which will fill the pockets of a grasping
stranger--such are the sacrifices which dire necessity imposes on me at
starting. Well! there is only one consolation: I'll cheat the music-seller.=
Chronicle for December. First Fortnight.
The music-seller extorts my unwilling respect.=
He
is one of the very few human beings I have met with in the course of my life
who is not to be cheated. He has taken a masterly advantage of our helpless=
ness;
and has imposed terms on us, for performances at Derby and Nottingham, with
such a business-like disregard of all interests but his own that--fond as I=
am
of putting things down in black and white--I really cannot prevail upon mys=
elf
to record the bargain. It is needless to say, I have yielded with my best
grace; sharing with my fair relative the wretched pecuniary prospects offer=
ed
to us. Our turn will come. In the meantime, I cordially regret not having k=
nown
the local music-seller in early life.
Personally speaking, I have no cause to compla=
in
of Miss Vanstone. We have arranged that she shall regularly forward her add=
ress
(at the post-office) to her friends, as we move about from place to place. =
Besides
communicating in this way with her sister, she also reports herself to a
certain Mr. Clare, residing in Somersetshire, who is to forward all letters
exchanged between herself and his son. Careful inquiry has informed me that
this latter individual is now in China. Having suspected from the first that
there was a gentleman in the background, it is highly satisfactory to know =
that
he recedes into the remote perspective of Asia. Long may he remain there!
The trifling responsibility of finding a name =
for
our talented Magdalen to perform under has been cast on my shoulders. She f=
eels
no interest whatever in this part of the subject. "Give me any name you
like," she said; "I have as much right to one as to another. Make=
it
yourself." I have readily consented to gratify her wishes. The resourc=
es
of my commercial library include a list of useful names to assume; and we c=
an choose
one at five minutes' notice, when the admirable man of business who now
oppresses us is ready to issue his advertisements. On this point my mind is
easy enough: all my anxieties center in the fair performer. I have not the
least doubt she will do wonders if she is only left to herself on the first
night. But if the day's post is mischievous enough to upset her by a letter
from her sister, I tremble for the consequences.
Chronicle for December. Second Fortnight.
My gifted relative has made her first appearan=
ce
in public, and has laid the foundation of our future fortunes.
On the first night the attendance was larger t=
han
I had ventured to hope. The novelty of an evening's entertainment, conducted
from beginning to end by the unaided exertions of a young lady (see adverti=
sement),
roused the public curiosity, and the seats were moderately well filled. As =
good
luck would have it, no letter addressed to Miss Vanstone came that day. She=
was
in full possession of herself until she got the first dress on and heard the
bell ring for the music. At that critical moment she suddenly broke down. I
found her alone in the waiting-room, sobbing, and talking like a child.
"Oh, poor papa! poor papa! Oh, my God, if he saw me now!" My
experience in such matters at once informed me that it was a case of
sal-volatile, accompanied by sound advice. We strung her up in no time to
concert pitch; set her eyes in a blaze; and made her out-blush her own roug=
e.
The curtain rose when we had got her at a red heat. She dashed at it exactl=
y as
she dashed at it in the back drawing-room at Rosemary Lane. Her personal
appearance settled the question of her reception before she opened her lips.
She rushed full gallop through her changes of character, her songs, and her=
dialogue;
making mistakes by the dozen, and never stopping to set them right; carrying
the people along with her in a perfect whirlwind, and never waiting for the
applause. The whole thing was over twenty minutes sooner than the time we h=
ad
calculated on. She carried it through to the end, and fainted on the
waiting-room sofa a minute after the curtain was down. The music-seller hav=
ing
taken leave of his senses from sheer astonishment, and I having no evening
costume to appear in, we sent the doctor to make the necessary apology to t=
he
public, who were calling for her till the place rang again. I prompted our
medical orator with a neat speech from behind the curtain; and I never heard
such applause, from such a comparatively small audience, before in my life.=
I
felt the tribute--I felt it deeply. Fourteen years ago I scraped together t=
he wretched
means of existence in this very town by reading the newspaper (with explana=
tory
comments) to the company at a public-house. And now here I am at the top of=
the
tree.
It is needless to say that my first proceeding=
was
to bowl out the music-seller on the spot. He called the next morning, no do=
ubt
with a liberal proposal for extending the engagement beyond Derby and Notti=
ngham.
My niece was described as not well enough to see him; and, when he asked for
me, he was told I was not up. I happened to be at that moment engaged in
putting the case pathetically to our gifted Magdalen. Her answer was in the
highest degree satisfactory. She would permanently engage herself to
nobody--least of all to a man who had taken sordid advantage of her position
and mine. She would be her own mistress, and share the profits with me, whi=
le
she wanted money, and while it suited her to go on. So far so good. But the
reason she added next, for her flattering preference of myself, was less to=
my
taste. "The music-seller is not the man whom I employ to make my
inquiries," she said. "You are the man." I don't like her
steadily remembering those inquiries, in the first bewilderment of her succ=
ess.
It looks ill for the future; it looks infernally ill for the future.
Chronicle for January, 1847.
She has shown the cloven foot already. I begin=
to
be a little afraid of her.
On the conclusion of the Nottingham engagement
(the results of which more than equaled the results at Derby), I proposed
taking the entertainment next--now we had got it into our own hands--to New=
ark.
Miss Vanstone raised no objection until we came to the question of time, wh=
en
she amazed me by stipulating for a week's delay before we appeared in public
again.
"For what possible purpose?" I asked=
.
"For the purpose of making the inquiries
which I mentioned to you at York," she answered.
I instantly enlarged on the danger of delay,
putting all the considerations before her in every imaginable form. She
remained perfectly immovable. I tried to shake her on the question of expen=
ses.
She answered by handing me over her share of the proceeds at Derby and Nott=
ingham--and
there were my expenses paid, at the rate of nearly two guineas a day. I won=
der
who first picked out a mule as the type of obstinacy? How little knowledge =
that
man must have had of women!
There was no help for it. I took down my
instructions in black and white, as usual. My first exertions were to be
directed to the discovery of Mr. Michael Vanstone's address: I was also
expected to find out how long he was likely to live there, and whether he h=
ad
sold Combe-Raven or not. My next inquiries were to inform me of his ordinary
habits of life; of what he did with his money; of who his intimate friends
were; and of the sort of terms on which his son, Mr. Noel Vanstone, was now
living with him. Lastly, the investigations were to end in discovering whet=
her
there was any female relative, or any woman exercising domestic authority in
the house, who was known to have an influence over either father or son.
If my long practice in cultivating the field of
human sympathy had not accustomed me to private investigations into the aff=
airs
of other people, I might have found some of these queries rather difficult =
to deal
with in the course of a week. As it was, I gave myself all the benefit of my
own experience, and brought the answers back to Nottingham in a day less th=
an
the given time. Here they are, in regular order, for convenience of future
reference:
(1.) Mr. Michael Vanstone is now residing at
German Place, Brighton, and likely to remain there, as he finds the air sui=
ts
him. He reached London from Switzerland in September last; and sold the
Combe-Raven property immediately on his arrival.
(2.) His ordinary habits of life are secret and
retired; he seldom visits, or receives company. Part of his money is suppos=
ed
to be in the Funds, and part laid out in railway investments, which have
survived the panic of eighteen hundred and forty-six, and are rapidly risin=
g in
value. He is said to be a bold speculator. Since his arrival in England he =
has
invested, with great judgment, in house property. He has some houses in rem=
ote
parts of London, and some houses in certain watering-places on the east coa=
st,
which are shown to be advancing in public repute. In all these cases he is
reported to have made remarkably good bargains.
(3.) It is not easy to discover who his intima=
te
friends are. Two names only have been ascertained. The first is Admiral
Bartram; supposed to have been under friendly obligations, in past years, to
Mr. Michael Vanstone. The second is Mr. George Bartram, nephew of the Admir=
al,
and now staying on a short visit in the house at German Place. Mr. George B=
artram
is the son of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone's sister, also deceased. He is
therefore a cousin of Mr. Noel Vanstone's. This last--viz., Mr. Noel
Vanstone--is in delicate health, and is living on excellent terms with his
father in German Place.
(4.) There is no female relative in Mr. Michael
Vanstone's family circle. But there is a housekeeper who has lived in his
service ever since his wife's death, and who has acquired a strong influence
over both father and son. She is a native of Switzerland, elderly, and a wi=
dow.
Her name is Mrs. Lecount.
On placing these particulars in Miss Vanstone's
hands, she made no remark, except to thank me. I endeavored to invite her
confidence. No results; nothing but a renewal of civility, and a sudden
shifting to the subject of the Entertainment. Very good. If she won't give =
me
the information I want, the conclusion is obvious--I must help myself.
Business considerations claim the remainder of
this page. Let me return to business.
&=
nbsp;
-------------------------------------------------------Financial | Third Week in January =
-----------------=
--------------------------------------Place
Visited, | Net Receip=
ts, In black and white. | Actually
Realized. 25
pounds | 32 pounds 10s. <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> -----------------=
---------------------------------------Apparent
Div. =
of
Profits, | Actual Div. =
of
Profits, =
| Miss
V............12 10 | Miss V...........12 10 Self.......=
.......12
10 | Self.............20 00 -----------------=
--------------------------------------Private
Surpl=
us on
the Week, =
Or say,
Self-presented Testimonial=
. =
7 pounds 10s. -----------------=
--------------------------------------Audited,
| Passed correct,<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> =
| H. WRAGGE. | H. WRAGGE <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> -----------------=
--------------------------------------
=
The
next stronghold of British sympathy which we take by storm is Sheffield. We
open the first week in February.
Chronicle for February.
Practice has now given my fair relative the
confidence which I predicted would come with time. Her knack of disguising =
her
own identity in the impersonation of different characters so completely
staggers her audiences that the same people come twice over to find out how=
she
does it. It is the amiable defect of the English public never to know when =
they
have had enough of a good thing. They actually try to encore one of her
characters--an old north-country lady; modeled on that honored preceptress =
in
the late Mr. Vanstone's family to whom I presented myself at Combe-Raven. T=
his
particular performance fairly amazes the people. I don't wonder at it. Such=
an
extraordinary assumption of age by a girl of nineteen has never been seen in
public before, in the whole course of my theatrical experience.
I find myself writing in a lower tone than usu=
al;
I miss my own dash of humor. The fact is, I am depressed about the future. =
In
the very height of our prosperity my perverse pupil sticks to her trumpery
family quarrel. I feel myself at the mercy of the first whim in the Vanston=
e direction
which may come into her head--I, the architect of her fortunes. Too bad; up=
on
my soul, too bad.
She has acted already on the inquiries which s=
he
forced me to make for her. She has written two letters to Mr. Michael Vanst=
one.
To the first letter no answer came. To the sec=
ond
a reply was received. Her infernal cleverness put an obstacle I had not
expected in the way of my intercepting it. Later in the day, after she had
herself opened and read the answer, I laid another trap for her. It just
succeeded, and no more. I had half a minute to look into the envelope in her
absence. It contained nothing but her own letter returned. She is not the g=
irl to
put up quietly with such an insult as this. Mischief will come of it--Misch=
ief
to Michael Vanstone--which is of no earthly consequence: mischief to Me--wh=
ich
is a truly serious matter.
Chronicle for March.
After performing at Sheffield and Manchester, =
we
have moved to Liverpool, Preston, and Lancaster. Another change in this
weathercock of a girl. She has written no more letters to Michael Vanstone;=
and
she has become as anxious to make money as I am myself. We are realizing la=
rge profits,
and we are worked to death. I don't like this change in her: she has a purp=
ose
to answer, or she would not show such extraordinary eagerness to fill her
purse. Nothing I can do--no cooking of accounts; no self-presented
testimonials--can keep that purse empty. The success of the Entertainment, =
and
her own sharpness in looking after her interests, literally force me into a
course of comparative honesty. She puts into her pocket more than a third of
the profits, in defiance of my most arduous exertions to prevent her. And t=
his
at my age! this after my long and successful career as a moral agriculturis=
t!
Marks of admiration are very little things; but they express my feelings, a=
nd I
put them in freely.
Chronicle for April and May.
We have visited seven more large towns, and are
now at Birmingham. Consulting my books, I find that Miss Vanstone has reali=
zed
by the Entertainment, up to this time, the enormous sum of nearly four hund=
red pounds.
It is quite possible that my own profits may reach one or two miserable hun=
dred
more. But I was the architect of her fortunes--the publisher, so to speak, =
of
her book--and, if anything, I am underpaid.
I made the above discovery on the twenty-ninth=
of
the month--anniversary of the Restoration of my royal predecessor in the fi=
eld
of human sympathies, Charles the Second. I had barely finished locking up m=
y dispatch-box,
when the ungrateful girl, whose reputation I have made, came into the room =
and
told me in so many words that the business connection between us was for the
present at an end.
I attempt no description of my own sensations:=
I
merely record facts. She informed me, with an appearance of perfect composu=
re,
that she needed rest, and that she had "new objects in view." She
might possibly want me to assist those objects; and she might possibly retu=
rn
to the Entertainment. In either case it would be enough if we exchanged add=
resses,
at which we could write to each other in case of need. Having no desire to
leave me too abruptly, she would remain the next day (which was Sunday); and
would take her departure on Monday morning. Such was her explanation, in so
many words.
Remonstrance, as I knew by experience, would be
thrown away. Authority I had none to exert. My one sensible course to take =
in
this emergency was to find out which way my own interests pointed, and to go
that way without a moment's unnecessary hesitation.
A very little reflection has since convinced me
that she has a deep-laid scheme against Michael Vanstone in view. She is yo=
ung,
handsome, clever, and unscrupulous; she has made money to live on, and has =
time
at her disposal to find out the weak side of an old man; and she is going t=
o attack
Mr. Michael Vanstone unawares with the legitimate weapons of her sex. Is she
likely to want me for such a purpose as this? Doubtful. Is she merely anxio=
us
to get rid of me on easy terms? Probable. Am I the sort of man to be treate=
d in
this way by my own pupil? Decidedly not: I am the man to see my way through=
a
neat succession of alternatives; and here they are:
First alternative: To announce my compliance w= ith her proposal; to exchange addresses with her; and then to keep my eye priva= tely on all her future movements. Second alternative: to express fond anxiety in= a paternal capacity; and to threaten giving the alarm to her sister and the lawyer, if= she persists in her design. Third alternative: to turn the information I already possess to the best account, by making it a marketable commodity between Mr. Michael Vanstone and myself. At present I incline toward the last of these three courses. But my decision is far too important to be hurried. To-day is only the twenty-ninth. I will suspend my Chronicle of Events until Monday.<= o:p>
=
May
31st.--My alternatives and her plans are both overthrown together.
The newspaper came in, as usual, after breakfa=
st.
I looked it over, and discovered this memorable entry among the obituary
announcements of the day:
"On the 29th inst., at Brighton, Michael
Vanstone, Esq., formerly of Zurich, aged 77."
Miss Vanstone was present in the room when I r=
ead
those two startling lines. Her bonnet was on; her boxes were packed; she was
waiting impatiently until it was time to go to the train. I handed the pape=
r to
her, without a word on my side. Without a word on hers, she looked where I
pointed, and read the news of Michael Vanstone's death.
The paper dropped out of her hand, and she
suddenly pulled down her veil. I caught one glance at her face before she h=
id
it from me. The effect on my mind was startling in the extreme. To put it w=
ith
my customary dash of humor--her face informed me that the most sensible act=
ion
which Michael Vanstone, Esq., formerly of Zurich, had ever achieved in his =
life
was the action he performed at Brighton on the 29th instant.
Finding the dead silence in the room singularly
unpleasant under existing circumstances, I thought I would make a remark. My
regard for my own interests supplied me with a subject. I mentioned the Ent=
ertainment.
"After what has happened," I said,
"I presume we go on with our performances as usual?"
"No," she answered, behind the veil.
"We go on with my inquiries."
"Inquiries after a dead man?"
"Inquiries after the dead man's son."=
;
"Mr. Noel Vanstone?"
"Yes; Mr. Noel Vanstone."
Not having a veil to put down over my own face=
, I
stooped and picked up the newspaper. Her devilish determination quite upset=
me
for the moment. I actually had to steady myself before I could speak to her
again.
"Are the new inquiries as harmless as the=
old
ones?" I asked.
"Quite as harmless."
"What am I expected to find out?"
"I wish to know whether Mr. Noel Vanstone
remains at Brighton after the funeral."
"And if not?"
"If not, I shall want to know his new add=
ress
wherever it may be."
"Yes. And what next?"
"I wish you to find out next if all the
father's money goes to the son."
I began to see her drift. The word money relie=
ved
me; I felt quite on my own ground again.
"Anything more?" I asked.
"Only one thing more," she answered.
"Make sure, if you please, whether Mrs. Lecount, the housekeeper, rema=
ins
or not in Mr. Noel Vanstone's service."
Her voice altered a little as she mentioned Mr=
s.
Lecount's name; she is evidently sharp enough to distrust the housekeeper
already.
"My expenses are to be paid as usual?&quo=
t; I
said.
"As usual."
"When am I expected to leave for
Brighton?"
"As soon as you can."
She rose, and left the room. After a momentary
doubt, I decided on executing the new commission. The more private inquirie=
s I
conduct for my fair relative the harder she will find it to get rid of hers
truly, Horatio Wragge.
There is nothing to prevent my starting for
Brighton to-morrow. So to-morrow I go. If Mr. Noel Vanstone succeeds to his
father's property, he is the only human being possessed of pecuniary blessi=
ngs
who fails to inspire me with a feeling of unmitigated envy.
Chronicle for June.
9th.--I returned yesterday with my information.
Here it is, privately noted down for convenience of future reference:
Mr. Noel Vanstone has left Brighton, and has
removed, for the purpose of transacting business in London, to one of his l=
ate
father's empty houses in Vauxhall Walk, Lambeth. This singularly mean selec=
tion
of a place of residence on the part of a gentleman of fortune looks as if M=
r.
N. V. and his money were not easily parted.
Mr. Noel Vanstone has stepped into his father's
shoes under the following circumstances: Mr. Michael Vanstone appears to ha=
ve
died, curiously enough, as Mr. Andrew Vanstone died--intestate. With this d=
ifference,
however, in the two cases, that the younger brother left an informal will, =
and
the elder brother left no will at all. The hardest men have their weaknesse=
s;
and Mr. Michael Vanstone's weakness seems to have been an insurmountable ho=
rror
of contemplating the event of his own death. His son, his housekeeper, and =
his
lawyer, had all three tried over and over again to get him to make a will; =
and
had never shaken his obstinate resolution to put off performing the only
business duty he was ever known to neglect. Two doctors attended him in his
last illness; warned him that he was too old a man to hope to get over it; =
and
warned him in vain. He announced his own positive determination not to die.=
His
last words in this world (as I succeeded in discovering from the nurse who
assisted Mrs. Lecount) were: "I'm getting better every minute; send for
the fly directly and take me out for a drive." The same night Death pr=
oved
to be the more obstinate of the two; and left his son (and only child) to t=
ake
the property in due course of law. Nobody doubts that the result would have
been the same if a will had been made. The father and son had every confide=
nce
in each other, and were known to have always lived together on the most
friendly terms.
Mrs. Lecount remains with Mr. Noel Vanstone, in
the same housekeeping capacity which she filled with his father, and has
accompanied him to the new residence in Vauxhall Walk. She is acknowledged =
on
all hands to have been a sufferer by the turn events have taken. If Mr. Mic=
hael
Vanstone had made his will, there is no doubt she would have received a han=
dsome
legacy. She is now left dependent on Mr. Noel Vanstone's sense of gratitude;
and she is not at all likely, I should imagine, to let that sense fall asle=
ep
for want of a little timely jogging. Whether my fair relative's future
intentions in this quarter point toward Mischief or Money, is more than I c=
an
yet say. In either case, I venture to predict that she will find an awkward
obstacle in Mrs. Lecount.
=
So
much for my information to the present date. The manner in which it was
received by Miss Vanstone showed the most ungrateful distrust of me. She
confided nothing to my private ear but the expression of her best thanks. A
sharp girl--a devilish sharp girl. But there is such a thing as bowling a m=
an
out once too often; especially when the name of that man happens to be Wrag=
ge.
Not a word more about the Entertainment; not a
word more about moving from our present quarters. Very good. My right hand =
lays
my left hand a wager. Ten to one, on her opening communications with the so=
n as
she opened them with the father. Ten to one, on her writing to Noel Vanston=
e before
the month is out.
21st.--She has written by to-day's post. A long
letter, apparently--for she put two stamps on the envelope. (Private
memorandum, addressed to myself. Wait for the answer.)
22d, 23d, 24th.--(Private memorandum continued.
Wait for the answer.)
25th.--The answer has come. As an ex-military =
man,
I have naturally employed stratagem to get at it. The success which rewards=
all
genuine perseverance has rewarded me--and I have got at it accordingly.
The letter is written, not by Mr. Noel Vanston=
e,
but by Mrs. Lecount. She takes the highest moral ground, in a tone of spite=
ful
politeness. Mr. Noel Vanstone's delicate health and recent bereavement prev=
ent him
from writing himself. Any more letters from Miss Vanstone will be returned
unopened. Any personal application will produce an immediate appeal to the
protection of the law. Mr. Noel Vanstone, having been expressly cautioned
against Miss Magdalen Vanstone by his late lamented father, has not yet
forgotten his father's advice. Considers it a reflection cast on the memory=
of
the best of men, to suppose that his course of action toward the Misses
Vanstone can be other than the course of action which his father pursued. T=
his
is what he has himself instructed Mrs. Lecount to say. She has endeavored to
express herself in the most conciliatory language she could select; she had
tried to avoid giving unnecessary pain, by addressing Miss Vanstone (as a
matter of courtesy) by the family name; and she trusts these concessions, w=
hich
speak for themselves, will not be thrown away.--Such is the substance of th=
e letter,
and so it ends.
I draw two conclusions from this little docume=
nt.
First--that it will lead to serious results. Secondly--that Mrs. Lecount, w=
ith
all her politeness, is a dangerous woman to deal with. I wish I saw my way =
safe
before me. I don't see it yet.
=
29th.--Miss
Vanstone has abandoned my protection; and the whole lucrative future of the
dramatic entertainment has abandoned me with her. I am swindled--I, the last
man under heaven who could possibly have expected to write in those disgrac=
eful
terms of myself--I AM SWINDLED!
Let me chronicle the events. They exhibit me, =
for
the time being, in a sadly helpless point of view. But the nature of the man
prevails: I must have the events down in black and white.
The announcement of her approaching departure =
was
intimated to me yesterday. After another civil speech about the information=
I
had procured at Brighton, she hinted that there was a necessity for pushing=
our
inquiries a little further. I immediately offered to undertake them, as bef=
ore.
"No," she said; "they are not in your way this time. They ar=
e inquiries
relating to a woman; and I mean to make them myself!" Feeling privately
convinced that this new resolution pointed straight at Mrs. Lecount, I trie=
d a
few innocent questions on the subject. She quietly declined to answer them.=
I
asked next when she proposed to leave. She would leave on the twenty-eighth.
For what destination? London. For long? Probably not. By herself? No. With =
me?
No. With whom then? With Mrs. Wragge, if I had no objection. Good heavens! =
for
what possible purpose? For the purpose of getting a respectable lodging, wh=
ich
she could hardly expect to accomplish unless she was accompanied by an elde=
rly
female friend. And was I, in the capacity of elderly male friend, to be left
out of the business altogether? Impossible to say at present. Was I not eve=
n to
forward any letters which might come for her at our present address? No: she
would make the arrangement herself at the post-office; and she would ask me=
, at
the same time, for an address, at which I could receive a letter from her, =
in
case of necessity for future communication. Further inquiries, after this l=
ast
answer, could lead to nothing but waste of time. I saved time by putting no
more questions.
It was clear to me that our present position
toward each other was what our position had been previously to the event of
Michael Vanstone's death. I returned, as before, to my choice of alternativ=
es.
Which way did my private interests point? Toward trusting the chance of her=
wanting
me again? Toward threatening her with the interference of her relatives and
friends? Or toward making the information which I possessed a marketable
commodity between the wealthy branch of the family and myself? The last of =
the
three was the alternative I had chosen in the case of the father. I chose it
once more in the case of the son.
The train started for London nearly four hours
since, and took her away in it, accompanied by Mrs. Wragge.
My wife is too great a fool, poor soul, to be
actively valuable in the present emergency; but she will be passively usefu=
l in
keeping up Miss Vanstone's connection with me--and, in consideration of tha=
t circumstance,
I consent to brush my own trousers, shave my own chin, and submit to the ot=
her
inconveniences of waiting on myself for a limited period. Any faint glimmer=
ings
of sense which Mrs. Wragge may have formerly possessed appear to have now
finally taken their leave of her. On receiving permission to go to London, =
she
favored us immediately with two inquiries. Might she do some shopping? and
might she leave the cookery-book behind her? Miss Vanstone said Yes to one
question, and I said Yes to the other--and from that moment, Mrs. Wragge has
existed in a state of perpetual laughter. I am still hoarse with vainly rep=
eated
applications of vocal stimulant; and I left her in the railway carriage, to=
my
inexpressible disgust, with both shoes down at heel.
Under ordinary circumstances these absurd
particulars would not have dwelt on my memory. But, as matters actually sta=
nd,
my unfortunate wife's imbecility may, in her present position, lead to
consequences which we none of us foresee. She is nothing more or less than a
grown-up child; and I can plainly detect that Miss Vanstone trusts her, as =
she would
not have trusted a sharper woman, on that very account. I know children, li=
ttle
and big, rather better than my fair relative does; and I say--beware of all
forms of human innocence, when it happens to be your interest to keep a sec=
ret
to yourself.
Let me return to business. Here I am, at two
o'clock on a fine summer's afternoon, left entirely alone, to consider the
safest means of approaching Mr. Noel Vanstone on my own account. My private
suspicions of his miserly character produce no discouraging effect on me. I
have extracted cheering pecuniary results in my time from people quite as f=
ond
of their money as he can be. The real difficulty to contend with is the
obstacle of Mrs. Lecount. If I am not mistaken, this lady merits a little
serious consideration on my part. I will close my chronicle for to-day, and
give Mrs. Lecount her due.
=
Three
o'clock.--I open these pages again to record a discovery which has taken me
entirely by surprise.
After completing the last entry, a circumstance
revived in my memory which I had noticed on escorting the ladies this morni=
ng
to the railway. I then remarked that Miss Vanstone had only taken one of her
three boxes with her--and it now occurred to me that a private investigatio=
n of
the luggage she had left behind might possibly be attended with beneficial =
results.
Having, at certain periods of my life been in the habit of cultivating frie=
ndly
terms with strange locks, I found no difficulty in establishing myself on a
familiar footing with Miss Vanstone's boxes. One of the two presented nothi=
ng to
interest me. The other--devoted to the preservation of the costumes, articl=
es
of toilet, and other properties used in the dramatic Entertainment--proved =
to
be better worth examining: for it led me straight to the discovery of one of
its owner's secrets.
I found all the dresses in the box complete--w=
ith
one remarkable exception. That exception was the dress of the old north-cou=
ntry
lady; the character which I have already mentioned as the best of all my pu=
pil's
disguises, and as modeled in voice and manner on her old governess, Miss Ga=
rth.
The wig; the eyebrows; the bonnet and veil; the cloak, padded inside to
disfigure her back and shoulders; the paints and cosmetics used to age her =
face
and alter her complexion--were all gone. Nothing but the gown remained; a
gaudily-flowered silk, useful enough for dramatic purposes, but too extrava=
gant
in color and pattern to bear inspection by daylight. The other parts of the
dress are sufficiently quiet to pass muster; the bonnet and veil are only
old-fashioned, and the cloak is of a sober gray color. But one plain infere=
nce
can be drawn from such a discovery as this. As certainly as I sit here, she=
is going
to open the campaign against Noel Vanstone and Mrs. Lecount in a character
which neither of those two persons can have any possible reason for suspect=
ing
at the outset--the character of Miss Garth.
What course am I to take under these
circumstances? Having got her secret, what am I to do with it? These are
awkward considerations; I am rather puzzled how to deal with them.
It is something more than the mere fact of her
choosing to disguise herself to forward her own private ends that causes my
present perplexity. Hundreds of girls take fancies for disguising themselve=
s; and
hundreds of instances of it are related year after year in the public journ=
als.
But my ex-pupil is not to be confounded for one moment with the average
adventuress of the newspapers. She is capable of going a long way beyond the
limit of dressing herself like a man, and imitating a man's voice and manne=
r.
She has a natural gift for assuming characters which I have never seen equa=
led
by a woman; and she has performed in public until she has felt her own powe=
r,
and trained her talent for disguising herself to the highest pitch. A girl =
who
takes the sharpest people unawares by using such a capacity as this to help=
her
own objects in private life, and who sharpens that capacity by a determinat=
ion
to fight her way to her own purpose, which has beaten down everything before
it, up to this time--is a girl who tries an experiment in deception, new en=
ough
and dangerous enough to lead, one way or the other, to very serious results.
This is my conviction, founded on a large experience in the art of imposing=
on
my fellow-creatures. I say of my fair relative's enterprise what I never sa=
id
or thought of it till I introduced myself to the inside of her box. The cha=
nces
for and against her winning the fight for her lost fortune are now so evenly
balanced that I cannot for the life of me see on which side the scale incli=
nes.
All I can discern is, that it will, to a dead certainty, turn one way or the
other on the day when she passes Noel Vanstone's doors in disguise.
Which way do my interests point now? Upon my
honor, I don't know.
=
Five
o'clock.--I have effected a masterly compromise; I have decided on turning
myself into a Jack-o n-both-sides.
By to-day's post I have dispatched to London an
anonymous letter for M r. Noel Vanstone. It will be forwarded to its
destination by the same means which I successfully adopted to mystify Mr.
Pendril; and it will reach Vauxhall Walk, Lambeth, by the afternoon of
to-morrow at the latest.
The letter is short, and to the purpose. It wa=
rns
Mr. Noel Vanstone, in the most alarming language, that he is destined to be=
come
the victim of a conspiracy; and that the prime mover of it is a young lady =
who has
already held written communication with his father and himself. It offers h=
im
the information necessary to secure his own safety, on condition that he ma=
kes
it worth the writer's while to run the serious personal risk which such a
disclosure will entail on him. And it ends by stipulating that the answer s=
hall
be advertised in the Times; shall be addressed to "An Unknown
Friend"; and shall state plainly what remuneration Mr. Noel Vanstone
offers for the priceless service which it is proposed to render him.
Unless some unexpected complication occurs, th=
is
letter places me exactly in the position which it is my present interest to
occupy. If the advertisement appears, and if the remuneration offered is la=
rge enough
to justify me in going over to the camp of the enemy, over I go. If no
advertisement appears, or if Mr. Noel Vanstone rates my invaluable assistan=
ce
at too low a figure, here I remain, biding my time till my fair relative wa=
nts
me, or till I make her want me, which comes to the same thing. If the anony=
mous
letter falls by any accident into her hands, she will find disparaging
allusions in it to myself, purposely introduced to suggest that the writer =
must
be one of the persons whom I addressed while conducting her inquiries. If M=
rs.
Lecount takes the business in hand and lays a trap for me--I decline her
tempting invitation by becoming totally ignorant of the whole affair the
instant any second person appears in it. Let the end come as it may, here I=
am ready
to profit by it: here I am, facing both ways, with perfect ease and securit=
y--a
moral agriculturist, with his eye on two crops at once, and his swindler's
sickle ready for any emergency.
For the next week to come, the newspaper will =
be
more interesting to me than ever. I wonder which side I shall eventually be=
long
to?
THE old Archiepiscopal Palace of Lambeth, on t=
he
southern bank of the Thames--with its Bishop's Walk and Garden, and its ter=
race
fronting the river--is an architectural relic of the London of former times,
precious to all lovers of the picturesque, in the utilitarian London of the=
present
day. Southward of this venerable structure lies the street labyrinth of
Lambeth; and nearly midway, in that part of the maze of houses which is pla=
ced
nearest to the river, runs the dingy double row of buildings now, as in for=
mer
days, known by the name of Vauxhall Walk.
The network of dismal streets stretching over =
the
surrounding neighborhood contains a population for the most part of the poo=
rer order.
In the thoroughfares where shops abound, the sordid struggle with poverty s=
hows
itself unreservedly on the filthy pavement; gathers its forces through the
week; and, strengthening to a tumult on Saturday night, sees the Sunday mor=
ning
dawn in murky gaslight. Miserable women, whose faces never smile, haunt the
butchers' shops in such London localities as these, with relics of the men's
wages saved from the public-house clutched fast in their hands, with eyes t=
hat
devour the meat they dare not buy, with eager fingers that touch it covetou=
sly,
as the fingers of their richer sisters touch a precious stone. In this dist=
rict,
as in other districts remote from the wealthy quarters of the metropolis, t=
he
hideous London vagabond--with the filth of the street outmatched in his spe=
ech,
with the mud of the street outdirtied in his clothes--lounges, lowering and
brutal, at the street corner and the gin-shop door; the public disgrace of =
his
country, the unheeded warning of social troubles that are yet to come. Here,
the loud self-assertion of Modern Progress--which has reformed so much in
manners, and altered so little in men--meets the flat contradiction that
scatters its pretensions to the winds. Here, while the national prosperity
feasts, like another Belshazzar, on the spectacle of its own magnificence, =
is the
Writing on the Wall, which warns the monarch, Money, that his glory is weig=
hed
in the balance, and his power found wanting.
Situated in such a neighborhood as this, Vauxh=
all
Walk gains by comparison, and establishes claims to respectability which no
impartial observation can fail to recognize. A large proportion of the Walk=
is still
composed of private houses. In the scattered situations where shops appear,
those shops are not besieged by the crowds of more populous thoroughfares.
Commerce is not turbulent, nor is the public consumer besieged by loud
invitations to "buy." Bird-fanciers have sought the congenial
tranquillity of the scene; and pigeons coo, and canaries twitter, in Vauxha=
ll
Walk. Second-hand carts and cabs, bedsteads of a certain age, detached
carriage-wheels for those who may want one to make up a set, are all to be
found here in the same repository. One tributary stream, in the great flood=
of
gas which illuminates London, tracks its parent source to Works established=
in this
locality. Here the followers of John Wesley have set up a temple, built bef=
ore
the period of Methodist conversion to the principles of architectural relig=
ion.
And here--most striking object of all--on the site where thousands of lights
once sparkled; where sweet sounds of music made night tuneful till morning
dawned; where the beauty and fashion of London feasted and danced through t=
he
summer seasons of a century--spreads, at this day, an awful wilderness of m=
ud
and rubbish; the deserted dead body of Vauxhall Gardens mouldering in the o=
pen
air.
=
On the
same day when Captain Wragge completed the last entry in his Chronicle of
Events, a woman appeared at the window of one of the houses in Vauxhall Wal=
k,
and removed from the glass a printed paper which had been wafered to it
announcing that Apartments were to be let. The apartments consisted of two
rooms on the first floor. They had just been taken for a week certain by two
ladies who had paid in advance--those two ladies being Magdalen and Mrs.
Wragge.
As soon as the mistress of the house had left =
the
room, Magdalen walked to the window, and cautiously looked out from it at t=
he
row of buildings opposite. They were of superior pretensions in size and
appearance to the other houses in the Walk: the date at which they had been
erected was inscribed on one of them, and was stated to be the year 1759. T=
hey stood
back from the pavement, separated from it by little strips of garden-ground.
This peculiarity of position, added to the breadth of the roadway interposi=
ng
between them and the smaller houses opposite, made it impossible for Magdal=
en
to see the numbers on the doors, or to observe more of any one who might co=
me
to the windows than the bare general outline of dress and figure. Neverthel=
ess,
there she stood, anxiously fixing her eyes on one house in the row, nearly
opposite to her--the house she had looked for before entering the lodgings;=
the
house inhabited at that moment by Noel Vanstone and Mrs. Lecount.
After keeping watch at the window in silence f=
or
ten minutes or more, she suddenly looked back into the room, to observe the
effect which her behavior might have produced on her traveling companion.
Not the slightest cause appeared for any
apprehension in that quarter. Mrs. Wragge was seated at the table absorbed =
in
the arrangement of a series of smart circulars and tempting price-lists, is=
sued
by advertising trades-people, and flung in at the cab-windows as they left =
the
London terminus. "I've often heard tell of light reading," said M=
rs. Wragge,
restlessly shifting the positions of the circulars as a child restlessly sh=
ifts
the position of a new set of toys. "Here's light reading, printed in
pretty colors. Here's all the Things I'm going to buy when I'm out shopping
to-morrow. Lend us a pencil, please--you won't be angry, will you? I do so =
want
to mark 'em off." She looked up at Magdalen, chuckled joyfully over her
own altered circumstances, and beat her great hands on the table in
irrepressible delight. "No cookery-book!" cried Mrs. Wragge. &quo=
t;No
Buzzing in my head! no captain to shave to-morrow! I'm all down at heel; my
cap's on one side; and nobody bawls at me. My heart alive, here is a holiday
and no mistake!" Her hands began to drum on the table louder than ever,
until Magdalen quieted them by presenting her with a pencil. Mrs. Wragge
instantly recovered her dignity, squared her elbows on the table, and plung=
ed
into imaginary shopping for the rest of the evening.
Magdalen returned to the window. She took a ch=
air,
seated herself behind the curtain, and steadily fixed her eyes once more on=
the
house opposite.
The blinds were down over the windows of the f=
irst
floor and the second. The window of the room on the ground-floor was uncove=
red
and partly open, but no living creature came near it. Doors opened, and peo=
ple
came and went, in the houses on either side; children by the dozen poured o=
ut on
the pavement to play, and invaded the little strips of garden-ground to rec=
over
lost balls and shuttlecocks; streams of people passed backward and forward
perpetually; heavy wagons piled high with goods lumbered along the road on
their way to, or their way from, the railway station near; all the daily li=
fe
of the district stirred with its ceaseless activity in every direction but =
one.
The hours passed--and there was the house opposite still shut up, still voi=
d of
any signs of human existence inside or out. The one object which had decided
Magdalen on personally venturing herself in Vauxhall Walk--the object of
studying the looks, manners and habits of Mrs. Lecount and her master from a
post of observation known only to herself--was thus far utterly defeated. A=
fter
three hours' watching at the window, she had not even discovered enough to =
show
her that the house was inhabited at all.
Shortly after six o'clock, the landlady distur=
bed
Mrs. Wragge's studies by spreading the cloth for dinner. Magdalen placed
herself at the table in a position which still enabled her to command the v=
iew
from the window. Nothing happened. The dinner came to an end; Mrs. Wragge
(lulled by the narcotic influence of annotating circulars, and eating and d=
rinking
with an appetite sharpened by the captain's absence) withdrew to an arm-cha=
ir,
and fell asleep in an attitude which would have caused her husband the acut=
est
mental suffering; seven o'clock struck; the shadows of the summer evening
lengthened stealthily on the gray pavement and the brown house-walls--and s=
till
the closed door opposite remained shut; still the one window open showed
nothing but the black blank of the room inside, lifeless and changeless as =
if
that room had been a tomb.
Mrs. Wragge's meek snoring deepened in tone; t=
he
evening wore on drearily; it was close on eight o'clock--when an event happ=
ened
at last. The street door opposite opened for the first time, and a woman
appeared on the threshold.
Was the woman Mrs. Lecount? No. As she came
nearer, her dress showed her to be a servant. She had a large door-key in h=
er
hand, and was evidently going out to perform an errand. Roused partly by
curiosity, partly by the impulse of the moment, which urged her impetuous
nature into action after the passive endurance of many hours past, Magdalen
snatched up her bonnet, and determined to follow the servant to her
destination, wherever it might be.
The woman led her to the great thoroughfare of
shops close at hand, called Lambeth Walk. After proceeding some little
distance, and looking about her with the hesitation of a person not well ac=
quainted
with the neighborhood, the servant crossed the road and entered a stationer=
's shop.
Magdalen crossed the road after her and followed her in.
The inevitable delay in entering the shop under
these circumstances made Magdalen too late to hear what the woman asked for.
The first words spoken, however, by the man behind the counter reached her
ears, and informed her that the servant's object was to buy a railway guide=
.
"Do you mean a Guide for this month or a
Guide for July?" asked the shopman, addressing his customer.
"Master didn't tell me which," answe=
red
the woman. "All I know is, he's going into the country the day after
to-morrow."
"The day after to-morrow is the first of
July," said the shopman. "The Guide your master wants is the Guide
for the new month. It won't be published till to-morrow."
Engaging to call again on the next day, the
servant left the shop, and took the way that led back to Vauxhall Walk.
Magdalen purchased the first trifle she saw on=
the
counter, and hastily returned in the same direction. The discovery she had =
just
made was of very serious importance to her; and she felt the necessity of
acting on it with as little delay as possible.
On entering the front room at the lodgings she
found Mrs. Wragge just awake, lost in drowsy bewilderment, with her cap fal=
len
off on her shoulders, and with one of her shoes missing altogether. Magdale=
n endeavored
to persuade her that she was tired after her journey, and that her wisest
proceeding would be to go to bed. Mrs. Wragge was perfectly willing to prof=
it
by this suggestion, provided she could find her shoe first. In looking for =
the
shoe, she unfortunately discovered the circulars, put by on a side-table, a=
nd
forthwith recovered her recollection of the earlier proceedings of the even=
ing.
"Give us the pencil," said Mrs. Wrag=
ge,
shuffling the circulars in a violent hurry. "I can't go to bed yet--I
haven't half done marking down the things I want. Let's see; where did I le=
ave
off? Try Finch's feeding-bottle for Infants. No! there's a cross against th=
at:
the cross means I don't want it. Comfort in the Field. Buckler's Indestruct=
ible
Hunting-breeches. Oh dear, dear! I've lost the place. No, I haven't. Here it
is; here's my mark against it. Elegant Cashmere Robes; strictly Oriental, v=
ery
grand; reduced to one pound nineteen-and-sixpence. Be in time. Only three l=
eft.
Only three! Oh, do lend us the money, and let's go and get one!"
"Not to-night," said Magdalen.
"Suppose you go to bed now, and finish the circulars tomorrow? I will =
put
them by the bedside for you, and you can go on with them as soon as you wake
the first thing in the morning."
This suggestion met with Mrs. Wragge's immedia=
te
approval. Magdalen took her into the next room and put her to bed like a
child--with her toys by her side. The room was so narrow, and the bed was so
small; and Mrs. Wragge, arrayed in the white apparel proper for the occasio=
n,
with her moon-face framed round by a spacious halo of night-cap, looked so
hugely and disproportionately large, that Magdalen, anxious as she was, cou=
ld not
repress a smile on taking leave of her traveling companion for the night.
"Aha!" cried Mrs. Wragge, cheerfully;
"we'll have that Cashmere Robe to-morrow. Come here! I want to whisper
something to you. Just you look at me--I'm going to sleep crooked, and the
captain's not here to bawl at me!"
=
The
front room at the lodgings contained a sofa-bedstead which the landlady
arranged betimes for the night. This done, and the candles brought in, Magd=
alen
was left alone to shape the future course as her own thoughts counseled her=
.
The questions and answers which had passed in =
her
presence that evening at the stationer's shop led plainly to the conclusion
that one day more would bring Noel Vanstone's present term of residence in
Vauxhall Walk to an end. Her first cautious resolution to pass many days
together in unsuspected observation of the house opposite before she ventur=
ed herself
inside was entirely frustrated by the turn events had taken. She was placed=
in
the dilemma of running all risks headlong on the next day, or of pausing fo=
r a
future opportunity which might never occur. There was no middle course open=
to
her. Until she had seen Noel Vanstone with her own eyes, and had discovered=
the
worst there was to fear from Mrs. Lecount--until she had achieved t his dou=
ble
object, with the needful precaution of keeping her own identity carefully in
the dark--not a step could she advance toward the accomplishment of the pur=
pose
which had brought her to London.
One after another the minutes of the night pas=
sed
away; one after another the thronging thoughts followed each other over her
mind--and still she reached no conclusion; still she faltered and doubted, =
with
a hesitation new to her in her experience of herself. At last she crossed t=
he
room impatiently to seek the trivial relief of unlocking her trunk and taki=
ng
from it the few things that she wanted for the night. Captain Wragge's
suspicions had not misled him. There, hidden between two dresses, were the
articles of costume which he had missed from her box at Birmingham. She tur=
ned
them over one by one, to satisfy herself that nothing she wanted had been
forgotten, and returned once more to her post of observation by the window.=
The house opposite was dark down to the parlor.
There the blind, previously raised, was now drawn over the window: the light
burning behind it showed her for the first time that the room was inhabited.
Her eyes brightened, and her color rose as she looked at it.
"There he is!" she said to herself, =
in a
low, angry whisper. "There he lives on our money, in the house that his
father's warning has closed against me!" She dropped the blind which s=
he
had raised to look out, returned to her trunk, and took from it the gray wig
which was part of her dramatic costume in the character of the North-country
lady. The wig had been crumpled in packing; she put it on and went to the
toilet-table to comb it out. "His father has warned him against Magdal=
en
Vanstone," she said, repeating the passage in Mrs. Lecount's letter, a=
nd
laughing bitterly, as she looked at herself in the glass. "I wonder
whether his father has warned him against Miss Garth? To-morrow is sooner t=
han
I bargained for. No matter: to-morrow shall show."
THE early morning, when Magdalen rose and look=
ed
out, was cloudy and overcast. But as time advanced to the breakfast hour the
threatening of rain passed away; and she was free to provide, without
hinderance from the weather, for the first necessity of the day--the necess=
ity
of securing the absence of her traveling companion from the house.
Mrs. Wragge was dressed, armed at all points w=
ith
her collection of circulars, and eager to be away by ten o'clock. At an ear=
lier
hour Magdalen had provided for her being properly taken care of by the land=
lady's
eldest daughter--a quiet, well-conducted girl, whose interest in the shoppi=
ng
expedition was readily secured by a little present of money for the purchas=
e,
on her own account, of a parasol and a muslin dress. Shortly after ten o'cl=
ock
Magdalen dismissed Mrs. Wragge and her attendant in a cab. She then joined =
the
landlady--who was occupied in setting the rooms in order upstairs--with the
object of ascertaining, by a little well-timed gossip, what the daily habits
might be of the inmates of the house.
She discovered that there were no other lodgers
but Mrs. Wragge and herself. The landlady's husband was away all day, emplo=
yed
at a railway station. Her second daughter was charged with the care of the
kitchen in the elder sister's absence. The younger children were at school,=
and
would be back at one o'clock to dinner. The landlady herself "got up f=
ine
linen for ladies," and expected to be occupied over her work all that
morning in a little room built out at the back of the premises. Thus there =
was
every facility for Magdalen's leaving the house in disguise, and leaving it
unobserved, provided she went out before the children came back to dinner at
one o'clock.
By eleven o'clock the apartments were set in
order, and the landlady had retired to pursue her own employments. Magdalen
softly locked the door of her room, drew the blind over the window, and ent=
ered
at once on her preparations for the perilous experiment of the day.
The same quick perception of dangers to be avo=
ided
and difficulties to be overcome which had warned her to leave the extravaga=
nt
part of her character costume in the box at Birmingham now kept her mind fu=
lly
alive to the vast difference between a disguise worn by gas-light for the a=
musement
of an audience and a disguise assumed by daylight to deceive the searching =
eyes
of two strangers. The first article of dress which she put on was an old go=
wn
of her own (made of the material called "alpaca"), of a dark-brown
color, with a neat pattern of little star-shaped spots in white. A double
flounce running round the bottom of this dress was the only milliner's orna=
ment
which it presented--an ornament not at all out of character with the costume
appropriated to an elderly lady. The disguise of her head and face was the =
next
object of her attention. She fitted and arranged the gray wig with the
dexterity which constant practice had given her; fixed the false eyebrows (=
made
rather large, and of hair darker than the wig) carefully in their position =
with
the gum she had with her for the purpose, and stained her face with the
customary stage materials, so as to change the transparent fairness of her
complexion to the dull, faintly opaque color of a woman in ill health. The
lines and markings of age followed next; and here the first obstacles prese=
nted
themselves. The art which succeeded by gas-light failed by day: the difficu=
lty
of hiding the plainly artificial nature of the marks was almost insuperable.
She turned to her trunk; took from it two veils; and putting on her
old-fashioned bonnet, tried the effect of them in succession. One of the ve=
ils
(of black lace) was too thick to be worn over the face at that summer season
without exciting remark. The other, of plain net, allowed her features to be
seen through it, just indistinctly enough to permit the safe introduction of
certain lines (many fewer than she was accustomed to use in performing the
character) on the forehead and at the sides of the mouth. But the obstacle =
thus
set aside only opened the way to a new difficulty--the difficulty of keeping
her veil down while she was speaking to other persons, without any obvious
reason for doing so. An instant's consideration, and a chance look at her
little china palette of stage colors, suggested to her ready invention the
production of a visible excuse for wearing her veil. She deliberately
disfigured herself by artificially reddening the insides of her eyelids so =
as
to produce an appearance of inflammation which no human creature but a
doctor--and that doctor at close quarters--could have detected as false. She
sprang to her feet and looked triumphantly at the hideous transformation of=
herself
reflected in the glass. Who could think it strange now if she wore her veil
down, and if she begged Mrs. Lecount's permission to sit with her back to t=
he
light?
Her last proceeding was to put on the quiet gr=
ay
cloak which she had brought from Birmingham, and which had been padded insi=
de
by Captain Wragge's own experienced hands, so as to hide the youthful grace=
and
beauty of her back and shoulders. Her costume being now complete, she pract=
iced
the walk which had been originally taught her as appropriate to the
character--a walk with a slight limp--and, returning to the glass after a
minute's trial, exercised herself next in the disguise of her voice and man=
ner.
This was the only part of the character in which it had been possible, with=
her
physical peculiarities, to produce an imitation of Miss Garth; and here the
resemblance was perfect. The harsh voice, the blunt manner, the habit of
accompanying certain phrases by an emphatic nod of the head, the Northumbri=
an
burr expressing itself in every word which contained the letter
"r"--all these personal peculiarities of the old North-country
governess were reproduced to the life. The personal transformation thus
completed was literally what Captain Wragge had described it to be--a trium=
ph
in the art of self-disguise. Excepting the one case of seeing her face clos=
e,
with a strong light on it, nobody who now looked at Magdalen could have sus=
pected
for an instant that she was other than an ailing, ill-made, unattractive wo=
man
of fifty years old at least.
Before unlocking the door, she looked about her
carefully, to make sure that none of her stage materials were exposed to vi=
ew
in case the landlady entered the room in her absence. The only forgotten ob=
ject
belonging to her that she discovered was a little packet of Norah's letters
which she had been reading overnight, and which had been accidentally pushed
under the looking-glass while she was engaged in dressing herself. As she t=
ook
up the letters to put them away, the thought struck her for the first time,
"Would Norah know me now if we met each other in the street?" She
looked in the glass, and smiled sadly. "No," she said, "not =
even
Norah."
She unlocked the door, after first looking at =
her
watch. It was close on twelve o'clock. There was barely an hour left to try=
her
desperate experiment, and to return to the lodging before the landlady's
children came back from school.
An instant's listening on the landing assured =
her
that all was quiet in the passage below. She noiselessly descended the stai=
rs
and gained the street without having met any living creature on her way out=
of
the house. In another minute she had crossed the road, and had knocked at N=
oel
Vanstone's door.
The door was opened by the same woman-servant =
whom
she had followed on the previous evening to the stationer's shop. With a
momentary tremor, which recalled the memorable first night of her appearanc=
e in
public, Magdalen inquired (in Miss Garth's voice, and with Miss Garth's man=
ner)
for Mrs. Lecount.
"Mrs. Lecount has gone out, ma'am," =
said
the servant.
"Is Mr. Vanstone at home?" asked
Magdalen, her resolution asserting itself at once against the first obstacle
that opposed it.
"My master is not up yet, ma'am."
Another check! A weaker nature would have acce=
pted
the warning. Magdalen's nature rose in revolt against it.
"What time will Mrs. Lecount be back?&quo=
t;
she asked.
"About one o'clock, ma'am."
"Say, if you please, that I will call aga=
in
as soon after one o'clock as possible. I particularly wish to see Mrs. Leco=
unt.
My name is Miss Garth."
She turned and left the house. Going back to h=
er
own room was out of the question. The servant (as Magdalen knew by not hear=
ing
the door close) was looking after her; and, moreover, she would expose hers=
elf,
if she went indoors, to the risk of going out again exactly at the time whe=
n the
landlady's children were sure to be about the house. She turned mechanicall=
y to
the right, walked on until she recalled Vauxhall Bridge, and waited there, =
looking
out over the river.
The interval of unemployed time now before her=
was
nearly an hour. How should she occupy it?
As she asked herself the question, the thought
which had struck her when she put away the packet of Norah's letters rose in
her mind once more. A sudden impulse to test the miserable completeness of =
her
disguise mixed with the higher and purer feeling at her heart, and strength=
ened
her natural longing to see her sister's face again, though she dare not dis=
cover
herself and speak. Norah's later letters had described, in the fullest deta=
ils,
her life as a governess--her hours for teaching, her hours of leisure, her
hours for walking out with her pupils. There was just time, if she could fi=
nd a
vehicle at once, for Magdalen to drive to the house of Norah's employer, wi=
th
the chance of getting there a few minutes before the hour when her sister w=
ould
be going out. "One look at her will tell me more than a hundred
letters!" With that thought in her heart, with the one object of follo=
wing
Norah on her daily walk, under protection of the disguise, Magdalen hastened
over the bridge, and made for the northern bank of the river.
So, at the turning-point of her life--so, in t=
he
interval before she took the irrevocable step, and passed the threshold of =
Noel
Vanstone's door--the forces of Good triumphing in the strife for her over t=
he forces
of Evil, turned her back on the scene of her meditated deception, and hurri=
ed
her mercifully further and further away from the fatal house.
=
She
stopped the first empty cab that passed her; told the driver to go to New
Street, Spring Gardens; and promised to double his fare if he reached his
destination by a given time. The man earned the money--more than earned it,=
as
the event proved. Magdalen had not taken ten steps in advance along New Str=
eet,
walking toward St. James's Park, before the door of a house beyond her open=
ed,
and a lady in mourning came out, accompanied by two little girls. The lady =
also
took the direction of the Park, without turning her head toward Magdalen as=
she
descended the house step. It mattered little; Magdalen's heart looked throu=
gh
her eyes, and told her that she saw Norah.
She followed them into St. James's Park, and
thence (along the Mall) into the Green Park, venturing closer and closer as
they reached the grass and ascended the rising ground in the direction of H=
yde
Park Corner. Her eager eyes devoured every detail in Norah's dress, and det=
ected
the slightest change that had taken place in her figure and her bearing. She
had become thinner since the autumn--her head drooped a little; she walked
wearily. Her mourning dress, worn with the modest grace and neatness which =
no
misfortune could take from her, was suited to her altered station; her black
gown was made of stuff; her black shawl and bonnet were of the plainest and
cheapest kind. The two little girls, walking on either side of her, were
dressed in silk. Magdalen instinctively hated them.
She made a wide circuit on the grass, so as to
turn gradually and meet her sister without exciting suspicion that the meet=
ing
was contrived. Her heart beat fast; a burning heat glowed in her as she tho=
ught
of her false hair, her false color, her false dress, and saw the dear famil=
iar face
coming nearer and nearer. They passed each other close. Norah's dark gentle
eyes looked up, with a deeper light in them, with a sadder beauty than of
old--rested, all unconscious of the truth, on her sister's face--and looked
away from it again as from the face of a stranger. That glance of an instant
struck Magdalen to the heart. She stood rooted to the ground after Norah had
passed by. A horror of the vile disguise that concealed her; a yearning to
burst its trammels and hide her shameful painted face on Norah's bosom, took
possession of her, body and soul. She turned and looked back.
Norah and the two children had reached the hig=
her
ground, and were close to one of the gates in the iron railing which fenced=
the
Park from the street. Drawn by an irresistible fascination, Magdalen follow=
ed
them again, gained on them as they reached the gate, and heard the voices o=
f the
two children raised in angry dispute which way they wanted to walk next. She
saw Norah take them through the gate, and then stoop and speak to them, whi=
le
waiting for an opportunity to cross the road. They only grew the louder and=
the
angrier for what she said. The youngest--a girl of eight or nine years
old--flew into a child's vehement passion, cried, screamed, and even kicked=
at
the governess. The people in the street stopped and laughed; some of them j=
estingly
advised a little wholesome correction; one woman asked Norah if she was the
child's mother; another pitied her audibly for being the child's governess.
Before Magdalen could push her way through the crowd--before her all-master=
ing
anxiety to help her sister had blinded her to every other consideration, and
had brought her, self-betrayed, to Norah's side--an open carriage passed the
pavement slowly, hindered in its progress by the press of vehicles before i=
t.
An old lady seated inside heard the child's cries, recognized Norah, and ca=
lled
to her immediately. The footman parted the crowd, and the children were put
into the carriage. "It's lucky I happened to pass this way," said=
the
old lady, beckoning contemptuously to Norah to take her place on the front
seat; "you never could manage my daughter's children, and you never
will." The footman put up the steps, the carriage drove on with the
children and the governess, the crowd dispersed, and Magdalen was alone aga=
in.
=
"So
be it!" she thought, bitterly. "I should only have distressed her=
. We
should only have had the misery of parting to suffer again."
She mechanically retraced her steps; she retur=
ned,
as in a dream, to the open space of the Park. Arming itself treacherously w=
ith
the strength of her love for her sister, with the vehemence of the indignat=
ion
that she felt for her sister's sake, the terrible temptation of her life
fastened its hold on her more firmly than ever. Through all the paint and d=
isfigurement
of the disguise, the fierce despair of that strong and passionate nature
lowered, haggard and horrible. Norah made an object of public curiosity and
amusement; Norah reprimanded in the open street; Norah, the hired victim of=
an
old woman's insolence and a child's ill-temper, and the same man to thank f=
or
it who had sent Frank to China!--and that man's son to thank after him! The
thought of her sister, which had turned her from the scene of her meditated
deception, which had made the consciousness of her own disguise hateful to =
her,
was now the thought which sanctioned that means, or any means, to compass h=
er
end; the thought which set wings to her feet, and hurried her back nearer a=
nd
nearer to the fatal house.
=
She
left the Park again, and found herself in the streets without knowing where.
Once more she hailed the first cab that passed her, and told the man to dri=
ve
to Vauxhall Walk.
The change from walking to riding quieted her.=
She
felt her attention returning to herself and her dress. The necessity of mak=
ing
sure that no accident had happened to her disguise in the interval since she
had left her own room impressed itself immediately on her mind. She stopped=
the
driver at the first pastry-cook's shop which he passed, and there obtained =
the
means of consulting a looking-glass before she ventured back to Vauxhall Wa=
lk.
Her gray head-dress was disordered, and the
old-fashioned bonnet was a little on one side. Nothing else had suffered. S=
he
set right the few defects in her costume, and returned to the cab. It was
half-past one when she approached the house and knocked, for the second tim=
e,
at Noel Vanstone's door. The woman-servant opened it as before.
"Has Mrs. Lecount come back?"
"Yes, ma'am. Step this way, if you
please."
The servant preceded Magdalen along an empty
passage, and, leading her past an uncarpeted staircase, opened the door of a
room at the back of the house. The room was lighted by one window looking o=
ut
on a yard; the walls were bare; the boarded floor was uncovered. Two bedroom
chairs stood against the wall, and a kitchen-table was placed under the win=
dow.
On the table stood a glass tank filled with water, and ornamented in the mi=
ddle
by a miniature pyramid of rock-work interlaced with weeds. Snails clung to =
the
sides of the tank; tadpoles and tiny fish swam swiftly in the green water,
slippery efts and slimy frogs twined their noiseless way in and out of the
weedy rock-work; and on top of the pyramid there sat solitary, cold as the
stone, brown as the stone, motionless as the stone, a little bright-eyed to=
ad.
The art of keeping fish and reptiles as domestic pets had not at that time =
been
popularized in England; and Magdalen, on entering the room, started back, in
irrepressible astonishment and disgust, from the first specimen of an Aquar=
ium
that she had ever seen.
"Don't be alarmed," said a woman's v=
oice
behind her. "My pets hurt nobody."
Magdalen turned, and confronted Mrs. Lecount. =
She
had expected--founding her anticipations on the letter which the housekeeper
had written to her--to see a hard, wily, ill-favored, insolent old woman. S=
he
found herself in the presence of a lady of mild, ingratiating manners, whos=
e dress
was the perfection of neatness, taste, and matronly simplicity, whose perso=
nal
appearance was little less than a triumph of physical resistance to the
deteriorating influence of time. If Mrs. Lecount had struck some fifteen or
sixteen years off her real age, and had asserted herself to be
eight-and-thirty, there would not have been one man in a thousand, or one w=
oman
in a hundred, who would have hesitated to believe her. Her dark hair was ju=
st
turning to gray, and no more. It was plainly parted under a spotless lace c=
ap,
sparingly ornamented with mourning ribbons. Not a wrinkle appeared on her
smooth white forehead, or her plump white cheeks. Her double chin was dimpl=
ed,
and her teeth were marvels of whiteness and regularity. Her lips might have
been critically considered as too thin, if they had not been accustomed to =
make
the best of their defects by means of a pleading and persuasive smile. Her
large black eyes might have looked fierce if they had been set in the face =
of another
woman, they were mild and melting in the face of Mrs. Lecount; they were
tenderly interested in everything she looked at--in Magdalen, in the toad on
the rock-work, in the back-yard view from the window; in her own plump fair
hands,--which she rubbed softly one over the other while she spoke; in her =
own
pretty cambric chemisette, which she had a habit of looking at complacently
while she listened to others. The elegant black gown in which she mourned t=
he
memory of Michael Vanstone was not a mere dress--it was a well-made complim=
ent
paid to Death. Her innocent white muslin apron was a little domestic poem in
itself. Her jet earrings were so modest in their pretensions that a Quaker
might have looked at them and committed no sin. The comely plumpness of her
face was matched by the comely plumpness of her figure; it glided smoothly =
over
the ground; it flowed in sedate undulations when she walked. There are not =
many
men who could have observed Mrs. Lecount entirely from the Platonic point of
view--lads in their teens would have found her irresistible--women only cou=
ld
have hardened their hearts against her, and mercilessly forced their way in=
ward
through that fair and smiling surface. Magdalen's first glance at this Venu=
s of
the autumn period of female life more than satisfied her that she had done =
well
to feel her ground in disguise before she ventured on matching herself agai=
nst
Mrs. Lecount.
"Have I the pleasure of addressing the la=
dy
who called this morning?" inquired the housekeeper. "Am I speakin=
g to
Miss Garth?"
Something in the expression of her eyes, as she
asked that question, warned Magdalen to turn her face further inward from t=
he
window than she had turned it yet. The bare doubt whether the housekeeper m=
ight
not have seen her already under too strong a light shook her self-possession
for the moment. She gave herself time to recover it, and merely answered by=
a
bow.
"Accept my excuses, ma'am, for the place =
in
which I am compelled to receive you," proceeded Mrs. Lecount in fluent
English, spoken with a foreign accent. "Mr. Vanstone is only here for a
temporary purpose. We leave for the sea-side to-morrow afternoon, and it has
not been thought worth while to set the house in proper order. Will you tak=
e a
seat, and oblige me by mentioning the object of your visit?"
She glided imperceptibly a step or two nearer =
to
Magdalen, and placed a chair for her exactly opposite the light from the
window. "Pray sit down," said Mrs. Lecount, looking with the
tenderest interest at the visitor's inflamed eyes through the visitor's net
veil.
"I am suffering, as you see, from a compl=
aint
in the eyes," replied Magdalen, steadily keeping her profile toward the
window, and carefully pitching her voice to the tone of Miss Garth's. "=
;I
must beg your permission to wear my veil down, and to sit away from the
light." She said those words, feeling mistress of herself again. With
perfect composure she drew the chair back into the corner of the room beyond
the window and seated herself, keeping the shadow of her bonnet well over h=
er
face. Mrs. Lecount's persuasive lips murmured a polite expression of sympat=
hy;
Mrs. Lecount's amiable black eyes looked more interested in the strange lady
than ever. She placed a chair for herself exactly on a line with Magdalen's,
and sat so close to the wall as to force her visitor either to turn her hea=
d a
little further round toward the window, or to fail in politeness by not loo=
king
at the person whom she addressed. "Yes," said Mrs. Lecount, with a
confidential little c ough. "And to what circumstances am I indebted f=
or
the honor of this visit?"
"May I inquire, first, if my name happens=
to
be familiar to you?" said Magdalen, turning toward her as a matter of
necessity, but coolly holding up her handkerchief at the same time between =
her
face and the light.
"No," answered Mrs. Lecount, with
another little cough, rather harsher than the first. "The name of Miss
Garth is not familiar to me."
"In that case," pursued Magdalen,
"I shall best explain the object that causes me to intrude on you by
mentioning who I am. I lived for many years as governess in the family of t=
he
late Mr. Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven, and I come here in the interest of
his orphan daughters."
Mrs. Lecount's hands, which had been smoothly
sliding one over the other up to this time, suddenly stopped; and Mrs.
Lecount's lips, self-forgetfully shutting up, owned they were too thin at t=
he
very outset of the interview.
"I am surprised you can bear the light
out-of-doors without a green shade," she quietly remarked; leaving the
false Miss Garth's announcement of herself as completely unnoticed as it she
had not spoken at all.
"I find a shade over my eyes keeps them t=
oo
hot at this time of the year," rejoined Magdalen, steadily matching the
housekeeper's composure. "May I ask whether you heard what I said just=
now
on the subject of my errand in this house?"
"May I inquire on my side, ma'am, in what=
way
that errand can possibly concern me?" retorted Mrs. Lecount.
"Certainly," said Magdalen. "I =
come
to you because Mr. Noel Vanstone's intentions toward the two young ladies w=
ere
made known to them in the form of a letter from yourself."
That plain answer had its effect. It warned Mr=
s.
Lecount that the strange lady was better informed than she had at first
suspected, and that it might hardly be wise, under the circumstances, to
dismiss her unheard.
"Pray pardon me," said the housekeep=
er,
"I scarcely understood before; I perfectly understand now. You are
mistaken, ma'am, in supposing that I am of any importance, or that I exerci=
se
any influence in this painful matter. I am the mouth-piece of Mr. Noel
Vanstone; the pen he holds, if you will excuse the expression--nothing more=
. He
is an invalid, and like other invalids, he has his bad days and his good. It
was his bad day when that answer was written to the young person--shall I c=
all
her Miss Vanstone? I will, with pleasure, poor girl; for who am I to make d=
istinctions,
and what is it to me whether her parents were married or not? As I was sayi=
ng,
it was one of Mr. Noel Vanstone's bad days when that answer was sent, and
therefore I had to write it; simply as his secretary, for want of a better.=
If
you wish to speak on the subject of these young ladies--shall I call them y=
oung
ladies, as you did just now? no, poor things, I will call them the Misses
Vanstone.--If you wish to speak on the subject of these Misses Vanstone, I =
will
mention your name, and your object in favoring me with this call, to Mr. No=
el
Vanstone. He is alone in the parlor, and this is one of his good days. I ha=
ve
the influence of an old servant over him, and I will use that influence with
pleasure in your behalf. Shall I go at once?" asked Mrs. Lecount, risi=
ng,
with the friendliest anxiety to make herself useful.
"If you please," replied Magdalen;
"and if I am not taking any undue advantage of your kindness."
"On the contrary," rejoined Mrs.
Lecount, "you are laying me under an obligation--you are permitting me=
, in
my very limited way, to assist the performance of a benevolent action."
She bowed, smiled, and glided out of the room.
Left by herself, Magdalen allowed the anger wh=
ich
she had suppressed in Mrs. Lecount's presence to break free from her. For w=
ant
of a nobler object to attack, it took the direction of the toad. The sight =
of
the hideous little reptile sitting placid on his rock throne, with his brig=
ht
eyes staring impenetrably into vacancy, irritated every nerve in her body. =
She
looked at the creature with a shrinking intensity of hatred; she whispered =
at
it maliciously through her set teeth. "I wonder whose blood runs
coldest," she said, "yours, you little monster, or Mrs. Lecount's=
? I
wonder which is the slimiest, her heart or your back? You hateful wretch, do
you know what your mistress is? Your mistress is a devil!"
The speckled skin under the toad's mouth
mysteriously wrinkled itself, then slowly expanded again, as if he had
swallowed the words just addressed to him. Magdalen started back in disgust
from the first perceptible movement in the creature's body, trifling as it =
was,
and returned to her chair. She had not seated herself again a moment too so=
on.
The door opened noiselessly, and Mrs. Lecount appeared once more.
"Mr. Vanstone will see you," she sai=
d,
"if you will kindly wait a few minutes. He will ring the parlor bell w=
hen
his present occupation is at an end, and he is ready to receive you. Be
careful, ma'am, not to depress his spirits, nor to agitate him in any way. =
His
heart has been a cause of serious anxiety to those about him, from his earl=
iest
years. There is no positive disease; there is only a chronic feebleness--a =
fatty
degeneration--a want of vital power in the organ itself. His heart will go =
on
well enough if you don't give his heart too much to do--that is the advice =
of
all the medical men who have seen him. You will not forget it, and you will
keep a guard over your conversation accordingly. Talking of medical men, ha=
ve
you ever tried the Golden Ointment for that sad affliction in your eyes? It=
has
been described to me as an excellent remedy."
"It has not succeeded in my case,"
replied Magdalen, sharply. "Before I see Mr. Noel Vanstone," she
continued, "may I inquire--"
"I beg your pardon," interposed Mrs.
Lecount. "Does your question refer in any way to those two poor
girls?"
"It refers to the Misses Vanstone."<= o:p>
"Then I can't enter into it. Excuse me, I
really can't discuss these poor girls (I am so glad to hear you call them t=
he
Misses Vanstone!) except in my master's presence, and by my master's express
permission. Let us talk of something else while we are waiting here. Will y=
ou
notice my glass Tank? I have every reason to believe that it is a perfect n=
ovelty
in England."
"I looked at the tank while you were out =
of
the room," said Magdalen.
"Did you? You take no interest in the sub=
ject,
I dare say? Quite natural. I took no interest either until I was married. My
dear husband--dead many years since--formed my tastes and elevated me to hi=
mself.
You have heard of the late Professor Lecomte, the eminent Swiss naturalist?=
I
am his widow. The English circle at Zurich (where I lived in my late master=
's
service) Anglicized my name to Lecount. Your generous country people will h=
ave
nothing foreign about them--not even a name, if they can help it. But I was
speaking of my husband--my dear husband, who permitted me to assist him in =
his
pursuits. I have had only one interest since his death--an interest in scie=
nce.
Eminent in many things, the professor was great at reptiles. He left me his
Subjects and his Tank. I had no other legacy. There is the Tank. All the
Subjects died but this quiet little fellow--this nice little toad. Are you =
surprised
at my liking him? There is nothing to be surprised at. The professor lived =
long
enough to elevate me above the common prejudice against the reptile creatio=
n.
Properly understood, the reptile creation is beautiful. Properly dissected,=
the
reptile creation is instructive in the last degree." She stretched out=
her
little finger, and gently stroked the toad's back with the tip of it. "=
;So
refreshing to the touch," said Mrs. Lecount--"so nice and cool th=
is
summer weather!"
The bell from the parlor rang. Mrs. Lecount ro=
se,
bent fondly over the Aquarium, and chirruped to the toad at parting as if it
had been a bird. "Mr. Vanstone is ready to receive you. Follow me, if =
you
please, Miss Garth." With these words she opened the door, and led the=
way
out of the room.
"MISS GARTH, sir," said Mrs. Lecount,
opening the parlor door, and announcing the visitor's appearance with the t=
one
and manner of a well-bred servant.
Magdalen found herself in a long, narrow room,
consisting of a back parlor and a front parlor, which had been thrown into =
one
by opening the folding-doors between them. Seated not far from the front
window, with his back to the light, she saw a frail, flaxen-haired,
self-satisfied little man, clothed in a fair white dressing-gown many sizes=
too
large for him, with a nosegay of violets drawn neatly through the button-ho=
le over
his breast. He looked from thirty to five-and-thirty years old. His complex=
ion
was as delicate as a young girl's, his eyes were of the lightest blue, his
upper lip was adorned by a weak little white mustache, waxed and twisted at
either end into a thin spiral curl. When any object specially attracted his
attention he half closed his eyelids to look at it. When he smiled, the ski=
n at
his temples crumpled itself up into a nest of wicked little wrinkles. He ha=
d a
plate of strawberries on his lap, with a napkin under them to preserve the
purity of his white dressing-gown. At his right hand stood a large round ta=
ble,
covered with a collection of foreign curiosities, which seemed to have been
brought together from the four quarters of the globe. Stuffed birds from
Africa, porcelain monsters from China, silver ornaments and utensils from I=
ndia
and Peru, mosaic work from Italy, and bronzes from France, were all heaped
together pell-mell with the coarse deal boxes and dingy leather cases which
served to pack them for traveling. The little man apologized, with a cheerf=
ul
and simpering conceit, for his litter of curiosities, his dressing-gown, and
his delicate health; and, waving his hand toward a chair, placed his attent=
ion,
with pragmatical politeness, at the visitor's disposal. Magdalen looked at =
him
with a momentary doubt whether Mrs. Lecount had not deceived her. Was this =
the
man who mercilessly followed the path on which his merciless father had wal=
ked before
him? She could hardly believe it. "Take a seat, Miss Garth," he r=
epeated,
observing her hesitation, and announcing his own name in a high, thin,
fretfully-consequential voice: "I am Mr. Noel Vanstone. You wished to =
see
me--here I am!"
"May I be permitted to retire, sir?"
inquired Mrs. Lecount.
"Certainly not!" replied her master.
"Stay here, Lecount, and keep us company. Mrs. Lecount has my fullest
confidence," he continued, addressing Magdalen. "Whatever you say=
to
me, ma'am, you say to her. She is a domestic treasure. There is not another
house in England has such a treasure as Mrs. Lecount."
The housekeeper listened to the praise of her
domestic virtues with eyes immovably fixed on her elegant chemisette. But
Magdalen's quick penetration had previously detected a look that passed bet=
ween
Mrs. Lecount and her master, which suggested that Noel Vanstone had been in=
structed
beforehand what to say and do in his visitor's presence. The suspicion of t=
his,
and the obstacles which the room presented to arranging her position in it =
so
as to keep her face from the light, warned Magdalen to be on her guard.
She had taken her chair at first nearly midway=
in
the room. An instant's after-reflection induced her to move her seat toward=
the
left hand, so as to place herself just inside, and close against, the left =
post
of the folding-door. In this position she dexterously barred the only passa=
ge by
which Mrs. Lecount could have skirted round the large table and contrived to
front Magdalen by taking a chair at her master's side. On the right hand of=
the
table the empty space was well occupied by the fireplace and fender, by some
traveling-trunks, and a large packing-case. There was no alternative left f=
or
Mrs. Lecount but to place herself on a line with Magdalen against the oppos=
ite
post of the folding-door, or to push rudely past the visitor with the obvio=
us intention
of getting in front of her. With an expressive little cough, and with one
steady look at her master, the housekeeper conceded the point, and took her
seat against the right-hand door-post. "Wait a little," thought M=
rs.
Lecount; "my turn next!"
"Mind what you are about, ma'am!" cr=
ied
Noel Vanstone, as Magdalen accidentally approached the table in moving her
chair. "Mind the sleeve of your cloak! Excuse me, you nearly knocked d=
own
that silver candlestick. Pray don't suppose it's a common candlestick. It's
nothing of the sort--it's a Peruvian candlestick. There are only three of t=
hat pattern
in the world. One is in the possession of the President of Peru; one is loc=
ked
up in the Vatican; and one is on My table. It cost ten pounds; it's worth
fifty. One of my father's bargains, ma'am. All these things are my father's
bargains. There is not another house in England which has such curiosities =
as
these. Sit down, Lecount; I beg you will make yourself comfortable. Mrs.
Lecount is like the curiosities, Miss Garth--she is one of my father's barg=
ains.
You are one of my father's bargains, are you not, Lecount? My father was a
remarkable man, ma'am. You will be reminded of him here at every turn. I ha=
ve
got his dressing-gown on at this moment. No such linen as this is made now-=
-you
can't get it for love or money. Would you like to feel the texture? Perhaps
you're no judge of texture? Perhaps you would prefer talking to me about th=
ese
two pupils of yours? They are two, are they not? Are they fine girls? Plump,
fresh, full-blown English beauties?"
"Excuse me, sir," interposed Mrs.
Lecount, sorrowfully. "I must really beg permission to retire if you s=
peak
of the poor things in that way. I can't sit by, sir, and hear them turned i=
nto
ridicule. Consider their position; consider Miss Garth."
"You good creature!" said Noel Vanst=
one,
surveying the housekeeper through his half-closed eyelids. "You excell=
ent
Lecount! I assure you, ma'am, Mrs. Lecount is a worthy creature. You will
observe that she pities the two girls. I don't go so far as that myself, bu=
t I
can make allowances for them. I am a large-minded man. I can make allowance=
s for
them and for you." He smiled with the most cordial politeness, and hel=
ped
himself to a strawberry from the dish on his lap.
"You shock Miss Garth; indeed, sir, witho=
ut
meaning it, you shock Miss Garth," remonstrated Mrs. Lecount. "Sh=
e is
not accustomed to you as I am. Consider Miss Garth, sir. As a favor to me,
consider Miss Garth."
Thus far Magdalen had resolutely kept silence.=
The
burning anger, which would have betrayed her in an instant if she had let it
flash its way to the surface, throbbed fast and fiercely at her heart, and
warned her, while Noel Vanstone was speaking, to close her lips. She would =
have
allowed him to talk on uninterruptedly for some minutes more if Mrs. Lecount
had not interfered for the second time. The refined insolence of the
housekeeper's pity was a woman's insolence; and it stung her into instantly
controlling herself. She had never more admirably imitated Miss Garth's voi=
ce
and manner than when she spoke her next words.
"You are very good," she said to Mrs.
Lecount. "I make no claim to be treated with any extraordinary
consideration. I am a governess, and I don't expect it. I have only one fav=
or
to ask. I beg Mr. Noel Vanstone, for his own sake, to hear what I have to s=
ay
to him."
"You understand, sir?" observed Mrs.
Lecount. "It appears that Miss Garth has some serious warning to give =
you.
She says you are to hear her, for your own sake."
Mr. Noel Vanstone's fair complexion suddenly
turned white. He put away the plate of strawberries among his father's
bargains. His hand shook and his little figure twisted itself uneasily in t=
he
chair. Magdalen observed him attentively. "One discovery already,"
she thought; "he is a coward!"
"What do you mean, ma'am?" asked Noel
Vanstone, with visible trepidation of look and manner. "What do you me=
an
by telling me I must listen to you for my own sake? If you come her to
intimidate me, you come to the wrong man. My strength of character was
universally noticed in our circle at Zurich--wasn't it, Lecount?"
"Universally, sir," said Mrs. Lecoun=
t.
"But let us hear Miss Garth. Perhaps I have misinterpreted her
meaning."
"On the contrary," replied Magdalen,
"you have exactly expressed my meaning. My object in coming here is to
warn Mr. Noel Vanstone against the course which he is now taking."
"Don't!" pleaded Mrs. Lecount. "=
;Oh,
if you want to help these poor girls, don't talk in that way! Soften his
resolution, ma'am, by entreaties; don't strengthen it by threats!" She=
a
little overstrained the tone of humility in which she spoke those words--a
little overacted the look of apprehension which accompanied them. If Magdal=
en
had not seen plainly enough already that it was Mrs. Lecount's habitual
practice to decide everything for her master in the first instance, and the=
n to
persuade him that he was not acting under his housekeeper's resolution but
under his own, she would have seen it now.
"You hear what Lecount has just said?&quo=
t;
remarked Noel Vanstone. "You hear the unsolicited testimony of a person
who has known me from childhood? Take care, Miss Garth--take care!" He
complacently arranged the tails of his white dressing-gown over his knees a=
nd
took the plate of strawberries back on his lap.
"I have no wish to offend you," said
Magdalen. "I am only anxious to open your eyes to the truth. You are n=
ot
acquainted with the characters of the two sisters whose fortunes have fallen
into your possession. I have known them from childhood; and I come to give =
you
the benefit of my experience in their interests and in yours. You have noth=
ing
to dread from the elder of the two; she patiently accepts the hard lot which
you, and your father before you, have forced on her. The younger sister's c=
onduct
is the very opposite of this. She has already declined to submit to your
father's decision, and she now refuses to be silenced by Mrs. Lecount's let=
ter.
Take my word for it, she is capable of giving you serious trouble if you
persist in making an enemy of her."
Noel Vanstone changed color once more, and beg=
an
to fidget again in his chair. "Serious trouble," he repeated, wit=
h a
blank look. "If you mean writing letters, ma'am, she has given trouble
enough already. She has written once to me, and twice to my father. One of =
the
letters to my father was a threatening letter--wasn't it, Lecount?"
"She expressed her feelings, poor
child," said Mrs. Lecount. "I thought it hard to send her back her
letter, but your dear father knew best. What I said at the time was, Why not
let her express her feelings? What are a few threatening words, after all? =
In
her position, poor creature, they are words, and nothing more."
"I advise you not to be too sure of
that," said Magdalen. "I know her better than you do."
She paused at those words--paused in a momenta=
ry
terror. The sting of Mrs. Lecount's pity had nearly irritated her into
forgetting her assumed character, and speaking in her own voice.
"You have referred to the letters written=
by
my pupil," she resumed, addressing Noel Vanstone as soon as she felt s=
ure
of herself again. "We will say nothing about what she has written to y=
our
father; we will only speak of what she has written to you. Is there anything
unbecoming in her letter, anything said in it that is false? Is it not true
that these two sisters have been cruelly deprived of the provision which th=
eir father
made for them? His will to this day speaks for him and for them; and it only
speaks to no purpose, because he was not aware that his marriage obliged hi=
m to
make it again, and because he died before he could remedy the error. Can you
deny that?"
Noel Vanstone smiled, and helped himself to a
strawberry. "I don't attempt to deny it," he said. "Go on, M=
iss
Garth."
"Is it not true," persisted Magdalen,
"that the law which has taken the money from these sisters, whose fath=
er
made no second will, has now given that very money to you, whose father mad=
e no
will at all? Surely, explain it how you may, this is hard on those orphan
girls?"
"Very hard," replied Noel Vanstone.
"It strikes you in that light, too--doesn't it, Lecount?"
Mrs. Lecount shook her head, and closed her
handsome black eyes. "Harrowing," she said; "I can character=
ize
it, Miss Garth, by no other word--harrowing. How the young person--no! how =
Miss
Vanstone, the younger--discovered that my late respected master made no wil=
l I
am at a loss to understand. Perhaps it was put in the papers? But I am inte=
rrupting
you, Miss Garth. Do have something more to say about your pupil's letter?&q=
uot;
She noiselessly drew her chair forward, as she said these words, a few inch=
es
beyond the line of the visitor's chair. The attempt was neatly made, but it
proved useless. Magdalen only kept her head more to the left, and the
packing-case on the floor prevented Mrs. Lecount from advancing any further=
.
"I have only one more question to put,&qu=
ot;
said Magdalen. "My pupil's letter addressed a proposal to Mr. Noel
Vanstone. I beg him to inform me why he has refused to consider it."
"My good lady!" cried Noel Vanstone, arching his white eyebrows in satirical astonishment. "Are you really = in earnest? Do you know what the proposal is? Have you seen the letter?"<= o:p>
"I am quite in earnest," said Magdal=
en,
"and I have seen the letter. It entreats you to remember how Mr. Andrew
Vanstone's fortune has come into your hands; it informs you that one-half of
that fortune, divided between his daughters, was what his will intended the=
m to
have; and it asks of your sense of justice to do for his children what he w=
ould
have done for them himself if he had lived. In plainer words still, it asks=
you
to give one-half of the money to the daughters, and it leaves you free to k=
eep
the other half yourself. That is the proposal. Why have you refused to cons=
ider
it?"
"For the simplest possible reason, Miss
Garth," said Noel Vanstone, in high good-humor. "Allow me to remi=
nd
you of a well-known proverb: A fool and his money are soon parted. Whatever
else I may be, ma'am, I'm not a fool."
"Don't put it in that way, sir!"
remonstrated Mrs. Lecount. "Be serious--pray be serious!"
"Quite impossible, Lecount," rejoined
her master. "I can't be serious. My poor father, Miss Garth, took a hi=
gh
moral point of view in this matter. Lecount, there, takes a high moral poin=
t of
view--don't you, Lecount? I do nothing of the sort. I have lived too long in
the Continental atmosphere to trouble myself about moral points of view. My=
course
in this business is as plain as two and two make four. I have got the money,
and I should be a born idiot if I parted with it. There is my point of view!
Simple enough, isn't it? I don't stand on my dignity; I don't meet you with=
the
law, which is all on my side; I don't blame your coming here, as a total
stranger, to try and alter my resolution; I don't blame the two girls for
wanting to dip their fingers into my purse. All I say is, I am not fool eno=
ugh
to open it. Pas si bete, as we used to say in the English circle at Zurich.=
You
understand French, Miss Garth? Pas si bete!" He set aside his plate of
strawberries once more, and daintily dried his fingers on his fine white
napkin.
Magdalen kept her temper. If she could have st=
ruck
him dead by lifting her hand at that moment, it is probable she would have
lifted it. But she kept her temper.
"Am I to understand," she asked,
"that the last words you have to say in this matter are the words said=
for
you in Mrs. Lecount's letter!"
"Precisely so," replied Noel Vanston=
e.
"You have inherited your own father's
fortune, as well as the fortune of Mr. Andrew Vanstone, and yet you feel no
obligation to act from motives of justice or generosity toward these two
sisters? All you think it necessary to say to them is, you have got the mon=
ey,
and you refuse to part with a single farthing of it?"
"Most accurately stated! Miss Garth, you =
are
a woman of business. Lecount, Miss Garth is a woman of business."
"Don't appeal to me, sir," cried Mrs.
Lecount, gracefully wringing her plump white hands. "I can't bear it! I
must interfere! Let me suggest--oh, what do you call it in English?--a
compromise. Dear Mr. Noel, you are perversely refusing to do yourself justi=
ce;
you have better reasons than the reason you have given to Miss Garth. You
follow your honored father's example; you feel it due to his memory to act =
in this
matter as he acted before you. That is his reason, Miss Garth---- I implore=
you
on my knees to take that as his reason. He will do what his dear father did=
; no
more, no less. His dear father made a proposal, and he himself will now make
that proposal over again. Yes, Mr. Noel, you will remember what this poor g=
irl
says in her letter to you. Her sister has been obliged to go out as a
governess; and she herself, in losing her fortune, has lost the hope of her
marriage for years and years to come. You will remember this--and you will =
give
the hundred pounds to one, and the hundred pounds to the other, which your
admirable father offered in the past time? If he does this, Miss Garth, wil=
l he
do enough? If he gives a hundred pounds each to these unfortunate sisters--=
?"
"He will repent the insult to the last ho=
ur
of his life," said Magdalen.
The instant that answer passed her lips she wo=
uld
have given worlds to recall it. Mrs. Lecount had planted her sting in the r=
ight
place at last. Those rash words of Magdalen's had burst from her passionate=
ly,
in her own voice.
Nothing but the habit of public performance sa=
ved
her from making the serious error that she had committed more palpable stil=
l,
by attempting to set it right. Here her past practice in the Entertainment =
came
to her rescue, and urged her to go on instantly in Miss Garth's voice as if=
nothing
had happened.
"You mean well, Mrs. Lecount," she
continued, "but you are doing harm instead of good. My pupils will acc=
ept
no such compromise as you propose. I am sorry to have spoken violently just
now; I beg you will excuse me." She looked hard for information in the
housekeeper's face while she spoke those conciliatory words. Mrs. Lecount
baffled the look by putting her handkerchief to her eyes. Had she, or had s=
he
not, noticed the momentary change in Magdalen's voice from the tones that w=
ere
assumed to the tones that were natural? Impossible to say.
"What more can I do!" murmured Mrs.
Lecount behind her handkerchief. "Give me time to think--give me time =
to
recover myself. May I retire, sir, for a moment? My nerves are shaken by th=
is
sad scene. I must have a glass of water, or I think I shall faint. Don't go
yet, Miss Garth. I beg you will give us time to set this sad matter right, =
if
we can--I beg you will remain until I come back."
There were two doors of entrance to the room. =
One,
the door into the front parlor, close at Magdalen's left hand. The other, t=
he
door into the back parlor, situated behind her. Mrs. Lecount politely retir=
ed--through
the open folding-doors--by this latter means of exit, so as not to disturb =
the
visitor by passing in front of her. Magdalen waited until she heard the door
open and close again behind her, and then resolved to make the most of the
opportunity which left her alone with Noel Vanstone. The utter hopelessness=
of
rousing a generous impulse in that base nature had now been proved by her o=
wn
experience. The last chance left was to treat him like the craven creature =
he
was, and to influence him through his fears.
Before she could speak, Noel Vanstone himself
broke the silence. Cunningly as he strove to hide it, he was half angry, ha=
lf
alarmed at his housekeeper's desertion of him. He looked doubtingly at his
visitor; he showed a nervous anxiety to conciliate her until Mrs. Lecount's=
return.
"Pray remember, ma'am, I never denied that
this case was a hard one," he began. "You said just now you had no
wish to offend me--and I'm sure I don't want to offend you. May I offer you
some strawberries? Would you like to look at my father's bargains? I assure
you, ma'am, I am naturally a gallant man; and I feel for both these
sisters--especially the younger one. Touch me on the subject of the tender
passion, and you touch me on a weak place. Nothing would please me more tha=
n to
hear that Miss Vanstone's lover (I'm sure I always call her Miss Vanstone, =
and
so does Lecount)--I say, ma'am, nothing would please me more than to hear t=
hat
Miss Vanstone's lover had come back and married her. If a loan of money wou=
ld
be likely to bring him back, and if the security offered was good, and if my
lawyer thought me justified--"
"Stop, Mr. Vanstone," said Magdalen.
"You are entirely mistaken in your estimate of the person you have to =
deal
with. You are seriously wrong in supposing that the marriage of the younger
sister--if she could be married in a week's time--would make any difference=
in
the convictions which induced her to write to your father and to you. I don=
't
deny that she may act from a mixture of motives. I don't deny that she clin=
gs to
the hope of hastening her marriage, and to the hope of rescuing her sister =
from
a life of dependence. But if both those objects were accomplished by other
means, nothing would induce her to leave you in possession of the inheritan=
ce
which her father meant his children to have. I know her, Mr. Vanstone! She =
is a
nameless, homeless, friendless wretch. The law which takes care of you, the=
law
which takes care of all legitimate children, casts her like carrion to the
winds. It is your law--not hers. She only knows it as the instrument of a v=
ile
oppression, an insufferable wrong. The sense of that wrong haunts her like =
a possession
of the devil. The resolution to right that wrong burns in her like fire. If
that miserable girl was married and rich, with millions tomorrow, do you th=
ink
she would move an inch from her purpose? I tell you she would resist, to the
last breath in her body, the vile injustice which has struck at the helpless
children, through the calamity of their father's death! I tell you she would
shrink from no means which a desperate woman can employ to force that closed
hand of yours open, or die in the attempt!"
She stopped abruptly. Once more her own
indomitable earnestness had betrayed her. Once more the inborn nobility of =
that
perverted nature had risen superior to the deception which it had stooped to
practice. The scheme of the moment vanished from her mind's view; and the
resolution of her life burst its way outward in her own words, in her own
tones, pouring hotly and more hotly from her heart. She saw the abject mani=
kin before
her cowering, silent, in his chair. Had his fears left him sense enough to =
perceive
the change in her voice? No: his face spoke the truth--his fears had bewild=
ered
him. This time the chance of the moment had befriended her. The door behind=
her
chair had not opened again yet. "No ears but his have heard me," =
she
thought, with a sense of unutterable relief. "I have escaped Mrs.
Lecount."
She had done nothing of the kind. Mrs. Lecount=
had
never left the room.
After opening the door and closing it again,
without going out, the housekeeper had noiselessly knelt down behind Magdal=
en's
chair. Steadying herself against the post of the folding-door, she took a p=
air of
scissors from her pocket, waited until Noel Vanstone (from whose view she w=
as
entirely hidden) had attracted Magdalen's attention by speaking to her, and
then bent forward, with the scissors ready in her hand. The skirt of the fa=
lse
Miss Garth's gown--the brown alpaca dress, with the white spots on it--touc=
hed
the floor, within the housekeeper's reach. Mrs. Lecount lifted the outer of=
the
two flounces which ran round the bottom of the dress one over the other, so=
ftly
cut away a little irregular fragment of stuff from the inner flounce, and
neatly smoothed the outer one over it again, so as to hide the gap. By the =
time
she had put the scissors back in her pocket, and had risen to her feet (she=
ltering
herself behind the post of the folding-door), Magdalen had spoken her last
words. Mrs. Lecount quietly repeated the ceremony of opening and shutting t=
he
back parlor door; and returned to her place.
"What has happened, sir, in my absence?&q=
uot;
she inquired, addressing her master with a look of alarm. "You are pal=
e;
you are agitated! Oh, Miss Garth, have you forgotten the caution I gave you=
in
the other room?"
"Miss Garth has forgotten everything,&quo=
t;
cried Noel Vanstone, recovering his lost composure on the re-appearance of =
Mrs.
Lecount. "Miss Garth has threatened me in the most outrageous manner. I
forbid you to pity either of those two girls any more, Lecount--especially =
the
younger one. She is the most desperate wretch I ever heard of! If she can't=
get
my money by fair means, she threatens to have it by foul. Miss Garth has to=
ld
me that to my face. To my face!" he repeated, folding his arms, and lo=
oking
mortally insulted.
"Compose yourself, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount. "Pray compose yourself, and leave me to speak to Miss Garth. I
regret to hear, ma'am, that you have forgotten what I said to you in the ne=
xt
room. You have agitated Mr. Noel; you have compromised the interests you ca=
me
here to plead; and you have only repeated what we knew before. The language=
you
have allowed yourself to use in my absence is the same language which your
pupil was foolish enough to employ when she wrote for the second time to my
late master. How can a lady of your years and experience seriously repeat s=
uch
nonsense? This girl boasts and threatens. She will do this; she will do tha=
t.
You have her confidence, ma'am. Tell me, if you please, in plain words, what
can she do?"
Sharply as the taunt was pointed, it glanced o=
ff
harmless. Mrs. Lecount had planted her sting once too often. Magdalen rose =
in
complete possession of her assumed character and composedly terminated the =
interview.
Ignorant as she was of what had happened behind her chair, she saw a change=
in
Mrs. Lecount's look and manner which warned her to run no more risks, and to
trust herself no longer in the house.
"I am not in my pupil's confidence,"=
she
said. "Her own acts will answer your question when the time comes. I c=
an
only tell you, from my own knowledge of her, that she is no boaster. What s=
he
wrote to Mr. Michael Vanstone was what she was prepared to do---what, I have
reason to think, she was actually on the point of doing, when her plans were
overthrown by his death. Mr. Michael Vanstone's son has only to persist in =
following
his father's course to find, before long, that I am not mistaken in my pupi=
l,
and that I have not come here to intimidate him by empty threats. My errand=
is
done. I leave Mr. Noel Vanstone with two alternatives to choose from. I lea=
ve
him to share Mr. Andrew Vanstone's fortune with Mr. Andrew Vanstone's
daughters--or to persist in his present refusal and face the
consequences." She bowed, and walked to the door.
Noel Vanstone started to his feet, with anger =
and
alarm struggling which should express itself first in his blank white face.
Before he could open his lips, Mrs. Lecount's plump hands descended on his
shoulders, put him softly back in his chair, and restored the plate of
strawberries to its former position on his lap.
"Refresh yourself, Mr. Noel, with a few m=
ore
strawberries," she said, "and leave Miss Garth to me."
She followed Magdalen into the passage, and cl=
osed
the door of the room after her.
"Are you residing in London, ma'am?"
asked Mrs. Lecount.
"No," replied Magdalen. "I resi=
de
in the country."
"If I want to write to you, where can I
address my letter?"
"To the post-office, Birmingham," sa=
id
Magdalen, mentioning the place which she had last left, and at which all
letters were still addressed to her.
Mrs. Lecount repeated the direction to fix it =
in
her memory, advanced two steps in the passage, and quietly laid her right h=
and
on Magdalen's arm.
"A word of advice, ma'am," she said;
"one word at parting. You are a bold woman and a clever woman. Don't be
too bold; don't be too clever. You are risking more than you think for.&quo=
t;
She suddenly raised herself on tiptoe and whispered the next words in
Magdalen's ear. "I hold you in the hollow of my hand!" said Mrs.
Lecount, with a fierce hissing emphasis on every syllable. Her left hand
clinched itself stealthily as she spoke. It was the hand in which she had
concealed the fragment of stuff from Magdalen's gown--the hand which held it
fast at that moment.
"What do you mean?" asked Magdalen,
pushing her back.
Mrs. Lecount glided away politely to open the
house door.
"I mean nothing now," she said;
"wait a little, and time may show. One last question, ma'am, before I =
bid
you good-by. When your pupil was a little innocent child, did she ever amuse
herself by building a house of cards?"
Magdalen impatiently answered by a gesture in =
the
affirmative.
"Did you ever see her build up the house
higher and higher," proceeded Mrs. Lecount, "till it was quite a
pagoda of cards? Did you ever see her open her little child's eyes wide and
look at it, and feel so proud of what she had done already that she wanted =
to
do more? Did you ever see her steady her pretty little hand, and hold her
innocent breath, and put one other card on the top, and lay the whole house,
the instant afterward, a heap of ruins on the table? Ah, you have seen that.
Give her, if you please, a friendly message from me. I venture to say she h=
as built
the house high enough already; and I recommend her to be careful before she
puts on that other card."
"She shall have your message," said
Magdalen, with Miss Garth's bluntness, and Miss Garth's emphatic nod of the
head. "But I doubt her minding it. Her hand is rather steadier than you
suppose, and I think she will put on the other card."
"And bring the house down," said Mrs.
Lecount.
"And build it up again," rejoined
Magdalen. "I wish you good-morning."
"Good-morning," said Mrs. Lecount,
opening the door. "One last word, Miss Garth. Do think of what I said =
in
the back room! Do try the Golden Ointment for that sad affliction in your
eyes!"
As Magdalen crossed the threshold of the door =
she
was met by the postman ascending the house steps with a letter picked out f=
rom
the bundle in his hand. "Noel Vanstone, Esquire?" she heard the m=
an
say, interrogatively, as she made her way down the front garden to the stre=
et.
She passed through the garden gates little
thinking from what new difficulty and new danger her timely departure had s=
aved
her. The letter which the postman had just delivered into the housekeeper's
hands was no other than the anonymous letter addressed to Noel Vanstone by
Captain Wragge.
MRS. LECOUNT returned to the parlor, with the
fragment of Magdalen's dress in one hand, and with Captain Wragge's letter =
in
the other.
"Have you got rid of her?" asked Noel
Vanstone. "Have you shut the door at last on Miss Garth?"
"Don't call her Miss Garth, sir," sa=
id
Mrs. Lecount, smiling contemptuously. "She is as much Miss Garth as you
are. We have been favored by the performance of a clever masquerade; and if=
we
had taken the disguise off our visitor, I think we should have found under =
it
Miss Vanstone herself.--Here is a letter for you, sir, which the postman ha=
s just
left."
She put the letter on the table within her
master's reach. Noel Vanstone's amazement at the discovery just communicate=
d to
him kept his whole attention concentrated on the housekeeper's face. He nev=
er
so much as looked at the letter when she placed it before him.
"Take my word for it, sir," proceeded Mrs. Lecount, composedly taking a chair. "When our visitor gets home s= he will put her gray hair away in a box, and will cure that sad affliction in = her eyes with warm water and a sponge. If she had painted the marks on her face= , as well as she painted the inflammation in her eyes, the light would have show= n me nothing, and I should certainly have been deceived. But I saw the marks; I = saw a young woman's skin under that dirty complexion of hers; I heard in this r= oom a true voice in a passion, as well as a false voice talking with an accent,= and I don't believe in one morsel of that lady's personal appearance from top to toe. The girl herself, in my opinion, Mr. Noel--and a bold girl too."<= o:p>
"Why didn't you lock the door and send for
the police?" asked Mr. Noel. "My father would have sent for the
police. You know, as well as I do, Lecount, my father would have sent for t=
he
police."
"Pardon me, sir," said Mrs. Lecount,
"I think your father would have waited until he had got something more=
for
the police to do than we have got for them yet. We shall see this lady agai=
n,
sir. Perhaps she will come here next time with her own face and her own voi=
ce.
I am curious to see what her own face is like. I am curious to know whether
what I have heard of her voice in a passion is enough to make me recognize =
her
voice when she is calm. I possess a little memorial of her visit of which s=
he is
not aware, and she will not escape me so easily as she thinks. If it turns =
out
a useful memorial, you shall know what it is. If not, I will abstain from
troubling you on so trifling a subject.--Allow me to remind you, sir, of the
letter under your hand. You have not looked at it yet."
Noel Vanstone opened the letter. He started as=
his
eye fell on the first lines--hesitated--and then hurriedly read it through.=
The
paper dropped from his hand, and he sank back in his chair. Mrs. Lecount sp=
rang
to her feet with the alacrity of a young woman and picked up the letter.
"What has happened, sir?" she asked.=
Her
face altered as she put the question, and her large black eyes hardened
fiercely, in genuine astonishment and alarm.
"Send for the police," exclaimed her
master. "Lecount, I insist on being protected. Send for the police!&qu=
ot;
"May I read the letter, sir?"
He feebly waved his hand. Mrs. Lecount read the
letter attentively, and put it aside on the table, without a word, when she=
had
done.
"Have you nothing to say to me?" ask=
ed
Noel Vanstone, staring at his housekeeper in blank dismay. "Lecount, I=
'm
to be robbed! The scoundrel who wrote that letter knows all about it, and w=
on't
tell me anything unless I pay him. I'm to be robbed! Here's property on this
table worth thousands of pounds--property that can never be replaced--prope=
rty
that all the crowned heads in Europe could not produce if they tried. Lock =
me in,
Lecount, and send for the police!"
Instead of sending for the police, Mrs. Lecount
took a large green paper fan from the chimney-piece, and seated herself
opposite her master.
"You are agitated, Mr. Noel," she sa=
id,
"you are heated. Let me cool you."
With her face as hard as ever--with less
tenderness of look and manner than most women would have shown if they had =
been
rescuing a half-drowned fly from a milk-jug--she silently and patiently fan=
ned
him for five minutes or more. No practiced eye observing the peculiar bluis=
h pallor
of his complexion, and the marked difficulty with which he drew his breath,
could have failed to perceive that the great organ of life was in this man,
what the housekeeper had stated it to be, too weak for the function which it
was called on to perform. The heart labored over its work as if it had been=
the
heart of a worn-out old man.
"Are you relieved, sir?" asked Mrs.
Lecount. "Can you think a little? Can you exercise your better
judgment?"
She rose and put her hand over his heart with =
as
much mechanical attention and as little genuine interest as if she had been
feeling the plates at dinner to ascertain if they had been properly warmed.
"Yes," she went on, seating herself again, and resuming the exerc=
ise
of the fan; "you are getting better already, Mr. Noel.--Don't ask me a=
bout
this anonymous letter until you have thought for yourself, and have given y=
our
own opinion first." She went on with the fanning, and looked him hard =
in
the face all the time. "Think," she said; "think, sir, witho=
ut troubling
yourself to express your thoughts. Trust to my intimate sympathy with you to
read them. Yes, Mr. Noel, this letter is a paltry attempt to frighten you. =
What
does it say? It says you are the object of a conspiracy directed by Miss
Vanstone. We know that already--the lady of the inflamed eyes has told us. =
We
snap our fingers at the conspiracy. What does the letter say next? It says =
the
writer has valuable information to give you if you will pay for it. What did
you call this person yourself just now, sir?"
"I called him a scoundrel," said Noel
Vanstone, recovering his self-importance, and raising himself gradually in =
his
chair.
"I agree with you in that, sir, as I agre=
e in
everything else," proceeded Mrs. Lecount. "He is a scoundrel who
really has this information and who means what he says, or he is a mouthpie=
ce
of Miss Vanstone's, and she has caused this letter to be written for the
purpose of puzzling us by another form of disguise. Whether the letter is t=
rue,
or whether the letter is false--am I not reading your own wiser thoughts no=
w,
Mr. Noel?--you know better than to put your enemies on their guard by emplo=
ying
the police in this matter too soon. I quite agree with you--no police just =
yet.
You will allow this anonymous man, or anonymous woman, to suppose you are
easily frightened; you will lay a trap for the information in return for the
trap laid for your money; you will answer the letter, and see what comes of=
the
answer; and you will only pay the expense of employing the police when you =
know
the expense is necessary. I agree with you again--no expense, if we can help
it. In every particular, Mr. Noel, my mind and your mind in this matter are
one."
"It strikes you in that light, Lecount--d=
oes
it?" said Noel Vanstone. "I think so myself; I certainly think so=
. I
won't pay the police a farthing if I can possibly help it." He took up=
the
letter again, and became fretfully perplexed over a second reading of it.
"But the man wants money!" he broke out, impatiently. "You s=
eem
to forget, Lecount, that the man wants money."
"Money which you offer him, sir," re=
joined
Mrs. Lecount; "but--as your thoughts have already anticipated--money w=
hich
you don't give him. No! no! you say to this man: 'Hold out your hand, sir;'=
and
when he has held it, you give him a smack for his pains, and put your own h=
and
back in your pocket.--I am so glad to see you laughing, Mr. Noel! so glad t=
o see
you getting back your good spirits. We will answer the letter by advertisem=
ent,
as the writer directs--advertisement is so cheap! Your poor hand is trembli=
ng a
little--shall I hold the pen for you? I am not fit to do more; but I can al=
ways
promise to hold the pen."
Without waiting for his reply she went into the
back parlor, and returned with pen, ink, and paper. Arranging a blotting-bo=
ok
on her knees, and looking a model of cheerful submission, she placed hersel=
f once
more in front of her master's chair.
"Shall I write from your dictation,
sir?" she inquired. "Or shall I make a little sketch, and will you
correct it afterward? I will make a little sketch. Let me see the letter. We
are to advertise in the Times, and we are to address 'An Unknown Friend.' W=
hat
shall I say, Mr. Noel? Stay; I will write it, and then you can see for
yourself: 'An Unknown Friend is requested to mention (by advertisement) an
address at which a letter can reach him. The receipt of the information whi=
ch
he offers will be acknowledged by a reward of--' What sum of money do you w=
ish
me to set down, sir?"
"Set down nothing," said Noel Vansto=
ne,
with a sudden outbreak of impatience. "Money matters are my business--=
I say
money matters are my business, Lecount. Leave it to me."
"Certainly, sir," replied Mrs. Lecou=
nt,
handing her master the blotting-book. "You will not forget to be liber=
al
in offering money when you know beforehand you don't mean to part with
it?"
"Don't dictate, Lecount! I won't submit to
dictation!" said Noel Vanstone, asserting his own independence more and
more impatiently. "I mean to conduct this business for myself. I am
master, Lecount!"
"You are master, sir."
"My father was master before me. And I am=
my
father's son. I tell you, Lecount, I am my father's son!"
Mrs. Lecount bowed submissively.
"I mean to set down any sum of money I th=
ink
right," pursued Noel Vanstone, nodding his little flaxen head vehement=
ly.
"I mean to send this advertisement myself. The servant shall take it to
the stationer's to be put into the Times. When I ring the bell twice, send =
the servant.
You understand, Lecount? Send the servant."
Mrs. Lecount bowed again and walked slowly to =
the
door. She knew to a nicety when to lead her master and when to let him go
alone. Experience had taught her to govern him in all essential points by
giving way to him afterward on all points of minor detail. It was a
characteristic of his weak nature--as it is of all weak natures--to assert =
itself
obstinately on trifles. The filling in of the blank in the advertisement was
the trifle in this case; and Mrs. Lecount quieted her master's suspicions t=
hat
she was leading him by instantly conceding it. "My mule has kicked,&qu=
ot;
she thought to herself, in her own language, as she opened the door. "I
can do no more with him to-day."
"Lecount!" cried her master, as she
stepped into the passage. "Come back."
Mrs. Lecount came back.
"You're not offended with me, are you?&qu=
ot;
asked Noel Vanstone, uneasily.
"Certainly not, sir," replied Mrs.
Lecount. "As you said just now--you are master."
"Good creature! Give me your hand." =
He
kissed her hand, and smiled in high approval of his own affectionate
proceeding. "Lecount, you are a worthy creature!"
"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Lecount.=
She
courtesied and went out. "If he had any brains in that monkey head of
his," she said to herself in the passage, "what a rascal he would
be!"
Left by himself, Noel Vanstone became absorbed=
in
anxious reflection over the blank space in the advertisement. Mrs. Lecount's
apparently superfluous hint to him to be liberal in offering money when he =
knew
he had no intention of parting with it, had been founded on an intimate kno=
wledge
of his character. He had inherited his father's sordid love of money, witho=
ut
inheriting his father's hard-headed capacity for seeing the uses to which m=
oney
can be put. His one idea in connection with his wealth was the idea of keep=
ing
it. He was such an inborn miser that the bare prospect of being liberal in
theory only daunted him. He took up the pen; laid it down again; and read t=
he
anonymous letter for the third time, shaking his head over it suspiciously.
"If I offer this man a large sum of money," he thought, on a sudd=
en,
"how do I know he may not find a means of actually making me pay it? W=
omen
are always in a hurry. Lecount is always in a hurry. I have got the afterno=
on
before me--I'll take the afternoon to consider it."
He fretfully put away the blotting-book and the
sketch of the advertisement on the chair which Mrs. Lecount had just left. =
As
he returned to his own seat, he shook his little head solemnly, and arranged
his white dressing-gown over his knees with the air of a man absorbed in
anxious thought. Minute after minute passed away; the quarters and the
half-hours succeeded each other on the dial of Mrs. Lecount's watch, and st=
ill
Noel Vanstone remained lost in doubt; still no summons for the servants
disturbed the tranquillity of the parlor bell.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, after parting with Mrs. Lecount,
Magdalen had cautiously abstained from crossing the road to her lodgings, a=
nd
had only ventured to return after making a circuit in the neighborhood. When
she found herself once more in Vauxhall Walk, the first object which attrac=
ted her
attention was a cab drawn up before the door of the lodgings. A few steps m=
ore
in advance showed her the landlady's daughter standing at the cab door enga=
ged
in a dispute with the driver on the subject of his fare. Noticing that the
girl's back was turned toward her, Magdalen instantly profited by that
circumstance and slipped unobserved into the house.
She glided along the passage, ascended the sta=
irs,
and found herself, on the first landing, face to face with her traveling
companion! There stood Mrs. Wragge, with a pile of small parcels hugged up =
in
her arms, anxiously waiting the issue of the dispute with the cabman in the=
street.
To return was impossible--the sound of the angry voices below was advancing
into the passage. To hesitate was worse than useless. But one choice was
left--the choice of going on--and Magdalen desperately took it. She pushed =
by
Mrs. Wragge without a word, ran into her own room, tore off her cloak, bonn=
et
and wig, and threw them down out of sight in the blank space between the
sofa-bedstead and the wall.
For the first few moments, astonishment bereft
Mrs. Wragge of the power of speech, and rooted her to the spot where she st=
ood.
Two out of the collection of parcels in her arms fell from them on the stai=
rs.
The sight of that catastrophe roused her. "Thieves!" cried Mrs.
Wragge, suddenly struck by an idea. "Thieves!"
Magdalen heard her through the room door, which
she had not had time to close completely. "Is that you, Mrs. Wragge?&q=
uot;
she called out in her own voice. "What is the matter?" She snatch=
ed
up a towel while she spoke, dipped it in water, and passed it rapidly over =
the
lower part of her face. At the sound of the familiar voice Mrs. Wragge turn=
ed round--dropped
a third parcel--and, forgetting it in her astonishment, ascended the second=
flight
of stairs. Magdalen stepped out on the first-floor landing, with the towel =
held
over her forehead as if she was suffering from headache. Her false eyebrows
required time for their removal, and a headache assumed for the occasion
suggested the most convenient pretext she could devise for hiding them as t=
hey
were hidden now.
"What are you disturbing the house for?&q=
uot;
she asked. "Pray be quiet; I am half blind with the headache."
"Anything wrong, ma'am?" inquired the
landlady from the passage.
"Nothing whatever," replied Magdalen.
"My friend is timid; and the dispute with the cabman has frightened he=
r.
Pay the man what he wants, and let him go."
"Where is She?" asked Mrs. Wragge, i=
n a
tremulous whisper. "Where's the woman who scuttled by me into your roo=
m?"
"Pooh!" said Magdalen. "No woman
scuttled by you--as you call it. Look in and see for yourself."
She threw open the door. Mrs. Wragge walked in=
to
the room--looked all over it--saw nobody--and indicated her astonishment at=
the
result by dropping a fourth parcel, and trembling helplessly from head to f=
oot.
"I saw her go in here," said Mrs.
Wragge, in awestruck accents. "A woman in a gray cloak and a poke bonn=
et.
A rude woman. She scuttled by me on the stairs--she did. Here's the room, a=
nd
no woman in it. Give us a Prayer-book!" cried Mrs. Wragge, turning dea=
dly
pale, and letting her whole remaining collection of parcels fall about her =
in a
little cascade of commodities. "I want to read something Good. I want =
to
think of my latter end. I've seen a Ghost!"
"Nonsense!" said Magdalen. "You=
're
dreaming; the shopping has been too much for you. Go into your own room and
take your bonnet off."
"I've heard tell of ghosts in night-gowns,
ghosts in sheets, and ghosts in chains," proceeded Mrs. Wragge, standi=
ng petrified
in her own magic circle of linen-drapers' parcels. "Here's a worse gho=
st
than any of 'em--a ghost in a gray cloak and a poke bonnet. I know what it
is," continued Mrs. Wragge, melting into penitent tears. "It's a
judgment on me for being so happy away from the captain. It's a judgment on=
me
for having been down at heel in half the shops in London, first with one sh=
oe
and then with the other, all the time I've been out. I'm a sinful creature.
Don't let go of me--whatever you do, my dear, don't let go of me!" She
caught Magdalen fast by the arm and fell into another trembling fit at the =
bare
idea of being left by herself.
The one remaining chance in such an emergency =
as
this was to submit to circumstances. Magdalen took Mrs. Wragge to a chair;
having first placed it in such a position as might enable her to turn her b=
ack
on her traveling-companion, while she removed the false eyebrows by the hel=
p of
a little water. "Wait a minute there," she said, "and try if=
you
can compose yourself while I bathe my head."
"Compose myself?" repeated Mrs. Wrag=
ge.
"How am I to compose myself when my head feels off my shoulders? The w=
orst
Buzzing I ever had with the Cookery-book was nothing to the Buzzing I've got
now with the Ghost. Here's a miserable end to a holiday! You may take me ba=
ck
again, my dear, whenever you like--I've had enough of it already!"
Having at last succeeded in removing the eyebr=
ows,
Magdalen was free to combat the unfortunate impression produced on her
companion's mind by every weapon of persuasion which her ingenuity could
employ.
The attempt proved useless. Mrs. Wragge
persisted--on evidence which, it may be remarked in parenthesis, would have
satisfied many wiser ghost-seers than herself--in believing that she had be=
en
supernaturally favored by a visitor from the world of spirits. All that
Magdalen could do was to ascertain, by cautious investigation, that Mrs. Wr=
agge
had not been quick enough to identify the supposed ghost with the character=
of
the old North-country lady in the Entertainment. Having satisfied herself on
this point, she had no resource but to leave the rest to the natural
incapability of retaining impressions--unless those impressions were
perpetually renewed--which was one of the characteristic infirmities of her
companion's weak mind. After fortifying Mrs. Wragge by reiterated assurances
that one appearance (according to all the laws and regulations of ghosts) m=
eant
nothing unless it was immediately followed by two more--after patiently lea=
ding
back her attention to the parcels dropped on the floor and on the stairs--a=
nd
after promising to keep the door of communication ajar between the two room=
s if
Mrs. Wragge would engage on her side to retire to her own chamber, and to s=
ay
no more on the terrible subject of the ghost--Magdalen at last secured the =
privilege
of reflecting uninterruptedly on the events of that memorable day.
Two serious consequences had followed her first
step forward. Mrs. Lecount had entrapped her into speaking in her own voice,
and accident had confronted her with Mrs. Wragge in disguise.
What advantage had she gained to set against t=
hese
disasters? The advantage of knowing more of Noel Vanstone and of Mrs. Lecou=
nt
than she might have discovered in months if she had trusted to inquiries ma=
de
for her by others. One uncertainty which had hitherto perplexed her was set=
at
rest already. The scheme she had privately devised against Michael Vanstone=
--which
Captain Wragge's sharp insight had partially penetrated when she first warn=
ed
him that their partnership must be dissolved--was a scheme which she could =
now
plainly see must be abandoned as hopeless, in the case of Michael Vanstone's
son. The father's habits of speculation had been the pivot on which the who=
le
machinery of her meditated conspiracy had been constructed to turn. No such=
vantage-ground
was discoverable in the doubly sordid character of the son. Noel Vanstone w=
as
invulnerable on the very point which had presented itself in his father as =
open
to attack.
Having reached this conclusion, how was she to=
shape
her future course? What new means could she discover which would lead her
secretly to her end, in defiance of Mrs. Lecount's malicious vigilance and =
Noel
Vanstone's miserly distrust?
She was seated before the looking-glass,
mechanically combing out her hair, while that all-important consideration
occupied her mind. The agitation of the moment had raised a feverish color =
in
her cheeks, and had brightened the light in her large gray eyes. She was
conscious of looking her best; conscious how her beauty gained by contrast,
after the removal of the disguise. Her lovely light brown hair looked thick=
er
and softer than ever, now that it had escaped from its imprisonment under t=
he
gray wig. She twisted it this way and that, with quick, dexterous fingers; =
she
laid it in masses on her shoulders; she threw it back from them in a heap a=
nd
turned sidewise to see how it fell--to see her back and shoulders freed from
the artificial deformities of the padded cloak. After a moment she faced the
looking-glass once more; plunged both hands deep in her hair; and, resting =
her
elbows on the table, looked closer and closer at the reflection of herself,
until her breath began to dim the glass. "I can twist any man alive ro=
und
my finger," she thought, with a smile of superb triumph, "as long=
as
I keep my looks! If that contemptible wretch saw me now--" She shrank =
from
following that thought to its end, with a sudden horror of herself: she drew
back from the glass, shuddering, and put her hands over her face. "Oh,
Frank!" she murmured, "but for you, what a wretch I might be!&quo=
t;
Her eager fingers snatched the little white silk bag from its hiding-place =
in
her bosom; her lips devoured it with silent kisses. "My darling! my an=
gel!
Oh, Frank, how I love you!" The tears gushed into her eyes. She
passionately dried them, restored the bag to its place, and turned her back=
on
the looking-glass. "No more of myself," she thought; "no mor=
e of
my mad, miserable self for to-day!"
Shrinking from all further contemplation of her
next step in advance--shrinking from the fast-darkening future, with which =
Noel
Vanstone was now associated in her inmost thoughts--she looked impatiently
about the room for some homely occupation which might take her out of herse=
lf.
The disguise which she had flung down between the wall and the bed recurred=
to
her memory. It was impossible to leave it there. Mrs. Wragge (now occupied =
in
sorting her parcels) might weary of her employment, might come in again at a
moment's notice, might pass near the bed, and see the gray cloak. What was =
to
be done?
Her first thought was to put the disguise back=
in
her trunk. But after what had happened, there was danger in trusting it so =
near
to herself while she and Mrs. Wragge were together under the same roof. She=
resolved
to be rid of it that evening, and boldly determined on sending it back to
Birmingham. Her bonnet-box fitted into her trunk. She took the box out, thr=
ust
in the wig and cloak, and remorselessly flattened down the bonnet at the to=
p.
The gown (which she had not yet taken off) was her own; Mrs. Wragge had been
accustomed to see her in it--there was no need to send the gown back. Before
closing the box, she hastily traced these lines on a sheet of paper: "I
took the inclosed things away by mistake. Please keep them for me, with the
rest of my luggage in your possession, until you hear from me again."
Putting the paper on the top of the bonnet, she directed the box to Captain
Wragge at Birmingham, took it downstairs immediately, and sent the landlady=
's
daughter away with it to the nearest Receiving-house. "That difficulty=
is
disposed of," she thought, as she went back to her own room again.
Mrs. Wragge was still occupied in sorting her
parcels on her narrow little bed. She turned round with a faint scream when
Magdalen looked in at her. "I thought it was the ghost again," sa=
id
Mrs. Wragge. "I'm trying to take warning, my dear, by what's happened =
to
me. I've put all my parcels straight, just as the captain would like to see
'em. I'm up at heel with both shoes. If I close my eyes to-night--which I d=
on't
think I shall--I'll go to sleep as straight as my legs will let me. And I'll
never have another holiday as long as I live. I hope I shall be forgiven,&q=
uot;
said Mrs. Wragge, mournfully shaking her head. "I humbly hope I shall =
be
forgiven."
"Forgiven!" repeated Magdalen. "=
;If
other women wanted as little forgiving as you do--Well! well! Suppose you o=
pen
some of these parcels. Come! I want to see what you have been buying
to-day."
Mrs. Wragge hesitated, sighed penitently,
considered a little, stretched out her hand timidly toward one of the parce=
ls,
thought of the supernatural warning, and shrank back from her own purchases
with a desperate exertion of self-control.
"Open this one." said Magdalen, to
encourage her: "what is it?"
Mrs. Wragge's faded blue eyes began to brighten
dimly, in spite of her remorse; but she self-denyingly shook her head. The
master-passion of shopping might claim his own again--but the ghost was not
laid yet.
"Did you get it at a bargain?" asked
Magdalen, confidentially.
"Dirt cheap!" cried poor Mrs. Wragge,
falling headlong into the snare, and darting at the parcel as eagerly as if
nothing had happened.
Magdalen kept her gossiping over her purchases=
for
an hour or more, and then wisely determined to distract her attention from =
all
ghostly recollections in another way by taking her out for a walk.
As they left the lodgings, the door of Noel
Vanstone's house opened, and the woman-servant appeared, bent on another
errand. She was apparently charged with a letter on this occasion which she
carried carefully in her hand. Conscious of having formed no plan yet either
for attack or defense, Magdalen wondered, with a momentary dread, whether M=
rs.
Lecount had decided already on opening fresh communications, and whether th=
e letter
was directed to "Miss Garth."
The let ter bore no such address. Noel Vanstone
had solved his pecuniary problem at last. The blank space in the advertisem=
ent
was filled up, and Mrs. Lecount's acknowledgment of the captain's anonymous
warning was now on its way to insertion in the Times.
THE END OF THE THIRD SCENE.
Extract from the Advertising Columns of "=
The
Times."
"AN UNKNOWN FRIEND is requested to mention
(by advertisement) an address at which a letter can reach him. The receipt =
of
the information which he offers will be acknowledged by a reward of Five
Pounds."
From Captain Wragge to Magdalen.
"Birmingham, July 2d, 1847.
"MY DEAR GIRL--The box containing the
articles of costumes which you took away by mistake has come safely to hand.
Consider it under my special protection until I hear from you again.
"I embrace this opportunity to assure you
once more of my unalterable fidelity to your interests. Without attempting =
to intrude
myself into your confidence, may I inquire whether Mr. Noel Vanstone has
consented to do you justice? I greatly fear he has declined--in which case I
can lay my hand on my heart, and solemnly declare that his meanness revolts=
me.
Why do I feel a foreboding that you have appealed to him in vain? Why do I =
find
myself viewing this fellow in the light of a noxious insect? We are total
strangers to each other; I have no sort of knowledge of him, except the
knowledge I picked up in making your inquiries. Has my intense sympathy with
your interests made my perceptions prophetic? or, to put it fancifully, is
there really such a thing as a former state of existence? and has Mr. Noel
Vanstone mortally insulted me--say, in some other planet?
"I write, my dear Magdalen, as you see, w=
ith
my customary dash of humor. But I am serious in placing my services at your
disposal. Don't let the question of terms cause you an instant's hesitation=
. I
accept beforehand any terms you like to mention. If your present plans point
that way, I am ready to squeeze Mr. Noel Vanstone, in your interests, till =
the
gold oozes out of him at every pore. Pardon the coarseness of this metaphor=
. My
anxiety to be of service to you rushes into words; lays my meaning, in the
rough, at your feet; and leaves your taste to polish it with the choicest
ornaments of the English language.
"How is my unfortunate wife? I am afraid =
you
find it quite impossible to keep her up at heel, or to mold her personal
appearance into harmony with the eternal laws of symmetry and order. Does s=
he
attempt to be too familiar with you? I have always been accustomed to check
her, in this respect. She has never been permitted to call me anything but
Captain; and on the rare occasions since our union, when circumstances may =
have
obliged her to address me by letter, her opening form of salutation has been
rigidly restricted to 'Dear Sir.' Accept these trifling domestic particular=
s as
suggesting hints which may be useful to you in managing Mrs. Wragge; and
believe me, in anxious expectation of hearing from you again,
"Devotedly yours,
"HORATIO WRAGGE."
From Norah to Magdalen.
[Forwarded, with the Two Letters that follow i=
t,
from the Post-office, Birmingham.]
"Westmoreland House, Kensington, July 1st=
.
"MY DEAREST MAGDALEN--When you write next
(and pray write soon!) address your letter to me at Miss Garth's. I have le=
ft
my situation; and some little time may elapse before I find another.
"Now it is all over I may acknowledge to =
you,
my darling, that I was not happy. I tried hard to win the affection of the =
two
little girls I had to teach; but they seemed, I am sure I can't tell why, to
dislike me from the first. Their mother I have no reason to complain of. But
their grandmother, who was really the ruling power in the house, made my li=
fe very
hard to me. My inexperience in teaching was a constant subject of remark wi=
th
her; and my difficulties with the children were always visited on me as if =
they
had been entirely of my own making. I tell you this, so that you may not
suppose I regret having left my situation. Far from it, my love--I am glad =
to
be out of the house.
"I have saved a little money, Magdalen; a=
nd I
should so like to spend it in staying a few days with you. My heart aches f=
or a
sight of my sister; my ears are weary for the sound of her voice. A word fr=
om
you telling me where we can meet, is all I want. Think of it--pray think of=
it.
"Don't suppose I am discouraged by this f=
irst
check. There are many kind people in the world; and some of them may employ=
me
next time. The way to happiness is often very hard to find; harder, I almost
think, for women than for men. But if we only try patiently, and try long
enough, we reach it at last--in heaven, if not on earth. I think my way now=
is the
way which leads to seeing you again. Don't forget that, my love, the next t=
ime
you think of
"NORAH."
From Miss Garth to Magdalen.
"Westmoreland House, July 1st.
"MY DEAR MAGDALEN--You have no useless
remonstrances to apprehend at the sight of my handwriting. My only object in
this letter is to tell you something which I know your sister will not tell=
you
of her own accord. She is entirely ignorant that I am writing to you. Keep =
her in
ignorance, if you wish to spare her unnecessary anxiety, and me unnecessary
distress.
"Norah's letter, no doubt, tells you that=
she
has left her situation. I feel it my painful duty to add that she has left =
it
on your account.
"The matter occurred in this manner. Mess=
rs.
Wyatt, Pendril, and Gwilt are the solicitors of the gentleman in whose fami=
ly
Norah was employed. The life which you have chosen for yourself was known as
long ago as December last to all the partners. You were discovered performi=
ng
in public at Derby by the person who had been employed to trace you at York;
and that discovery was communicated by Mr. Wyatt to Norah's employer a few =
days
since, in reply to direct inquiries about you on that gentleman's part. His
wife and his mother (who lives with him) had expressly desired that he would
make those inquiries; their doubts having been aroused by Norah's evasive
answers when they questioned her about her sister. You know Norah too well =
to
blame her for this. Evasion was the only escape your present life had left =
her,
from telling a downright falsehood.
"That same day, the two ladies of the fam=
ily,
the elder and the younger, sent for your sister, and told her they had
discovered that you were a public performer, roaming from place to place in=
the
country under an assumed name. They were just enough not to blame Norah for
this; they were just enough to acknowledge that her conduct had been as irr=
eproachable
as I had guaranteed it should be when I got her the situation. But, at the =
same
time, they made it a positive condition of her continuing in their employme=
nt
that she should never permit you to visit her at their house, or to meet her
and walk out with her when she was in attendance on the children. Your
sister--who has patiently borne all hardships that fell on herself--instant=
ly
resented the slur cast on you. She gave her employers warning on the spot. =
High
words followed, and she left the house that evening.
"I have no wish to distress you by
representing the loss of this situation in the light of a disaster. Norah w=
as
not so happy in it as I had hoped and believed she would be. It was impossi=
ble
for me to know beforehand that the children were sullen and intractable, or
that the husband's mother was accustomed to make her domineering disposition
felt by every one in the house. I will readily admit that Norah is well out=
of
this situation. But the harm does not stop here. For all you and I know to =
the
contrary, the harm may go on. What has happened in this situation may happe=
n in
another. Your way of life, however pure your conduct may be--and I will do =
you
the justice to believe it pure--is a suspicious way of life to all respecta=
ble
people. I have lived long enough in this world to know that the sense of
Propriety, in nine Englishwomen out of ten, makes no allowances and feels no
pity. Norah's next employers may discover you; and Norah may throw up a
situation next time which we may never be able to find for her again.
"I leave you to consider this. My child,
don't think I am hard on you. I am jealous for your sister's tranquillity. =
If
you will forget the past, Magdalen, and come back, trust to your old govern=
ess
to forget it too, and to give you the home which your father and mother once
gave her. Your friend, my dear, always,
"HARRIET GARTH."
From Francis Clare, Jun., to Magdalen.
"Shanghai, China, April 23d, 1847.
"MY DEAR MAGDALEN--I have deferred answer=
ing
your letter, in consequence of the distracted state of my mind, which made =
me
unfit to write to you. I am still unfit, but I feel I ought to delay no lon=
ger.
My sense of honor fortifies me, and I undergo the pain of writing this lett=
er.
"My prospects in China are all at an end.=
The
Firm to which I was brutally consigned, as if I was a bale of merchandise, =
has
worn out my patience by a series of petty insults; and I have felt compelle=
d,
from motives of self-respect, to withdraw my services, which were undervalu=
ed from
the first. My returning to England under these circumstances is out of the
question. I have been too cruelly used in my own country to wish to go back=
to
it, even if I could. I propose embarking on board a private trading-vessel =
in
these seas in a mercantile capacity, to make my way, if I can, for myself. =
How
it will end, or what will happen to me next, is more than I can say. It mat=
ters
little what becomes of me. I am a wanderer and an exile, entirely through t=
he
fault of others. The unfeeling desire at home to get rid of me has accompli=
shed
its object. I am got rid of for good.
"There is only one more sacrifice left fo=
r me
to make--the sacrifice of my heart's dearest feelings. With no prospects be=
fore
me, with no chance of coming home, what hope can I feel of performing my
engagement to yourself? None! A more selfish man than I am might hold you to
that engagement; a less considerate man than I am might keep you waiting fo=
r years--and
to no purpose after all. Cruelly as they have been trampled on, my feelings=
are
too sensitive to allow me to do this. I write it with the tears in my eyes-=
-you
shall not link your fate to an outcast. Accept these heart-broken lines as
releasing you from your promise. Our engagement is at an end.
"The one consolation which supports me in
bidding you farewell is, that neither of us is to blame. You may have acted
weakly, under my father's influence, but I am sure you acted for the best.
Nobody knew what the fatal consequences of driving me out of England would =
be
but myself--and I was not listened to. I yielded to my father, I yielded to
you; and this is the end of it!
"I am suffering too acutely to write more.
May you never know what my withdrawal from our engagement has cost me! I beg
you will not blame yourself. It is not your fault that I have had all my
energies misdirected by others--it is not your fault that I have never had a
fair chance of getting on in life. Forget the deserted wretch who breathes =
his
heartfelt prayers for your happiness, and who will ever remain your friend =
and
well-wisher.
"FRANCIS CLARE, Jun."
From Francis Clare, Sen., to Magdalen.
[Inclosing the preceding Letter.]
"I always told your poor father my son wa=
s a
Fool, but I never knew he was a Scoundrel until the mail came in from China=
. I
have every reason to believe that he has left his employers under the most
disgraceful circumstances. Forget him from this time forth, as I do. When y=
ou
and I last set eyes on each other, you behaved well to me in this business.=
All
I can now say in return, I do say. My girl, I am sorry for you,
"F. C."
From Mrs. Wragge to her Husband.
"Dear sir for mercy's sake come here and =
help
us She had a dreadful letter I don't know what yesterday but she read it in=
bed
and when I went in with her breakfast I found her dead and if the doctor had
not been two doors off nobody else could have brought her to life again and=
she
sits and looks dreadful and won't speak a word her eyes frighten me so I sh=
ake
from head to foot oh please do come I keep things as tidy as I can and I do
like her so and she used to be so kind to me and the landlord says he's afr=
aid
she'll destroy herself I wish I could write straight but I do shake so your
dutiful wife matilda wragge excuse faults and beg you on my knees come and =
help
us the Doctor good man will put some of his own writing into this for fear =
you
can't make out mine and remain once more your dutiful wife matilda
wragge."
Added by the Doctor.
"SIR--I beg to inform you that I was
yesterday called into a neighbor's in Vauxhall Walk to attend a young lady =
who
had been suddenly taken ill. I recovered her with great difficulty from one=
of
the most obstinate fainting-fits I ever remember to have met with. Since th=
at
time she has had no relapse, but there is apparently some heavy distress
weighing on her mind which it has hitherto been found impossible to remove.=
She
sits, as I am informed, perfectly silent, and perfectly unconscious of what
goes on about her, for hours together, with a letter in her hand which she =
will
allow nobody to take from her. If this state of depression continues, very
distressing mental consequences may follow; and I only do my duty in sugges=
ting
that some relative or friend should interfere who has influence enough to r=
ouse
her. Your obedient servant,
"RICHARD JARVIS, M.R.C.S."
From Norah to Magdalen.
"July 5th.
"For God's sake, write me one line to say=
if
you are still at Birmingham, and where I can find you there! I have just he=
ard
from old Mr. Clare. Oh, Magdalen, if you have no pity on yourself, have som=
e pity
on me! The thought of you alone among strangers, the thought of you heart-b=
roken
under this dreadful blow, never leaves me for an instant. No words can tell=
how
I feel for you! My own love, remember the better days at home before that
cowardly villain stole his way into your heart; remember the happy time at
Combe-Raven when we were always together. Oh, don't, don't treat me like a
stranger! We are alone in the world now--let me come and comfort you, let m=
e be
more than a sister to you, if I can. One line--only one line to tell me whe=
re I
can find you!"
From Magdalen to Norah.
"July 7th.
"MY DEAREST NORAH--All that your love for=
me
can wish your letter has done. You, and you alone, have found your way to my
heart. I could think again, I could feel again, after reading what you have
written to me. Let this assurance quiet your anxieties. My mind lives and
breathes once more--it was dead until I got your letter.
"The shock I have suffered has left a str=
ange
quietness in me. I feel as if I had parted from my former self--as if the h=
opes
once so dear to me had all gone back to some past time from which I am now =
far
removed. I can look at the wreck of my life more calmly, Norah, than you co=
uld look
at it if we were both together again. I can trust myself already to write to
Frank.
"My darling, I think no woman ever knows =
how
utterly she has given herself up to the man she loves--until that man has
ill-treated her. Can you pity my weakness if I confess to having felt a pan=
g at
my heart when I read that part of your letter which calls Frank a coward an=
d a villain?
Nobody can despise me for this as I despise myself. I am like a dog who cra=
wls
back and licks the master's hand that has beaten him. But it is so--I would
confess it to nobody but you--indeed, indeed it is so. He has deceived and
deserted me; he has written me a cruel farewell --but don't call him a vill=
ain!
If he repented and came back to me, I would die rather than marry him now--=
but
it grates on me to see that word coward written against him in your hand! I=
f he
is weak of purpose, who tried his weakness beyond what it could bear? Do you
think this would have happened if Michael Vanstone had not robbed us of our
own, and forced Frank away from me to China? In a week from to-day the year=
of
waiting would have come to an end, and I should have been Frank's wife, if =
my
marriage portion had not been taken from me.
"You will say, after what has hap pened, =
it
is well that I have escaped. My love! there is something perverse in my hea=
rt
which answers, No! Better have been Frank's wretched wife than the free wom=
an I
am now.
"I have not written to him. He sends me no
address at which I could write, even if I would. But I have not the wish. I
will wait before I send him my farewell. If a day ever comes when I have the
fortune which my father once promised I should bring to him, do you know wh=
at I
would do with it? I would send it all to Frank, as my revenge on him for his
letter; as the last farewell word on my side to the man who has deserted me.
Let me live for that day! Let me live, Norah, in the hope of better times f=
or
you, which is all the hope I have left. When I think of your hard life, I c=
an
almost feel the tears once more in my weary eyes. I can almost think I have
come back again to my former self.
"You will not think me hard-hearted and
ungrateful if I say that we must wait a little yet before we meet. I want t=
o be
more fit to see you than I am now. I want to put Frank further away from me,
and to bring you nearer still. Are these good reasons? I don't know--don't =
ask
me for reasons. Take the kiss I have put for you here, where the little cir=
cle is
drawn on the paper; and let that bring us together for the present till I w=
rite
again. Good-by, my love. My heart is true to you, Norah, but I dare not see=
you
yet.
"MAGDALEN."
From Magdalen to Miss Garth.
"MY DEAR MISS GARTH--I have been long in
answering your letter; but you know what has happened, and you will forgive=
me.
"All that I have to say may be said in a =
few
words. You may depend on my never making the general Sense of Propriety my
enemy again: I am getting knowledge enough of the world to make it my
accomplice next time. Norah will never leave another situation on my
account--my life as a public performer is at an end. It was harmless enough,
God knows--I may live, and so may you, to mourn the day when I parted from
it--but I shall never return to it again. It has left me, as Frank has left=
me,
as all my better thoughts have left me except my thoughts of Norah.
"Enough of myself! Shall I tell you some =
news
to brighten this dull letter? Mr. Michael Vanstone is dead, and Mr. Noel
Vanstone has succeeded to the possession of my fortune and Norah's. He is q=
uite
worthy of his inheritance. In his father's place, he would have ruined us as
his father did.
"I have no more to say that you would car=
e to
know. Don't be distressed about me. I am trying to recover my spirits--I am
trying to forget the poor deluded girl who was foolish enough to be fond of
Frank in the old days at Combe-Raven. Sometimes a pang comes which tells me=
the
girl won't be forgotten--but not often.
"It was very kind of you, when you wrote =
to
such a lost creature as I am, to sign yourself--always my friend. 'Always' =
is a
bold word, my dear old governess! I wonder whether you will ever want to re=
call
it? It will make no difference if you do, in the gratitude I shall always f=
eel for
the trouble you took with me when I was a little girl. I have ill repaid th=
at trouble--ill
repaid your kindness to me in after life. I ask your pardon and your pity. =
The
best thing you can do for both of us is to forget me. Affectionately yours,=
"MAGDALEN."
"P.S.--I open the envelope to add one lin=
e.
For God's sake, don't show this letter to Norah!"
From Magdalen to Captain Wragge.
"Vauxhall Walk, July 17th.
"If I am not mistaken, it was arranged th=
at I
should write to you at Birmingham as soon as I felt myself composed enough =
to
think of the future. My mind is settled at last, and I am now able to accept
the services which you have so unreservedly offered to me.
"I beg you will forgive the manner in whi=
ch I
received you on your arrival in this house, after hearing the news of my su=
dden
illness. I was quite incapable of controlling myself--I was suffering an ag=
ony
of mind which for the time deprived me of my senses. It is only your due th=
at I
should now thank you for treating me with great forbearance at a time when
forbearance was mercy.
"I will mention what I wish you to do as
plainly and briefly as I can.
"In the first place, I request you to dis=
pose
(as privately as possible) of every article of costume used in the dramatic
Entertainment. I have done with our performances forever; and I wish to be =
set
free from everything which might accidentally connect me with them in the
future. The key of my box is inclosed in this letter.
"The other box, which contains my own
dresses, you will be kind enough to forward to this house. I do not ask you=
to
bring it yourself, because I have a far more important commission to intrus=
t to
you.
"Referring to the note which you left for=
me
at your departure, I conclude that you have by this time traced Mr. Noel
Vanstone from Vauxhall Walk to the residence which he is now occupying. If =
you have
made the discovery--and if you are quite sure of not having drawn the atten=
tion
either of Mrs. Lecount or her master to yourself--I wish you to arrange
immediately for my residing (with you and Mrs. Wragge) in the same town or
village in which Mr. Noel Vanstone has taken up his abode. I write this, it=
is
hardly necessary to say, under the impression that, wherever he may now be
living, he is settled in the place for some little time.
"If you can find a small furnished house =
for
me on these conditions which is to be let by the month, take it for a month
certain to begin with. Say that it is for your wife, your niece, and yourse=
lf,
and use any assumed name you please, as long as it is a name that can be
trusted to defeat the most suspicious inquiries. I leave this to your
experience in such matters. The secret of who we really are must be kept as=
strictly
as if it was a secret on which our lives depend.
"Any expenses to which you may be put in
carrying out my wishes I will immediately repay. If you easily find the sor=
t of
house I want, there is no need for your returning to London to fetch us. We=
can
join you as soon as we know where to go. The house must be perfectly
respectable, and must be reasonably near to Mr. Noel Vanstone's present
residence, wherever that is.
"You must allow me to be silent in this
letter as to the object which I have now in view. I am unwilling to risk an
explanation in writing. When all our preparations are made, you shall hear =
what
I propose to do from my own lips; and I shall expect you to tell me plainly=
, in
return, whether you will or will not give me the help I want on the best te=
rms which
I am able to offer you.
"One word more before I seal up this lett=
er.
"If any opportunity falls in your way aft=
er
you have taken the house, and before we join you, of exchanging a few civil
words either with Mr. Noel Vanstone or Mrs. Lecount, take advantage of it. =
It
is very important to my present object that we should become acquainted wit=
h each
other--as the purely accidental result of our being near neighbors. I want =
you
to smooth the way toward this end if you can, before Mrs. Wragge and I come=
to
you. Pray throw away no chance of observing Mrs. Lecount, in particular, ve=
ry
carefully. Whatever help you can give me at the outset in blindfolding that
woman's sharp eyes will be the most precious help I have ever received at y=
our
hands.
"There is no need to answer this letter
immediately--unless I have written it under a mistaken impression of what y=
ou
have accomplished since leaving London. I have taken our lodgings on for
another week; and I can wait to hear from you until you are able to send me
such news as I wish to receive. You may be quite sure of my patience for the
future, under all possible circumstances. My caprices are at an end, and my=
violent
temper has tried your forbearance for the last time.
"MAGDALEN."
XII.=
From Captain Wragge to Magdalen.
"North Shingles Villa, Aldborough, Suffol=
k,
July 22d.
"MY DEAR GIRL--Your letter has charmed and
touched me. Your excuses have gone straight to my heart; and your confidenc=
e in
my humble abilities has followed in the sa me direction. The pulse of the o=
ld
militia-man throbs with pride as he thinks of the trust you have placed in =
him,
and vows to deserve it. Don't be surprised at this genial outburst. All
enthusiastic natures must explode occasionally; and my form of explosion
is--Words.
"Everything you wanted me to do is done. =
The
house is taken; the name is found; and I am personally acquainted with Mrs.
Lecount. After reading this general statement, you will naturally be intere=
sted
in possessing your mind next of the accompanying details. Here they are, at
your service:
"The day after leaving you in London, I
traced Mr. Noel Vanstone to this curious little seaside snuggery. One of his
father's innumerable bargains was a house at Aldborough--a rising
watering-place, or Mr. Michael Vanstone would not have invested a farthing =
in
it. In this house the despicable little miser, who lived rent free in Londo=
n,
now lives, rent free again, on the coast of Suffolk. He is settled in his
present abode for the summer and autumn; and you and Mrs. Wragge have only =
to join
me here, to be established five doors away from him in this elegant villa. I
have got the whole house for three guineas a week, with the option of remai=
ning
through the autumn at the same price. In a fashionable watering-place, such=
a
residence would have been cheap at double the money.
"Our new name has been chosen with a wary=
eye
to your suggestions. My books--I hope you have not forgotten my
Books?--contain, under the heading of Skins To Jump Into, a list of individ=
uals
retired from this mortal scene, with whose names, families, and circumstanc=
es I
am well acquainted. Into some of those Skins I have been compelled to Jump,=
in the
exercise of my profession, at former periods of my career. Others are still=
in
the condition of new dresses and remain to be tried on. The Skin which will
exactly fit us originally clothed the bodies of a family named Bygrave. I a=
m in
Mr. Bygrave's skin at this moment-and it fits without a wrinkle. If you will
oblige me by slipping into Miss Bygrave (Christian name, Susan); and if you
will afterward push Mrs. Wragge--anyhow; head foremost if you like--into Mr=
s.
Bygrave (Christian name, Julia), the transformation will be complete. Permi=
t me
to inform you that I am your paternal uncle. My worthy brother was establis=
hed twenty
years ago in the mahogany and logwood trade at Belize, Honduras. He died in
that place; and is buried on the south-west side of the local cemetery, wit=
h a
neat monument of native wood carved by a self-taught negro artist. Nineteen
months afterward his widow died of apoplexy at a boarding-house in Cheltenh=
am.
She was supposed to be the most corpulent woman in England, and was
accommodated on the ground-floor of the house in consequence of the difficu=
lty
of getting her up and down stairs. You are her only child; you have been un=
der
my care since the sad event at Cheltenham; you are twenty-one years old on =
the
second of August next; and, corpulence excepted, you are the living image of
your mother. I trouble you with these specimens of my intimate knowledge of=
our
new family Skin, to quiet your mind on the subject of future inquiries. Tru=
st
to me and my books to satisfy any amount of inquiry. In the meantime write =
down
our new name and address, and see how they strike you: 'Mr. Bygrave, Mrs.
Bygrave, Miss Bygrave; North Shingles Villa, Aldborough.' Upon my life, it
reads remarkably well!
"The last detail I have to communicate re=
fers
to my acquaintance with Mrs. Lecount.
"We met yesterday, in the grocer's shop h=
ere.
Keeping my ears open, I found that Mrs. Lecount wanted a particular kind of=
tea
which the man had not got, and which he believed could not be procured any
nearer than Ipswich. I instantly saw my way to beginning an acquaintance, at
the trifling expense of a journey to that flourishing city. 'I have busines=
s to-day
in Ipswich,' I said, 'and I propose returning to Aldborough (if I can get b=
ack
in time) this evening. Pray allow me to take your order for the tea, and to
bring it back with my own parcels.' Mrs. Lecount politely declined giving me
the trouble--I politely insisted on taking it. We fell into conversation. T=
here
is no need to trouble you with our talk. The result of it on my mind is--th=
at
Mrs. Lecount's one weak point, if she has such a thing at all, is a taste f=
or
science, implanted by her deceased husband, the professor. I think I see a
chance here of working my way into her good graces, and casting a little
needful dust into those handsome black eyes of hers. Acting on this idea wh=
en I
purchased the lady's tea at Ipswich, I also bought on my own account that
far-famed pocket-manual of knowledge, 'Joyce's Scientific Dialogues.'
Possessing, as I do, a quick memory and boundless confidence in myself, I
propose privately inflating my new skin with as much ready-made science as =
it
will hold, and presenting Mr. Bygrave to Mrs. Lecount's notice in the chara=
cter
of the most highly informed man she has met with since the professor's deat=
h.
The necessity of blindfolding that woman (to use your own admirable express=
ion)
is as clear to me as to you. If it is to be done in the way I propose, make
your mind easy--Wragge, inflated by Joyce, is the man to do it.
"You now have my whole budget of news. Am=
I,
or am I not, worthy of your confidence in me? I say nothing of my devouring
anxiety to know what your objects really are--that anxiety will be satisfied
when we meet. Never yet, my dear girl, did I long to administer a productive
pecuniary Squeeze to any human creature, as I long to administer it to Mr. =
Noel
Vanstone. I say no more. Verbum sap. Pardon the pedantry of a Latin quotati=
on,
and believe me,
"Entirely yours,
"HORATIO WRAGGE.
"P.S.--I await my instructions, as you
requested. You have only to say whether I shall return to London for the
purpose of escorting you to this place, or whether I shall wait here to rec=
eive
you. The house is in perfect order, the weather is charming, and the sea is=
as
smooth as Mrs. Lecount's apron. She has just passed the window, and we have
exchanged bows. A sharp woman, my dear Magdalen; but Joyce and I together m=
ay prove
a trifle too much for her."
Extract from the "East Suffolk Argus.&quo=
t;
"ALDBOROUGH.--We notice with pleasure the
arrival of visitors to this healthful and far-famed watering-place earlier =
in
the season than usual during the present year. Esto Perpetua is all we have=
to
say.
"VISITORS' LIST.--Arrivals since our last.
North Shingles Villa--Mrs. Bygrave; Miss Bygrave."
CHAPTER
I.
THE most striking spectacle presented to a
stranger by the shores of Suffolk is the extraordinary defenselessness of t=
he
land against the encroachments of the sea.
At Aldborough, as elsewhere on this coast, loc=
al
traditions are, for the most part, traditions which have been literally
drowned. The site of the old town, once a populous and thriving port, has
almost entirely disappeared in the sea. The German Ocean has swallowed up
streets, market-places, jetties, and public walks; and the merciless waters=
, consummating
their work of devastation, closed, no longer than eighty years since, over =
the
salt-master's cottage at Aldborough, now famous in memory only as the
birthplace of the poet CRABBE.
Thrust back year after year by the advancing
waves, the inhabitants have receded, in the present century, to the last mo=
rsel
of land which is firm enough to be built on--a strip of ground hemmed in
between a marsh on one side and the sea on the other. Here, trusting for th=
eir
future security to certain sand-hills which the capricious waves have throw=
n up
to encourage them, the people of Aldborough have boldly established their
quaint little watering-place. The first fragment of their earthly possessio=
ns
is a low natural dike of shingle, surmounted by a public path which runs
parallel with the sea. Bordering this path, in a broken, uneven line, are t=
he
villa residences of modern Aldborough--fanciful little houses, standing mos=
tly
in their own gardens, and possessing here and there, as horticultural
ornaments, staring figure-heads of ships doing duty for statues among the
flowers. Viewed from the low level on which th ese villas stand, the sea, in
certain conditions of the atmosphere, appears to be higher than the land:
coasting-vessels gliding by assume gigantic proportions, and look alarmingly
near the windows. Intermixed with the houses of the better sort are buildin=
gs
of other forms and periods. In one direction the tiny Gothic town-hall of o=
ld Aldborough--once
the center of the vanished port and borough--now stands, fronting the modern
villas close on the margin of the sea. At another point, a wooden tower of
observation, crowned by the figure-head of a wrecked Russian vessel, rises =
high
above the neighboring houses, and discloses through its scuttle-window grave
men in dark clothing seated on the topmost story, perpetually on the watch-=
-the
pilots of Aldborough looking out from their tower for ships in want of help=
. Behind
the row of buildings thus curiously intermingled runs the one straggling st=
reet
of the town, with its sturdy pilots' cottages, its mouldering marine
store-houses, and its composite shops. Toward the northern end this street =
is
bounded by the one eminence visible over all the marshy flat--a low wooded
hill, on which the church is built. At its opposite extremity the street le=
ads
to a deserted martello tower, and to the forlorn outlying suburb of Slaughd=
en,
between the river Alde and the sea. Such are the main characteristics of th=
is
curious little outpost on the shores of England as it appears at the present
time.
=
On a
hot and cloudy July afternoon, and on the second day which had elapsed sinc=
e he
had written to Magdalen, Captain Wragge sauntered through the gate of North
Shingles Villa to meet the arrival of the coach, which then connected
Aldborough with the Eastern Counties Railway. He reached the principal inn =
as
the coach drove up, and was ready at the door to receive Magdalen and Mrs.
Wragge, on their leaving the vehicle.
The captain's reception of his wife was not
characterized by an instant's unnecessary waste of time. He looked
distrustfully at her shoes--raised himself on tiptoe--set her bonnet straig=
ht
for her with a sharp tug---said, in a loud whisper, "hold your
tongue"--and left her, for the time being, without further notice. His
welcome to Magdalen, beginning with the usual flow of words, stopped sudden=
ly
in the middle of the first sentence. Captain Wragge's eye was a sharp one, =
and
it instantly showed him something in the look and manner of his old pupil w=
hich
denoted a serious change.
There was a settled composure on her face whic=
h,
except when she spoke, made it look as still and cold as marble. Her voice =
was
softer and more equable, her eyes were steadier, her step was slower than of
old. When she smiled, the smile came and went suddenly, and showed a little=
nervous
contraction on one side of her mouth never visible there before. She was
perfectly patient with Mrs. Wragge; she treated the captain with a courtesy=
and
consideration entirely new in his experience of her--but she was interested=
in
nothing. The curious little shops in the back street; the high impending se=
a;
the old town-hall on the beach; the pilots, the fishermen, the passing
ships--she noticed all these objects as indifferently as if Aldborough had =
been
familiar to her from her infancy. Even when the captain drew up at the
garden-gate of North Shingles, and introduced her triumphantly to the new
house, she hardly looked at it. The first question she asked related not to=
her
own residence, but to Noel Vanstone's.
"How near to us does he live?" she
inquired, with the only betrayal of emotion which had escaped her yet.
Captain Wragge answered by pointing to the fif=
th
villa from North Shingles, on the Slaughden side of Aldborough. Magdalen
suddenly drew back from the garden-gate as he indicated the situation, and
walked away by herself to obtain a nearer view of the house. Captain Wragge
looked after her, and shook his head, discontentedly.
"May I speak now?" inquired a meek v=
oice
behind him, articulating respectfully ten inches above the top of his straw
hat.
The captain turned round, and confronted his w=
ife.
The more than ordinary bewilderment visible in her face at once suggested to
him that Magdalen had failed to carry out the directions in his letter; and
that Mrs. Wragge had arrived at Aldborough without being properly aware of =
the
total transformation to be accomplished in her identity and her name. The
necessity of setting this doubt at rest was too serious to be trifled with;=
and
Captain Wragge instituted the necessary inquiries without a moment's delay.=
"Stand straight, and listen to me," =
he
began. "I have a question to ask you. Do you know whose Skin you are i=
n at
this moment? Do you know that you are dead and buried in London; and that y=
ou
have risen like a phoenix from the ashes of Mrs. Wragge? No! you evidently
don't know it. This is perfectly disgraceful. What is your name?"
"Matilda," answered Mrs. Wragge, in a
state of the densest bewilderment.
"Nothing of the sort!" cried the
captain, fiercely. "How dare you tell me your name's Matilda? Your nam=
e is
Julia. Who am I?--Hold that basket of sandwiches straight, or I'll pitch it
into the sea!--Who am I?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Wragge, me=
ekly
taking refuge in the negative side of the question this time.
"Sit down!" said her husband, pointi=
ng
to the low garden wall of North Shingles Villa. "More to the right! Mo=
re
still! That will do. You don't know?" repeated the captain, sternly
confronting his wife as soon as he had contrived, by seating her, to place =
her
face on a level with his own. "Don't let me hear you say that a second
time. Don't let me have a woman who doesn't know who I am to operate on my
beard to-morrow morning. Look at me! More to the left--more still--that will
do. Who am I? I'm Mr. Bygrave--Christian name, Thomas. Who are you? You're =
Mrs.
Bygrave--Christian name, Julia. Who is that young lady who traveled with you
from London? That young lady is Miss Bygrave--Christian name, Susan. I'm her
clever uncle Tom; and you're her addle-headed aunt Julia. Say it all over t=
o me
instantly, like the Catechism! What is your name?"
"Spare my poor head!" pleaded Mrs.
Wragge. "Oh, please spare my poor head till I've got the stage-coach o=
ut
of it!"
"Don't distress her," said Magdalen,
joining them at that moment. "She will learn it in time. Come into the
house."
Captain Wragge shook his wary head once more.
"We are beginning badly," he said, with less politeness than usua=
l.
"My wife's stupidity stands in our way already."
They went into the house. Magdalen was perfect=
ly
satisfied with all the captain's arrangements; she accepted the room which =
he
had set apart for her; approved of the woman servant whom he had engaged;
presented herself at tea-time the moment she was summoned but still showed =
no interest
whatever in the new scene around her. Soon after the table was cleared,
although the daylight had not yet faded out, Mrs. Wragge's customary drowsi=
ness
after fatigue of any kind overcame her, and she received her husband s orde=
rs
to leave the room (taking care that she left it "up at heel"), an=
d to
betake herself (strictly in the character of Mrs. Bygrave) to bed. As soon =
as
they were left alone, the captain looked hard at Magdalen, and waited to be
spoken to. She said nothing. He ventured next on opening the conversation b=
y a
polite inquiry after the state of her health. "You look fatigued,"=
; he
remarked, in his most insinuating manner. "I am afraid the journey has
been too much for you."
"No," she said, looking out listless=
ly
through the window; "I am not more tired than usual. I am always weary
now; weary at going to bed, weary at getting up. If you would like to hear =
what
I have to say to you to-night, I am willing and ready to say it. Can't we go
out? It is very hot here; and the droning of those men's voices is beyond a=
ll endurance."
She pointed through the window to a group of boatmen idling, as only nautic=
al
men can idle, against the garden wall. "Is there no quiet walk in this
wretched place?" she asked, impatiently. "Can't we breathe a litt=
le
fresh air, and escape being annoyed by strangers?"
"There is perfect solitude within half an
hour's walk of the house," replied the ready captain.
"Very well. Come out, then."
With a weary sigh she took up her straw bonnet=
and
her light muslin scarf from the side-table upon which she had thrown them on
coming in, and carelessly led the way to the door. Captain Wragge followed =
her
to the garden gate, then stopped, struck by a new idea.
"Excuse me," he whispered,
confidentially. "In my wife's existing state of ignorance as to who she
is, we had better not trust her alone in the house with a new servant. I'll
privately turn the key on her, in case she wakes before we come back. Safe
bind, safe find--you know the proverb!--I will be with you again in a
moment."
He hastened back to the house, and Magdalen se=
ated
herself on the garden wall to await his return.
She had hardly settled herself in that position
when two gentlemen walking together, whose approach along the public path s=
he had
not previously noticed, passed close by her.
The dress of one of the two strangers showed h=
im
to be a clergyman. His companion's station in life was less easily discerni=
ble
to ordinary observation. Practiced eyes would probably have seen enough in =
his look,
his manner, and his walk to show that he was a sailor. He was a man in the
prime of life; tall, spare, and muscular; his face sun-burned to a deep bro=
wn;
his black hair just turning gray; his eyes dark, deep and firm--the eyes of=
a
man with an iron resolution and a habit of command. He was the nearest of t=
he
two to Magdalen, as he and his friend passed the place where she was sittin=
g;
and he looked at her with a sudden surprise at her beauty, with an open,
hearty, undisguised admiration, which was too evidently sincere, too eviden=
tly
beyond his own control, to be justly resented as insolent; and yet, in her
humor at that moment, Magdalen did resent it. She felt the man's resolute b=
lack
eyes strike through her with an electric suddenness; and frowning at him im=
patiently,
she turned away her head and looked back at the house.
The next moment she glanced round again to see=
if
he had gone on. He had advanced a few yards--had then evidently stopped--and
was now in the very act of turning to look at her once more. His companion,=
the
clergyman, noticing that Magdalen appeared to be annoyed, took him familiar=
ly
by the arm, and, half in jest, half in earnest, forced him to walk on. The =
two
disappeared round the corner of the next house. As they turned it, the sun-=
burned
sailor twice stopped his companion again, and twice looked back.
"A friend of yours?" inquired Captain
Wragge, joining Magdalen at that moment.
"Certainly not," she replied; "a
perfect stranger. He stared at me in the most impertinent manner. Does he
belong to this place?"
"I'll find out in a moment," said the
compliant captain, joining the group of boatmen, and putting his questions
right and left, with the easy familiarity which distinguished him. He retur=
ned
in a few minutes with a complete budget of information. The clergyman was w=
ell
known as the rector of a place situated some few miles inland. The dark man
with him was his wife's brother, commander of a ship in the merchant-servic=
e. He
was supposed to be staying with his relatives, as their guest for a short t=
ime
only, preparatory to sailing on another voyage. The clergyman's name was
Strickland, and the merchant-captain's name was Kirke; and that was all the
boatmen knew about either of them.
"It is of no consequence who they are,&qu=
ot;
said Magdalen, carelessly. "The man's rudeness merely annoyed me for t=
he
moment. Let us have done with him. I have something else to think of, and so
have you. Where is the solitary walk you mentioned just now? Which way do we
go?"
The captain pointed southward toward Slaughden,
and offered his arm.
Magdalen hesitated before she took it. Her eyes
wandered away inquiringly to Noel Vanstone's house. He was out in the garde=
n,
pacing backward and forward over the little lawn, with his head high in the=
air,
and with Mrs. Lecount demurely in attendance on him, carrying her master's
green fan. Seeing this, Magdalen at once took Captain Wragge's right arm, s=
o as
to place herself nearest to the garden when they passed it on their walk.
"The eyes of our neighbors are on us; and=
the
least your niece can do is to take your arm," she said, with a bitter
laugh. "Come! let us go on."
"They are looking this way," whisper=
ed
the captain. "Shall I introduce you to Mrs. Lecount?"
"Not to-night," she answered.
"Wait, and hear what I have to say to you first."
They passed the garden wall. Captain Wragge to=
ok
off his hat with a smart flourish, and received a gracious bow from Mrs.
Lecount in return. Magdalen saw the housekeeper survey her face, her figure,
and her dress, with that reluctant interest, that distrustful curiosity, wh=
ich
women feel in observing each other. As she walked on beyond the house, the =
sharp
voice of Noel Vanstone reached her through the evening stillness. "A f=
ine
girl, Lecount," she heard him say. "You know I am a judge of that
sort of thing--a fine girl!"
As those words were spoken, Captain Wragge loo=
ked
round at his companion in sudden surprise. Her hand was trembling violently=
on
his arm, and her lips were fast closed with an expression of speechless pai=
n.
Slowly and in silence the two walked on until =
they
reached the southern limit of the houses, and entered on a little wildernes=
s of
shingle and withered grass--the desolate end of Aldborough, the lonely
beginning of Slaughden.
It was a dull, airless evening. Eastward, was =
the
gray majesty of the sea, hushed in breathless calm; the horizon line invisi=
bly
melting into the monotonous, misty sky; the idle ships shadowy and still on=
the
idle water. Southward, the high ridge of the sea dike, and the grim, massiv=
e circle
of a martello tower reared high on its mound of grass, closed the view dark=
ly
on all that lay beyond. Westward, a lurid streak of sunset glowed red in the
dreary heaven, blackened the fringing trees on the far borders of the great
inland marsh, and turned its little gleaming water-pools to pools of blood.
Nearer to the eye, the sullen flow of the tidal river Alde ebbed noiselessly
from the muddy banks; and nearer still, lonely and unprosperous by the bleak
water-side, lay the lost little port of Slaughden, with its forlorn wharfs =
and
warehouses of decaying wood, and its few scattered coasting-vessels deserte=
d on
the oozy river-shore. No fall of waves was heard on the beach, no trickling=
of
waters bubbled audibly from the idle stream. Now and then the cry of a sea-=
bird
rose from the region of the marsh; and at intervals, from farmhouses far in=
the
inland waste, the faint winding of horns to call the cattle home traveled
mournfully through the evening calm.
Magdalen drew her hand from the captain's arm,=
and
led the way to the mound of the martello tower. "I am weary of
walking," she said. "Let us stop and rest here."
She seated herself on the slope, and resting on
her elbow, mechanically pulled up and scattered from her into the air the t=
ufts
of grass growing under her hand. After silently occupying herself in this w=
ay
for some minutes, she turned suddenly on Captain Wragge. "Do I surprise
you?" she asked, with a startling abruptness. "Do you find me
changed?"
The captain's ready tact warned him that the t=
ime
had come to be plain with her, and to reserve his flowers of speech for a m=
ore
appropriate occasion.
"If you ask the question, I must answer
it," he replied. "Yes, I do find you changed."
She pulled up another tuft of grass. "I
suppose you can guess the reason?" she said.
The captain was wisely silent. He only answere=
d by
a bow.
"I have lost all care for myself," s=
he
went on, tearing faster and faster at the tufts of grass. "Saying that=
is
not saying much, perhaps, but it may help you to understand me. There are
things I would have died sooner than do at one time--things it would have
turned me cold to think of. I don't care now whether I do them or not. I am
nothing to myself; I am no more interested in myself than I am in these
handfuls o f grass. I suppose I have lost something. What is it? Heart?
Conscience? I don't know. Do you? W hat nonsense I am talking! Who cares wh=
at I
have lost? It has gone; and there's an end of it. I suppose my outside is t=
he
best side of me--and that's left, at any rate. I have not lost my good look=
s, have
I? There! there! never mind answering; don't trouble yourself to pay me
compliments. I have been admired enough to-day. First the sailor, and then =
Mr.
Noel Vanstone--enough for any woman's vanity, surely! Have I any right to c=
all
myself a woman? Perhaps not: I am only a girl in my teens. Oh, me, I feel a=
s if
I was forty!" She scattered the last fragments of grass to the winds; =
and
turning her back on the captain, let her head droop till her cheek touched =
the
turf bank. "It feels soft and friendly," she said, nestling to it
with a hopeless tenderness horrible to see. "It doesn't cast me off.
Mother Earth! The only mother I have left!"
Captain Wragge looked at her in silent surpris=
e.
Such experience of humanity as he possessed was powerless to sound to its
depths the terrible self-abandonment which had burst its way to the surface=
in
her reckless words--which was now fast hurrying her to actions more reckles=
s still.
"Devilish odd!" he thought to himself, uneasily. "Has the lo=
ss
of her lover turned her brain?" He considered for a minute longer and =
then
spoke to her. "Leave it till to-morrow," suggested the captain co=
nfidentially.
"You are a little tired to-night. No hurry, my dear girl--no hurry.&qu=
ot;
She raised her head instantly, and looked roun=
d at
him with the same angry resolution, with the same desperate defiance of
herself, which he had seen in her face on the memorable day at York when she
had acted before him for the first time. "I came here to tell you what=
is
in my mind," she said; "and I will tell it!" She seated hers=
elf
upright on the slope; and clasping her hands round her knees, looked out
steadily, straight before her, at the slowly darkening view. In that strang=
e position,
she waited until she had composed herself, and then addressed the captain,
without turning her head to look round at him, in these words:
"When you and I first met," she bega=
n,
abruptly, "I tried hard to keep my thoughts to myself. I know enough by
this time to know that I failed. When I first told you at York that Michael
Vanstone had ruined us, I believe you guessed for yourself that I, for one,=
was
determined not to submit to it. Whether you guessed or not, it is so. I lef=
t my
friends with that determination in my mind; and I feel it in me now stronge=
r, ten
times stronger, than ever."
"Ten times stronger than ever," echo=
ed
the captain. "Exactly so--the natural result of firmness of
character."
"No--the natural result of having nothing
else to think of. I had something else to think of before you found me ill =
in
Vauxhall Walk. I have nothing else to think of now. Remember that, if you f=
ind
me for the future always harping on the same string. One question first. Di=
d you
guess what I meant to do on that morning when you showed me the newspaper, =
and
when I read the account of Michael Vanstone's death?"
"Generally," replied Captain
Wragge--"I guessed, generally, that you proposed dipping your hand into
his purse and taking from it (most properly) what was your own. I felt deep=
ly
hurt at the time by your not permitting me to assist you. Why is she so
reserved with me? (I remarked to myself)--why is she so unreasonably
reserved?"
"You shall have no reserve to complain of
now," pursued Magdalen. "I tell you plainly, if events had not
happened as they did, you would have assisted me. If Michael Vanstone had n=
ot
died, I should have gone to Brighton, and have found my way safely to his
acquaintance under an assumed name. I had money enough with me to live on
respectably for many months together. I would have employed that time--I wo=
uld
have waited a whole year, if necessary, to destroy Mrs. Lecount's influence
over him--and I would have ended by getting that influence, on my own terms=
, into
my own hands. I had the advantage of years, the advantage of novelty, the
advantage of downright desperation, all on my side, and I should have
succeeded. Before the year was out--before half the year was out--you should
have seen Mrs. Lecount dismissed by her master, and you should have seen me
taken into the house in her place, as Michael Vanstone's adopted daughter--=
as
the faithful friend--who had saved him from an adventuress in his old age.
Girls no older than I am have tried deceptions as hopeless in appearance as
mine, and have carried them through to the end. I had my story ready; I had=
my
plans all considered; I had the weak point in that old man to attack in my =
way,
which Mrs. Lecount had found out before me to attack in hers, and I tell you
again I should have succeeded."
"I think you would," said the captai=
n.
"And what next?"
"Mr. Michael Vanstone would have changed =
his
man of business next. You would have succeeded to the place; and those clev=
er
speculations on which he was so fond of venturing would have cost him the
fortunes of which he had robbed my sister and myself. To the last farthing,
Captain Wragge, as certainly as you sit there, to the last farthing! A bold
conspiracy, a shocking deception--wasn't it? I don't care! Any conspiracy, =
any
deception, is justified to my conscience by the vile law which has left us
helpless. You talked of my reserve just now. Have I dropped it at last? Hav=
e I
spoken out at the eleventh hour?"
The captain laid his hand solemnly on his hear=
t,
and launched himself once more on his broadest flow of language.
"You fill me with unavailing regret,"=
; he
said. "If that old man had lived, what a crop I might have reaped from
him! What enormous transactions in moral agriculture it might have been my
privilege to carry on! Ars longa," said Captain Wragge, pathetically
drifting into Latin--"vita brevis! Let us drop a tear on the lost
opportunities of the past, and try what the present can do to console us. O=
ne
conclusion is clear to my mind--the experiment you proposed to try with Mr.=
Michael
Vanstone is totally hopeless, my dear girl, in the case of his son. His son=
is
impervious to all common forms of pecuniary temptation. You may trust my so=
lemn
assurance," continued the captain, speaking with an indignant recollec=
tion
of the answer to his advertisement in the Times, "when I inform you th=
at
Mr. Noel Vanstone is emphatically the meanest of mankind."
"I can trust my own experience as well,&q=
uot;
said Magdalen. "I have seen him, and spoken to him--I know him better =
than
you do. Another disclosure, Captain Wragge, for your private ear! I sent you
back certain articles of costume when they had served the purpose for which=
I took
them to London. That purpose was to find my way to Noel Vanstone in disguis=
e,
and to judge for myself of Mrs. Lecount and her master. I gained my object;=
and
I tell you again, I know the two people in that house yonder whom we have n=
ow
to deal with better than you do."
Captain Wragge expressed the profound
astonishment, and asked the innocent questions appropriate to the mental
condition of a person taken completely by surprise.
"Well," he resumed, when Magdalen had
briefly answered him, "and what is the result on your own mind? There =
must
be a result, or we should not be here. You see your way? Of course, my dear
girl, you see your way?"
"Yes," she said, quickly. "I se=
e my
way."
The captain drew a little nearer to her, with
eager curiosity expressed in every line of his vagabond face.
"Go on," he said, in an anxious whis=
per;
"pray go on."
She looked out thoughtfully into the gathering
darkness, without answering, without appearing to have heard him. Her lips
closed, and her clasped hands tightened mechanically round her knees.
"There is no disguising the fact," s=
aid
Captain Wragge, warily rousing her into speaking to him. "The son is
harder to deal with than the father--"
"Not in my way," she interposed,
suddenly.
"Indeed!" said the captain. "We=
ll!
they say there is a short cut to everything, if we only look long enough to
find it. You have looked long enough, I suppose, and the natural result has
followed--you have found it."
"I have not troubled myself to look; I ha=
ve
found it without looking."
"The deuce you have!" cried Captain
Wragge, in great perplexity. "My dear girl, is my view of your present
position leading me altogether astray? As I understand it, here is Mr. Noel
Vanstone in possession of your fortune and your sister's, as his father was,
and determined to keep it, as his father was?"
"Yes."
"And here are you--quite helpless to get =
it
by persuasion--quite helpless to get it by law--just as resolute in his eas=
e as
you were in his father's, to take it by stratagem in spite of him?"
"Just as resolute. Not for the sake of the
fortune--mind that! For the sake of the right."
"Just so. And the means of coming at that
right which were hard with the father--who was not a miser--are easy with t=
he
son, who is?"
"Perfectly easy."
"Write me down an Ass for the first time =
in
my life!" cried the captain, at the end of his patience. "Hang me=
if
I know what you mean!"
She looked round at him for the first time--lo=
oked
him straight and steadily in the face.
"I will tell you what I mean," she s=
aid.
"I mean to marry him."
Captain Wragge started up on his knees, and
stopped on them, petrified by astonishment.
"Remember what I told you," said
Magdalen, looking away from him again. "I have lost all care for mysel=
f. I
have only one end in life now, and the sooner I reach it--and die--the bett=
er.
If--" She stopped, altered her position a little, and pointed with one
hand to the fast-ebbing stream beneath her, gleaming dim in the darkening
twilight--"if I had been what I once was, I would have thrown myself i=
nto
that river sooner than do what I am going to do now. As it is, I trouble my=
self
no longer; I weary my mind with no more schemes. The short way and the vile=
way
lies before me. I take it, Captain Wragge, and marry him."
"Keeping him in total ignorance of who you
are?" said the captain, slowly rising to his feet, and slowly moving
round, so as to see her face. "Marrying him as my niece, Miss
Bygrave?"
"As your niece, Miss Bygrave."
"And after the marriage--?" His voice
faltered, as he began the question, and he left it unfinished.
"After the marriage," she said, &quo=
t;I
shall stand in no further need of your assistance."
The captain stooped as she gave him that answe=
r,
looked close at her, and suddenly drew back, without uttering a word. He wa=
lked
away some paces, and sat down again doggedly on the grass. If Magdalen could
have seen his face in the dying light, his face would have startled her. Fo=
r the
first time, probably, since his boyhood, Captain Wragge had changed color. =
He
was deadly pale.
"Have you nothing to say to me?" she
asked. "Perhaps you are waiting to hear what terms I have to offer? Th=
ese
are my terms; I pay all our expenses here; and when we part, on the day of =
the
marriage, you take a farewell gift away with you of two hundred pounds. Do =
you
promise me your assistance on those conditions?"
"What am I expected to do?" he asked,
with a furtive glance at her, and a sudden distrust in his voice.
"You are expected to preserve my assumed
character and your own," she answered, "and you are to prevent any
inquiries of Mrs. Lecount's from discovering who I really am. I ask no more.
The rest is my responsibility--not yours."
"I have nothing to do with what happens--=
at
any time, or in any place--after the marriage?"
"Nothing whatever."
"I may leave you at the church door if I
please?"
"At the church door, with your fee in your
pocket."
"Paid from the money in your own
possession?"
"Certainly! How else should I pay it?&quo=
t;
Captain Wragge took off his hat, and passed his
handkerchief over his face with an air of relief.
"Give me a minute to consider it," he
said.
"As many minutes as you like," she
rejoined, reclining on the bank in her former position, and returning to her
former occupation of tearing up the tufts of grass and flinging them out in=
to
the air.
=
The
captain's reflections were not complicated by any unnecessary divergences f=
rom
the contemplation of his own position to the contemplation of Magdalen's.
Utterly incapable of appreciating the injury done her by Frank's infamous
treachery to his engagement--an injury which had severed her, at one cruel
blow, from the aspiration which, delusion though it was, had been the saving
aspiration of her life--Captain Wragge accepted the simple fact of her desp=
air
just as he found it, and then looked straight to the consequences of the
proposal which she had made to him.
In the prospect before the marriage he saw not=
hing
more serious involved than the practice of a deception, in no important deg=
ree different--except
in the end to be attained by it--from the deceptions which his vagabond life
had long since accustomed him to contemplate and to carry out. In the prosp=
ect
after the marriage he dimly discerned, through the ominous darkness of the
future, the lurking phantoms of Terror and Crime, and the black gulfs behind
them of Ruin and Death. A man of boundless audacity and resource, within his
own mean limits; beyond those limits, the captain was as deferentially subm=
issive
to the majesty of the law as the most harmless man in existence; as cautiou=
s in
looking after his own personal safety as the veriest coward that ever walked
the earth. But one serious question now filled his mind. Could he, on the t=
erms
proposed to him, join the conspiracy against Noel Vanstone up to the point =
of
the marriage, and then withdraw from it, without risk of involving himself =
in
the consequences which his experience told him must certainly ensue?
Strange as it may seem, his decision in this
emergency was mainly influenced by no less a person than Noel Vanstone hims=
elf.
The captain might have resisted the money-offer which Magdalen had made to
him--for the profits of the Entertainment had filled his pockets with more =
than
three times two hundred pounds. But the prospect of dealing a blow in the d=
ark
at the man who had estimated his information and himself at the value of a =
five
pound note proved too much for his caution and his self-control. On the sma=
ll
neutral ground of self-importance, the best men and the worst meet on the s=
ame
terms. Captain Wragge's indignation, when he saw the answer to his
advertisement, stooped to no retrospective estimate of his own conduct; he =
was
as deeply offended, as sincerely angry as if he had made a perfectly honora=
ble
proposal, and had been rewarded for it by a personal insult. He had been too
full of his own grievance to keep it out of his first letter to Magdalen. He
had more or less forgotten himself on every subsequent occasion when Noel
Vanstone's name was mentioned. And in now finally deciding the course he sh=
ould
take, it is not too much to say that the motive of money receded, for the f=
irst
time in his life, into the second place, and the motive of malice carried t=
he
day.
=
"I
accept the terms," said Captain Wragge, getting briskly on his legs ag=
ain.
"Subject, of course, to the conditions agreed on between us. We part on
the wedding-day. I don't ask where you go: you don't ask where I go. From t=
hat
time forth we are strangers to each other."
Magdalen rose slowly from the mound. A hopeless
depression, a sullen despair, showed itself in her look and manner. She ref=
used
the captain's offered hand; and her tones, when she answered him, were so l=
ow
that he could hardly hear her.
"We understand each other," she said;
"and we can now go back. You may introduce me to Mrs. Lecount
to-morrow."
"I must ask a few questions first," =
said
the captain, gravely. "There are more risks to be run in this matter, =
and
more pitfalls in our way, than you seem to suppose. I must know the whole
history of your morning call on Mrs. Lecount before I put you and that woma=
n on
speaking terms with each other."
"Wait till to-morrow," she broke out
impatiently. "Don't madden me by talking about it to-night."
The captain said no more. They turned their fa=
ces
toward Aldborough, and walked slowly back.
By the time they reached the houses night had
overtaken them. Neither moon nor stars were visible. A faint noiseless bree=
ze
blowing from the land had come with the darkness. Magdalen paused on the lo=
nely
public walk to breathe the air more freely. After a while she turned her fa=
ce from
the breeze and looked out toward the sea. The immeasurable silence of the c=
alm
waters, lost in the black void of night, was awful. She stood looking into =
the
darkness, as if its mystery had no secrets for her--she advanced toward it
slowly, as if it drew her by some hidden attraction into itself.
"I am going down to the sea," she sa=
id
to her companion. "Wait here, and I will come back."
He lost sight of her in an instant; it was as =
if
the night had swallowed her up. He listened, and counted her footsteps by t=
he
crashing of them on the shingle in the deep stillness. They retreated slowl=
y,
further and further away into the night. Suddenly the sound of them ceased.=
Had
she paused on her course or had she reached one of the strips of sand left =
bare
by the ebbing tide?
He waited, and listened anxiously. The time
passed, and no sound reached him. He still listened, with a growing distrus=
t of
the darkness. Another moment, and there came a sound from the invisible sho=
re.
Far and faint from the beach below, a long cry moaned through the silence. =
Then
all was still once more.
In sudden alarm, he stepped forward to descend= to the beach, and to call to her. Before he could cross the path, footsteps rapidly advancing caught his ear. He waited an instant, and the figure of a= man passed quickly along the walk between him and the sea. It was too dark to d= iscern anything of the stranger's face; it was only possible to see that he was a = tall man--as tall as that officer in the merchant-service whose name was Kirke.<= o:p>
The figure passed on northward, and was instan=
tly
lost to view. Captain Wragge crossed the path, and, advancing a few steps d=
own
the beach, stopped and listened again. The crash of footsteps on the shingle
caught his ear once more. Slowly, as the sound had left him, that sound now=
came
back. He called, to guide her to him. She came on till he could just see he=
r--a
shadow ascending the shingly slope, and growing out of the blackness of the
night.
"You alarmed me," he whispered,
nervously. "I was afraid something had happened. I heard you cry out a=
s if
you were in pain."
"Did you?" she said, carelessly. &qu=
ot;I
was in pain. It doesn't matter--it's over now."
Her hand mechanically swung something to and f=
ro
as she answered him. It was the little white silk bag which she had always =
kept
hidden in her bosom up to this time. One of the relics which it held--one of
the relics which she had not had the heart to part with before--was gone fr=
om
its keeping forever. Alone, on a strange shore, she had torn from her the
fondest of her virgin memories, the dearest of her virgin hopes. Alone, on a
strange shore, she had taken the lock of Frank's hair from its once-treasur=
ed
place, and had cast it away from her to the sea and the night.
THE tall man who had passed Captain Wragge in =
the
dark proceeded rapidly along the public walk, struck off across a little wa=
ste
patch of ground, and entered the open door of the Aldborough Hotel. The lig=
ht
in the passage, falling full on his face as he passed it, proved the truth =
of Captain
Wragge's surmise, and showed the stranger to be Mr. Kirke, of the merchant
service.
Meeting the landlord in the passage, Mr. Kirke
nodded to him with the familiarity of an old customer. "Have you got t=
he
paper?" he asked; "I want to look at the visitors' list."
"I have got it in my room, sir," said
the landlord, leading the way into a parlor at the back of the house. "=
;Are
there any friends of yours staying here, do you think?"
Without replying, the seaman turned to the lis=
t as
soon as the newspaper was placed in his hand, and ran his finger down it, n=
ame
by name. The finger suddenly stopped at this line: "Sea-view Cottage; =
Mr.
Noel Vanstone." Kirke of the merchant-service repeated the name to
himself, and put down the paper thoughtfully.
"Have you found anybody you know,
captain?" asked the landlord.
"I have found a name I know--a name my fa=
ther
used often to speak of in his time. Is this Mr. Vanstone a family man? Do y=
ou
know if there is a young lady in the house?"
"I can't say, captain. My wife will be he=
re
directly; she is sure to know. It must have been some time ago, if your fat=
her
knew this Mr. Vanstone?"
"It was some time ago. My father knew a
subaltern officer of that name when he was with his regiment in Canada. It
would be curious if the person here turned out to be the same man, and if t=
hat
young lady was his daughter."
"Excuse me, captain--but the young lady s=
eems
to hang a little on your mind," said the landlord, with a pleasant smi=
le.
Mr. Kirke looked as if the form which his host=
's
good-humor had just taken was not quite to his mind. He returned abruptly to
the subaltern officer and the regiment in Canada. "That poor fellow's
story was as miserable a one as ever I heard," he said, looking back a=
gain
absently at the visitors' list.
"Would there be any harm in telling it,
sir?" asked the landlord. "Miserable or not, a story's a story, w=
hen
you know it to be true."
Mr. Kirke hesitated. "I hardly think I sh=
ould
be doing right to tell it," he said. "If this man, or any relatio=
ns
of his, are still alive, it is not a story they might like strangers to kno=
w.
All I can tell you is, that my father was the salvation of that young offic=
er
under very dreadful circumstances. They parted in Canada. My father remained
with his regiment; the young officer sold out and returned to England, and =
from
that moment they lost sight of each other. It would be curious if this Vans=
tone
here was the same man. It would be curious--"
He suddenly checked himself just as another
reference to "the young lady" was on the point of passing his lip=
s.
At the same moment the landlord's wife came in, and Mr. Kirke at once
transferred his inquiries to the higher authority in the house.
"Do you know anything of this Mr. Vanstone
who is down here on the visitors' list?" asked the sailor. "Is he=
an
old man?"
"He's a miserable little creature to look
at," replied the landlady; "but he's not old, captain."
"Then he's not the man I mean. Perhaps he=
is
the man's son? Has he got any ladies with him?"
The landlady tossed her head, and pursed up her
lips disparagingly.
"He has a housekeeper with him," she
said. "A middle-aged person--not one of my sort. I dare say I'm wrong-=
-but
I don't like a dressy woman in her station of life."
Mr. Kirke began to look puzzled. "I must =
have
made some mistake about the house," he said. "Surely there's a la=
wn
cut octagon-shape at Sea-view Cottage, and a white flag-staff in the middle=
of
the gravel-walk?"
"That's not Sea-view, sir! It's North
Shingles you're talking of. Mr. Bygrave's. His wife and his niece came here=
by
the coach to-day. His wife's tall enough to be put in a show, and the
worst-dressed woman I ever set eyes on. But Miss Bygrave is worth looking a=
t,
if I may venture to say so. She's the finest girl, to my mind, we've had at
Aldborough for many a long day. I wonder who they are! Do you know the name=
, captain?"
"No," said Mr. Kirke, with a shade of
disappointment on his dark, weather-beaten face; "I never heard the na=
me
before."
After replying in those words, he rose to take=
his
leave. The landlord vainly invited him to drink a parting glass; the landla=
dy
vainly pressed him to stay another ten minutes and try a cup of tea. He only
replied that his sister expected him, and that he must return to the parson=
age immediately.
On leaving the hotel Mr. Kirke set his face
westward, and walked inland along the highroad as fast as the darkness would
let him.
"Bygrave?" he thought to himself.
"Now I know her name, how much am I the wiser for it! If it had been
Vanstone, my father's son might have had a chance of making acquaintance wi=
th
her." He stopped, and looked back in the direction of Aldborough.
"What a fool I am!" he burst out suddenly, striking his stick on =
the
ground. "I was forty last birthday." He turned and went on again
faster than ever--his head down; his resolute black eyes searching the dark=
ness
on the land as they had searched it many a time on the sea from the deck of=
his
ship.
After more than an hour's walking he reached a
village, with a primitive little church and parsonage nestled together in a
hollow. He entered the house by the back way, and found his sister, the
clergyman's wife, sitting alone over her work in the parlor.
"Where is your husband, Lizzie?" he
asked, taking a chair in a corner.
"William has gone out to see a sick perso=
n.
He had just time enough before he went," she added, with a smile, &quo=
t;to
tell me about the young lady; and he declares he will never trust himself at
Aldborough with you again until you are a steady, married man." She
stopped, and looked at her brother more attentively than she had looked at =
him
yet. "Robert!" she said, laying aside her work, and suddenly cros=
sing
the room to him. "You look anxious, you look distressed. William only
laughed about your meeting with the young lady. Is it serious? Tell me; wha=
t is
she like?"
He turned his head away at the question.
She took a stool at his feet, and persisted in
looking up at him. "Is it serious, Robert?" she repeated, softly.=
Kirke's weather-beaten face was accustomed to =
no
concealments--it answered for him before he spoke a word. "Don't tell =
your
husband till I am gone," he said, with a roughness quite new in his
sister's experience of him. "I know I only deserve to be laughed at; b=
ut
it hurts me, for all that."
"Hurts you?" she repeated, in
astonishment.
"You can't think me half such a fool, Liz=
zie,
as I think myself," pursued Kirke, bitterly. "A man at my age oug=
ht
to know better. I didn't set eyes on her for as much as a minute altogether;
and there I have been hanging about the place till after nightfall on the
chance of seeing her again--skulking, I should have called it, if I had fou=
nd
one of my men doing what I have been doing myself. I believe I'm bewitched.=
She's
a mere girl, Lizzie--I doubt if she's out of her teens--I'm old enough to be
her father. It's all one; she stops in my mind in spite of me. I've had her
face looking at me, through the pitch darkness, every step of the way to th=
is
house; and it's looking at me now--as plain as I see yours, and plainer.&qu=
ot;
He rose impatiently, and began to walk backward
and forward in the room. His sister looked after him, with surprise as well=
as
sympathy expressed in her face. From his boyhood upward she had always been
accustomed to see him master of himself. Years since, in the failing fortun=
es
of the family, he had been their example and their support. She had heard o=
f him
in the desperate emergencies of a life at sea, when hundreds of his fellow-=
creatures
had looked to his steady self-possession for rescue from close-threatening
death--and had not looked in vain. Never, in all her life before, had his
sister seen the balance of that calm and equal mind lost as she saw it lost
now.
"How can you talk so unreasonably about y=
our
age and yourself?" she said. "There is not a woman alive, Robert,=
who
is good enough for you. What is her name?"
"Bygrave. Do you know it?"
"No. But I might soon make acquaintance w=
ith
her. If we only had a little time before us; if I could only get to Aldboro=
ugh
and see her--but you are going away to-morrow; your ship sails at the end of
the week."
"Thank God for that!" said Kirke,
fervently.
"Are you glad to be going away?" she
asked, more and more amazed at him.
"Right glad, Lizzie, for my own sake. If I
ever get to my senses again, I shall find my way back to them on the deck o=
f my
ship. This girl has got between me and my thoughts already: she shan't go a
step further, and get between me and my duty. I'm determined on that. Fool =
as I
am, I have sense enough left not to trust myself within easy hail of Aldbor=
ough
to-morrow morning. I'm good for another twenty miles of walking, and I'll b=
egin
my journey back tonight."
His sister started up, and caught him fast by =
the
arm. "Robert!" she exclaimed; "you're not serious? You don't
mean to leave us on foot, alone in the dark?"
"It's only saying good-by, my dear, the l=
ast
thing at night instead of the first thing in the morning," he answered,
with a smile. "Try and make allowances for me, Lizzie. My life has been
passed at sea; and I'm not used to having my mind upset in this way. Men as=
hore
are used to it; men ashore can take it easy. I can't. If I stopped here I
shouldn't rest. If I waited till to-morrow, I should only be going back to =
have
another look at her. I don't want to feel more ashamed of myself than I do
already. I want to fight my way back to my duty and myself, without stoppin=
g to
think twice about it. Darkness is nothing to me--I'm used to darkness. I ha=
ve
got the high-road to walk on, and I can't lose my way. Let me go, Lizzie! T=
he
only sweetheart I have any business with at my age is my ship. Let me get b=
ack
to her!"
His sister still kept her hold of his arm, and
still pleaded with him to stay till the morning. He listened to her with
perfect patience and kindness, but she never shook his determination for an
instant.
"What am I to say to William?" she
pleaded. "What will he think when he comes back and finds you gone?&qu=
ot;
"Tell him I have taken the advice he gave=
us
in his sermon last Sunday. Say I have turned my back on the world, the fles=
h,
and the devil."
"How can you talk so, Robert! And the boy=
s,
too--you promised not to go without bidding the boys good-by."
"That's true. I made my little nephews a
promise, and I'll keep it." He kicked off his shoes as he spoke, on the
mat outside the door. "Light me upstairs, Lizzie; I'll bid the two boys
good-by without waking them."
She saw the uselessness of resisting him any
longer; and, taking the candle, went before him upstairs.
The boys--both young children--were sleeping
together in the same bed. The youngest was his uncle's favorite, and was ca=
lled
by his uncle's name. He lay peacefully asleep, with a rough little toy ship
hugged fast in his arms. Kirke's eyes softened as he stole on tiptoe to the
child's side, and kissed him with the gentleness of a woman. "Poor lit=
tle
man!" said the sailor, tenderly. "He is as fond of his ship as I =
was
at his age. I'll cut him out a better one when I come back. Will you give m=
e my
nephew one of these days, Lizzie, and will you let me make a sailor of him?=
"
"Oh, Robert, if you were only married and
happy, as I am!"
"The time has gone by, my dear. I must ma=
ke
the best of it as I am, with my little nephew there to help me."
He left the room. His sister's tears fell fast=
as
she followed him into the parlor. "There is something so forlorn and
dreadful in your leaving us like this," she said. "Shall I go to
Aldborough to-morrow, Robert, and try if I can get acquainted with her for =
your
sake?"
"No!" he replied. "Let her be. =
If
it's ordered that I am to see that girl again, I shall see her. Leave it to=
the
future, and you leave it right." He put on his shoes, and took up his =
hat
and stick. "I won't overwalk myself," he said, cheerfully. "=
If
the coach doesn't overtake me on the road, I can wait for it where I stop to
breakfast. Dry your eyes, my dear, and give me a kiss."
She was like her brother in features and
complexion, and she had a touch of her brother's spirit; she dashed away the
tears, and took her leave of him bravely.
"I shall be back in a year's time," =
said
Kirke, falling into his old sailor-like way at the door. "I'll bring y=
ou a
China shawl, Lizzie, and a chest of tea for your store-room. Don't let the =
boys
forget me, and don't think I'm doing wrong to leave you in this way. I know=
I
am doing right. God bless you and keep you, my dear--and your husband, and =
your
children! Good-by!"
He stooped and kissed her. She ran to the door=
to
look after him. A puff of air extinguished the candle, and the black night =
shut
him out from her in an instant.
=
Three
days afterward the first-class merchantman Deliverance, Kirke, commander,
sailed from London for the China Sea.
THE threatening of storm and change passed awa=
y with
the night. When morning rose over Aldborough, the sun was master in the blue
heaven, and the waves were rippling gayly under the summer breeze.
At an hour when no other visitors to the
watering--place were yet astir, the indefatigable Wragge appeared at the do=
or
of North Shingles Villa, and directed his steps northward, with a neatly-bo=
und
copy of "Joyce's Scientific Dialogues" in his hand. Arriving at t=
he
waste ground beyond the houses, he descended to the beach and opened his bo=
ok.
The interview of the past night had sharpened his perception of the
difficulties to be encountered in the coming enterprise. He was now doubly
determined to try the characteristic experiment at which he had hinted in h=
is
letter to Magdalen, and to concentrate on himself--in the character of a re=
markably
well-informed man--the entire interest and attention of the formidable Mrs.
Lecount.
Having taken his dose of ready-made science (to
use his own expression) the first thing in the morning on an empty stomach,
Captain Wragge joined his small family circle at breakfast-time, inflated w=
ith information
for the day. He observed that Magdalen's face showed plain signs of a sleep=
less
night. She made no complaint: her manner was composed, and her temper perfe=
ctly
under control. Mrs. Wragge--refreshed by some thirteen consecutive hours of
uninterrupted repose--was in excellent spirits, and up at heel (for a wonde=
r)
with both shoes. She brought with her into the room several large sheets of
tissue-paper, cut crisply into mysterious and many-varying forms, which
immediately provoked from her husband the short and sharp question, "W=
hat
have you got there?"
"Patterns, captain," said Mrs. Wragg=
e,
in timidly conciliating tones. "I went shopping in London, and bought =
an
Oriental Cashmere Robe. It cost a deal of money; and I'm going to try and s=
ave,
by making it myself. I've got my patterns, and my dress-making directions
written out as plain as print. I'll be very tidy, captain; I'll keep in my =
own
corner, if you'll please to give me one; and whether my head Buzzes, or whe=
ther
it don't, I'll sit straight at my work all the same."
"You will do your work," said the
captain, sternly, "when you know who you are, who I am, and who that y=
oung
lady is--not before. Show me your shoes! Good. Show me you cap! Good. Make =
the
breakfast."
When breakfast was over, Mrs. Wragge received =
her
orders to retire into an adjoining room, and to wait there until her husband
came to release her. As soon as her back was turned, Captain Wragge at once
resumed the conversation which had been suspended, by Magdalen's own desire=
, on
the preceding night. The questions he now put to her all related to the sub=
ject
of her visit in disguise to Noel Vanstone's house. They were the questions =
of a
thoroughly clear-headed man--short, searching, and straight to the point. In
less than half an hour's time he had made himself acquainted with every
incident that had happened in Vauxhall Walk.
The conclusions which the captain drew, after
gaining his information, were clear and easily stated.
On the adverse side of the question, he expres=
sed
his conviction that Mrs. Lecount had certainly detected her visitor to be
disguised; that she had never really left the room, though she might have
opened and shut the door; and that on both the occasions, therefore, when
Magdalen had been betrayed into speaking in her own voice, Mrs. Lecount had
heard her. On the favorable side of the question, he was perfectly satisfie=
d that
the painted face and eyelids, the wig, and the padded cloak had so effectua=
lly
concealed Magdalen's identity, that she might in her own person defy the
housekeeper's closest scrutiny, so far as the matter of appearance was
concerned. The difficulty of deceiving Mrs. Lecount's ears, as well as her
eyes, was, he readily admitted, not so easily to be disposed of. But lookin=
g to
the fact that Magdalen, on both the occasions when she had forgotten hersel=
f,
had spoken in the heat of anger, he was of opinion that her voice had every
reasonable chance of escaping detection, if she carefully avoided all outbu=
rsts
of temper for the future, and spoke in those more composed and ordinary ton=
es
which Mrs. Lecount had not yet heard. Upon the whole, the captain was incli=
ned to
pronounce the prospect hopeful, if one serious obstacle were cleared away at
the outset--that obstacle being nothing less than the presence on the scene=
of
action of Mrs. Wragge.
To Magdalen's surprise, when the course of her
narrative brought her to the story of the ghost, Captain Wragge listened wi=
th
the air of a man who was more annoyed than amused by what he heard. When she
had done, he plainly told her that her unlucky meeting on the stairs of the=
lodging-house
with Mrs. Wragge was, in his opinion, the most serious of all the accidents
that had happened in Vauxhall Walk.
"I can deal with the difficulty of my wif=
e's
stupidity," he said, "as I have often dealt with it before. I can
hammer her new identity into her head, but I can't hammer the ghost out of =
it.
We have no security that the woman in the gray cloak and poke bonnet may not
come back to her recollection at the most critical time, and under the most
awkward circumstances. In plain English, my dear girl, Mrs. Wragge is a pit=
fall
under our feet at every step we take."
"If we are aware of the pitfall," sa=
id
Magdalen, "we can take our measures for avoiding it. What do you
propose?"
"I propose," replied the captain,
"the temporary removal of Mrs. Wragge. Speaking purely in a pecuniary
point of view, I can't afford a total separation from her. You have often r=
ead
of very poor people being suddenly enriched by legacies reaching them from
remote and unexpected quarters? Mrs. Wragge's case, when I married her, was=
one
of these. An elderly female relative shared the favors of fortune on that
occasion with my wife; and if I only keep up domestic appearances, I happen=
to know
that Mrs. Wragge will prove a second time profitable to me on that elderly
relative's death. But for this circumstance, I should probably long since h=
ave
transferred my wife to the care of society at large--in the agreeable
conviction that if I didn't support her, somebody else would. Although I ca=
n't
afford to take this course, I see no objection to having her comfortably
boarded and lodged out of our way for the time being--say, at a retired
farm-house, in the character of a lady in infirm mental health. You would f=
ind
the expense trifling; I should find the relief unutterable. What do you say?
Shall I pack her up at once, and take her away by the next coach?"
"No!" replied Magdalen, firmly.
"The poor creature's life is hard enough already; I won't help to make=
it
harder. She was affectionately and truly kind to me when I was ill, and I w=
on't
allow her to be shut up among strangers while I can help it. The risk of
keeping her here is only one risk more. I will face it, Captain Wragge, if =
you
won't."
"Think twice," said the captain,
gravely, "before you decide on keeping Mrs. Wragge."
"Once is enough," rejoined Magdalen.
"I won't have her sent away."
"Very good," said the captain,
resignedly. "I never interfere with questions of sentiment. But I have=
a
word to say on my own behalf. If my services are to be of any use to you, I
can't have my hands tied at starting. This is serious. I won't trust my wife
and Mrs. Lecount together. I'm afraid, if you're not, and I make it a condi=
tion
that, if Mrs. Wragge stops here, she keeps her room. If you think her healt=
h requires
it, you can take her for a walk early in the morning, or late in the evenin=
g;
but you must never trust her out with the servant, and never trust her out =
by
herself. I put the matter plainly, it is too important to be trifled with. =
What
do you say--yes or no?"
"I say yes," replied Magdalen, after=
a
moment's consideration. "On the understanding that I am to take her out
walking, as you propose."
Captain Wragge bowed, and recovered his suavit=
y of
manner. "What are our plans?" he inquired. "Shall we start o=
ur
enterprise this afternoon? Are you ready for your introduction to Mrs. Leco=
unt
and her master?"
"Quite ready."
"Good again. We will meet them on the Par=
ade,
at their usual hour for going out--two o'clock. It is no t twelve yet. I ha=
ve
two hours before me--just time enough to fit my wife into her new Skin. The
process is absolutely necessary, to prevent her compromising us with the
servant. Don't be afraid about the results; Mrs. Wragge has had a copious s=
election
of assumed names hammered into her head in the course of her matrimonial
career. It is merely a question of hammering hard enough--nothing more. I t=
hink
we have settled everything now. Is there anything I can do before two o'clo=
ck?
Have you any employment for the morning?"
"No," said Magdalen. "I shall go
back to my own room, and try to rest."
"You had a disturbed night, I am
afraid?" said the captain, politely opening the door for her.
"I fell asleep once or twice," she
answered, carelessly. "I suppose my nerves are a little shaken. The bo=
ld
black eyes of that man who stared so rudely at me yesterday evening seemed =
to
be looking at me again in my dreams. If we see him to-day, and if he annoys=
me
any more, I must trouble you to speak to him. We will meet here again at two
o'clock. Don't be hard with Mrs. Wragge; teach her what she must learn as t=
enderly
as you can."
With those words she left him, and went upstai=
rs.
She lay down on her bed with a heavy sigh, and
tried to sleep. It was useless. The dull weariness of herself which now
possessed her was not the weariness which finds its remedy in repose. She r=
ose
again and sat by the window, looking out listlessly over the sea.
A weaker nature than hers would not have felt =
the
shock of Frank's desertion as she had felt it--as she was feeling it still.=
A
weaker nature would have found refuge in indignation and comfort in tears. =
The passionate
strength of Magdalen's love clung desperately to the sinking wreck of its o=
wn
delusion-clung, until she tore herself from it, by plain force of will. All
that her native pride, her keen sense of wrong could do, was to shame her f=
rom
dwelling on the thoughts which still caught their breath of life from the
undying devotion of the past; which still perversely ascribed Frank's heart=
less
farewell to any cause but the inborn baseness of the man who had written it.
The woman never lived yet who could cast a true-love out of her heart becau=
se
the object of that love was unworthy of her. All she can do is to struggle
against it in secret--to sink in the contest if she is weak; to win her way
through it if she is strong, by a process of self-laceration which is, of a=
ll moral
remedies applied to a woman's nature, the most dangerous and the most
desperate; of all moral changes, the change that is surest to mark her for
life. Magdalen's strong nature had sustained her through the struggle; and =
the
issue of it had left her what she now was.
After sitting by the window for nearly an hour,
her eyes looking mechanically at the view, her mind empty of all impression=
s,
and conscious of no thoughts, she shook off the strange waking stupor that =
possessed
her, and rose to prepare herself for the serious business of the day.
She went to the wardrobe and took down from the
pegs two bright, delicate muslin dresses, which had been made for summer we=
ar
at Combe-Raven a year since, and which had been of too little value to be w=
orth
selling when she parted with her other possessions. After placing these dre=
sses
side by side on the bed, she looked into the wardrobe once more. It only
contained one other summer dress--the plain alpaca gown which she had worn
during her memorable interview with Noel Vanstone and Mrs. Lecount. This sh=
e left
in its place, resolving not to wear it--less from any dread that the
housekeeper might recognize a pattern too quiet to be noticed, and too comm=
on
to be remembered, than from the conviction that it was neither gay enough n=
or
becoming enough for her purpose. After taking a plain white muslin scarf, a
pair of light gray kid gloves, and a garden-hat of Tuscan straw, from the
drawers of the wardrobe, she locked it, and put the key carefully in her
pocket.
Instead of at once proceeding to dress herself,
she sat idly looking at the two muslin gowns; careless which she wore, and =
yet
inconsistently hesitating which to choose. "What does it matter!"=
she
said to herself, with a reckless laugh; "I am equally worthless in my =
own
estimation, whichever I put on." She shuddered, as if the sound of her=
own
laughter had startled her, and abruptly caught up the dress which lay neare=
st
to her hand. Its colors were blue and white--the shade of blue which best s=
uited
her fair complexion. She hurriedly put on the gown, without going near her
looking-glass. For the first time in her life she shrank from meeting the
reflection of herself--except for a moment, when she arranged her hair under
her garden-hat, leaving the glass again immediately. She drew her scarf over
her shoulders and fitted on her gloves, with her back to the toilet-table.
"Shall I paint?" she asked herself, feeling instinctively that she
was turning pale. "The rouge is still left in my box. It can't make my
face more false than it is already." She looked round toward the glass,
and again turned away from it. "No!" she said. "I have Mrs.
Lecount to face as well as her master. No paint." After consulting her
watch, she left the room and went downstairs again. It wanted ten minutes o=
nly
of two o'clock.
Captain Wragge was waiting for her in the
parlor--respectable, in a frock-coat, a stiff summer cravat, and a high whi=
te
hat; specklessly and cheerfully rural, in a buff waistcoat, gray trousers, =
and
gaiters to match. His collars were higher than ever, and he carried a brand=
-new
camp-stool in his hand. Any tradesman in England who had seen him at that
moment would have trusted him on the spot.
"Charming!" said the captain, patern=
ally
surveying Magdalen when she entered the room. "So fresh and cool! A li=
ttle
too pale, my dear, and a great deal too serious. Otherwise perfect. Try if =
you
can smile."
"When the time comes for smiling," s=
aid
Magdalen, bitterly, "trust my dramatic training for any change of face
that may be necessary. Where is Mrs. Wragge?"
"Mrs. Wragge has learned her lesson,"
replied the captain, "and is rewarded by my permission to sit at work =
in
her own room. I sanction her new fancy for dressmaking, because it is sure =
to
absorb all her attention, and to keep her at home. There is no fear of her
finishing the Oriental Robe in a hurry, for there is no mistake in the proc=
ess
of making it which she is not certain to commit. She will sit incubating her
gown--pardon the expression--like a hen over an addled egg. I assure you, h=
er
new whim relieves me. Nothing could be more convenient, under existing
circumstances."
He strutted away to the window, looked out, and
beckoned to Magdalen to join him. "There they are!" he said, and
pointed to the Parade.
Noel Vanstone slowly walked by, as she looked,
dressed in a complete suit of old-fashioned nankeen. It was apparently one =
of
the days when the state of his health was at the worst. He leaned on Mrs.
Lecount's arm, and was protected from the sun by a light umbrella which she
held over him. The housekeeper--dressed to perfection, as usual, in a quiet=
, lavender-colored
summer gown, a black mantilla, an unassuming straw bonnet, and a crisp blue
veil--escorted her invalid master with the tenderest attention; sometimes
directing his notice respectfully to the various objects of the sea view;
sometimes bending her head in graceful acknowledgment of the courtesy of
passing strangers on the Parade, who stepped aside to let the invalid pass =
by.
She produced a visible effect among the idlers on the beach. They looked af=
ter
her with unanimous interest, and exchanged confidential nods of approval wh=
ich
said, as plainly as words could have expressed it, "A very domestic
person! a truly superior woman!"
Captain Wragge's party-colored eyes followed M=
rs.
Lecount with a steady, distrustful attention. "Tough work for us
there," he whispered in Magdalen's ear; "tougher work than you th=
ink,
before we turn that woman out of her place."
"Wait," said Magdalen, quietly.
"Wait and see."
She walked to the door. The captain followed h=
er
without making any further remark. "I'll wait till you're married,&quo=
t;
he thought to himself--"not a moment longer, offer me what you may.&qu=
ot;
At the h ouse door Magdalen addressed him agai=
n.
"We will go that way," she said,
pointing southward, "then turn, and meet them as they come back."=
Captain Wragge signified his approval of the
arrangement, and followed Magdalen to the garden gate. As she opened it to =
pass
through, her attention was attracted by a lady, with a nursery-maid and two
little boys behind her, loitering on the path outside the garden wall. The =
lady
started, looked eagerly, and smiled to herself as Magdalen came out. Curios=
ity
had got the better of Kirke's sister, and she had come to Aldborough for the
express purpose of seeing Miss Bygrave.
Something in the shape of the lady's face,
something in the expression of her dark eyes, reminded Magdalen of the
merchant-captain whose uncontrolled admiration had annoyed her on the previ=
ous
evening. She instantly returned the stranger's scrutiny by a frowning, ungr=
acious
look. The lady colored, paid the look back with interest, and slowly walked=
on.
"A hard, bold, bad girl," thought
Kirke's sister. "What could Robert be thinking of to admire her? I am
almost glad he is gone. I hope and trust he will never set eyes on Miss Byg=
rave
again."
"What boors the people are here!" sa=
id
Magdalen to Captain Wragge. "That woman was even ruder than the man la=
st
night. She is like him in the face. I wonder who she is?"
"I'll find out directly," said the
captain. "We can't be too cautious about strangers." He at once
appealed to his friends, the boatmen. They were close at hand, and Magdalen
heard the questions and answers plainly.
"How are you all this morning?" said
Captain Wragge, in his easy jocular way. "And how's the wind? Nor'-west
and by west, is it? Very good. Who is that lady?"
"That's Mrs. Strickland, sir."
"Ay! ay! The clergyman's wife and the
captain's sister. Where's the captain to-day?"
"On his way to London, I should think, si=
r.
His ship sails for China at the end of the week."
China! As that one word passed the man's lips,=
a
pang of the old sorrow struck Magdalen to the heart. Stranger as he was, she
began to hate the bare mention of the merchant-captain's name. He had troub=
led
her dreams of the past night; and now, when she was most desperately and
recklessly bent on forgetting her old home-existence, he had been indirectly
the cause of recalling her mind to Frank.
"Come!" she said, angrily, to her
companion. "What do we care about the man or his ship? Come away."=
;
"By all means," said Captain Wragge.
"As long as we don't find friends of the Bygraves, what do we care abo=
ut
anybody?"
They walked on southward for ten minutes or mo=
re,
then turned and walked back again to meet Noel Vanstone and Mrs. Lecount.
CAPTAIN WRAGGE and Magdalen retraced their ste=
ps
until they were again within view of North Shingles Villa before any signs
appeared of Mrs. Lecount and her master. At that point the housekeeper's
lavender-colored dress, the umbrella, and the feeble little figure in nanke=
en
walking under it, became visible in the distance. The captain slackened his
pace immediately, and issued his directions to Magdalen for her conduct at =
the
coming interview in these words:
"Don't forget your smile," he said.
"In all other respects you will do. The walk has improved your complex=
ion,
and the hat becomes you. Look Mrs. Lecount steadily in the face; show no
embarrassment when you speak; and if Mr. Noel Vanstone pays you pointed
attention, don't take too much notice of him while his housekeeper's eye is=
on
you. Mind one thing! I have been at Joyce's Scientific Dialogues all the
morning; and I am quite serious in meaning to give Mrs. Lecount the full
benefit of my studies. If I can't contrive to divert her attention from you=
and
her master, I won't give sixpence for our chance of success. Small-talk won=
't
succeed with that woman; compliments won't succeed; jokes won't succeed--re=
ady-made
science may recall the deceased professor, and ready-made science may do. We
must establish a code of signals to let you know what I am about. Observe t=
his
camp-stool. When I shift it from my left hand to my right, I am talking Joy=
ce.
When I shift it from my right hand to my left, I am talking Wragge. In the
first case, don't interrupt me--I am leading up to my point. In the second
case, say anything you like; my remarks are not of the slightest consequenc=
e. Would
you like a rehearsal? Are you sure you understand? Very good--take my arm, =
and
look happy. Steady! here they are."
The meeting took place nearly midway between
Sea-view Cottage and North Shingles. Captain Wragge took off his tall white=
hat
and opened the interview immediately on the friendliest terms.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Lecount," he sai=
d,
with the frank and cheerful politeness of a naturally sociable man.
"Good-morning, Mr. Vanstone; I am sorry to see you suffering to-day. M=
rs.
Lecount, permit me to introduce my niece--my niece, Miss Bygrave. My dear g=
irl,
this is Mr. Noel Vanstone, our neighbor at Sea-view Cottage. We must positi=
vely
be sociable at Aldborough, Mrs. Lecount. There is only one walk in the place
(as my niece remarked to me just now, Mr. Vanstone); and on that walk we mu=
st
all meet every time we go out. And why not? Are we formal people on either
side? Nothing of the sort; we are just the reverse. You possess the Contine=
ntal
facility of manner, Mr. Vanstone--I match you with the blunt cordiality of =
an
old-fashioned Englishman--the ladies mingle together in harmonious variety,
like flowers on the same bed--and the result is a mutual interest in making=
our
sojourn at the sea-side agreeable to each other. Pardon my flow of spirits;
pardon my feeling so cheerful and so young. The Iodine in the sea-air, Mrs.
Lecount--the notorious effect of the Iodine in the sea-air!"
"You arrived yesterday, Miss Bygrave, did=
you
not?" said the housekeeper, as soon as the captain's deluge of language
had come to an end.
She addressed those words to Magdalen with a
gentle motherly interest in her youth and beauty, chastened by the deferent=
ial
amiability which became her situation in Noel Vanstone's household. Not the
faintest token of suspicion or surprise betrayed itself in her face, her vo=
ice,
or her manner, while she and Magdalen now looked at each other. It was plai=
n at
the outset that the true face and figure which she now saw recalled nothing=
to
her mind of the false face and figure which she had seen in Vauxhall Walk. =
The
disguise had evidently been complete enough even to baffle the penetration =
of
Mrs. Lecount.
"My aunt and I came here yesterday
evening," said Magdalen. "We found the latter part of the journey
very fatiguing. I dare say you found it so, too?"
She designedly made her answer longer than was
necessary for the purpose of discovering, at the earliest opportunity, the
effect which the sound of her voice produced on Mrs. Lecount.
The housekeeper's thin lips maintained their
motherly smile; the housekeeper's amiable manner lost none of its modest
deference, but the expression of her eyes suddenly changed from a look of a=
ttention
to a look of inquiry. Magdalen quietly said a few words more, and then wait=
ed again
for results. The change spread gradually all over Mrs. Lecount's face, the
motherly smile died away, and the amiable manner betrayed a slight touch of
restraint. Still no signs of positive recognition appeared; the housekeeper=
's
expression remained what it had been from the first--an expression of inqui=
ry,
and nothing more.
"You complained of fatigue, sir, a few
minutes since," she said, dropping all further conversation with Magda=
len
and addressing her master. "Will you go indoors and rest?"
The proprietor of Sea-view Cottage had hitherto
confined himself to bowing, simpering and admiring Magdalen through his
half-closed eyelids. There was no mistaking the sudden flutter and agitatio=
n in
his manner, and the heightened color in his wizen little face. Even the rep=
tile
temperament of Noel Vanstone warmed under the influence of the sex: he had =
an
undeniably appreciative eye for a handsome woman, and Magdalen's grace and
beauty were not thrown away on him.
"Will you go indoors, sir, and rest?"
asked the housekeeper, repeating her quest ion.
"Not yet, Lecount," said her master.
"I fancy I feel stronger; I fancy I can go on a little." He turned
simpering to Magdalen, and added, in a lower tone: "I have found a new
interest in my walk, Miss Bygrave. Don't desert us, or you will take the
interest away with you."
He smiled and smirked in the highest approval =
of
the ingenuity of his own compliment--from which Captain Wragge dexterously
diverted the housekeeper's attention by ranging himself on her side of the =
path
and speaking to her at the same moment. They all four walked on slowly. Mrs=
. Lecount
said nothing more. She kept fast hold of her master's arm, and looked acros=
s him
at Magdalen with the dangerous expression of inquiry more marked than ever =
in
her handsome black eyes. That look was not lost on the wary Wragge. He shif=
ted
his indicative camp-stool from the left hand to the right, and opened his
scientific batteries on the spot.
"A busy scene, Mrs. Lecount," said t=
he
captain, politely waving his camp-stool over the sea and the passing ships.
"The greatness of England, ma'am--the true greatness of England. Pray
observe how heavily some of those vessels are laden! I am often inclined to
wonder whether the British sailor is at all aware, when he has got his carg=
o on
board, of the Hydrostatic importance of the operation that he has performed=
. If
I were suddenly transported to the deck of one of those ships (which Heaven=
forbid,
for I suffer at sea); and if I said to a member of the crew: 'Jack! you have
done wonders; you have grasped the Theory of Floating Vessels'--how the gal=
lant
fellow would stare! And yet on that theory Jack's life depends. If he loads=
his
vessel one-thirtieth part more than he ought, what happens? He sails past
Aldborough, I grant you, in safety. He enters the Thames, I grant you again=
, in
safety. He gets on into the fresh water as far, let us say, as Greenwich;
and--down he goes! Down, ma'am, to the bottom of the river, as a matter of
scientific certainty!"
Here he paused, and left Mrs. Lecount no polite
alternative but to request an explanation.
"With infinite pleasure, ma'am," said
the captain, drowning in the deepest notes of his voice the feeble treble in
which Noel Vanstone paid his compliments to Magdalen. "We will start, =
if
you please, with a first principle. All bodies whatever that float on the
surface of the water displace as much fluid as is equal in weight to the we=
ight
of the bodies. Good. We have got our first principle. What do we deduce fro=
m it?
Manifestly this: That, in order to keep a vessel above water, it is necessa=
ry
to take care that the vessel and its cargo shall be of less weight than the
weight of a quantity of water--pray follow me here!--of a quantity of water
equal in bulk to that part of the vessel which it will be safe to immerse in
the water. Now, ma'am, salt-water is specifically thirty times heavier than
fresh or river water, and a vessel in the German Ocean will not sink so dee=
p as
a vessel in the Thames. Consequently, when we load our ship with a view to =
the
London market, we have (Hydrostatically speaking) three alternatives. Eithe=
r we
load with one-thirtieth part less than we can carry at sea; or we take one-=
thirtieth
part out at the mouth of the river; or we do neither the one nor the other,
and, as I have already had the honor of remarking--down we go! Such," =
said
the captain, shifting the camp-stool back again from his right hand to his
left, in token that Joyce was done with for the time being; "such, my =
dear
madam, is the Theory of Floating Vessels. Permit me to add, in conclusion, =
you
are heartily welcome to it."
"Thank you, sir," said Mrs. Lecount.
"You have unintentionally saddened me; but the information I have rece=
ived
is not the less precious on that account. It is long, long ago, Mr. Bygrave,
since I have heard myself addressed in the language of science. My dear hus=
band
made me his companion--my dear husband improved my mind as you have been tr=
ying
to improve it. Nobody has taken pains with my intellect since. Many thanks,=
sir.
Your kind consideration for me is not thrown away."
She sighed with a plaintive humility, and
privately opened her ears to the conversation on the other side of her.
A minute earlier she would have heard her mast=
er
expressing himself in the most flattering terms on the subject of Miss
Bygrave's appearance in her sea-side costume. But Magdalen had seen Captain
Wragge's signal with the camp-stool, and had at once diverted Noel Vanstone=
to
the topic of himself and his possessions by a neatly-timed question about h=
is
house at Aldborough.
"I don't wish to alarm you, Miss
Bygrave," were the first words of Noel Vanstone's which caught Mrs.
Lecount's attention, "but there is only one safe house in Aldborough, =
and
that house is mine. The sea may destroy all the other houses--it can't dest=
roy
Mine. My father took care of that; my father was a remarkable man. He had My
house built on piles. I have reason to believe they are the strongest piles=
in
England. Nothing can possibly knock them down--I don't care what the sea
does--nothing can possibly knock them down."
"Then, if the sea invades us," said
Magdalen, "we must all run for refuge to you."
Noel Vanstone saw his way to another complimen=
t;
and, at the same moment, the wary captain saw his way to another burst of
science.
"I could almost wish the invasion might
happen," murmured one of the gentlemen, "to give me the happiness=
of
offering the refuge."
"I could almost swear the wind had shifte=
d again!"
exclaimed the other. "Where is a man I can ask? Oh, there he is. Boatm=
an!
How's the wind now? Nor'west and by west still--hey? And southeast and by s=
outh
yesterday evening--ha? Is there anything more remarkable, Mrs. Lecount, tha=
n the
variableness of the wind in this climate?" proceeded the captain, shif=
ting
the camp-stool to the scientific side of him. "Is there any natural
phenomenon more bewildering to the scientific inquirer? You will tell me th=
at
the electric fluid which abounds in the air is the principal cause of this
variableness. You will remind me of the experiment of that illustrious
philosopher who measured the velocity of a great storm by a flight of small
feathers. My dear madam, I grant all your propositions--"
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount; "you kindly attribute to me a knowledge that I don't possess.
Propositions, I regret to say, are quite beyond me."
"Don't misunderstand me, ma'am,"
continued the captain, politely unconscious of the interruption. "My
remarks apply to the temperate zone only. Place me on the coasts beyond the
tropics--place me where the wind blows toward the shore in the day-time, and
toward the sea by night--and I instantly advance toward conclusive experime=
nts.
For example, I know that the heat of the sun during the day rarefies the air
over the land, and so causes the wind. You challenge me to prove it. I esco=
rt
you down the kitchen stairs (with your kind permission); take my largest
pie-dish out of the cook's hands; I fill it with cold water. Good! that dis=
h of
cold water represents the ocean. I next provide myself with one of our most
precious domestic conveniences, a hot-water plate; I fill it with hot water=
and
I put it in the middle of the pie-dish. Good again! the hot-water plate
represents the land rarefying the air over it. Bear that in mind, and give =
me a
lighted candle. I hold my lighted candle over the cold water, and blow it o=
ut.
The smoke immediately moves from the dish to the plate. Before you have tim=
e to
express your satisfaction, I light the candle once more, and reverse the wh=
ole
proceeding. I fill the pie-dish with hot-water, and the plate with cold; I =
blow
the candle out again, and the smoke moves this time from the plate to the d=
ish.
The smell is disagreeable--but the experiment is conclusive."
He shifted the camp-stool back again, and look=
ed
at Mrs. Lecount with his ingratiating smile. "You don't find me
long-winded, ma'am--do you?" he said, in his easy, cheerful way, just =
as
the housekeeper was privately opening her e ars once more to the conversati=
on
on the other side of her.
"I am amazed, sir, by the range of y our
information," replied Mrs. Lecount, observing the captain with some
perplexity--but thus far with no distrust. She thought him eccentric, even =
for
an Englishman, and possibly a little vain of his knowledge. But he had at l=
east
paid her the implied compliment of addressing that knowledge to herself; and
she felt it the more sensibly, from having hitherto found her scientific sy=
mpathies
with her deceased husband treated with no great respect by the people with =
whom
she came in contact. "Have you extended your inquiries, sir," she
proceeded, after a momentary hesitation, "to my late husband's branch =
of
science? I merely ask, Mr. Bygrave, because (though I am only a woman) I th=
ink
I might exchange ideas with you on the subject of the reptile creation.&quo=
t;
Captain Wragge was far too sharp to risk his
ready-made science on the enemy's ground. The old militia-man shook his wary
head.
"Too vast a subject, ma'am," he said,
"for a smatterer like me. The life and labors of such a philosopher as
your husband, Mrs. Lecount, warn men of my intellectual caliber not to meas=
ure
themselves with a giant. May I inquire," proceeded the captain, softly
smoothing the way for future intercourse with Sea-view Cottage, "wheth=
er
you possess any scientific memorials of the late Professor?"
"I possess his Tank, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount, modestly casting her eyes on the ground, "and one of his
Subjects--a little foreign Toad."
"His Tank!" exclaimed the captain, in
tones of mournful interest; "and his Toad! Pardon my blunt way of spea=
king
my mind, ma'am. You possess an object of public interest; and, as one of the
public, I acknowledge my curiosity to see it."
Mrs. Lecount's smooth cheeks colored with plea=
sure.
The one assailable place in that cold and secret nature was the place occup=
ied
by the memory of the Professor. Her pride in his scientific achievements, a=
nd
her mortification at finding them but little known out of his own country, =
were
genuine feelings. Never had Captain Wragge burned his adulterated incense on
the flimsy altar of human vanity to better purpose than he was burning it n=
ow.
"You are very good, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount. "In honoring my husband's memory, you honor me. But though yo=
u kindly
treat me on a footing of equality, I must not forget that I fill a domestic
situation. I shall feel it a privilege to show you my relics, if you will a=
llow
me to ask my master's permission first."
She turned to Noel Vanstone; her perfectly sin=
cere
intention of making the proposed request, mingling--in that strange complex=
ity
of motives which is found so much oftener in a woman's mind than in a
man's--with her jealous distrust of the impression which Magdalen had produ=
ced
on her master.
"May I make a request, sir?" asked M=
rs.
Lecount, after waiting a moment to catch any fragments of tenderly-personal
talk that might reach her, and after being again neatly baffled by
Magdalen--thanks to the camp-stool. "Mr. Bygrave is one of the few per=
sons
in England who appreciate my husband's scientific labors. He honors me by
wishing to see my little world of reptiles. May I show it to him?"
"By all means, Lecount," said Noel
Vanstone, graciously. "You are an excellent creature, and I like to ob=
lige
you. Lecount's Tank, Mr. Bygrave, is the only Tank in England--Lecount's To=
ad
is the oldest Toad in the world. Will you come and drink tea at seven o'clo=
ck
to-night? And will you prevail on Miss Bygrave to accompany you? I want her=
to
see my house. I don't think she has any idea what a strong house it is. Com=
e and
survey my premises, Miss Bygrave. You shall have a stick and rap on the wal=
ls;
you shall go upstairs and stamp on the floors, and then you shall hear what=
it
all cost." His eyes wrinkled up cunningly at the corners, and he slipp=
ed
another tender speech into Magdalen's ear, under cover of the all-predomina=
ting
voice in which Captain Wragge thanked him for the invitation. "Come
punctually at seven," he whispered, "and pray wear that charming
hat!"
Mrs. Lecount's lips closed ominously. She set =
down
the captain's niece as a very serious drawback to the intellectual luxury of
the captain's society.
"You are fatiguing yourself, sir," s=
he
said to her master. "This is one of your bad days. Let me recommend yo=
u to
be careful; let me beg you to walk back."
Having carried his point by inviting the new
acquaintances to tea, Noel Vanstone proved to be unexpectedly docile. He
acknowledged that he was a little fatigued, and turned back at once in
obedience to the housekeeper's advice.
"Take my arm, sir--take my arm on the oth=
er
side," said Captain Wragge, as they turned to retrace their steps. His
party-colored eyes looked significantly at Magdalen while he spoke, and war=
ned
her not to stretch Mrs. Lecount's endurance too far at starting. She instan=
tly
understood him; and, in spite of Noel Vanstone's reiterated assertions that=
he stood
in no need of the captain's arm, placed herself at once by the housekeeper's
side. Mrs. Lecount recovered her good-humor, and opened another conversation
with Magdalen by making the one inquiry of all others which, under existing
circumstances, was the hardest to answer.
"I presume Mrs. Bygrave is too tired, aft=
er
her journey, to come out to-day?" said Mrs. Lecount. "Shall we ha=
ve
the pleasure of seeing her tomorrow?"
"Probably not," replied Magdalen.
"My aunt is in delicate health."
"A complicated case, my dear madam,"
added the captain; conscious that Mrs. Wragge's personal appearance (if she
happened to be seen by accident) would offer the flattest of all possible
contradictions to what Magdalen had just said of her. "There is some
remote nervous mischief which doesn't express itself externally. You would
think my wife the picture of health if you looked at her, and yet, so delus=
ive are
appearances, I am obliged to forbid her all excitement. She sees no society=
--our
medical attendant, I regret to say, absolutely prohibits it."
"Very sad," said Mrs. Lecount. "=
;The
poor lady must often feel lonely, sir, when you and your niece are away from
her?"
"No," replied the captain. "Mrs.
Bygrave is a naturally domestic woman. When she is able to employ herself, =
she
finds unlimited resources in her needle and thread." Having reached th=
is
stage of the explanation, and having purposely skirted, as it were, round t=
he
confines of truth, in the event of the housekeeper's curiosity leading her =
to
make any private inquiries on the subject of Mrs. Wragge, the captain wisely
checked his fluent tongue from carrying him into any further details. "=
;I
have great hope from the air of this place," he remarked, in conclusio=
n.
"The Iodine, as I have already observed, does wonders."
Mrs. Lecount acknowledged the virtues of Iodin=
e,
in the briefest possible form of words, and withdrew into the innermost
sanctuary of her own thoughts. "Some mystery here," said the
housekeeper to herself. "A lady who looks the picture of health; a lady
who suffers from a complicated nervous malady; and a lady whose hand is ste=
ady
enough to use her needle and thread--is a living mass of contradictions I d=
on't
quite understand. Do you make a long stay at Aldborough, sir?" she add=
ed
aloud, her eyes resting for a moment, in steady scrutiny, on the captain's
face.
"It all depends, my dear madam, on Mrs.
Bygrave. I trust we shall stay through the autumn. You are settled at Sea-v=
iew
Cottage, I presume, for the season?"
"You must ask my master, sir. It is for h=
im
to decide, not for me."
The answer was an unfortunate one. Noel Vansto=
ne
had been secretly annoyed by the change in the walking arrangements, which =
had
separated him from Magdalen. He attributed that change to the meddling
influence of Mrs. Lecount, and he now took the earliest opportunity of
resenting it on the spot.
"I have nothing to do with our stay at
Aldborough," he broke out, peevishly. "You know as well as I do,
Lecount, it all depends on you. Mrs. Lecount has a brother in
Switzerland," he went on, addressing himself to the captain--"a
brother who is seriously ill. If he gets worse, she will have to go the re =
to
see him. I can't accompany her, and I can't be left in the house by myself.=
I
shall have t o break up my establishment at Aldborough, and stay with some
friends. It all depends on you, Lecount--or on your brother, which comes to=
the
same thing. If it depended on me," continued Mr. Noel Vanstone, looking
pointedly at Magdalen across the housekeeper, "I should stay at Aldbor=
ough
all through the autumn with the greatest pleasure. With the greatest pleasu=
re,"
he reiterated, repeating the words with a tender look for Magdalen, and a s=
piteful
accent for Mrs. Lecount.
Thus far Captain Wragge had remained silent;
carefully noting in his mind the promising possibilities of a separation
between Mrs. Lecount and her master which Noel Vanstone's little fretful
outbreak had just disclosed to him. An ominous trembling in the housekeeper=
's
thin lips, as her master openly exposed her family affairs before strangers,
and openly set her jealously at defiance, now warned him to interfere. If t=
he
misunderstanding were permitted to proceed to extremities, there was a chan=
ce
that the invitation for that evening to Sea-view Cottage might be put off. =
Now,
as ever, equal to the occasion, Captain Wragge called his useful information
once more to the rescue. Under the learned auspices of Joyce, he plunged, f=
or the
third time, into the ocean of science, and brought up another pearl. He was
still haranguing (on Pneumatics this time), still improving Mrs. Lecount's =
mind
with his politest perseverance and his smoothest flow of language--when the=
walking
party stopped at Noel Vanstone's door.
"Bless my soul, here we are at your house,
sir!" said the captain, interrupting himself in the middle of one of h=
is
graphic sentences. "I won't keep you standing a moment. Not a word of
apology, Mrs. Lecount, I beg and pray! I will put that curious point in
Pneumatics more clearly before you on a future occasion. In the meantime I =
need
only repeat that you can perform the experiment I have just mentioned to yo=
ur
own entire satisfaction with a bladder, an exhausted receiver, and a square
box. At seven o'clock this evening, sir--at seven o'clock, Mrs. Lecount. We
have had a remarkably pleasant walk, and a most instructive interchange of =
ideas.
Now, my dear girl, your aunt is waiting for us."
While Mrs. Lecount stepped aside to open the
garden gate, Noel Vanstone seized his opportunity and shot a last tender gl=
ance
at Magdalen, under shelter of the umbrella, which he had taken into his own
hands for that express purpose. "Don't forget," he said, with the
sweetest smile; "don't forget, when you come this evening, to wear that
charming hat!" Before he could add any last words, Mrs. Lecount glided
back to her place, and the sheltering umbrella changed hands again immediat=
ely.
"An excellent morning's work!" said
Captain Wragge, as he and Magdalen walked on together to North Shingles.
"You and I and Joyce have all three done wonders. We have secured a
friendly invitation at the first day's fishing for it."
He paused for an answer; and, receiving none,
observed Magdalen more attentively than he had observed her yet. Her face h=
ad
turned deadly pale again; her eyes looked out mechanically straight before =
her
in heedless, reckless despair.
"What is the matter?" he asked, with=
the
greatest surprise. "Are you ill?"
She made no reply; she hardly seemed to hear h=
im.
"Are you getting alarmed about Mrs.
Lecount?" he inquired next. "There is not the least reason for al=
arm.
She may fancy she has heard something like your voice before, but your face
evidently bewilders her. Keep your temper, and you keep her in the dark. Ke=
ep
her in the dark, and you will put that two hundred pounds into my hands bef=
ore
the autumn is over."
He waited again for an answer, and again she
remained silent. The captain tried for the third time in another direction.=
"Did you get any letters this morning?&qu=
ot;
he went on. "Is there bad news again from home? Any fresh difficulties
with your sister?"
"Say nothing about my sister!" she b=
roke
out passionately. "Neither you nor I are fit to speak of her."
She said those words at the garden-gate, and
hurried into the house by herself. He followed her, and heard the door of h=
er
own room violently shut to, violently locked and double-locked. Solacing his
indignation by an oath, Captain Wragge sullenly went into one of the parlor=
s on
the ground-floor to look after his wife. The room communicated with a small=
er
and darker room at the back of the house by means of a quaint little door w=
ith
a window in the upper half of it. Softly approaching this door, the captain
lifted the white muslin curtain which hung over the window, and looked into=
the
inner room.
There was Mrs. Wragge, with her cap on one sid=
e,
and her shoes down at heel; with a row of pins between her teeth; with the
Oriental Cashmere Robe slowly slipping off the table; with her scissors
suspended uncertain in one hand, and her written directions for dressmaking
held doubtfully in the other--so absorbed over the invincible difficulties =
of
her employment as to be perfectly unconscious that she was at that moment t=
he
object of her husband's superintending eye. Under other circumstances she w=
ould
have been soon brought to a sense of her situation by the sound of his voic=
e.
But Captain Wragge was too anxious about Magdalen to waste any time on his
wife, after satisfying himself that she was safe in her seclusion, and that=
she
might be trusted to remain there.
He left the parlor, and, after a little hesita=
tion
in the passage, stole upstairs and listened anxiously outside Magdalen's do=
or.
A dull sound of sobbing--a sound stifled in her handkerchief, or stifled in=
the
bed-clothes--was all that caught his ear. He returned at once to the ground=
-floor,
with some faint suspicion of the truth dawning on his mind at last.
"The devil take that sweetheart of
hers!" thought the captain. "Mr. Noel Vanstone has raised the gho=
st
of him at starting."
=
WHEN Magdalen appeared in the parlor shortly
before seven o'clock, not a trace of discomposure was visible in her manner.
She looked and spoke as quietly and unconcernedly as usual.
The lowering distrust on Captain Wragge's face
cleared away at the sight of her. There had been moments during the afterno=
on
when he had seriously doubted whether the pleasure of satisfying the grudge=
he
owed to Noel Vanstone, and the prospect of earning the sum of two hundred p=
ounds,
would not be dearly purchased by running the risk of discovery to which
Magdalen's uncertain temper might expose him at any hour of the day. The pl=
ain
proof now before him of her powers of self-control relieved his mind of a
serious anxiety. It mattered little to the captain what she suffered in the
privacy of her own chamber, as long as she came out of it with a face that
would bear inspection, and a voice that betrayed nothing.
On the way to Sea-view Cottage, Captain Wragge
expressed his intention of asking the housekeeper a few sympathizing questi=
ons
on the subject of her invalid brother in Switzerland. He was of opinion that
the critical condition of this gentleman's health might exercise an importa=
nt influence
on the future progress of the conspiracy. Any chance of a separation, he
remarked, between the housekeeper and her master was, under existing
circumstances, a chance which merited the closest investigation. "If we
can only get Mrs. Lecount out of the way at the right time," whispered=
the
captain, as he opened his host's garden gate, "our man is caught!"=
;
In a minute more Magdalen was again under Noel
Vanstone's roof; this time in the character of his own invited guest.
The proceedings of the evening were for the mo=
st
part a repetition of the proceedings during the morning walk. Noel Vanstone
vibrated between his admiration of Magdalen's beauty and his glorification =
of
his own possessions. Captain Wragge's inexhaustible outbursts of informatio=
n--relieved
by delicately-indirect inquiries relating to Mrs. Lecount's
brother--perpetually diverted the housekeeper's jealous vigilance from dwel=
ling
on the looks and language of her master. So the evening passed until ten
o'clock. By that time the captain's ready-made science was exhausted, and t=
he
housekeeper's temper was forcing its way to the surface. Once more Captain
Wragge warned Magdalen by a look, and, in spite of Noel Vanstone's hospitab=
le
protest, wisely rose to say good-night.
"I have got my information," remarked
the captain on the way back. "Mrs. Lecount's brother lives at Zurich. =
He
is a bachelor; he possesses a little money, and his sister is his nearest
relation. If he will only be so obliging as to break up altogether, he will
save us a world of trouble with Mrs. Lecount."
It was a fine moonlight night. He looked round=
at
Magdalen, as he said those words, to see if her intractable depression of
spirits had seized on her again.
No! her variable humor had changed once more. =
She
looked about her with a flaunting, feverish gayety; she scoffed at the bare
idea of any serious difficulty with Mrs. Lecount; she mimicked Noel Vanston=
e's high-pitched
voice, and repeated Noel Vanstone's high-flown compliments, with a bitter
enjoyment of turning him into ridicule. Instead of running into the house as
before, she sauntered carelessly by her companion's side, humming little
snatches of song, and kicking the loose pebbles right and left on the
garden-walk. Captain Wragge hailed the change in her as the best of good om=
ens.
He thought he saw plain signs that the family spirit was at last coming back
again.
"Well," he said, as he lit her bedro=
om
candle for her, "when we all meet on the Parade tomorrow, we shall see=
, as
our nautical friends say, how the land lies. One thing I can tell you, my d=
ear
girl--I have used my eyes to very little purpose if there is not a storm
brewing tonight in Mr. Noel Vanstone's domestic atmosphere."
The captain's habitual penetration had not mis=
led
him. As soon as the door of Sea-view Cottage was closed on the parting gues=
ts,
Mrs. Lecount made an effort to assert the authority which Magdalen's influe=
nce
was threatening already.
She employed every artifice of which she was
mistress to ascertain Magdalen's true position in Noel Vanstone's estimatio=
n.
She tried again and again to lure him into an unconscious confession of the
pleasure which he felt already in the society of the beautiful Miss Bygrave;
she twined herself in and out of every weakness in his character, as the fr=
ogs
and efts twined themselves in and out of the rock-work of her Aquarium. But=
she
made one serious mistake which very clever people in their intercourse with
their intellectual inferiors are almost universally apt to commit--she trus=
ted
implicitly to the folly of a fool. She forgot that one of the lowest of hum=
an
qualities--cunning--is exactly the capacity which is often most largely
developed in the lowest of intellectual natures. If she had been honestly a=
ngry
with her master, she would probably have frightened him. If she had opened =
her
mind plainly to his view, she would have astonished him by presenting a cha=
in of
ideas to his limited perceptions which they were not strong enough to grasp;
his curiosity would have led him to ask for an explanation; and by practici=
ng
on that curiosity, she might have had him at her mercy. As it was, she set =
her
cunning against his, and the fool proved a match for her. Noel Vanstone, to
whom all large-minded motives under heaven were inscrutable mysteries, saw =
the
small-minded motive at the bottom of his housekeeper's conduct with as
instantaneous a penetration as if he had been a man of the highest ability.
Mrs. Lecount left him for the night, foiled, and knowing she was foiled--le=
ft
him, with the tigerish side of her uppermost, and a low-lived longing in he=
r elegant
finger-nails to set them in her master's face.
She was not a woman to be beaten by one defeat=
or
by a hundred. She was positively determined to think, and think again, until
she had found a means of checking the growing intimacy with the Bygraves at
once and forever. In the solitude of her own room she recovered her composu=
re, and
set herself for the first time to review the conclusions which she had gath=
ered
from the events of the day.
There was something vaguely familiar to her in=
the
voice of this Miss Bygrave, and, at the same time, in unaccountable
contradiction, something strange to her as well. The face and figure of the
young lady were entirely new to her. It was a striking face, and a striking
figure; and if she had seen either at any former period, she would certainl=
y have
remembered it. Miss Bygrave was unquestionably a stranger; and yet--
She had got no further than this during the da=
y;
she could get no further now: the chain of thought broke. Her mind took up =
the
fragments, and formed another chain which attached itself to the lady who w=
as
kept in seclusion--to the aunt, who looked well, and yet was nervous; who w=
as nervous,
and yet able to ply her needle and thread. An incomprehensible resemblance =
to
some unremembered voice in the niece; an unintelligible malady which kept t=
he
aunt secluded from public view; an extraordinary range of scientific
cultivation in the uncle, associated with a coarseness and audacity of mann=
er
which by no means suggested the idea of a man engaged in studious pursuits-=
-were
the members of this small family of three what they seemed on the surface of
them?
With that question on her mind, she went to be=
d.
As soon as the candle was out, the darkness se=
emed
to communicate some inexplicable perversity to her thoughts. They wandered =
back
from present things to past, in spite of her. They brought her old master b=
ack
to life again; they revived forgotten sayings and doings in the English cir=
cle
at Zurich; they veered away to the old man's death-bed at Brighton; they mo=
ved
from Brighton to London; they entered the bare, comfortless room at Vauxhall
Walk; they set the Aquarium back in its place on the kitchen table, and put=
the
false Miss Garth in the chair by the side of it, shading her inflamed eyes =
from
the light; they placed the anonymous letter, the letter which glanced darkl=
y at
a conspiracy, in her hand again, and brought her with it into her master's
presence; they recalled the discussion about filling in the blank space in =
the advertisement,
and the quarrel that followed when she told Noel Vanstone that the sum he h=
ad
offered was preposterously small; they revived an old doubt which had not
troubled her for weeks past--a doubt whether the threatened conspiracy had
evaporated in mere words, or whether she and her master were likely to hear=
of
it again. At this point her thoughts broke off once more, and there was a
momentary blank. The next instant she started up in bed; her heart beating
violently, her head whirling as if she had lost her senses. With electric s=
uddenness
her mind pieced together its scattered multitude of thoughts, and put them
before her plainly under one intelligible form. In the all-mastering agitat=
ion
of the moment, she clapped her hands together, and cried out suddenly in the
darkness:
"Miss Vanstone again!!!"
She got out of bed and kindled the light once
more. Steady as her nerves were, the shock of her own suspicion had shaken
them. Her firm hand trembled as she opened her dressing-case and took from =
it a
little bottle of sal-volatile. In spite of her smooth cheeks and her well-p=
reserved
hair, she looked every year of her age as she mixed the spirit with water,
greedily drank it, and, wrapping her dressing-gown round her, sat down on t=
he
bedside to get possession again of her calmer self.
She was quite incapable of tracing the mental
process which had led her to discovery. She could not get sufficiently far =
from
herself to see that her half-formed conclusions on the subject of the Bygra=
ves
had ended in making that family objects of suspicion to her; that the assoc=
iation
of ideas had thereupon carried her mind back to that other object of suspic=
ion
which was represented by the conspiracy against her master; and that the two
ideas of those two separate subjects of distrust, coming suddenly in contac=
t,
had struck the light. She was not able to reason back in this way from the
effect to the cause. She could only feel that the suspicion had become more
than a suspicion already: conviction itself could not have been more firmly
rooted in her mind.
Looking back at Magdalen by the new light now
thrown on her, Mrs. Lecount would fain have persuaded herself that she
recognized some traces left of the false Miss Garth's face and figure in the
graceful and beautiful girl who had sat at her master's table hardly an hou=
r since--that
she found resemblances now, which she had never thought of before, between =
the
angry voice she had heard in Vauxhall Walk and the smooth, well-bred tones
which still hung on her ears after the evening's experience downstairs. She=
would
fain have persuaded herself that she had reached these results with no undue
straining of the truth as she really knew it, but the effort was in vain.
Mrs. Lecount was not a woman to waste time and
thought in trying to impose on herself. She accepted the inevitable conclus=
ion
that the guesswork of a moment had led her to discovery. And, more than tha=
t,
she recognized the plain truth--unwelcome as it was--that the conviction no=
w fixed
in her own mind was thus far unsupported by a single fragment of producible
evidence to justify it to the minds of others.
Under these circumstances, what was the safe
course to take with her master?
If she candidly told him, when they met the ne=
xt
morning, what had passed through her mind that night, her knowledge of Noel
Vanstone warned her that one of two results would certainly happen. Either =
he would
be angry and disputatious; would ask for proofs; and, finding none forthcom=
ing,
would accuse her of alarming him without a cause, to serve her own jealous =
end
of keeping Magdalen out of the house; or he would be seriously startled, wo=
uld
clamor for the protection of the law, and would warn the Bygraves to stand =
on
their defense at the outset. If Magdalen only had been concerned in the plot
this latter consequence would have assumed no great importance in the
housekeeper's mind. But seeing the deception as she now saw it, she was far=
too
clever a woman to fail in estimating the captain's inexhaustible fertility =
of
resource at its true value. "If I can't meet this impudent villain with
plain proofs to help me," thought Mrs. Lecount, "I may open my ma=
ster
s eyes to-morrow morning, and Mr. Bygrave will shut them up again before ni=
ght.
The rascal is playing with all his own cards under the table, and he will w=
in
the game to a certainty, if he sees my hand at starting."
This policy of waiting was so manifestly the w=
ise
policy--the wily Mr. Bygrave was so sure to have provided himself, in case =
of
emergency, with evidence to prove the identity which he and his niece had
assumed for their purpose--that Mrs. Lecount at once decided to keep her own
counsel the next morning, and to pause before attacking the conspiracy until
she could produce unanswerable facts to help her. Her master's acquaintance=
with
the Bygraves was only an acquaintance of one day's standing. There was no f=
ear
of its developing into a dangerous intimacy if she merely allowed it to
continue for a few days more, and if she permanently checked it, at the lat=
est,
in a week's time.
In that period what measures could she take to
remove the obstacles which now stood in her way, and to provide herself with
the weapons which she now wanted?
Reflection showed her three different chances =
in
her favor--three different ways of arriving at the necessary discovery.
The first chance was to cultivate friendly ter=
ms
with Magdalen, and then, taking her unawares, to entrap her into betraying
herself in Noel Vanstone's presence. The second chance was to write to the
elder Miss Vanstone, and to ask (with some alarming reason for putting the
question) for information on the subject of her younger sister's whereabout=
s,
and of any peculiarities in her personal appearance which might enable a
stranger to identify her. The third chance was to penetrate the mystery of =
Mrs.
Bygrave's seclusion, and to ascertain at a personal interview whether the
invalid lady's real complaint might not possibly be a defective capacity for
keeping her husband's secrets. Resolving to try all three chances, in the o=
rder
in which they are here enumerated, and to set her snares for Magdalen on the
day that was now already at hand, Mrs. Lecount at last took off her
dressing-gown and allowed her weaker nature to plead with her for a little
sleep.
The dawn was breaking over the cold gray sea as
she lay down in her bed again. The last idea in her mind before she fell as=
leep
was characteristic of the woman--it was an idea that threatened the captain=
. "He
has trifled with the sacred memory of my husband," thought the Profess=
or's
widow. "On my life and honor, I will make him pay for it."
=
Early
the next morning Magdalen began the day, according to her agreement with the
captain, by taking Mrs. Wragge out for a little exercise at an hour when th=
ere
was no fear of her attracting the public attention. She pleaded hard to be =
left
at home; having the Oriental Cashmere Robe still on her mind, and feeling it
necessary to read her directions for dressmaking, for the hundredth time at
least, before (to use her own expression) she could "screw up her cour=
age
to put the scissors into the stuff." But her companion would take no
denial, and she was forced to go out. The one guileless purpose of the life
which Magdalen now led was the resolution that poor Mrs. Wragge should not =
be made
a prisoner on her account; and to that resolution she mechanically clung, as
the last token left her by which she knew her better-self.
They returned later than usual to breakfast. W=
hile
Mrs. Wragge was upstairs, straightening herself from head to foot to meet t=
he
morning inspection of her husband's orderly eye; and while Magdalen and the=
captain
were waiting for her in the parlor, the servant came in with a note from
Sea-view Cottage. The messenger was waiting for an answer, and the note was
addressed to Captain Wragge.
The captain opened the note and read these lin=
es:
=
"DEAR
SIR--Mr. Noel Vanstone desires me to write and tell you that he proposes
enjoying this fine day by taking a long drive to a place on the coast here
called Dunwich. He is anxious to know if you will share the expense of a
carriage, and give him the pleasure of your company and Miss Bygrave's comp=
any
on this excursion. I am kindly permitted to be one of the party; and if I m=
ay
say so without impropriety, I would venture to add that I shall feel as much
pleasure as my master if you and your young lady will consent to join us. We
propose leaving Aldborough punctually at eleven o'clock. Believe me, dear s=
ir,
your humble servant,
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
=
"Who
is the letter from?" asked Magdalen, noticing a change in Captain Wrag=
ge's
face as he read it. "What do they want with us at Sea-view Cottage?&qu=
ot;
"Pardon me," said the captain, grave=
ly,
"this requires consideration. Let me have a minute or two to think.&qu=
ot;
He took a few turns up and down the room, then
suddenly stepped aside to a table in a corner on which his writing materials
were placed. "I was not born yesterday, ma'am!" said the captain,
speaking jocosely to himself. He winked his brown eye, took up his pen, and
wrote the answer.
"Can you speak now?" inquired Magdal=
en,
when the servant had left the room. "What does that letter say, and how
have you answered it?"
The captain placed the letter in her hand. &qu=
ot;I
have accepted the invitation," he replied, quietly.
Magdalen read the letter. "Hidden enmity
yesterday," she said, "and open friendship to-day. What does it
mean?"
"It means," said Captain Wragge,
"that Mrs. Lecount is even sharper than I thought her. She has found y=
ou
out."
"Impossible," cried Magdalen.
"Quite impossible in the time."
"I can't say how she has found you out,&q=
uot;
proceeded the captain, with perfect composure. "She may know more of y=
our
voice than we supposed she knew. Or she may have thought us, on reflection,
rather a suspicious family; and anything suspicious in which a woman was
concerned may have taken her mind back to that morning call of yours in
Vauxhall Walk. Whichever way it may be, the meaning of this sudden change is
clear enough. She has found you out; and she wants to put her discovery to =
the proof
by slipping in an awkward question or two, under cover of a little friendly
talk. My experience of humanity has been a varied one, and Mrs. Lecount is =
not
the first sharp practitioner in petticoats whom I have had to deal with. All
the world's a stage, my dear girl, and one of the scenes on our little stag=
e is
shut in from this moment."
With those words he took his copy of Joyce's
Scientific Dialogues out of his pocket. "You're done with already, my
friend!" said the captain, giving his useful information a farewell sm=
ack
with his hand, and locking it up in the cupboard. "Such is human
popularity!" continued the indomitable vagabond, putting the key
cheerfully in his pocket. "Yesterday Joyce was my all-in-all. To-day I
don't care that for him!" He snapped his fingers and sat down to
breakfast.
"I don't understand you," said Magda=
len,
looking at him angrily. "Are you leaving me to my own resources for the
future?"
"My dear girl!" cried Captain Wragge,
"can't you accustom yourself to my dash of humor yet? I have done with=
my
ready-made science simply because I am quite sure that Mrs. Lecount has done
believing in me. Haven't I accepted the invitation to Dunwich? Make your mi=
nd
easy. The help I have given you already counts for nothing compared with the
help I am going to give you now. My honor is concerned in bowling out Mrs.
Lecount. This last move of hers has made it a personal matter between us. T=
he
woman actually thinks she can take me in!!!" cried the captain, striki=
ng
his knife-handle on the table in a transport of virtuous indignation. "=
;By heavens,
I never was so insulted before in my life! Draw your chair in to the table,=
my
dear, and give me half a minute's attention to what I have to say next.&quo=
t;
Magdalen obeyed him. Captain Wragge cautiously
lowered his voice before he went on.
"I have told you all along," he said,
"the one thing needful is never to let Mrs. Lecount catch you with your
wits wool-gathering. I say the same after what has happened this morning. L=
et
her suspect you! I defy her to find a fragment of foundation for her
suspicions, unless we help her. We shall see to-day if she has been foolish
enough to betray herself to her master before she has any facts to support =
her.
I doubt it. If she has told him, we will rain down proofs of our identity w=
ith
the Bygraves on his feeble little head till it absolutely aches with
conviction. You have two things to do on this excursion. First, to distrust
every word Mrs. Lecount says to you. Secondly, to exert all your fascinatio=
ns,
and make sure of Mr. Noel Vanstone, dating from to-day. I will give you the=
opportunity
when we leave the carriage and take our walk at Dunwich. Wear your hat, wear
your smile; do your figure justice, lace tight; put on your neatest boots a=
nd
brightest gloves; tie the miserable little wretch to your apron-string--tie=
him
fast; and leave the whole management of the matter after that to me. Steady!
here is Mrs. Wragge: we must be doubly careful in looking after her now. Sh=
ow
me your cap, Mrs. Wragge! show me your shoes! What do I see on your apron? A
spot? I won't have spots! Take it off after breakfast, and put on another. =
Pull
your chair to the middle of the table--more to the left--more still. Make t=
he
breakfast."
At a quarter before eleven Mrs. Wragge (with h=
er
own entire concurrence) was dismissed to the back room, to bewilder herself=
over
the science of dressmaking for the rest of the day. Punctually as the clock
struck the hour, Mrs. Lecount and her master drove up to the gate of North =
Shingles,
and found Magdalen and Captain Wragge waiting for them in the garden.
On the way to Dunwich nothing occurred to dist=
urb
the enjoyment of the drive. Noel Vanstone was in excellent health and high
good-humor. Lecount had apologized for the little misunderstanding of the
previous night; Lecount had petitioned for the excursion as a treat to hers=
elf.
He thought of these concessions, and looked at Magdalen, and smirked and
simpered without intermission. Mrs. Lecount acted her part to perfection. S=
he
was motherly with Magdalen and tenderly attentive to Noel Vanstone. She was
deeply interested in Captain Wragge's conversation, and meekly disappointed=
to
find it turn on general subjects, to the exclusion of science. Not a word or
look escaped her which hinted in the remotest degree at her real purpose. S=
he
was dressed with her customary elegance and propriety; and she was the only=
one
of the party on that sultry summer's day who was perfectly cool in the hott=
est
part of the journey.
As they left the carriage on their arrival at
Dunwich, the captain seized a moment when Mrs. Lecount's eye was off him an=
d fortified
Magdalen by a last warning word.
"'Ware the cat!" he whispered. "=
;She
will show her claws on the way back."
They left the village and walked to the ruins =
of a
convent near at hand--the last relic of the once populous city of Dunwich w=
hich
has survived the destruction of the place, centuries since, by the all-devo=
uring
sea. After looking at the ruins, they sought the shade of a little wood bet=
ween
the village and the low sand-hills which overlook the German Ocean. Here
Captain Wragge maneuvered so as to let Magdalen and Noel Vanstone advance s=
ome
distance in front of Mrs. Lecount and himself, took the wrong path, and
immediately lost his way with the most consummate dexterity. After a few
minutes' wandering (in the wrong direction), he reached an open space near =
the
sea; and politely opening his camp-stool for the housekeeper's accommodatio=
n,
proposed waiting where they were until the missing members of the party came
that way and discovered them.
Mrs. Lecount accepted the proposal. She was
perfectly well aware that her escort had lost himself on purpose, but that
discovery exercised no disturbing influence on the smooth amiability of her
manner. Her day of reckoning with the captain had not come yet--she merely
added the new item to her list, and availed herself of the camp-stool. Capt=
ain
Wragge stretched himself in a romantic attitude at her feet, and the two de=
termined
enemies (grouped like two lovers in a picture) fell into as easy and pleasa=
nt a
conversation as if they had been friends of twenty years' standing.
"I know you, ma'am!" thought the
captain, while Mrs. Lecount was talking to him. "You would like to cat=
ch
me tripping in my ready-made science, and you wouldn't object to drown me in
the Professor's Tank!"
"You villain with the brown eye and the
green!" thought Mrs. Lecount, as the captain caught the ball of
conversation in his turn; "thick as your skin is, I'll sting you throu=
gh
it yet!"
In this frame of mind toward each other they
talked fluently on general subjects, on public affairs, on local scenery, on
society in England and society in Switzerland, on health, climate, books,
marriage and money--talked, without a moment's pause, without a single misu=
nderstanding
on either side for nearly an hour, before Magdalen and Noel Vanstone strayed
that way and made the party of four complete again.
When they reached the inn at which the carriage
was waiting for them, Captain Wragge left Mrs. Lecount in undisturbed
possession of her master, and signed to Magdalen to drop back for a moment =
and
speak to him.
"Well?" asked the captain, in a whis=
per,
"is he fast to your apron-string?"
She shuddered from head to foot as she answere=
d.
"He has kissed my hand," she said.
"Does that tell you enough? Don't let him sit next me on the way home!=
I
have borne all I can bear--spare me for the rest of the day."
"I'll put you on the front seat of the
carriage," replied the captain, "side by side with me."
On the journey back Mrs. Lecount verified Capt=
ain
Wragge's prediction. She showed her claws.
The time could not have been better chosen; the
circumstances could hardly have favored her more. Magdalen's spirits were
depressed: she was weary in body and mind; and she sat exactly opposite the
housekeeper, who had been compelled, by the new arrangement, to occupy the =
seat
of honor next her master. With every facility for observing the slightest c=
hanges
that passed over Magdalen's face, Mrs. Lecount tried he r first experiment =
by
leading the conversation to the subject of London, and to the relative
advantages offered to residents by the various quarters of the metropolis on
both sides of the river. The ever-ready Wragge penetrated her intention soo=
ner
than she had anticipated, and interposed immediately. "You're coming to
Vauxhall Walk, ma'am," thought the captain; "I'll get there before
you."
He entered at once into a purely fictitious
description of the various quarters of London in which he had himself resid=
ed;
and, adroitly mentioning Vauxhall Walk as one of them, saved Magdalen from =
the
sudden question relating to that very locality with which Mrs. Lecount had =
proposed
startling her, to begin with. From his residences he passed smoothly to
himself, and poured his whole family history (in the character of Mr. Bygra=
ve)
into the housekeeper's ears--not forgetting his brother's grave in Honduras,
with the monument by the self-taught negro artist, and his brother's hugely
corpulent widow, on the ground-floor of the boarding-house at Cheltenham. A=
s a
means of giving Magdalen time to compose herself, this outburst of
autobiographical information attained its object, but it answered no other
purpose. Mrs. Lecount listened, without being imposed on by a single word t=
he
captain said to her. He merely confirmed her conviction of the hopelessness=
of taking
Noel Vanstone into her confidence before she had facts to help her against
Captain Wragge's otherwise unassailable position in the identity which he h=
ad
assumed. She quietly waited until he had done, and then returned to the cha=
rge.
"It is a coincidence that your uncle shou=
ld
have once resided in Vauxhall Walk," she said, addressing herself to
Magdalen. "Mr. Noel has a house in the same place, and we lived there
before we came to Aldborough. May I inquire, Miss Bygrave, whether you know
anything of a lady named Miss Garth?"
This time she put the question before the capt=
ain
could interfere. Magdalen ought to have been prepared for it by what had
already passed in her presence, but her nerves had been shaken by the earli=
er
events of the day; and she could only answer the question in the negative,
after an instant's preliminary pause to control herself. Her hesitation was=
of
too momentary a nature to attract the attention of any unsuspicious person.=
But
it lasted long enough to confirm Mrs. Lecount's private convictions, and to
encourage her to advance a little further.
"I only asked," she continued, stead=
ily
fixing her eyes on Magdalen, steadily disregarding the efforts which Captain
Wragge made to join in the conversation, "because Miss Garth is a stra=
nger
to me, and I am curious to find out what I can about her. The day before we
left town, Miss Bygrave, a person who presented herself under the name I ha=
ve mentioned
paid us a visit under very extraordinary circumstances."
With a smooth, ingratiating manner, with a
refinement of contempt which was little less than devilish in its ingenious
assumption of the language of pity, she now boldly described Magdalen's
appearance in disguise in Magdalen's own presence. She slightingly referred=
to
the master and mistress of Combe-Raven as persons who had always annoyed th=
e elder
and more respectable branch of the family; she mourned over the children as
following their parents' example, and attempting to take a mercenary advant=
age
of Mr. Noel Vanstone, under the protection of a respectable person's charac=
ter
and a respectable person's name. Cleverly including her master in the
conversation, so as to prevent the captain from effecting a diversion in th=
at
quarter; sparing no petty aggravation; striking at every tender place which=
the
tongue of a spiteful woman can wound, she would, beyond all doubt, have car=
ried
her point, and tortured Magdalen into openly betraying herself, if Captain =
Wragge
had not checked her in full career by a loud exclamation of alarm, and a su=
dden
clutch at Magdalen's wrist.
"Ten thousand pardons, my dear madam!&quo=
t;
cried the captain. "I see in my niece's face, I feel in my niece's pul=
se,
that one of her violent neuralgic attacks has come on again. My dear girl, =
why
hesitate among friends to confess that you are in pain? What mistimed
politeness! Her face shows she is suffering--doesn't it Mrs. Lecount? Darti=
ng
pains, Mr. Vanstone, darting pains on the left side of the head. Pull down =
your
veil, my dear, and lean on me. Our friends will excuse you; our excellent
friends will excuse you for the rest of the day."
Before Mrs. Lecount could throw an instant's d=
oubt
on the genuineness of the neuralgic attack, her master's fidgety sympathy
declared itself exactly as the captain had anticipated, in the most active =
manifestations.
He stopped the carriage, and insisted on an immediate change in the arrange=
ment
of the places--the comfortable back seat for Miss Bygrave and her uncle, the
front seat for Lecount and himself. Had Lecount got her smelling-bottle?
Excellent creature! let her give it directly to Miss Bygrave, and let the
coachman drive carefully. If the coachman shook Miss Bygrave he should not =
have
a half-penny for himself. Mesmerism was frequently useful in these cases. M=
r.
Noel Vanstone's father had been the most powerful mesmerist in Europe, and =
Mr.
Noel Vanstone was his father's son. Might he mesmerize? Might he order that=
infernal
coachman to draw up in a shady place adapted for the purpose? Would medical
help be preferred? Could medical help be found any nearer than Aldborough? =
That
ass of a coachman didn't know. Stop every respectable man who passed in a g=
ig,
and ask him if he was a doctor! So Mr. Noel Vanstone ran on, with brief
intervals for breathing-time, in a continually-ascending scale of sympathy =
and
self-importance, throughout the drive home.
Mrs. Lecount accepted her defeat without utter=
ing
a word. From the moment when Captain Wragge interrupted her, her thin lips
closed and opened no more for the remainder of the journey. The warmest
expressions of her master's anxiety for the suffering young lady provoked f=
rom
her no outward manifestations of anger. She took as little notice of him as
possible. She paid no attention whatever to the captain, whose exasperating
consideration for his vanquished enemy made him more polite to her than eve=
r.
The nearer and the nearer they got to Aldborough the more and more fixedly =
Mrs.
Lecount's hard black eyes looked at Magdalen reclining on the opposite seat,
with her eyes closed and her veil down.
It was only when the carriage stopped at North
Shingles, and when Captain Wragge was handing Magdalen out, that the
housekeeper at last condescended to notice him. As he smiled and took off h=
is
hat at the carriage door, the strong restraint she had laid on herself sudd=
enly
gave way, and she flashed one look at him which scorched up the captain's
politeness on the spot. He turned at once, with a hasty acknowledgment of N=
oel
Vanstone's last sympathetic inquiries, and took Magdalen into the house.
"I told you she would show her claws," he said. "It is not my
fault that she scratched you before I could stop her. She hasn't hurt you, =
has
she?"
"She has hurt me, to some purpose," =
said
Magdalen--"she has given me the courage to go on. Say what must be done
to-morrow, and trust me to do it." She sighed heavily as she said those
words, and went up to her room.
Captain Wragge walked meditatively into the
parlor, and sat down to consider. He felt by no means so certain as he could
have wished of the next proceeding on the part of the enemy after the defea=
t of
that day. The housekeeper's farewell look had plainly informed him that she=
was
not at the end of her resources yet, and the old militia-man felt the full
importance of preparing himself in good time to meet the next step which she
took in advance. He lit a cigar, and bent his wary mind on the dangers of t=
he
future.
While Captain Wragge was considering in the pa=
rlor
at North Shingles, Mrs. Lecount was meditating in her bedroom at Sea View. =
Her
exasperation at the failure of her first attempt to expose the conspiracy h=
ad
not blinded her to the instant necessity of making a second effort before N=
oel
Vanstone's growing infatuation got beyond her control. The snare set for
Magdalen having failed, the chance of entrapping Magdalen's sister was the =
next
chance to try. Mrs. Lecount ordered a cup of tea, opened her writing-case, =
and
began the rough draft of a letter to be sent to Miss Vanstone, the elder, by
the morrow's post.
So the day's skirmish ended. The heat of the
battle was yet to come.
ALL human penetration has its limits. Accurate=
ly
as Captain Wragge had seen his way hitherto, even his sharp insight was now=
at
fault. He finished his cigar with the mortifying conviction that he was tot=
ally
unprepared for Mrs. Lecount's next proceeding. In this emergency, his exper=
ience
warned him that there was one safe course, and one only, which he could tak=
e.
He resolved to try the confusing effect on the housekeeper of a complete ch=
ange
of tactics before she had time to press her advantage and attack him in the
dark. With this view he sent the servant upstairs to request that Miss Bygr=
ave
would come down and speak to him.
"I hope I don't disturb you," said t=
he
captain, when Magdalen entered the room. "Allow me to apologize for the
smell of tobacco, and to say two words on the subject of our next proceedin=
gs.
To put it with my customary frankness, Mrs. Lecount puzzles me, and I propo=
se
to return the compliment by puzzling her. The course of action which I have=
to suggest
is a very simple one. I have had the honor of giving you a severe neuralgic
attack already, and I beg your permission (when Mr. Noel Vanstone sends to
inquire to-morrow morning) to take the further liberty of laying you up
altogether. Question from Sea-view Cottage: 'How is Miss Bygrave this morni=
ng?'
Answer from North Shingles: 'Much worse: Miss Bygrave is confined to her ro=
om.'
Question repeated every day, say for a fortnight: 'How is Miss Bygrave?' An=
swer
repeated, if necessary, for the same time: 'No better.' Can you bear the im=
prisonment?
I see no objection to your getting a breath of fresh air the first thing in=
the
morning, or the last thing at night. But for the whole of the day, there is=
no
disguising it, you must put yourself in the same category with Mrs. Wragge-=
-you
must keep your room."
"What is your object in wishing me to do
this?" inquired Magdalen.
"My object is twofold," replied the
captain. "I blush for my own stupidity; but the fact is, I can't see my
way plainly to Mrs. Lecount's next move. All I feel sure of is, that she me=
ans
to make another attempt at opening her master's eyes to the truth. Whatever
means she may employ to discover your identity, personal communication with=
you
must be necessary to the accomplishment of her object. Very good. If I stop=
that
communication, I put an obstacle in her way at starting--or, as we say at
cards, I force her hand. Do you see the point?"
Magdalen saw it plainly. The captain went on.<= o:p>
"My second reason for shutting you up,&qu=
ot;
he said, "refers entirely to Mrs. Lecount's master. The growth of love=
, my
dear girl, is, in one respect, unlike all other growths--it flourishes under
adverse circumstances. Our first course of action is to make Mr. Noel Vanst=
one feel
the charm of your society. Our next is to drive him distracted by the loss =
of
it. I should have proposed a few more meetings, with a view to furthering t=
his
end, but for our present critical position toward Mrs. Lecount. As it is, we
must trust to the effect you produced yesterday, and try the experiment of a
sudden separation rather sooner than I could have otherwise wished. I shall=
see
Mr. Noel Vanstone, though you don't; and if there is a raw place established
anywhere about the region of that gentleman's heart, trust me to hit him on=
it!
You are now in full possession of my views. Take your time to consider, and
give me your answer--Yes or no."
"Any change is for the better," said
Magdalen "which keeps me out of the company of Mrs. Lecount and her
master! Let it be as you wish."
She had hitherto answered faintly and wearily;=
but
she spoke those last words with a heightened tone and a rising color--signs
which warned Captain Wragge not to press her further.
"Very good," said the captain. "=
;As
usual, we understand each other. I see you are tired; and I won't detain you
any longer."
He rose to open the door, stopped half-way to =
it,
and came back again. "Leave me to arrange matters with the servant
downstairs," he continued. "You can't absolutely keep your bed, a=
nd
we must purchase the girl's discretion when she answers the door, without
taking her into our confidence, of course. I will make her understand that =
she
is to say you are ill, just as she might say you are not at home, as a way =
of
keeping unwelcome acquaintances out of the house. Allow me to open the door=
for
you--I beg your pardon, you are going into Mrs. Wragge's work-room instead =
of
going to your own."
"I know I am," said Magdalen. "I
wish to remove Mrs. Wragge from the miserable room she is in now, and to ta=
ke
her upstairs with me."
"For the evening?"
"For the whole fortnight."
Captain Wragge followed her into the dining-ro=
om,
and wisely closed the door before he spoke again.
"Do you seriously mean to inflict my wife=
's
society on yourself for a fortnight?" he asked, in great surprise.
"Your wife is the only innocent creature =
in
this guilty house," she burst out vehemently. "I must and will ha=
ve
her with me!"
"Pray don't agitate yourself," said =
the
captain. "Take Mrs. Wragge, by all means. I don't want her." Havi=
ng
resigned the partner of his existence in those terms, he discreetly returne=
d to
the parlor. "The weakness of the sex!" thought the captain, tappi=
ng
his sagacious head. "Lay a strain on the female intellect, and the fem=
ale
temper gives way directly."
The strain to which the captain alluded was not
confined that evening to the female intellect at North Shingles: it extende=
d to
the female intellect at Sea View. For nearly two hours Mrs. Lecount sat at =
her desk
writing, correcting, and writing again, before she could produce a letter to
Miss Vanstone, the elder, which exactly accomplished the object she wanted =
to
attain. At last the rough draft was completed to her satisfaction; and she =
made
a fair copy of it forthwith, to be posted the next day.
Her letter thus produced was a masterpiece of =
ingenuity.
After the first preliminary sentences, the housekeeper plainly informed Nor=
ah
of the appearance of the visitor in disguise at Vauxhall Walk; of the conve=
rsation
which passed at the interview; and of her own suspicion that the person
claiming to be Miss Garth was, in all probability, the younger Miss Vanstone
herself. Having told the truth thus far, Mrs. Lecount next proceeded to say
that her master was in possession of evidence which would justify him in
putting the law in force; that he knew the conspiracy with which he was
threatened to be then in process of direction against him at Aldborough; and
that he only hesitated to protect himself in deference to family
considerations, and in the hope that the elder Miss Vanstone might so influ=
ence
her sister as to render it unnecessary to proceed to extremities.
Under these circumstances (the letter continue=
d)
it was plainly necessary that the disguised visitor to Vauxhall Walk should=
be
properly identified; for if Mrs. Lecount's guess proved to be wrong, and if=
the
person turned out to be a stranger, Mr. Noel Vanstone was positively resolv=
ed
to prosecute in his own defense. Events at Aldborough, on which it was not
necessary to dwell, would enable Mrs. Lecount in a few days to gain sight of
the suspected person in her own character. But as the housekeeper was entir=
ely
unacquainted with the younger Miss Vanstone, it was obviously desirable that
some better informed person should, in this particular, take the matter in
hand. If the elder Miss Vanstone happened to be at liberty to come to
Aldborough herself, would she kindly write and say so? and Mrs. Lecount wou=
ld
write back again to appoint a day. If, on the other hand, Miss Vanstone was
prevented from taking the journey, Mrs. Lecount suggested that her reply sh=
ould
contain the fullest description of her sister's personal appearance--should
mention any little peculiarities which might exist in the way of marks on h=
er face
or her hands--and should state (in case she had written lately) what the
address was in her last letter, and failing that, what the post-mark was on=
the
envelope. With this information to help her, Mrs. Lecount would, in the
interest of the misguided young lady herself, accept the responsibility of
privately identifying her, and would write back immediately to acquaint the
elder Miss Vanstone with the result.
The difficulty of sending this letter to the r=
ight
address gave Mrs. Lecount very little trouble. Remembering the name of the
lawyer who had pleaded the cause of the two sisters in Michael Vanstone's t=
ime,
she directed her letter to "Miss Vanstone, care of----Pendril, Esquire=
, London."
This she inclosed in a second envelope, addressed to Mr. Noel Vanstone's
solicitor, with a line inside, requesting that gentleman to send it at once=
to
the office of Mr. Pendril.
"Now," thought Mrs. Lecount, as she
locked the letter up in her desk, preparatory to posting it the next day wi=
th
her own hand, "now I have got her!"
=
The
next morning the servant from Sea View came, with her master's compliments,=
to
make inquiries after Miss Bygrave's health. Captain Wragge's bulletin was d=
uly
announced--Miss Bygrave was so ill as to be confined to her room.
On the reception of this intelligence, Noel
Vanstone's anxiety led him to call at North Shingles himself when he went o=
ut
for his afternoon walk. Miss Bygrave was no better. He inquired if he could=
see
Mr. Bygrave. The worthy captain was prepared to meet this emergency. He tho=
ught
a little irritating suspense would do Noel Vanstone no harm, and he had
carefully charged the servant, in case of necessity, with her answer: "=
;Mr.
Bygrave begged to be excused; he was not able to see any one."
On the second day inquiries were made as befor=
e,
by message in the morning, and by Noel Vanstone himself in the afternoon. T=
he
morning answer (relating to Magdalen) was, "a shade better." The
afternoon answer (relating to Captain Wragge) was, "Mr. Bygrave has ju=
st
gone out." That evening Noel Vanstone's temper was very uncertain, and
Mrs. Lecount's patience and tact were sorely tried in the effort to avoid o=
ffending
him.
On the third morning the report of the sufferi=
ng
young lady was less favorable--"Miss Bygrave was still very poorly, and
not able to leave her bed." The servant returning to Sea View with this
message, met the postman, and took into the breakfast-room with her two let=
ters
addressed to Mrs. Lecount.
The first letter was in a handwriting familiar=
to
the housekeeper. It was from the medical attendant on her invalid brother at
Zurich; and it announced that the patient's malady had latterly altered in =
so
marked a manner for the better that there was every hope now of preserving =
his life.
The address on the second letter was in a stra=
nge
handwriting. Mrs. Lecount, concluding that it was the answer from Miss
Vanstone, waited to read it until breakfast was over, and she could retire =
to
her own room.
She opened the letter, looked at once for the =
name
at the end, and started a little as she read it. The signature was not
"Norah Vanstone," but "Harriet Garth."
=
Miss
Garth announced that the elder Miss Vanstone had, a week since, accepted an
engagement as governess, subject to the condition of joining the family of =
her
employer at their temporary residence in the south of France, and of return=
ing
with them when they came back to England, probably in a month or six weeks'
time. During the interval of this necessary absence Miss Vanstone had reque=
sted
Miss Garth to open all her letters, her main object in making that arrangem=
ent
being to provide for the speedy answering of any communication which might
arrive for her from her sister. Miss Magdalen Vanstone had not written since
the middle of July--on which occasion the postmark on the letter showed tha=
t it
must have been posted in London, in the district of Lambeth--and her elder
sister had left England in a state of the most distressing anxiety on her
account.
Having completed this explanation, Miss Garth =
then
mentioned that family circumstances prevented her from traveling personally=
to
Aldborough to assist Mrs. Lecount's object, but that she was provided with =
a substitute;
in every way fitter for the purpose, in the person of Mr. Pendril. That
gentleman was well acquainted with Miss Magdalen Vanstone, and his professi=
onal
experience and discretion would render his assistance doubly valuable. He h=
ad
kindly consented to travel to Aldborough whenever it might be thought
necessary. But as his time was very valuable, Miss Garth specially requested
that he might not be sent for until Mrs. Lecount was quite sure of the day =
on
which his services might be required.
While proposing this arrangement, Miss Garth a=
dded
that she thought it right to furnish her correspondent with a written
description of the younger Miss Vanstone as well. An emergency might happen
which would allow Mrs. Lecount no time for securing Mr. Pendril's services;=
and
the execution of Mr. Noel Vanstone's intentions toward the unhappy girl who=
was
the object of his forbearance might be fatally delayed by an unforeseen
difficulty in establishing her identity. The personal description, transmit=
ted
under these circumstances, then followed. It omitted no personal peculiarit=
y by
which Magdalen could be recognized, and it included the "two little mo=
les
close together on the left side of the neck," which had been formerly
mentioned in the printed handbills sent to York.
In conclusion, Miss Garth expressed her fears =
that
Mrs. Lecount's suspicions were only too likely to be proved true. While,
however, there was the faintest chance that the conspiracy might turn out t=
o be
directed by a stranger, Miss Garth felt bound, in gratitude toward Mr. Noel
Vanstone, to assist the legal proceedings which would in that case be
instituted. She accordingly appended her own formal denial--which she would
personally repeat if necessary--of any identity between herself and the per=
son
in disguise who had made use of her name. She was the Miss Garth who had fi=
lled
the situation of the late Mr. Andrew Vanstone's governess, and she had neve=
r in
her life been in, or near, the neighborhood of Vauxhall Wall.
With this disclaimer, and with the writer's
fervent assurances that she would do all for Magdalen's advantage which her
sister might have done if her sister had been in England, the letter conclu=
ded.
It was signed in full, and was dated with the business-like accuracy in such
matters which had always distinguished Miss Garth's character.
=
This
letter placed a formidable weapon in the housekeeper's hands.
It provided a means of establishing Magdalen's
identity through the intervention of a lawyer by profession. It contained a
personal description minute enough to be used to advantage, if necessary,
before Mr. Pendril's appearance. It presented a signed exposure of the fals=
e Miss
Garth under the hand of the true Miss Garth; and it established the fact th=
at
the last letter received by the elder Miss Vanstone from the younger had be=
en
posted (and therefore probably written) in the neighborhood of Vauxhall Wal=
k.
If any later letter had been received with the Aldborough postmark, the cha=
in
of evidence, so far as the question of localities was concerned, might
doubtless have been more complete. But as it was, there was testimony enough
(aided as that testimony might be by the fragment of the brown alpaca dress
still in Mrs. Lecount's possession) to raise the veil which hung over the c=
onspiracy,
and to place Mr. Noel Vanstone face to face with the plain and startling tr=
uth.
The one obstacle which now stood in the way of
immediate action on the housekeeper's part was the obstacle of Miss Bygrave=
's
present seclusion within the limits of her own room. The question of gaining
personal access to her was a question which must be decided before any comm=
unication
could be opened with Mr. Pendril. Mrs. Lecount put on her bonnet at once, a=
nd
called at North Shingles to try what discoveries she could make for herself
before post-time.
On this occasion Mr. Bygrave was at home, and =
she
was admitted without the least difficulty.
Careful consideration that morning had dec ided
Captain Wragge on advancing matters a little nearer to the crisis. The mean=
s by
which he proposed achieving this result made it necessary for him to see th=
e housekeeper
and her master separately, and to set them at variance by producing two tot=
ally
opposite impressions relating to himself on their minds. Mrs. Lecount's vis=
it,
therefore, instead of causing him any embarrassment, was the most welcome
occurrence he could have wished for. He received her in the parlor with a
marked restraint of manner for which she was quite unprepared. His ingratia=
ting
smile was gone, and an impenetrable solemnity of countenance appeared in its
stead.
"I have ventured to intrude on you,
sir," said Mrs. Lecount, "to express the regret with which both my
master and I have heard of Miss Bygrave's illness. Is there no improvement?=
"
"No, ma'am," replied the captain, as
briefly as possible. "My niece is no better."
"I have had some experience, Mr. Bygrave,=
in
nursing. If I could be of any use--"
"Thank you, Mrs. Lecount. There is no
necessity for our taking advantage of your kindness."
This plain answer was followed by a moment's
silence. The housekeeper felt some little perplexity. What had become of Mr.
Bygrave's elaborate courtesy, and Mr. Bygrave's many words? Did he want to
offend her? If he did, Mrs. Lecount then and there determined that he should
not gain his object.
"May I inquire the nature of the
illness?" she persisted. "It is not connected, I hope, with our
excursion to Dunwich?"
"I regret to say, ma'am," replied the
captain, "it began with that neuralgic attack in the carriage."
"So! so!" thought Mrs. Lecount. &quo=
t;He
doesn't even try to make me think the illness a real one; he throws off the
mask at starting.--Is it a nervous illness, sir?" she added, aloud.
The captain answered by a solemn affirmative
inclination of the head.
"Then you have two nervous sufferers in t=
he
house, Mr. Bygrave?"
"Yes, ma'am--two. My wife and my niece.&q=
uot;
"That is rather a strange coincidence of
misfortunes."
"It is, ma'am. Very strange."
In spite of Mrs. Lecount's resolution not to b=
e offended,
Captain Wragge's exasperating insensibility to every stroke she aimed at hi=
m began
to ruffle her. She was conscious of some little difficulty in securing her
self-possession before she could say anything more.
"Is there no immediate hope," she re=
sumed,
"of Miss Bygrave being able to leave her room?"
"None whatever, ma'am."
"You are satisfied, I suppose, with the
medical attendance?"
"I have no medical attendance," said=
the
captain, composedly. "I watch the case myself."
The gathering venom in Mrs. Lecount swelled up=
at
that reply, and overflowed at her lips.
"Your smattering of science, sir," s=
he
said, with a malicious smile, "includes, I presume, a smattering of
medicine as well?"
"It does, ma'am," answered the capta=
in,
without the slightest disturbance of face or manner. "I know as much of
one as I do of the other."
The tone in which he spoke those words left Mr=
s.
Lecount but one dignified alternative. She rose to terminate the interview.=
The
temptation of the moment proved too much for her, and she could not resist
casting the shadow of a threat over Captain Wragge at parting.
"I defer thanking you, sir, for the manne=
r in
which you have received me," she said, "until I can pay my debt of
obligation to some purpose. In the meantime I am glad to infer, from the
absence of a medical attendant in the house, that Miss Bygrave's illness is
much less serious than I had supposed it to be when I came here."
"I never contradict a lady, ma'am,"
rejoined the incorrigible captain. "If it is your pleasure, when we ne=
xt
meet to think my niece quite well, I shall bow resignedly to the expression=
of
your opinion." With those words, he followed the housekeeper into the
passage, and politely opened the door for her. "I mark the trick,
ma'am!" he said to himself, as he closed it again. "The trump-car=
d in
your hand is a sight of my niece, and I'll take care you don't play it!&quo=
t;
He returned to the parlor, and composedly awai=
ted
the next event which was likely to happen--a visit from Mrs. Lecount's mast=
er.
In less than an hour results justified Captain Wragge's anticipations, and =
Noel
Vanstone walked in.
"My dear sir!" cried the captain,
cordially seizing his visitor's reluctant hand, "I know what you have =
come
for. Mrs. Lecount has told you of her visit here, and has no doubt declared
that my niece's illness is a mere subterfuge. You feel surprised--you feel
hurt--you suspect me of trifling with your kind sympathies--in short, you
require an explanation. That explanation you shall have. Take a seat. Mr.
Vanstone. I am about to throw myself on your sense and judgment as a man of=
the
world. I acknowledge that we are in a false position, sir; and I tell you
plainly at the outset--your housekeeper is the cause of it."
For once in his life, Noel Vanstone opened his=
eyes.
"Lecount!" he exclaimed, in the utmost bewilderment.
"The same, sir," replied Captain Wra=
gge.
"I am afraid I offended Mrs. Lecount, when she came here this morning,=
by
a want of cordiality in my manner. I am a plain man, and I can't assume wha=
t I
don't feel. Far be it from me to breathe a word against your housekeeper's
character. She is, no doubt, a most excellent and trustworthy woman, but she
has one serious failing common to persons at her time of life who occupy he=
r situation--she
is jealous of her influence over her master, although you may not have obse=
rved
it."
"I beg your pardon," interposed Noel
Vanstone; "my observation is remarkably quick. Nothing escapes me.&quo=
t;
"In that case, sir," resumed the
captain, "you cannot fail to have noticed that Mrs. Lecount has allowed
her jealousy to affect her conduct toward my niece?"
Noel Vanstone thought of the domestic passage =
at
arms between Mrs. Lecount and himself when his guests of the evening had le=
ft
Sea View, and failed to see his way to any direct reply. He expressed the
utmost surprise and distress--he thought Lecount had done her best to be ag=
reeable
on the drive to Dunwich--he hoped and trusted there was some unfortunate
mistake.
"Do you mean to say, sir," pursued t=
he
captain, severely, "that you have not noticed the circumstance yoursel=
f?
As a man of honor and a man of observation, you can't tell me that! Your
housekeeper's superficial civility has not hidden your housekeeper's real
feeling. My niece has seen it, and so have you, and so have I. My niece, Mr.
Vanstone, is a sensitive, high-spirited girl; and she has positively declin=
ed
to cultivate Mrs. Lecount's society for the future. Don't misunderstand me!=
To
my niece as well as to myself, the attraction of your society, Mr. Vanstone,
remains the same. Miss Bygrave simply declines to be an apple of discord (if
you will permit the classical allusion) cast into your household. I think s=
he
is right so far, and I frankly confess that I have exaggerated a nervous
indisposition, from which she is really suffering, into a serious
illness--purely and entirely to prevent these two ladies for the present fr=
om
meeting every day on the Parade, and from carrying unpleasant impressions of
each other into your domestic establishment and mine."
"I allow nothing unpleasant in my
establishment," remarked Noel Vanstone. "I'm master--you must have
noticed that already, Mr. Bygrave--I'm master."
"No doubt of it, my dear sir. But to live
morning, noon, and night in the perpetual exercise of your authority is mor=
e like
the life of a governor of a prison than the life of a master of a household.
The wear and tear--consider the wear and tear."
"It strikes you in that light, does it?&q=
uot;
said Noel Vanstone, soothed by Captain Wragge's ready recognition of his
authority. "I don't know that you're not right. But I must take some s=
teps
directly. I won't be made ridiculous--I'll send Lecount away altogether, so=
oner
than be made ridiculous." His color rose, and he folded his little arms
fiercely. Captain Wragge's artfully irritating explanation had awakened tha=
t dormant
suspicion of his housekeeper's influence over him which habitually lay hidd=
en
in his mind, and which Mrs. Lecount was now not present to charm back to re=
pose
as usual. "What must Miss Bygrave think of me!" he exclaimed, wit=
h a
sudden outburst of vexation. "I'll send Lecount away. Damme, I'll send
Lecount away on the spot!"
"No, no, no!" said the captain, whose interest it was to avoid driving Mrs. Lecount to any desperate extremities. "Why take strong measures when mild measures will do? Mrs. Lecount is = an old servant; Mrs. Lecount is attached and useful. She has this little drawb= ack of jealousy--jealousy of her domestic position with her bachelor master. She sees you paying courteous attention to a handsome young lady; she sees that young lady properly sensible of your politeness; and, poor soul, she loses = her temper! What is the obvious remedy? Humor her--make a manly concession to t= he weaker sex. If Mrs. Lecount is with you, the next time we meet on the Parad= e, walk the other way. If Mrs. Lecount is not with you, give us the pleasure of your company by all means. In short, my dear sir, try the suaviter in modo (as we classical men say) before you commit yourself to the fortiter in re!"<= o:p>
There was one excellent reason why Noel Vansto=
ne
should take Captain Wragge's conciliatory advice. An open rupture with Mrs.
Lecount--even if he could have summoned the courage to face it--would imply=
the
recognition of her claims to a provision, in acknowledgment of the services=
she
had rendered to his father and to himself. His sordid nature quailed within=
him
at the bare prospect of expressing the emotion of gratitude in a pecuniary
form; and, after first consulting appearances by a show of hesitation, he
consented to adopt the captain's suggestion, and to humor Mrs. Lecount.
"But I must be considered in this
matter," proceeded Noel Vanstone. "My concession to Lecount's
weakness must not be misunderstood. Miss Bygrave must not be allowed to sup=
pose
I am afraid of my housekeeper."
The captain declared that no such idea ever had
entered, or ever could enter, Miss Bygrave's mind. Noel Vanstone returned to
the subject nevertheless, again and again, with his customary pertinacity.
Would it be indiscreet if he asked leave to set himself right personally wi=
th Miss
Bygrave? Was there any hope that he might have the happiness of seeing her =
on
that day? or, if not, on the next day? or if not, on the day after? Captain
Wragge answered cautiously: he felt the importance of not rousing Noel Vans=
tone's
distrust by too great an alacrity in complying with his wishes.
"An interview to-day, my dear sir, is out=
of
the question," he said. "She is not well enough; she wants repose.
To-morrow I propose taking her out before the heat of the day begins--not
merely to avoid embarrassment, after what has happened with Mrs. Lecount, b=
ut
because the morning air and the morning quiet are essential in these nervou=
s cases.
We are early people here--we shall start at seven o'clock. If you are early,
too, and if you would like to join us, I need hardly say that we can feel no
objection to your company on our morning walk. The hour, I am aware, is an
unusual one--but later in the day my niece may be resting on the sofa, and =
may
not be able to see visitors."
Having made this proposal purely for the purpo=
se
of enabling Noel Vanstone to escape to North Shingles at an hour in the mor=
ning
when his housekeeper would be probably in bed, Captain Wragge left him to t=
ake the
hint, if he could, as indirectly as it had been given. He proved sharp enou=
gh
(the case being one in which his own interests were concerned) to close with
the proposal on the spot. Politely declaring that he was always an early man
when the morning presented any special attraction to him, he accepted the a=
ppointment
for seven o'clock, and rose soon afterward to take his leave.
"One word at parting," said Captain
Wragge. "This conversation is entirely between ourselves. Mrs. Lecount
must know nothing of the impression she has produced on my niece. I have on=
ly
mentioned it to you to account for my apparently churlish conduct and to
satisfy your own mind. In confidence, Mr. Vanstone--strictly in confidence.=
Good-morning!"
With these parting words, the captain bowed his
visitor out. Unless some unexpected disaster occurred, he now saw his way
safely to the end of the enterprise. He had gained two important steps in
advance that morning. He had sown the seeds of variance between the houseke=
eper
and her master, and he had given Noel Vanstone a common interest with Magda=
len
and himself, in keeping a secret from Mrs. Lecount. "We have caught our
man," thought Captain Wragge, cheerfully rubbing his hands--"we h=
ave
caught our man at last!"
On leaving North Shingles Noel Vanstone walked
straight home, fully restored to his place in his own estimation, and stern=
ly
determined to carry matters with a high hand if he found himself in collisi=
on
with Mrs. Lecount.
The housekeeper received her master at the door
with her mildest manner and her gentlest smile. She addressed him with down=
cast
eyes; she opposed to his contemplated assertion of independence a barrier o=
f impenetrable
respect.
"May I venture to ask, sir," she beg=
an,
"if your visit to North Shingles has led you to form the same conclusi=
on
as mine on the subject of Miss Bygrave's illness?"
"Certainly not, Lecount. I consider your
conclusion to have been both hasty and prejudiced."
"I am sorry to hear it, sir. I felt hurt =
by
Mr. Bygrave's rude reception of me, but I was not aware that my judgment was
prejudiced by it. Perhaps he received you, sir, with a warmer welcome?"=
;
"He received me like a gentleman--that is=
all
I think it necessary to say, Lecount--he received me like a gentleman."=
;
This answer satisfied Mrs. Lecount on the one
doubtful point that had perplexed her. Whatever Mr. Bygrave's sudden coolne=
ss
toward herself might mean, his polite reception of her master implied that =
the
risk of detection had not daunted him, and that the plot was still in full
progress. The housekeeper's eyes brightened; she had expressly calculated on
this result. After a moment's thinking, she addressed her master with anoth=
er
question: "You will probably visit Mr. Bygrave again, sir?"
"Of course I shall visit him--if I
please."
"And perhaps see Miss Bygrave, if she gets
better?"
"Why not? I should be glad to know why no=
t?
Is it necessary to ask your leave first, Lecount?"
"By no means, sir. As you have often said
(and as I have often agreed with you), you are master. It may surprise you =
to
hear it, Mr. Noel, but I have a private reason for wishing that you should =
see
Miss Bygrave again."
Mr. Noel started a little, and looked at his
housekeeper with some curiosity.
"I have a strange fancy of my own, sir, a=
bout
that young lady," proceeded Mrs. Lecount. "If you will excuse my
fancy, and indulge it, you will do me a favor for which I shall be very
grateful."
"A fancy?" repeated her master, in
growing surprise. "What fancy?"
"Only this, sir," said Mrs. Lecount.=
She took from one of the neat little pockets of
her apron a morsel of note-paper, carefully folded into the smallest possib=
le
compass, and respectfully placed it in Noel Vanstone's hands.
"If you are willing to oblige an old and
faithful servant, Mr. Noel," she said, in a very quiet and very impres=
sive
manner, "you will kindly put that morsel of paper into your waistcoat
pocket; you will open and read it, for the first time, when you are next in
Miss Bygrave's company, and you will say nothing of what has now passed bet=
ween
us to any living creature, from this time to that. I promise to explain my =
strange
request, sir, when you have done what I ask, and when your next interview w=
ith
Miss Bygrave has come to an end."
She courtesied with her best grace, and quietly
left the room.
Noel Vanstone looked from the folded paper to =
the
door, and from the door back to the folded paper, in unutterable astonishme=
nt.
A mystery in his own house! under his own nose! What did it mean?
It meant that Mrs. Lecount had not wasted her =
time
that morning. While the captain was casting the net over his visitor at Nor=
th
Shingles, the housekeeper was steadily mining the ground under his feet. The
folded paper contained nothing less than a carefully written extract from t=
he personal
description of Magdalen in Miss Garth's letter. With a daring ingenuity whi=
ch
even Captain Wragge might have envied, Mrs. Lecount had found her instrument
for exposing the conspiracy in the unsuspecting person of the victim himsel=
f!
CHAPTER
VII.
LATE that evening, when Magdalen and Mrs. Wrag=
ge
came back from their walk in the dark, the captain stopped Magdalen on her =
way
upstairs to inform her of the proceedings of the day. He added the expressi=
on
of his opinion that the time had come for bringing Noel Vanstone, with the
least possible delay, to the point of making a proposal. She merely answered
that she understood him, and that she would do what was required of her.
Captain Wragge requested her in that case to oblige him by joining a walking
excursion in Mr. Noel Vanstone's company at seven o'clock the next morning.
"I will be ready," she replied. "Is there anything more?&quo=
t;
There was nothing more. Magdalen bade him good-night and returned to her own
room.
She had shown the same disinclination to remain
any longer than was necessary in the captain's company throughout the three
days of her seclusion in the house.
During all that time, instead of appearing to
weary of Mrs. Wragge's society, she had patiently, almost eagerly, associat=
ed
herself with her companion's one absorbing pursuit. She who had often chafed
and fretted in past days under the monotony of her life in the freedom of C=
ombe-Raven,
now accepted without a murmur the monotony of her life at Mrs. Wragge's
work-table. She who had hated the sight of her needle and thread in old
times--who had never yet worn an article of dress of her own making--now to=
iled
as anxiously over the making of Mrs. Wragge's gown, and bore as patiently w=
ith
Mrs. Wragge's blunders, as if the sole object of her existence had been the
successful completion of that one dress. Anything was welcome to her--the
trivial difficulties of fitting a gown: the small, ceaseless chatter of the
poor half-witted creature who was so proud of her assistance, and so happy =
in
her company--anything was welcome that shut her out from the coming future,=
from
the destiny to which she stood self-condemned. That sorely-wounded nature w=
as
soothed by such a trifle now as the grasp of her companion's rough and frie=
ndly
hand--that desolate heart was cheered, when night parted them, by Mrs. Wrag=
ge's
kiss.
The captain's isolated position in the house
produced no depressing effect on the captain's easy and equal spirits. Inst=
ead
of resenting Magdalen's systematic avoidance of his society, he looked to
results, and highly approved of it. The more she neglected him for his wife=
the
more directly useful she became in the character of Mrs. Wragge's self-appo=
inted
guardian. He had more than once seriously contemplated revoking the concess=
ion
which had been extorted from him, and removing his wife, at his own sole
responsibility, out of harm's way; and he had only abandoned the idea on
discovering that Magdalen's resolution to keep Mrs. Wragge in her own compa=
ny
was really serious. While the two were together, his main anxiety was set at
rest. They kept their door locked by his own desire while he was out of the
house, and, whatever Mrs. Wragge might do, Magdalen was to be trusted not to
open it until he came back. That night Captain Wragge enjoyed his cigar wit=
h a
mind at ease, and sipped his brandy-and-water in happy ignorance of the pit=
fall
which Mrs. Lecount had prepared for him in the morning.
Punctually at seven o'clock Noel Vanstone made=
his
appearance. The moment he entered the room Captain Wragge detected a change=
in
his visitor's look and manner. "Something wrong!" thought the
captain. "We have not done with Mrs. Lecount yet."
"How is Miss Bygrave this morning?"
asked Noel Vanstone. "Well enough, I hope, for our early walk?" H=
is
half-closed eyes, weak and watery with the morning light and the morning ai=
r,
looked about the room furtively, and he shifted his place in a restless man=
ner
from one chair to another, as he made those polite inquiries.
"My niece is better--she is dressing for =
the
walk," replied the captain, steadily observing his restless little fri=
end
while he spoke. "Mr. Vanstone!" he added, on a sudden, "I am=
a
plain Englishman--excuse my blunt way of speaking my mind. You don't meet me
this morning as cordially as you met me yesterday. There is something unset=
tled
in your face. I distrust that housekeeper of yours, sir! Has she been presu=
ming
on your forbearance? Has she been trying to poison your mind against me or =
my
niece?"
If Noel Vanstone had obeyed Mrs. Lecount's
injunctions, and had kept her little morsel of note-paper folded in his poc=
ket
until the time came to use it, Captain Wragge's designedly blunt appeal mig=
ht
not have found him unprepared with an answer. But curiosity had got the bet=
ter
of him; he had opened the note at night, and again in the morning; it had s=
eriously
perplexed and startled him; and it had left his mind far too disturbed to a=
llow
him the possession of his ordinary resources. He hesitated; and his answer,
when he succeeded in making it, began with a prevarication.
Captain Wragge stopped him before he had got
beyond his first sentence.
"Pardon me, sir," said the captain, =
in
his loftiest manner. "If you have secrets to keep, you have only to say
so, and I have done. I intrude on no man's secrets. At the same time, Mr.
Vanstone, you must allow me to recall to your memory that I met you yesterd=
ay
without any reserves on my side. I admitted you to my frankest and fullest
confidence, sir--and, highly as I prize the advantages of your society, I c=
an't
consent to cultivate your friendship on any other than equal terms." He
threw open his respectable frock-coat and surveyed his visitor with a manly=
and
virtuous severity.
"I mean no offense!" cried Noel
Vanstone, piteously. "Why do you interrupt me, Mr. Bygrave? Why don't =
you
let me explain? I mean no offense."
"No offense is taken, sir," said the
captain. "You have a perfect right to the exercise of your own discret=
ion.
I am not offended--I only claim for myself the same privilege which I accor=
d to
you." He rose with great dignity and rang the bell. "Tell Miss
Bygrave," he said to the servant, "that our walk this morning is =
put
off until another opportunity, and that I won't trouble her to come
downstairs."
This strong proceeding had the desired effect.
Noel Vanstone vehemently pleaded for a moment's private conversation before=
the
message was delivered. Captain Wragge's severity partially relaxed. He sent=
the
servant downstairs again, and, resuming his chair, waited confidently for
results. In calculating the facilities for practicing on his visitor's
weakness, he had one great superiority over Mrs. Lecount. His judgment was =
not
warped by latent female jealousies, and he avoided the error into which the
housekeeper had fallen, self-deluded--the error of underrating the impressi=
on
on Noel Vanstone that Magdalen had produced. One of the forces in this world
which no middle-aged woman is capable of estimating at its full value, when=
it
acts against her, is the force of beauty in a woman younger than herself.
"You are so hasty, Mr. Bygrave--you won't
give me time--you won't wait and hear what I have to say!" cried Noel
Vanstone, piteously, when the servant had closed the parlor door.
"My family failing, sir--the blood of the
Bygraves. Accept my excuses. We are alone, as you wished; pray proceed.&quo=
t;
Placed between the alternatives of losing
Magdalen's society or betraying Mrs. Lecount, unenlightened by any suspicio=
n of
the housekeeper's ultimate object, cowed by the immovable scrutiny of Capta=
in
Wragge's inquiring eye, Noel Vanstone was not long in making his choice. He
confusedly described his singular interview of the previous evening with Mr=
s.
Lecount, and, taking the folded paper from his pocket, placed it in the
captain's hand.
A suspicion of the truth dawned on Captain
Wragge's mind the moment he saw the mysterious note. He withdrew to the win=
dow before
he opened it. The first lines that attracted his attention were these:
"Oblige me, Mr. Noel, by comparing the young lady who is now in your
company with the personal description which follows these lines, and which =
has
been communicated to me by a friend. You shall know the name of the person =
described--which
I have left a blank--as soon as the evidence of your own eyes has forced yo=
u to
believe what you would refuse to credit on the unsupported testimony of
Virginie Lecount."
That was enough for the captain. Before he had
read a word of the description itself, he knew what Mrs. Lecount had done, =
and
felt, with a profound sense of humiliation, that his female enemy had taken=
him
by surprise.
There was no time to think; the whole enterpri=
se
was threatened with irrevocable overthrow. The one resource in Captain Wrag=
ge's
present situation was to act instantly on the first impulse of his own
audacity. Line by line he read on, and still the ready inventiveness which =
had never
deserted him yet failed to answer the call made on it now. He came to the
closing sentence--to the last words which mentioned the two little moles on
Magdalen's neck. At that crowning point of the description, an idea crossed=
his
mind; his party-colored eyes twinkled; his curly lips twisted up at the
corners; Wragge was himself again. He wheeled round suddenly from the windo=
w,
and looked Noel Vanstone straight in the face with a grimly-quiet
suggestiveness of something serious to come.
"Pray, sir, do you happen to know anythin=
g of
Mrs. Lecount's family?" he inquired.
"A respectable family," said Noel
Vanstone--"that's all I know. Why do you ask?"
"I am not usually a betting man,"
pursued Captain Wragge. "But on this occasion I will lay you any wager=
you
like there is madness in your housekeeper's family."
"Madness!" repeated Noel Vanstone,
amazedly
"Madness!" reiterated the captain,
sternly tapping the note with his forefinger. "I see the cunning of
insanity, the suspicion of insanity, the feline treachery of insanity in ev=
ery
line of this deplorable document. There is a far more alarming reason, sir,
than I had supposed for Mrs. Lecount's behavior to my niece. It is clear to=
me
that Miss Bygrave resembles some other lady who has seriously offended your=
housekeeper--who
has been formerly connected, perhaps, with an outbreak of insanity in your
housekeeper--and who is now evidently confused with my niece in your
housekeeper's wandering mind. That is my conviction, Mr. Vanstone. I may be
right, or I may be wrong. All I say is this--neither you, nor any man, can
assign a sane motive for the production of that incomprehensible document, =
and
for the use which you are requested to make of it."
"I don't think Lecount's mad," said =
Noel
Vanstone, with a very blank look, and a very discomposed manner. "It
couldn't have escaped me, with my habits of observation; it couldn't possib=
ly
have escaped me if Lecount had been mad."
"Very good, my dear sir. In my opinion, s=
he
is the subject of an insane delusion. In your opinion, she is in possession=
of her
senses, and has some mysterious motive which neither you nor I can fathom.
Either way, there can be no harm in putting Mrs. Lecount's description to t=
he
test, not only as a matter of curiosity, but for our own private satisfacti=
on on
both sides. It is of course impossible to tell my niece that she is to be m=
ade
the subject of such a preposterous experiment as that note of yours suggest=
s.
But you can use your own eyes, Mr. Vanstone; you can keep your own counsel;
and--mad or not--you can at least tell your housekeeper, on the testimony of
your own senses, that she is wrong. Let me look at the description again. T=
he
greater part of it is not worth two straws for any purpose of identificatio=
n;
hundreds of young ladies have tall figures, fair complexions, light brown h=
air,
and light gray eyes. You will say, on the other hand, hundreds of young lad=
ies
have not got two little moles close together on the left side of the neck.
Quite true. The moles supply us with what we scientific men call a Crucial =
Test.
When my niece comes downstairs, sir, you have my full permission to take the
liberty of looking at her neck."
Noel Vanstone expressed his high approval of t=
he
Crucial Test by smirking and simpering for the first time that morning.
"Of looking at her neck," repeated t=
he
captain, returning the note to his visitor, and then making for the door.
"I will go upstairs myself, Mr. Vanstone," he continued, "and
inspect Miss Bygrave's walking-dress. If she has innocently placed any
obstacles in your way, if her hair is a little too low, or her frill is a
little too high, I will exert my authority, on the first harmless pretext I=
can
think of, to have those obstacles removed. All I ask is, that you will choo=
se
your opportunity discreetly, and that you will not allow my niece to suppose
that her neck is the object of a gentleman's inspection."
The moment he was out of the parlor Captain Wr=
agge
ascended the stairs at the top of his speed and knocked at Magdalen's door.=
She
opened it to him in her walking-dress, obedient to the signal agreed on bet=
ween
them which summoned her downstairs.
"What have you done with your paints and
powders?" asked the captain, without wasting a word in preliminary
explanations. "They were not in the box of costumes which I sold for y=
ou
at Birmingham. Where are they?"
"I have got them here," replied
Magdalen. "What can you possibly mean by wanting them now?"
"Bring them instantly into my
dressing-room--the whole collection, brushes, palette, and everything. Don't
waste time in asking questions; I'll tell you what has happened as we go on.
Every moment is precious to us. Follow me instantly!"
His face plainly showed that there was a serio=
us
reason for his strange proposal. Magdalen secured her collection of cosmeti=
cs
and followed him into the dressing-room. He locked the door, placed her on a
chair close to the light, and then told her what had happened.
"We are on the brink of detection,"
proceeded the captain, carefully mixing his colors with liquid glue, and wi=
th a
strong "drier" added from a bottle in his own possession. "T=
here
is only one chance for us (lift up your hair from the left side of your
neck)--I have told Mr. Noel Vanstone to take a private opportunity of looki=
ng
at you; and I am going to give the lie direct to that she-devil Lecount by
painting out your moles."
"They can't be painted out," said
Magdalen. "No color will stop on them."
"My color will," remarked Captain
Wragge. "I have tried a variety of professions in my time--the profess=
ion
of painting among the rest. Did you ever hear of such a thing as a Black Ey=
e? I
lived some months once in the neighborhood of Drury Lane entirely on Black
Eyes. My flesh-color stood on bruises of all sorts, shades, and sizes, and =
it
will stand, I promise you, on your moles."
With this assurance, the captain dipped his br=
ush
into a little lump of opaque color which he had mixed in a saucer, and whic=
h he
had graduated as nearly as the materials would permit to the color of
Magdalen's skin. After first passing a cambric handkerchief, with some white
powder on it, over the part of her neck on which he designed to operate, he
placed two layers of color on the moles with the tip of the brush. The proc=
ess
was performed in a few moments, and the moles, as if by magic, disappeared =
from
view. Nothing but the closest inspection could have discovered the artifice=
by
which they had been concealed; at the distance of two or three feet only, it
was perfectly invisible.
"Wait here five minutes," said Capta=
in
Wragge, "to let the paint dry--and then join us in the parlor. Mrs.
Lecount herself would be puzzled if she looked at you now."
"Stop!" said Magdalen. "There is
one thing you have not told me yet. How did Mrs. Lecount get the description
which you read downstairs? Whatever else she has seen of me, she has not se=
en
the mark on my neck--it is too far back, and too high up; my hair hides
it."
"Who knows of the mark?" asked Capta=
in
Wragge.
She turned deadly pale under the anguish of a
sudden recollection of Frank.
"My sister knows it," s he said,
faintly.
"Mrs. Lecount may have written to your
sister," suggested the captain:
"Do you think my sister would tell a stra=
nger
what no stranger has a right to know? Never! never!"
"Is there nobody else who could tell Mrs.
Lecount? The mark was mentioned in the handbills at York. Who put it
there?"
"Not Norah! Perhaps Mr. Pendril. Perhaps =
Miss
Garth."
"Then Mrs. Lecount has written to Mr. Pen=
dril
or Miss Garth--more likely to Miss Garth. The governess would be easier to =
deal
with than the lawyer."
"What can she have said to Miss Garth?&qu=
ot;
Captain Wragge considered a little.
"I can't say what Mrs. Lecount may have
written," he said, "but I can tell you what I should have written=
in
Mrs. Lecount's place. I should have frightened Miss Garth by false reports
about you, to begin with, and then I should have asked for personal
particulars, to help a benevolent stranger in restoring you to your
friends." The angry glitter flashed up instantly in Magdalen's eyes.
"What you would have done is what Mrs.
Lecount has done," she said, indignantly. "Neither lawyer nor
governess shall dispute my right to my own will and my own way. If Miss Gar=
th
thinks she can control my actions by corresponding with Mrs. Lecount, I will
show Miss Garth she is mistaken! It is high time, Captain Wragge, to have d=
one
with these wretched risks of discovery. We will take the short way to the e=
nd
we have in view sooner than Mrs. Lecount or Miss Garth think for. How long =
can
you give me to wring an offer of marriage out of that creature downstairs?&=
quot;
"I dare not give you long," replied
Captain Wragge. "Now your friends know where you are, they may come do=
wn
on us at a day's notice. Could you manage it in a week?"
"I'll manage it in half the time," s=
he
said, with a hard, defiant laugh. "Leave us together this morning as y=
ou
left us at Dunwich, and take Mrs. Wragge with you, as an excuse for parting
company. Is the paint dry yet? Go downstairs and tell him I am coming
directly."
So, for the second time, Miss Garth's well-mea=
nt
efforts defeated their own end. So the fatal force of circumstance turned t=
he
hand that would fain have held Magdalen back into the hand that drove her o=
n.
The captain returned to his visitor in the par=
lor,
after first stopping on his way to issue his orders for the walking excursi=
on to
Mrs. Wragge.
"I am shocked to have kept you waiting,&q=
uot;
he said, sitting down again confidentially by Noel Vanstone's side. "My
only excuse is, that my niece had accidentally dressed her hair so as to de=
feat
our object. I have been persuading her to alter it, and young ladies are ap=
t to
be a little obstinate on questions relating to their toilet. Give her a cha=
ir on
that side of you when she comes in, and take your look at her neck comforta=
bly
before we start for our walk."
Magdalen entered the room as he said those wor=
ds,
and after the first greetings were exchanged, took the chair presented to h=
er
with the most unsuspicious readiness. Noel Vanstone applied the Crucial Tes=
t on
the spot, with the highest appreciation of the fair material which was the =
subject
of experiment. Not the vestige of a mole was visible on any part of the smo=
oth
white surface of Miss Bygrave's neck. It mutely answered the blinking inqui=
ry
of Noel Vanstone's half-closed eyes by the flattest practical contradiction=
of
Mrs. Lecount. That one central incident in the events of the morning was of=
all
the incidents that had hitherto occurred, the most important in its results.
That one discovery shook the housekeeper's hold on her master as nothing had
shaken it yet.
In a few minutes Mrs. Wragge made her appearan=
ce,
and excited as much surprise in Noel Vanstone's mind as he was capable of
feeling while absorbed in the enjoyment of Magdalen's society. The
walking-party left the house at once, directing their steps northward, so as
not to pass the windows of Sea-view Cottage. To Mrs. Wragge's unutterable a=
stonishment,
her husband, for the first time in the course of their married life, polite=
ly
offered her his arm, and led her on in advance of the young people, as if t=
he
privilege of walking alone with her presented some special attraction to hi=
m!
"Step out!" whispered the captain, fiercely. "Leave your nie=
ce
and Mr. Vanstone alone! If I catch you looking back at them, I'll put the
Oriental Cashmere Robe on the top of the kitchen fire! Turn your toes out, =
and
keep step--confound you, keep step!" Mrs. Wragge kept step to the best=
of
her limited ability. Her sturdy knees trembled under her. She firmly believ=
ed
the captain was intoxicated.
The walk lasted for rather more than an hour.
Before nine o'clock they were all back again at North Shingles. The ladies =
went
at once into the house. Noel Vanstone remained with Captain Wragge in the
garden. "Well," said the captain, "what do you think now of =
Mrs.
Lecount?"
"Damn Lecount!" replied Noel Vanston=
e,
in great agitation. "I'm half inclined to agree with you. I'm half
inclined to think my infernal housekeeper is mad."
He spoke fretfully and unwillingly, as if the merest allusion to Mrs. Lecount was distasteful to him. His color came and went; his manner was absent and undecided; he fidgeted restlessly about the garden walk. It would have been plain to a far less acute observation than Captain Wragge's, that Magdalen had met his advances by an unexpected grace= and readiness of encouragement which had entirely overthrown his self-control.<= o:p>
"I never enjoyed a walk so much in my
life!" he exclaimed, with a sudden outburst of enthusiasm. "I hope
Miss Bygrave feels all the better, for it. Do you go out at the same time
to-morrow morning? May I join you again?"
"By all means, Mr. Vanstone," said t=
he
Captain, cordially. "Excuse me for returning to the subject--but what =
do
you propose saying to Mrs. Lecount?"
"I don't know. Lecount is a perfect nuisa=
nce!
What would you do, Mr. Bygrave, if you were in my place?"
"Allow me to ask a question, my dear sir,
before I tell you. What is your breakfast-hour?"
"Half-past nine."
"Is Mrs. Lecount an early riser?"
"No. Lecount is lazy in the morning. I ha=
te
lazy women! If you were in my place, what should you say to her?"
"I should say nothing," replied Capt=
ain
Wragge. "I should return at once by the back way; I should let Mrs.
Lecount see me in the front garden as if I was taking a turn before breakfa=
st;
and I should leave her to suppose that I was only just out of my room. If s=
he
asks you whether you mean to come here today, say No. Secure a quiet life u=
ntil
circumstances force you to give her an answer. Then tell the plain truth--s=
ay
that Mr. Bygrave's niece and Mrs. Lecount's description are at variance with
each other in the most important particular, and beg that the subject may n=
ot be
mentioned again. There is my advice. What do you think of it?"
If Noel Vanstone could have looked into his
counselor's mind, he might have thought the captain's advice excellently ad=
apted
to serve the captain's interests. As long as Mrs. Lecount could be kept in
ignorance of her master's visits to North Shingles, so long she would wait
until the opportunity came for trying her experiment, and so long she might=
be
trusted not to endanger the conspiracy by any further proceedings. Necessar=
ily
incapable of viewing Captain Wragge's advice under this aspect, Noel Vansto=
ne
simply looked at it as offering him a temporary means of escape from an
explanation with his housekeeper. He eagerly declared that the course of ac=
tion
suggested to him should be followed to the letter, and returned to Sea View
without further delay.
On this occasion Captain Wragge's anticipations
were in no respect falsified by Mrs. Lecount's conduct. She had no suspicio=
n of
her master's visit to North Shingles: she had made up her mind, if necessar=
y,
to wait patiently for his interview with Miss Bygrave until the end of the
week; and she did not embarrass him by any unexpected questions when he
announced his intention of holding no personal communication with the Bygra=
ves
on that day. All she said was, "Don't you feel well enough, Mr. Noel? =
or
don't you feel inclined?" He answered, shortly, "I don't feel well
enough"; and there the conversation ended.
The next day the proceedings of the previous
morning were exactly repeated. This time Noel Vanstone went home rapturously
with a keepsake in his breast-pocket; he had taken tender possession of one=
of
Miss Bygrave's gloves. At intervals during the day, whenever he was alone, =
he
took out the glove and kissed it with a devotion which was almost passionat=
e in
its fervor. The miserable little creature luxuriated in his moments of stol=
en
happiness with a speechless and stealthy delight which was a new sensation =
to
him. The few young girls whom he had met with, in his father's narrow circl=
e at
Zurich, had felt a mischievous pleasure in treating him like a quaint little
plaything; the strongest impression he could make on their hearts was an
impression in which their lap-dogs might have rivaled him; the deepest inte=
rest
he could create in them was the interest they might have felt in a new trin=
ket
or a new dress. The only women who had hitherto invited his admiration, and=
taken
his compliments seriously had been women whose charms were on the wane, and
whose chances of marriage were fast failing them. For the first time in his
life he had now passed hours of happiness in the society of a beautiful gir=
l,
who had left him to think of her afterward without a single humiliating
remembrance to lower him in his own esteem.
Anxiously as he tried to hide it, the change
produced in his look and manner by the new feeling awakened in him was not a
change which could be concealed from Mrs. Lecount. On the second day she
pointedly asked him whether he had not made an arrangement to call on the
Bygraves. He denied it as before. "Perhaps you are going to-morrow, Mr.
Noel?" persisted the housekeeper. He was at the end of his resources; =
he
was impatient to be rid of her inquiries; he trusted to his friend at North=
Shingles
to help him; and this time he answered Yes. "If you see the young
lady," proceeded Mrs. Lecount, "don't forget that note of mine, s=
ir,
which you have in your waistcoat-pocket." No more was said on either s=
ide,
but by that night's post the housekeeper wrote to Miss Garth. The letter me=
rely
acknowledged, with thanks, the receipt of Miss Garth's communication, and
informed her that in a few days Mrs. Lecount hoped to be in a position to w=
rite
again and summon Mr. Pendril to Aldborough.
Late in the evening, when the parlor at North
Shingles began to get dark, and when the captain rang the bell for candles =
as
usual, he was surprised by hearing Magdalen's voice in the passage telling =
the
servant to take the lights downstairs again. She knocked at the door
immediately afterward, and glided into the obscurity of the room like a gho=
st.
"I have a question to ask you about your
plans for to-morrow," she said. "My eyes are very weak this eveni=
ng,
and I hope you will not object to dispense with the candles for a few
minutes."
She spoke in low, stifled tones, and felt her =
way
noiselessly to a chair far removed from the captain in the darkest part of =
the
room. Sitting near the window, he could just discern the dim outline of her
dress, he could just hear the faint accents of her voice. For the last two =
days
he had seen nothing of her except during their morning walk. On that aftern=
oon
he had found his wife crying in the little backroom down-stairs. She could =
only
tell him that Magdalen had frightened her--that Magdalen was going the way
again which she had gone when the letter came from China in the terrible pa=
st
time at Vauxhall Walk.
"I was sorry to her that you were ill to-=
day,
from Mrs. Wragge," said the captain, unconsciously dropping his voice
almost to a whisper as he spoke.
"It doesn't matter," she answered
quietly, out of the darkness. "I am strong enough to suffer, and live.
Other girls in my place would have been happier--they would have suffered, =
and
died. It doesn't matter; it will be all the same a hundred years hence. Is =
he
coming again tomorrow morning at seven o'clock?"
"He is coming, if you feel no objection to
it."
"I have no objection to make; I have done
with objecting. But I should like to have the time altered. I don't look my
best in the early morning---I have bad nights, and I rise haggard and worn.
Write him a note this evening, and tell him to come at twelve o'clock."=
;
"Twelve is rather late, under the
circumstances, for you to be seen out walking."
"I have no intention of walking. Let him =
be
shown into the parlor--"
Her voice died away in silence before she ended
the sentence.
"Yes?" said Captain Wragge.
"And leave me alone in the parlor to rece=
ive
him."
"I understand," said the captain.
"An admirable idea. I'll be out of the way in the dining-room while he=
is
here, and you can come and tell me about it when he has gone."
There was another moment of silence.
"Is there no way but telling you?" s=
he
asked, suddenly. "I can control myself while he is with me, but I can't
answer for what I may say or do afterward. Is there no other way?"
"Plenty of ways," said the captain.
"Here is the first that occurs to me. Leave the blind down over the wi=
ndow
of your room upstairs before he comes. I will go out on the beach, and wait
there within sight of the house. When I see him come out again, I will look=
at
the window. If he has said nothing, leave the blind down. If he has made yo=
u an
offer, draw the blind up. The signal is simplicity itself; we can't misunde=
rstand
each other. Look your best to-morrow! Make sure of him, my dear girl--make =
sure
of him, if you possibly can."
He had spoken loud enough to feel certain that=
she
had heard him, but no answering word came from her. The dead silence was on=
ly
disturbed by the rustling of her dress, which told him she had risen from h=
er
chair. Her shadowy presence crossed the room again; the door shut softly; s=
he
was gone. He rang the bell hurriedly for the lights. The servant found him =
standing
close at the window, looking less self-possessed than usual. He told her he
felt a little poorly, and sent her to the cupboard for the brandy.
At a few minutes before twelve the next day
Captain Wragge withdrew to his post of observation, concealing himself behi=
nd a
fishing-boat drawn up on the beach. Punctually as the hour struck, he saw N=
oel
Vanstone approach North Shingles and open the garden gate. When the house d=
oor had
closed on the visitor, Captain Wragge settled himself comfortably against t=
he
side of the boat and lit his cigar.
He smoked for half an hour--for ten minutes ov=
er
the half-hour, by his watch. He finished the cigar down to the last morsel =
of
it that he could hold in his lips. Just as he had thrown away the end, the =
door
opened again and Noel Vanstone came out.
The captain looked up instantly at Magdalen's
window. In the absorbing excitement of the moment, he counted the seconds. =
She
might get from the parlor to her own room in less than a minute. He counted=
to
thirty, and nothing happened. He counted to fifty, and nothing happened. He=
gave
up counting, and left the boat impatiently, to return to the house.
As he took his first step forward he saw the
signal.
The blind was drawn up.
Cautiously ascending the eminence of the beach,
Captain Wragge looked toward Sea-view Cottage before he showed himself on t=
he
Parade. Noel Vanstone had reached home again; he was just entering his own
door.
"If all your money was offered me to stan=
d in
your shoes," said the captain, looking after him--"rich as you ar=
e, I
wouldn't take it!"
ON returning to the house, Captain Wragge rece=
ived
a significant message from the servant. "Mr. Noel Vanstone would call
again at two o'clock that afternoon, when he hoped to have the pleasure of
finding Mr. Bygrave at home."
The captain's first inquiry after hearing this
message referred to Magdalen. "Where was Miss Bygrave?" "In =
her
own room." "Where was Mrs. Bygrave?" "In the back
parlor." Captain Wragge turned his steps at once in the latter directi=
on,
and found his wife, for the second time, in tears. She had been sent out of
Magdalen's room for the whole day, and she was at her wits' end to know what
she had done to deserve it. Shortening her lamentations without ceremony, h=
er
husband sent her upstairs on t he spot, with instructions to knock at the d=
oor,
and to inquire whether Magdalen could give five minutes' attention to a que=
stion
of importance which must be settled before two o'clock.
The answer returned was in the negative. Magda=
len
requested that the subject on which she was asked to decide might be mentio=
ned
to her in writing. She engaged to reply in the same way, on the understandi=
ng
that Mrs. Wragge, and not the servant, should be employed to deliver the no=
te and
to take back the answer.
Captain Wragge forthwith opened his paper-case=
and
wrote these lines: "Accept my warmest congratulations on the result of
your interview with Mr. N. V. He is coming again at two o'clock--no doubt to
make his proposals in due form. The question to decide is, whether I shall
press him or not on the subject of settlements. The considerations for your=
own
mind are two in number. First, whether the said pressure (without at all
underrating your influence over him) may not squeeze for a long time before=
it
squeezes money out of Mr. N. V. Secondly, whether we are altogether
justified--considering our present position toward a certain sharp practiti=
oner
in petticoats--in running the risk of delay. Consider these points, and let=
me
have your decision as soon as convenient."
The answer returned to this note was written in
crooked, blotted characters, strangely unlike Magdalen's usually firm and c=
lear
handwriting. It only contained these words: "Give yourself no trouble =
about
settlements. Leave the use to which he is to put his money for the future i=
n my
hands."
"Did you see her?" asked the captain,
when his wife had delivered the answer.
"I tried," said Mrs. Wragge, with a
fresh burst of tears--"but she only opened the door far enough to put =
out
her hand. I took and gave it a little squeeze--and, oh poor soul, it felt s=
o cold
in mine!"
When Mrs. Lecount's master made his appearance=
at
two o'clock, he stood alarmingly in need of an anodyne application from Mrs.
Lecount's green fan. The agitation of making his avowal to Magdalen; the te=
rror
of finding himself discovered by the housekeeper; the tormenting suspicion =
of
the hard pecuniary conditions which Magdalen's relative and guardian might
impose on him--all these emotions, stirring in conflict together, had
overpowered his feebly-working heart with a trial that strained it sorely. =
He
gasped for breath as he sat down in the parlor at North Shingles, and that
ominous bluish pallor which always overspread his face in moments of agitat=
ion
now made its warning appearance again. Captain Wragge seized the brandy bot=
tle
in genuine alarm, and forced his visitor to drink a wine-glassful of the sp=
irit
before a word was said between them on either side.
Restored by the stimulant, and encouraged by t=
he
readiness with which the captain anticipated everything that he had to say,
Noel Vanstone contrived to state the serious object of his visit in tolerab=
ly
plain terms. All the conventional preliminaries proper to the occasion were=
easily
disposed of. The suitor's family was respectable; his position in life was
undeniably satisfactory; his attachment, though hasty, was evidently
disinterested and sincere. All that Captain Wragge had to do was to refer to
these various considerations with a happy choice of language in a voice that
trembled with manly emotion, and this he did to perfection. For the first
half-hour of the interview, no allusion whatever was made to the delicate a=
nd
dangerous part of the subject. The captain waited until he had composed his
visitor, and when that result was achieved came smoothly to the point in th=
ese
terms:
"There is one little difficulty, Mr.
Vanstone, which I think we have both overlooked. Your housekeeper's recent
conduct inclines me to fear that she will view the approaching change in yo=
ur
life with anything but a friendly eye. Probably you have not thought it
necessary yet to inform her of the new tie which you propose to form?"=
Noel Vanstone turned pale at the bare idea of
explaining himself to Mrs. Lecount.
"I can't tell what I'm to do," he sa=
id,
glancing aside nervously at the window, as if he expected to see the
housekeeper peeping in. "I hate all awkward positions, and this is the
most unpleasant position I ever was placed in. You don't know what a terrib=
le
woman Lecount is. I'm not afraid of her; pray don't suppose I'm afraid of
her--"
At those words his fears rose in his throat, a=
nd
gave him the lie direct by stopping his utterance.
"Pray don't trouble yourself to
explain," said Captain Wragge, coming to the rescue. "This is the
common story, Mr. Vanstone. Here is a woman who has grown old in your servi=
ce,
and in your father's service before you; a woman who has contrived, in all
sorts of small, underhand ways, to presume systematically on her position f=
or
years and years past; a woman, in short, whom your inconsiderate but perfec=
tly
natural kindness has allowed to claim a right of property in you--"
"Property!" cried Noel Vanstone,
mistaking the captain, and letting the truth escape him through sheer inabi=
lity
to conceal his fears any longer. "I don't know what amount of property=
she
won't claim. She'll make me pay for my father as well as for myself. Thousa=
nds,
Mr. Bygrave--thousands of pounds sterling out of my pocket!!!" He clas=
ped his
hands in despair at the picture of pecuniary compulsion which his fancy had
conjured up--his own golden life-blood spouting from him in great jets of
prodigality, under the lancet of Mrs. Lecount.
"Gently, Mr. Vanstone--gently! The woman
knows nothing so far, and the money is not gone yet."
"No, no; the money is not gone, as you sa=
y.
I'm only nervous about it; I can't help being nervous. You were saying
something just now; you were going to give me advice. I value your advice; =
you
don't know how highly I value your advice." He said those words with a
conciliatory smile which was more than helpless; it was absolutely servile =
in
its dependence on his judicious friend.
"I was only assuring you, my dear sir, th=
at I
understood your position," said the captain. "I see your difficul=
ty
as plainly as you can see it yourself. Tell a woman like Mrs. Lecount that =
she
must come off her domestic throne, to make way for a young and beautiful
successor, armed with the authority of a wife, and an unpleasant scene must=
be
the inevitable result. An unpleasant scene, Mr. Vanstone, if your opinion o=
f your
housekeeper's sanity is well founded. Something far more serious, if my opi=
nion
that her intellect is unsettled happens to turn out the right one."
"I don't say it isn't my opinion, too,&qu=
ot;
rejoined Noel Vanstone. "Especially after what has happened to-day.&qu=
ot;
Captain Wragge immediately begged to know what=
the
event alluded to might be.
Noel Vanstone thereupon explained--with an
infinite number of parentheses all referring to himself--that Mrs. Lecount =
had
put the dreaded question relating to the little note in her master's pocket=
barely
an hour since. He had answered her inquiry as Mr. Bygrave had advised him. =
On
hearing that the accuracy of the personal description had been fairly put to
the test, and had failed in the one important particular of the moles on the
neck, Mrs. Lecount had considered a little, and had then asked him whether =
he
had shown her note to Mr. Bygrave before the experiment was tried. He had
answered in the negative, as the only safe form of reply that he could thin=
k of
on the spur of the moment, and the housekeeper had then addressed him in th=
ese strange
and startling words: "You are keeping the truth from me, Mr. Noel. You=
are
trusting strangers, and doubting your old servant and your old friend. Every
time you go to Mr. Bygrave's house, every time you see Miss Bygrave, you are
drawing nearer and nearer to your destruction. They have got the bandage ov=
er
your eyes in spite of me; but I tell them, and tell you, before many days a=
re
over I will take it off!" To this extraordinary outbreak--accompanied =
as
it was by an expression in Mrs. Lecount's face which he had never seen there
before--Noel Vanstone had made no reply. Mr. Bygrave's conviction that there
was a lurking taint of insanity in the housekeeper's blood had recurred to =
his memory,
and he had left the room at the first opportunity.
Captain Wragge listened with the closest atten=
tion
to the narrative thus presented to him. But one conclusion could be drawn f=
rom
it--it was a plain warning to him to hasten the end.
"I am not surprised," he said, grave=
ly,
"to hear that you are inclining more favorably to my opinion. After wh=
at
you have just told me, Mr. Vanstone, no sensible man could do otherwise. Th=
is
is becoming serious. I hardly know what results may not be expected to foll=
ow
the communication of your approaching change in life to Mrs. Lecount. My ni=
ece
may be involved in those results. She is nervous; she is sensitive in the
highest degree; she is the innocent object of this woman's unreasoning hatr=
ed
and distrust. You alarm me, sir! I am not easily thrown off my balance, but=
I
acknowledge you alarm me for the future." He frowned, shook his head, =
and
looked at his visitor despondently.
Noel Vanstone began to feel uneasy. The change=
in
Mr. Bygrave's manner seemed ominous of a reconsideration of his proposals f=
rom
a new and unfavorable point of view. He took counsel of his inborn cowardice
and his inborn cunning, and proposed a solution of the difficulty discovere=
d by
himself.
"Why should we tell Lecount at all?"=
he
asked. "What right has Lecount to know? Can't we be married without
letting her into the secret? And can't somebody tell her afterward when we =
are
both out of her reach?"
Captain Wragge received this proposal with an
expression of surprise which did infinite credit to his power of control ov=
er
his own countenance. His foremost object throughout the interview had been =
to conduct
it to this point, or, in other words, to make the first idea of keeping the
marriage a secret from Mrs. Lecount emanate from Noel Vanstone instead of f=
rom
himself. No one knew better than the captain that the only responsibilities
which a weak man ever accepts are responsibilities which can be perpetually
pointed out to him as resting exclusively on his own shoulders.
"I am accustomed to set my face against
clandestine proceedings of all kinds," said Captain Wragge. "But
there are exceptions to the strictest rules; and I am bound to admit, Mr.
Vanstone, that your position in this matter is an exceptional position, if =
ever
there was one yet. The course you have just proposed--however unbecoming I =
may
think it, however distasteful it may be to myself--would not only spare you=
a
very serious embarrassment (to say the least of it), but would also protect=
you
from the personal assertion of those pecuniary claims on the part of your h=
ousekeeper
to which you have already adverted. These are both desirable results to
achieve--to say nothing of the removal, on my side, of all apprehension of
annoyance to my niece. On the other hand, however, a marriage solemnized wi=
th
such privacy as you propose must be a hasty marriage; for, as we are situat=
ed,
the longer the delay the greater will be the risk that our secret may escape
our keeping. I am not against hasty marriages where a mutual flame is fanne=
d by
an adequate income. My own was a love-match contracted in a hurry. There are
plenty of instances in the experience of every one, of short courtships and
speedy marriages, which have turned up trumps--I beg your pardon--which hav=
e turned
out well after all. But if you and my niece, Mr. Vanstone, are to add one to
the number of these eases, the usual preliminaries of marriage among the hi=
gher
classes must be hastened by some means. You doubtless understand me as now
referring to the subject of settlements."
"I'll take another teaspoonful of
brandy," said Noel Vanstone, holding out his glass with a trembling ha=
nd
as the word "settlements" passed Captain Wragge's lips.
"I'll take a teaspoonful with you," =
said
the captain, nimbly dismounting from the pedestal of his respectability, and
sipping his brandy with the highest relish. Noel Vanstone, after nervously
following his host's example, composed himself to meet the coming ordeal, w=
ith
reclining head and grasping hands, in the position familiarly associated to=
all
civilized humanity with a seat in a dentist's chair.
The captain put down his empty glass and got up
again on his pedestal.
"We were talking of settlements," he
resumed. "I have already mentioned, Mr. Vanstone, at an early period of
our conversation, that my niece presents the man of her choice with no other
dowry than the most inestimable of all gifts--the gift of herself. This
circumstance, however (as you are no doubt aware), does not disentitle me to
make the customary stipulations with her future husband. According to the u=
sual
course in this matter, my lawyer would see yours--consultations would take
place--delays would occur--strangers would be in possession of your
intentions--and Mrs. Lecount would, sooner or later, arrive at that knowled=
ge
of the truth which you are anxious to keep from her. Do you agree with me so
far?"
Unutterable apprehension closed Noel Vanstone's
lips. He could only reply by an inclination of the head.
"Very good," said the captain.
"Now, sir, you may possibly have observed that I am a man of a very
original turn of mind. If I have not hitherto struck you in that light, it =
may
then be necessary to mention that there are some subjects on which I persis=
t in
thinking for myself. The subject of marriage settlements is one of them. Wh=
at,
let me ask you, does a parent or guardian in my present condition usually d=
o?
After having trusted the man whom he has chosen for his son-in-law with the
sacred deposit of a woman's happiness, he turns round on that man, and decl=
ines
to trust him with the infinitely inferior responsibility of providing for h=
er
pecuniary future. He fetters his son-in-law with the most binding document =
the
law can produce, and employs with the husband of his own child the same
precautions which he would use if he were dealing with a stranger and a rog=
ue.
I call such conduct as this inconsistent and unbecoming in the last degree.=
You
will not find it my course of conduct, Mr. Vanstone--you will not find me
preaching what I don't practice. If I trust you with my niece, I trust you =
with
every inferior responsibility toward her and toward me. Give me your hand, =
sir;
tell me, on your word of honor, that you will provide for your wife as beco=
mes
her position and your means, and the question of settlements is decided bet=
ween
us from this moment at once and forever!" Having carried out Magdalen's
instructions in this lofty tone, he threw open his respectable frockcoat, a=
nd
sat with head erect and hand extended, the model of parental feeling and the
picture of human integrity.
For one moment Noel Vanstone remained literally
petrified by astonishment. The next, he started from his chair and wrung the
hand of his magnanimous friend in a perfect transport of admiration. Never =
yet,
throughout his long and varied career, had Captain Wragge felt such difficu=
lty
in keeping his countenance as he felt now. Contempt for the outburst of mis=
erly
gratitude of which he was the object; triumph in the sense of successful
conspiracy against a man who had rated the offer of his protection at five
pounds; regret at the lost opportunity of effecting a fine stroke of moral
agriculture, which his dread of involving himself in coming consequences had
forced him to let slip--all these varied emotions agitated the captain's mi=
nd;
all strove together to find their way to the surface through the outlets of=
his
face or his tongue. He allowed Noel Vanstone to keep possession of his hand,
and to heap one series of shrill protestations and promises on another, unt=
il he
had regained his usual mastery over himself. That result achieved, he put t=
he
little man back in his chair, and returned forthwith to the subject of Mrs.
Lecount.
"Suppose we now revert to the difficulty
which we have not conquered yet," said the captain. "Let us say t=
hat
I do violence to my own habits and feelings; that I allow the consideration=
s I
have already mentioned to weigh with me; and that I sanction your wish to be
united to my niece without the knowledge of Mrs. Lecount. Allow me to inqui=
re
in that case what means you can suggest for the accomplishment of your
end?"
"I can't suggest anything," replied =
Noel
Vanstone, helplessly. "Would you object to suggest for me?"
"You are making a bolder request than you
think, Mr. Vanstone. I never do things by halves. When I am acting with my
customary candor, I am frank (as you know already) to the utmost verge of
imprudence. When exceptional circumstances compel me to take an opposite
course, there isn't a slyer fox alive than I am. If, at your express reques=
t, I
take off my honest English coat here and put on a Jesuit's gown--if, purely=
out
of sympathy for your awkward position, I consent to keep your secret for you
from Mrs. Lecount--I must have no unseasonable scruples to contend with on =
your
part. If it is neck or nothing on my side, sir, it must be neck or nothing =
on
yours also."
"Neck or nothing, by all means," said
Noel Vanstone, briskly--"on the understanding that you go first. I hav=
e no
scruples about keeping Lecount in the dark. But she is devilish cunning, Mr.
Bygrave. How is it to be done?"
"You shall hear directly," replied t=
he
captain. "Before I develop my views, I should like to have your opinio=
n on
an abstract question of morality. What do you think, my dear sir, of pious
frauds in general?"
Noel Vanstone looked a little embarrassed by t=
he
question.
"Shall I put it more plainly?" conti=
nued
Captain Wragge. "What do you say to the universally-accepted maxim that
'all stratagems are fair in love and war'?--Yes or No?"
"Yes!" answered Noel Vanstone, with =
the
utmost readiness.
"One more question and I have done,"
said the captain. "Do you see any particular objection to practicing a
pious fraud on Mrs. Lecount?"
Noel Vanstone's resolution began to falter a
little.
"Is Lecount likely to find it out?" =
he
asked cautiously.
"She can't possibly discover it until you=
are
married and out of her reach."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
"Play any trick you like on Lecount,"
said Noel Vanstone, with an air of unutterable relief. "I have had my
suspicions lately that she is trying to domineer over me; I am beginning to
feel that I have borne with Lecount long enough. I wish I was well rid of
her."
"You shall have your wish," said Cap=
tain
Wragge. "You shall be rid of her in a week or ten days."
Noel Vanstone rose eagerly and approached the
captain's chair.
"You don't say so!" he exclaimed.
"How do you mean to send her away?"
"I mean to send her on a journey,"
replied Captain Wragge.
"Where?"
"From your house at Aldborough to her
brother's bedside at Zurich."
Noel Vanstone started back at the answer, and
returned suddenly to his chair.
"How can you do that?" he inquired, =
in
the greatest perplexity. "Her brother (hang him!) is much better. She =
had
another letter from Zurich to say so, this morning."
"Did you see the letter?"
"Yes. She always worries about her
brother--she would show it to me."
"Who was it from? and what did it say?&qu=
ot;
"It was from the doctor--he always writes=
to
her. I don't care two straws about her brother, and I don't remember much of
the letter, except that it was a short one. The fellow was much better; and=
if
the doctor didn't write again, she might take it for granted that he was ge=
tting
well. That was the substance of it."
"Did you notice where she put the letter =
when
you gave it her back again?"
"Yes. She put it in the drawer where she
keeps her account-books."
"Can you get at that drawer?"
"Of course I can. I have got a duplicate
key--I always insist on a duplicate key of the place where she keeps her
account books. I never allow the account-books to be locked up from my
inspection: it's a rule of the house."
"Be so good as to get that letter to-day,=
Mr.
Vanstone, without your housekeeper's knowledge, and add to the favor by let=
ting
me have it here privately for an hour or two."
"What do you want it for?"
"I have some more questions to ask before=
I
tell you. Have you any intimate friend at Zurich whom you could trust to he=
lp
you in playing a trick on Mrs. Lecount?"
"What sort of help do you mean?" ask=
ed
Noel Vanstone.
"Suppose," said the captain, "y=
ou
were to send a letter addressed to Mrs. Lecount at Aldborough, inclosed in
another letter addressed to one of your friends abroad? And suppose you wer=
e to
instruct that friend to help a harmless practical joke by posting Mrs.
Lecount's letter at Zurich? Do you know any one who could be trusted to do
that?"
"I know two people who could be
trusted!" cried Noel Vanstone. "Both ladies--both spinsters--both
bitter enemies of Lecount's. But what is your drift, Mr. Bygrave? Though I =
am
not usually wanting in penetration, I don't altogether see your drift."=
;
"You shall see it directly, Mr.
Vanstone."
With those words he rose, withdrew to his desk=
in
the corner of the room, and wrote a few lines on a sheet of note-paper. Aft=
er
first reading them carefully to himself, he beckoned to Noel Vanstone to co=
me and
read them too.
"A few minutes since," said the capt=
ain,
pointing complacently to his own composition with the feather end of his pe=
n,
"I had the honor of suggesting a pious fraud on Mrs. Lecount. There it
is!"
He resigned his chair at the writing-table to =
his
visitor. Noel Vanstone sat down, and read these lines:
=
"MY
DEAR MADAM--Since I last wrote, I deeply regret to inform you that your bro=
ther
has suffered a relapse. The symptoms are so serious, that it is my painful =
duty
to summon you instantly to his bedside. I am making every effort to resist =
the
renewed progress of the malady, and I have not yet lost all hope of success.
But I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to leave you in ignorance of a
serious change in my patient for the worse, which may be attended by fatal
results. With much sympathy, I remain, etc. etc."
=
Captain
Wragge waited with some anxiety for the effect which this letter might prod=
uce.
Mean, selfish, and cowardly as he was, even Noel Vanstone might feel some
compunction at practicing such a deception as was here suggested on a woman=
who
stood toward him in the position of Mrs. Lecount. She had served him
faithfully, however interested her motives might be--she had lived since he=
was
a lad in the full possession of his father's confidence--she was living now
under the protection of his own roof. Could be fail to remember this; and,
remembering it, could he lend his aid without hesitation to the scheme which
was now proposed to him? Captain Wragge unconsciously retained belief enoug=
h in
human nature to doubt it. To his surprise, and, it must be added, to his
relief, also, his apprehensions proved to be groundless. The only emotions
aroused in Noel Vanstone's mind by a perusal of the letter were a hearty
admiration of his friend's idea, and a vainglorious anxiety to claim the cr=
edit
to himself of being the person who carried it out. Examples may be found ev=
ery
day of a fool who is no coward; examples may be found occasionally of a fool
who is not cunning; but it may reasonably be doubted whether there is a
producible instance anywhere of a fool who is not cruel.
"Perfect!" cried Noel Vanstone, clap=
ping
his hands. "Mr. Bygrave, you are as good as Figaro in the French comed=
y.
Talking of French, there is one serious mistake in this clever letter of
yours--it is written in the wrong language. When the doctor writes to Lecou=
nt,
he writes in French. Perhaps you meant me to translate it? You can't manage
without my help, can you? I write French as fluently as I write English. Ju=
st
look at me! I'll translate it, while I sit here, in two strokes of the
pen."
He completed the translation almost as rapidly=
as
Captain Wragge had produced the original. "Wait a minute!" he cri=
ed,
in high critical triumph at discovering another defect in the composition of
his ingenious friend. "The doctor always dates his letters. Here is no
date to yours."
"I leave the date to you," said the
captain, with a sardonic smile. "You have discovered the fault, my dear
sir--pray correct it!"
Noel Vanstone mentally looked into the great g=
ulf
which separates the faculty that can discover a defect, from the faculty th=
at
can apply a remedy, and, following the example of many a wiser man, decline=
d to
cross over it.
"I couldn't think of ta king the
liberty," he said, politely. "Perhaps you had a motive for leaving
the date out?"
"Perhaps I had," replied Captain Wra=
gge,
with his easiest good-humor. "The date must depend on the time a letter
takes to get to Zurich. I have had no experience on that point--you must ha=
ve
had plenty of experience in your father's time. Give me the benefit of your
information, and we will add the date before you leave the writing-table.&q=
uot;
Noel Vanstone's experience was, as Captain Wra=
gge
had anticipated, perfectly competent to settle the question of time. The
railway resources of the Continent (in the year eighteen hundred and forty-=
seven)
were but scanty; and a letter sent at that period from England to Zurich, a=
nd
from Zurich back again to England, occupied ten days in making the double
journey by post.
"Date the letter in French five days on f=
rom
to-morrow," said the captain, when he had got his information. "V=
ery
good. The next thing is to let me have the doctor's note as soon as you can=
. I
may be obliged to practice some hours before I can copy your translation in=
an exact
imitation of the doctor's handwriting. Have you got any foreign note-paper?=
Let
me have a few sheets, and send, at the same time, an envelope addressed to =
one
of those lady-friends of yours at Zurich, accompanied by the necessary requ=
est
to post the inclosure. This is all I need trouble you to do, Mr. Vanstone.
Don't let me seem inhospitable; but the sooner you can supply me with my
materials, the better I shall be pleased. We entirely understand each other=
, I
suppose? Having accepted your proposal for my niece's hand, I sanction a
private marriage in consideration of the circumstances on your side. A litt=
le harmless
stratagem is necessary to forward your views. I invent the stratagem at your
request, and you make use of it without the least hesitation. The result is,
that in ten days from to-morrow Mrs. Lecount will be on her way to Switzerl=
and;
in fifteen days from to-morrow Mrs. Lecount will reach Zurich, and discover=
the
trick we have played her; in twenty days from to-morrow Mrs. Lecount will be
back at Aldborough, and will find her master's wedding-cards on the table, =
and
her master himself away on his honey-moon trip. I put it arithmetically, for
the sake of putting it plain. God bless you. Good-morning!"
"I suppose I may have the happiness of se=
eing
Miss Bygrave to-morrow?" said Noel Vanstone, turning round at the door=
.
"We must be careful," replied Captain
Wragge. "I don't forbid to-morrow, but I make no promise beyond that.
Permit me to remind you that we have got Mrs. Lecount to manage for the next
ten days."
"I wish Lecount was at the bottom of the
German Ocean!" exclaimed Noel Vanstone, fervently. "It's all very
well for you to manage her--you don't live in the house. What am I to do?&q=
uot;
"I'll tell you to-morrow," said the
captain. "Go out for your walk alone, and drop in here, as you dropped=
in
to-day, at two o'clock. In the meantime, don't forget those things I want y=
ou
to send me. Seal them up together in a large envelope. When you have done t=
hat,
ask Mrs. Lecount to walk out with you as usual; and while she is upstairs p=
utting
her bonnet on, send the servant across to me. You understand? Good-morning.=
"
An hour afterward, the sealed envelope, with i=
ts
inclosures, reached Captain Wragge in perfect safety. The double task of
exactly imitating a strange handwriting, and accurately copying words writt=
en
in a language with which he was but slightly acquainted, presented more
difficulties to be overcome than the captain had anticipated. It was eleven=
o'clock
before the employment which he had undertaken was successfully completed, a=
nd
the letter to Zurich ready for the post.
Before going to bed, he walked out on the dese=
rted
Parade to breathe the cool night air. All the lights were extinguished in
Sea-view Cottage, when he looked that way, except the light in the
housekeeper's window. Captain Wragge shook his head suspiciously. He had ga=
ined
experience enough by this time to distrust the wakefulness of Mrs. Lecount.=
=
IF Captain Wragge could have looked into Mrs. =
Lecount's
room while he stood on the Parade watching the light in her window, he would
have seen the housekeeper sitting absorbed in meditation over a worthless
little morsel of brown stuff which lay on her toilet-table.
However exasperating to herself the conclusion
might be, Mrs. Lecount could not fail to see that she had been thus far met=
and
baffled successfully at every point. What was she to do next? If she sent f=
or Mr.
Pendril when he came to Aldborough (with only a few hours spared from his
business at her disposal), what definite course would there be for him to
follow? If she showed Noel Vanstone the original letter from which her note=
had
been copied, he would apply instantly to the writer for an explanation: wou=
ld
expose the fabricated story by which Mrs. Lecount had succeeded in imposing=
on
Miss Garth; and would, in any event, still declare, on the evidence of his =
own
eyes, that the test by the marks on the neck had utterly failed. Miss Vanst=
one,
the elder, whose unexpected presence at Aldborough might have done
wonders--whose voice in the hall at North Shingles, even if she had been
admitted no further, might have reached her sister's ears and led to instan=
t results--Miss
Vanstone, the elder, was out of the country, and was not likely to return f=
or a
month at least. Look as anxiously as Mrs. Lecount might along the course wh=
ich
she had hitherto followed, she failed to see her way through the accumulated
obstacles which now barred her advance.
Other women in this position might have waited
until circumstances altered, and helped them. Mrs. Lecount boldly retraced =
her
steps, and determined to find her way to her end in a new direction. Resign=
ing
for the present all further attempt to prove that the false Miss Bygrave wa=
s the
true Magdalen Vanstone, she resolved to narrow the range of her next effort=
s;
to leave the actual question of Magdalen's identity untouched; and to rest
satisfied with convincing her master of this simple fact--that the young la=
dy
who was charming him at North Shingles, and the disguised woman who had
terrified him in Vauxhall Walk, were one and the same person.
The means of effecting this new object were, to
all appearance, far less easy of attainment than the means of effecting the
object which Mrs. Lecount had just resigned. Here no help was to be expected
from others, no ostensibly benevolent motives could be put forward as a
blind--no appeal could be made to Mr. Pendril or to Miss Garth. Here the ho=
usekeeper's
only chance of success depended, in the first place, on her being able to
effect a stolen entrance into Mr. Bygrave's house, and, in the second place=
, on
her ability to discover whether that memorable alpaca dress from which she =
had
secretly cut the fragment of stuff happened to form part of Miss Bygrave's
wardrobe.
Taking the difficulties now before her in their
order as they occurred, Mrs. Lecount first resolved to devote the next few =
days
to watching the habits of the inmates of North Shingles, from early in the
morning to late at night, and to testing the capacity of the one servant in=
the
house to resist the temptation of a bribe. Assuming that results proved suc=
cessful,
and that, either by money or by stratagem, she gained admission to North
Shingles (without the knowledge of Mr. Bygrave or his niece), she turned ne=
xt
to the second difficulty of the two--the difficulty of obtaining access to =
Miss
Bygrave's wardrobe.
If the servant proved corruptible, all obstacl=
es
in this direction might be considered as removed beforehand. But if the ser=
vant
proved honest, the new problem was no easy one to solve.
Long and careful consideration of the question=
led
the housekeeper at last to the bold resolution of obtaining an interview--if
the servant failed her--with Mrs. Bygrave herself. What was the true cause =
of
this lady's mysterious seclusion? Was she a person of the strictest and the=
most
inconvenient integrity? or a person who could not be depended on to preserv=
e a
secret? or a person who was as artful as Mr. Bygrave himself, and who was k=
ept
in reserve to forward the object of some new deception which was yet to com=
e?
In the first two cases, Mrs. Lecount could trust in her own powers of
dissimulation, and in the results which they might achieve. In the last case
(if no other end was gained), it might be of vital importance to her to
discover an enemy hidden in the dark. In any event, she determined to run t=
he
risk. Of the three chances in her favor on which she had reckoned at the ou=
tset
of the struggle--the chance of entrapping Magdalen by word of mouth, the ch=
ance
of entrapping her by the help of her friends, and the chance of entrapping =
her
by means of Mrs. Bygrave--two had been tried, and two had failed. The third
remained to be tested yet; and the third might succeed.
So, the captain's enemy plotted against him in=
the
privacy of her own chamber, while the captain watched the light in her wind=
ow
from the beach outside.
=
Before
breakfast the next morning, Captain Wragge posted the forged letter to Zuri=
ch
with his own hand. He went back to North Shingles with his mind not quite
decided on the course to take with Mrs. Lecount during the all-important
interval of the next ten days.
Greatly to his surprise, his doubts on this po=
int
were abruptly decided by Magdalen herself.
He found her waiting for him in the room where=
the
breakfast was laid. She was walking restlessly to and fro, with her head
drooping on her bosom and her hair hanging disordered over her shoulders. T=
he
moment she looked up on his entrance, the captain felt the fear which Mrs.
Wragge had felt before him--the fear that her mind would be struck prostrat=
e again,
as it had been struck once already, when Frank's letter reached her in Vaux=
hall
Walk.
"Is he coming again to-day?" she ask=
ed,
pushing away from her the chair which Captain Wragge offered, with such vio=
lence
that she threw it on the floor.
"Yes," said the captain, wisely
answering her in the fewest words. "He is coming at two o'clock."=
"Take me away!" she exclaimed, tossi=
ng
her hair back wildly from her face. "Take me away before he comes. I c=
an't
get over the horror of marrying him while I am in this hateful place; take =
me
somewhere where I can forget it, or I shall go mad! Give me two days' rest-=
-two
days out of sight of that horrible sea--two days out of prison in this horr=
ible
house--two days anywhere in the wide world away from Aldborough. I'll come =
back
with you! I'll go through with it to the end! Only give me two days' escape
from that man and everything belonging to him! Do you hear, you villain?&qu=
ot;
she cried, seizing his arm and shaking it in a frenzy of passion; "I h=
ave
been tortured enough--I can bear it no longer!"
There was but one way of quieting her, and the
captain instantly took it.
"If you will try to control yourself,&quo=
t;
he said, "you shall leave Aldborough in an hour's time."
She dropped his arm, and leaned back heavily
against the wall behind her.
"I'll try," she answered, struggling=
for
breath, but looking at him less wildly. "You shan't complain of me, if=
I
can help it." She attempted confusedly to take her handkerchief from h=
er
apron pocket, and failed to find it. The captain took it out for her. Her e=
yes
softened, and she drew her breath more freely as she received the handkerch=
ief
from him. "You are a kinder man than I thought you were," she sai=
d;
"I am sorry I spoke so passionately to you just now--I am very, very
sorry." The tears stole into her eyes, and she offered him her hand wi=
th
the native grace and gentleness of happier days. "Be friends with me
again," she said, pleadingly. "I'm only a girl, Captain Wragge--I=
'm
only a girl!"
He took her hand in silence, patted it for a
moment, and then opened the door for her to go back to her own room again.
There was genuine regret in his face as he showed her that trifling attenti=
on.
He was a vagabond and a cheat; he had lived a mean, shuffling, degraded lif=
e,
but he was human; and she had found her way to the lost sympathies in him w=
hich
not even the self-profanation of a swindler's existence could wholly destro=
y.
"Damn the breakfast!" he said, when the servant came in for her o=
rders.
"Go to the inn directly, and say I want a carriage and pair at the doo=
r in
an hour's time." He went out into the passage, still chafing under a s=
ense
of mental disturbance which was new to him, and shouted to his wife more
fiercely than ever--"Pack up what we want for a week's absence, and be
ready in half an hour!" Having issued those directions, he returned to=
the
breakfast-room, and looked at the half-spread table with an impatient wonde=
r at
his disinclination to do justice to his own meal. "She has rubbed off =
the
edge of my appetite," he said to himself, with a forced laugh. "I=
'll
try a cigar, and a turn in the fresh air."
If he had been twenty years younger, those
remedies might have failed him. But where is the man to be found whose inte=
rnal
policy succumbs to revolution when that man is on the wrong side of fifty?
Exercise and change of place gave the captain back into the possession of
himself. He recovered the lost sense of the flavor of his cigar, and recall=
ed his
wandering attention to the question of his approaching absence from Aldboro=
ugh.
A few minutes' consideration satisfied his mind that Magdalen's outbreak had
forced him to take the course of all others which, on a fair review of exis=
ting
emergencies, it was now most desirable to adopt.
Captain Wragge's inquiries on the evening when=
he
and Magdalen had drunk tea at Sea View had certainly informed him that the
housekeeper's brother possessed a modest competence; that his sister was his
nearest living relative; and that there were some unscrupulous cousins on t=
he spot
who were anxious to usurp the place in his will which properly belonged to =
Mrs.
Lecount. Here were strong motives to take the housekeeper to Zurich when the
false report of her brother's relapse reached England. But if any idea of N=
oel
Vanstone's true position dawned on her in the meantime, who could say wheth=
er
she might not, at the eleventh hour, prefer asserting her large pecuniary
interest in her master, to defending her small pecuniary interest at her
brother's bedside? While that question remained undecided, the plain necess=
ity
of checking the growth of Noel Vanstone's intimacy with the family at North=
Shingles
did not admit of a doubt; and of all means of effecting that object, none c=
ould
be less open to suspicion than the temporary removal of the household from
their residence at Aldborough. Thoroughly satisfied with the soundness of t=
his
conclusion, Captain Wragge made straight for Sea-view Cottage, to apologize=
and
explain before the carriage came and the departure took place.
Noel Vanstone was easily accessible to visitor=
s;
he was walking in the garden before breakfast. His disappointment and vexat=
ion
were freely expressed when he heard the news which his friend had to
communicate. The captain's fluent tongue, however, soon impressed on him th=
e necessity
of resignation to present circumstances. The bare hint that the "pious
fraud" might fail after all, if anything happened in the ten days'
interval to enlighten Mrs. Lecount, had an instant effect in making Noel
Vanstone as patient and as submissive as could be wished.
"I won't tell you where we are going, for=
two
good reasons," said Captain Wragge, when his preliminary explanations =
were
completed. "In the first place, I haven't made up my mind yet; and, in=
the
second place, if you don't know where our destination is, Mrs. Lecount can'=
t worm
it out of you. I have not the least doubt she is watching us at this moment
from behind her window-curtain. When she asks what I wanted with you this
morning, tell her I came to say good-by for a few days, finding my niece no=
t so
well again, and wishing to take her on a short visit to some friends to try
change of air. If you could produce an impression on Mrs. Lecount's mind
(without overdoing it), that you are a little disappointed in me, and that =
you
are rather inclined to doubt my heartiness in cultivating your acquaintance,
you will greatly help our present object. You may depend on our return to N=
orth
Shingles in four or five days at furthest. If anything strikes me in the
meanwhile, the post is always at our service, and I won't fail to write to
you."
"Won't Miss Bygrave write to me?"
inquired Noel Vanstone, piteously. "Did she know you were coming here?=
Did
she send me no message?"
"Unpardonable on my part to have forgotten
it!" cried the captain. "She sent you her love."
Noel Vanstone closed his eyes in silent ecstas=
y.
When he opened them again Captain Wragge had
passed through the garden gate and was on his way back to North Shingles. As
soon as his own door had closed on him, Mrs. Lecount descended from the pos=
t of
observation which the captain had rightly suspected her of occupying, and
addressed the inquiry to her master which the captain had rightly foreseen
would follow his departure. The reply she received produced but one impress=
ion on
her mind. She at once set it down as a falsehood, and returned to her own
window to keep watch over North Shingles more vigilantly than ever.
To her utter astonishment, after a lapse of le=
ss
than half an hour she saw an empty carriage draw up at Mr. Bygrave's door.
Luggage was brought out and packed on the vehicle. Miss Bygrave appeared, a=
nd
took her seat in it. She was followed into the carriage by a lady of great =
size
and stature, whom the housekeeper conjectured to be Mrs. Bygrave. The serva=
nt
came next, and stood waiting on the path. The last person to appear was Mr.
Bygrave. He locked the house door, and took the key away with him to a cott=
age
near at hand, which was the residence of the landlord of North Shingles. On=
his
return, he nodded to the servant, who walked away by herself toward the hum=
bler
quarter of the little town, and joined the ladies in the carriage. The coac=
hman
mounted the box, and the vehicle disappeared.
Mrs. Lecount laid down the opera-glass, through
which she had been closely investigating these proceedings, with a feeling =
of
helpless perplexity which she was almost ashamed to acknowledge to herself.=
The
secret of Mr. Bygrave's object in suddenly emptying his house at Aldborough=
of
every living creature in it was an impenetrable mystery to her.
Submitting herself to circumstances with a rea=
dy
resignation which Captain Wragge had not shown, on his side, in a similar
situation, Mrs. Lecount wasted neither time nor temper in unprofitable
guess-work. She left the mystery to thicken or to clear, as the future might
decide, and looked exclusively at the uses to which she might put the morni=
ng's
event in her own interests. Whatever might have become of the family at Nor=
th
Shingles, the servant was left behind, and the servant was exactly the pers=
on
whose assistance might now be of vital importance to the housekeeper's
projects. Mrs. Lecount put on her bonnet, inspected the collection of loose
silver in her purse, and set forth on the spot to make the servant's
acquaintance.
She went first to the cottage at which Mr. Byg=
rave
had left the key of North Shingles, to discover the servant's present addre=
ss
from the landlord. So far as this object was concerned, her errand proved s=
uccessful.
The landlord knew that the girl had been allowed to go home for a few days =
to
her friends, and knew in what part of Aldborough her friends lived. But here
his sources of information suddenly dried up. He knew nothing of the
destination to which Mr. Bygrave and his family had betaken themselves, and=
he
was perfectly ignorant of the number of days over which their absence might=
be
expected to extend. All he could say was, that he had not received a notice=
to
quit from his tenant, and that he had been requested to keep the key of the
house in his possession until Mr. Bygrave returned to claim it in his own
person.
Baffled, but not discouraged, Mrs. Lecount tur=
ned
her steps next toward the back street of Aldborough, and astonished the
servant's relatives by conferring on them the honor of a morning call.
Easily imposed on at starting by Mrs. Lecount's
pretense of calling to engage her, under the impression that she had left M=
r.
Bygrave's service, the servant did her best to answer the questions put to =
her.
But she knew as little as the landlord of her master's plans. All she could=
say
about them was, that she had not been dismissed, and that she was to await =
the
receipt of a note recalling her when necessary to her situation at North
Shingles. Not having expected to find her better informed on this part of t=
he
subject, Mrs. Lecount smoothly shifted her ground, and led the woman into
talking generally of the advantages and defects of her situation in Mr.
Bygrave's family.
Profiting by the knowledge gained, in this
indirect manner, of the little secrets of the household, Mrs. Lecount made =
two
discoveries. She found out, in the first place, that the servant (having en=
ough
to do in attending to the coarser part of the domestic work) was in no posi=
tion
to disclose the secrets of Miss Bygrave's wardrobe, which were known only to
the young lady herself and to her aunt. In the second place, the housekeeper
ascertained that the true reason of Mrs. Bygrave's rigid seclusion was to be
found in the simple fact that she was little better than an idiot, and that=
her
husband was probably ashamed of allowing her to be seen in public. These
apparently trivial discoveries enlightened Mrs. Lecount on a very important
point which had been previously involved in doubt. She was now satisfied th=
at
the likeliest way to obtaining a private investigation of Magdalen's wardro=
be
lay through deluding the imbecile lady, and not through bribing the ignoran=
t servant.
Having reached that conclusion--pregnant with
coming assaults on the weakly-fortified discretion of poor Mrs. Wragge--the=
housekeeper
cautiously abstained from exhibiting herself any longer under an inquisitive
aspect. She changed the conversation to local topics, waited until she was =
sure
of leaving an excellent impression behind her, and then took her leave.
=
Three
days passed; and Mrs. Lecount and her master--each with their widely-differ=
ent
ends in view--watched with equal anxiety for the first signs of returning l=
ife
in the direction of North Shingles. In that interval, no letter either from=
the
uncle or the niece arrived for Noel Vanstone. His sincere feeling of irrita=
tion
under this neglectful treatment greatly assisted the effect of those feigned
doubts on the subject of his absent friends which the captain had recommend=
ed
him to express in the housekeeper's presence. He confessed his apprehension=
s of
having been mistaken, not in Mr. Bygrave only, but even in his niece as wel=
l,
with such a genuine air of annoyance that he actually contributed a new ele=
ment
of confusion to the existing perplexities of Mrs. Lecount.
On the morning of the fourth day Noel Vanstone=
met
the postman in the garden; and, to his great relief, discovered among the
letters delivered to him a note from Mr. Bygrave.
The date of the note was "Woodbridge,&quo=
t;
and it contained a few lines only. Mr. Bygrave mentioned that his niece was
better, and that she sent her love as before. He proposed returning to
Aldborough on the next day, when he would have some new considerations of a
strictly private nature to present to Mr. Noel Vanstone's mind. In the mean=
time
he would beg Mr. Vanstone not to call at North Shingles until he received a
special invitation to do so--which invitation should certainly be given on =
the day
when the family returned. The motive of this apparently strange request sho=
uld
be explained to Mr. Vanstone's perfect satisfaction when he was once more
united to his friends. Until that period arrived, the strictest caution was
enjoined on him in all his communications with Mrs. Lecount; and the instant
destruction of Mr. Bygrave's letter, after due perusal of it, was (if the
classical phrase might be pardoned) a sine qua non.
The fifth day came. Noel Vanstone (after
submitting himself to the sine qua non, and destroying the letter) waited
anxiously for results; while Mrs. Lecount, on her side, watched patiently f=
or
events. Toward three o'clock in the afternoon th e carriage appeared again =
at
the gate of North Shingles. Mr. Bygrave got out and tripped away briskly to=
the
landlord's cottage for the key. He returned with the servant at his heels. =
Miss
Bygrave left the carriage; her giant relative followed her example; the hou=
se
door was opened; the trunks were taken off; the carriage disappeared, and t=
he
Bygraves were at home again!
Four o'clock struck, five o'clock, six o'clock,
and nothing happened. In half an hour more, Mr. Bygrave--spruce, speckless,=
and
respectable as ever--appeared on the Parade, sauntering composedly in the
direction of Sea View.
Instead of at once entering the house, he pass=
ed
it; stopped, as if struck by a sudden recollection; and, retracing his step=
s,
asked for Mr. Vanstone at the door. Mr. Vanstone came out hospitably into t=
he passage.
Pitching his voice to a tone which could be easily heard by any listening
individual through any open door in the bedroom regions, Mr. Bygrave announ=
ced
the object of his visit on the door-mat in the fewest possible words. He had
been staying with a distant relative. The distant relative possessed two
pictures--Gems by the Old Masters--which he was willing to dispose of, and
which he had intrusted for that purpose to Mr. Bygrave's care. If Mr. Noel
Vanstone, as an amateur in such matters, wished to see the Gems, they would=
be
visible in half an hour's time, when Mr. Bygrave would have returned to Nor=
th
Shingles.
Having delivered himself of this incomprehensi=
ble
announcement, the arch-conspirator laid his significant forefinger along the
side of his short Roman nose, said, "Fine weather, isn't it?
Good-afternoon!" and sauntered out inscrutably to continue his walk on=
the
Parade.
On the expiration of the half-hour Noel Vansto=
ne
presented himself at North Shingles, with the ardor of a lover burning
inextinguishably in his bosom, through the superincumbent mental fog of a
thoroughly bewildered man. To his inexpressible happiness, he found Magdale=
n alone
in the parlor. Never yet had she looked so beautiful in his eyes. The rest =
and
relief of her four days' absence from Aldborough had not failed to produce
their results; she had more than recovered her composure. Vibrating perpetu=
ally
from one violent extreme to another, she had now passed from the passionate
despair of five days since to a feverish exaltation of spirits which defied=
all
remorse and confronted all consequences. Her eyes sparkled; her cheeks were
bright with color; she talked incessantly, with a forlorn mockery of the
girlish gayety of past days; she laughed with a deplorable persistency in
laughing; she imitated Mrs. Lecount's smooth voice, and Mrs. Lecount's
insinuating graces of manner with an overcharged resemblance to the origina=
l, which
was but the coarse reflection of the delicately-accurate mimicry of former
times. Noel Vanstone, who had never yet seen her as he saw her now, was
enchanted; his weak head whirled with an intoxication of enjoyment; his wiz=
en
cheeks flushed as if they had caught the infection from hers. The half-hour
during which he was alone with her passed like five minutes to him. When th=
at
time had elapsed, and when she suddenly left him--to obey a previously-arra=
nged
summons to her aunt's presence--miser as he was, he would have paid at that
moment five golden sovereigns out of his pocket for five golden minutes more
passed in her society.
The door had hardly closed on Magdalen before =
it
opened again, and the captain walked in. He entered on the explanations whi=
ch his
visitor naturally expected from him with the unceremonious abruptness of a =
man hard
pressed for time, and determined to make the most of every moment at his
disposal.
"Since we last saw each other," he
began, "I have been reckoning up the chances for and against us as we
stand at present. The result on my own mind is this: If you are still at
Aldborough when that letter from Zurich reaches Mrs. Lecount, all the pains=
we
have taken will have been pains thrown away. If your housekeeper had fifty
brothers all dying together, she would throw the whole fifty over sooner th=
an
leave you alone at Sea View while we are your neighbors at North
Shingles."
Noel Vanstone's flushed cheek turned pale with
dismay. His own knowledge of Mrs. Lecount told him that this view of the ca=
se
was the right one.
"If we go away again," proceeded the
captain, "nothing will be gained, for nothing would persuade your
housekeeper, in that case, that we have not left you the means of following=
us.
You must leave Aldborough this time; and, what is more, you must go without
leaving a single visible trace behind you for us to follow. If we accomplish
this object in the course of the next five days, Mrs. Lecount will take the
journey to Zurich. If we fail, she will be a fixture at Sea View, to a dead=
certainty.
Don't ask questions! I have got your instructions ready for you, and I want
your closest attention to them. Your marriage with my niece depends on your=
not
forgetting a word of what I am now going to tell you.--One question first. =
Have
you followed my advice? Have you told Mrs. Lecount you are beginning to thi=
nk
yourself mistaken in me?"
"I did worse than that," replied Noel
Vanstone penitently. "I committed an outrage on my own feelings. I
disgraced myself by saying that I doubted Miss Bygrave!"
"Go on disgracing yourself, my dear sir!
Doubt us both with all your might, and I'll help you. One question more. Di=
d I
speak loud enough this afternoon? Did Mrs. Lecount hear me?"
"Yes. Lecount opened her door; Lecount he=
ard
you. What made you give me that message? I see no pictures here. Is this
another pious fraud, Mr. Bygrave?"
"Admirably guessed, Mr. Vanstone! You will
see the object of my imaginary picture-dealing in the very next words which=
I
am now about to address to you. When you get back to Sea View, this is what=
you
are to say to Mrs. Lecount. Tell her that my relative's works of Art are tw=
o worthless
pictures--copies from the Old Masters, which I have tried to sell you as
originals at an exorbitant price. Say you suspect me of being little better
than a plausible impostor, and pity my unfortunate niece for being associat=
ed
with such a rascal as I am. There is your text to speak from. Say in many w=
ords
what I have just said in a few. You can do that, can't you?"
"Of course I can do it," said Noel
Vanstone. "But I can tell you one thing--Lecount won't believe me.&quo=
t;
"Wait a little, Mr. Vanstone; I have not =
done
with my instructions yet. You understand what I have just told you? Very go=
od.
We may get on from to-day to to-morrow. Go out to-morrow with Mrs. Lecount =
at
your usual time. I will meet you on the Parade, and bow to you. Instead of =
returning
my bow, look the other way. In plain English, cut me! That is easy enough to
do, isn't it?"
"She won't believe me, Mr. Bygrave--she w=
on't
believe me!"
"Wait a little again, Mr. Vanstone. There=
are
more instructions to come. You have got your directions for to-day, and you
have got your directions for to-morrow. Now for the day after. The day afte=
r is
the seventh day since we sent the letter to Zurich. On the seventh day decl=
ine
to go out walking as before, from dread of the annoyance of meeting me agai=
n.
Grumble about the smallness of the place; complain of your health; wish you=
had
never come to Aldborough, and never made acquaintances with the Bygraves; a=
nd
when you have well worried Mrs. Lecount with your discontent, ask her on a
sudden if she can't suggest a change for the better. If you put that questi=
on
to her naturally, do you think she can be depended on to answer it?"
"She won't want to be questioned at
all," replied Noel Vanstone, irritably. "I have only got to say I=
am
tired of Aldborough; and, if she believes me--which she won't; I'm quite
positive, Mr. Bygrave, she won't!--she will have her suggestion ready befor=
e I
can ask for it."
"Ay! ay!" said the captain eagerly.
"There is some place, then, that Mrs. Lecount wants to go to this
autumn?"
"She wants to go there (hang her!) every
autumn."
"To go where?"
"To Admiral Bartram's--you don't know him=
, do
you?--at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh."
"Don't lose your patience, Mr. Vanstone! =
What
you are now telling me is of the most vital importance to the object we ha =
ve
in view. Who is Admiral Bartram?"
"An old friend of my father's. My father =
laid
him under obligations--my father lent him money when they were both young m=
en.
I am like one of the family at St. Crux; my room is always kept ready for m=
e.
Not that there's any family at the admiral's except his nephew, George Bart=
ram.
George is my cousin; I'm as intimate with George as my father was with the
admiral; and I've been sharper than my father, for I haven't lent my friend=
any
money. Lecount always makes a show of liking George--I believe to annoy me.=
She
likes the admiral, too; he flatters her vanity. He always invites her to co=
me
with me to St. Crux. He lets her have one of the best bedrooms, and treats =
her
as if she was a lady. She is as proud as Lucifer--she likes being treated l=
ike
a lady--and she pesters me every autumn to go to St. Crux. What's the matte=
r?
What are you taking out your pocketbook for?"
"I want the admiral's address, Mr. Vansto=
ne,
for a purpose which I will explain immediately."
With those words, Captain Wragge opened his
pocketbook and wrote down the address from Noel Vanstone's dictation, as
follows: "Admiral Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh, near Ossory,
Essex."
"Good!" cried the captain, closing h=
is
pocketbook again. "The only difficulty that stood in our way is now
cleared out of it. Patience, Mr. Vanstone--patience! Let us take up my
instructions again at the point where we dropped them. Give me five minutes'
more attention, and you will see your way to your marriage as plainly as I =
see
it. On the day after to-morrow you declare you are tired of Aldborough, and
Mrs. Lecount suggests St. Crux. You don't say yes or no on the spot; you ta=
ke the
next day to consider it, and you make up your mind the last thing at night =
to
go to St. Crux the first thing in the morning. Are you in the habit of
superintending your own packing up, or do you usually shift all the trouble=
of
it on Mrs. Lecount's shoulders?"
"Lecount has all the trouble, of course;
Lecount is paid for it! But I don't really go, do I?"
"You go as fast as horses can take you to=
the
railway without having held any previous communication with this house, eit=
her
personally or by letter. You leave Mrs. Lecount behind to pack up your
curiosities, to settle with the tradespeople, and to follow you to St. Crux=
the
next morning. The next morning is the tenth morning. On the tenth morning s=
he
receives the letter from Zurich; and if you only carry out my instructions,=
Mr.
Vanstone, as sure as you sit there, to Zurich she goes."
Noel Vanstone's color began to rise again, as =
the
captain's stratagem dawned on him at last in its true light.
"And what am I to do at St. Crux?" he
inquired.
"Wait there till I call for you,"
replied the captain. "As soon as Mrs. Lecount's back is turned, I will=
go
to the church here and give the necessary notice of the marriage. The same =
day
or the next, I will travel to the address written down in my pocketbook, pi=
ck
you up at the admiral's, and take you on to London with me to get the licen=
se. With
that document in our possession, we shall be on our way back to Aldborough
while Mrs. Lecount is on her way out to Zurich; and before she starts on her
return journey, you and my niece will be man and wife! There are your future
prospects for you. What do you think of them?"
"What a head you have got!" cried No=
el
Vanstone, in a sudden outburst of enthusiasm. "You're the most
extraordinary man I ever met with. One would think you had done nothing all
your life but take people in."
Captain Wragge received that unconscious tribu=
te
to his native genius with the complacency of a man who felt that he thoroug=
hly
deserved it.
"I have told you already, my dear sir,&qu=
ot;
he said, modestly, "that I never do things by halves. Pardon me for
reminding you that we have no time for exchanging mutual civilities. Are you
quite sure about your instructions? I dare not write them down for fear of
accidents. Try the system of artificial memory; count your instructions off
after me, on your thumb and your four fingers. To-day you tell Mrs. Lecount=
I
have tried to take you in with my relative's works of Art. To-morrow you cu=
t me
on the Parade. The day after you refuse to go out, you get tired of Aldboro=
ugh,
and you allow Mrs. Lecount to make her suggestion. The next day you accept =
the
suggestion. And the next day to that you go to St. Crux. Once more, my dear
sir! Thumb--works of Art. Forefinger--cut me on the Parade. Middle
finger--tired of Aldborough. Third finger--take Lecount's advice. Little
finger--off to St. Crux. Nothing can be clearer--nothing can be easier to d=
o.
Is there anything you don't understand? Anything that I can explain over ag=
ain
before you go?"
"Only one thing," said Noel Vanstone.
"Is it settled that I am not to come here again before I go to St.
Crux?"
"Most decidedly!" answered the capta=
in.
"The whole success of the enterprise depends on your keeping away. Mrs.
Lecount will try the credibility of everything you say to her by one test--=
the
test of your communicating, or not, with this house. She will watch you nig=
ht
and day! Don't call here, don't send messages, don't write letters; don't e=
ven
go out by yourself. Let her see you start for St. Crux on her suggestion, w=
ith
the absolute certainty in her own mind that you have followed her advice
without communicating it in any form whatever to me or to my niece. Do that,
and she must believe you, on the best of all evidence for our interests, and
the worst for hers--the evidence of her own senses."
With those last words of caution, he shook the
little man warmly by the hand and sent him home on the spot.
=
ON returning to Sea View, Noel Vanstone execut=
ed
the instructions which prescribed his line of conduct for the first of the =
five
days with unimpeachable accuracy. A faint smile of contempt hovered about M=
rs. Lecount's
lips while the story of Mr. Bygrave's attempt to pass off his spurious pict=
ures
as originals was in progress, but she did not trouble herself to utter a si=
ngle
word of remark when it had come to an end. "Just what I said!"
thought Noel Vanstone, cunningly watching her face; "she doesn't belie=
ve a
word of it!"
The next day the meeting occurred on the Parad=
e.
Mr. Bygrave took off his hat, and Noel Vanstone looked the other way. The
captain's start of surprise and scowl of indignation were executed to
perfection, but they plainly failed to impose on Mrs. Lecount. "I am
afraid, sir, you have offended Mr. Bygrave to-day," she ironically
remarked. "Happily for you, he is an excellent Christian! and I ventur=
e to
predict that he will forgive you to-morrow."
Noel Vanstone wisely refrained from committing
himself to an answer. Once more he privately applauded his own penetration;
once more he triumphed over his ingenious friend.
Thus far the captain's instructions had been t=
oo
clear and simple to be mistaken by any one. But they advanced in complicati=
on
with the advance of time, and on the third day Noel Vanstone fell confusedly
into the commission of a slight error. After expressing the necessary weari=
ness
of Aldborough, and the consequent anxiety for change of scene, he was met (=
as
he had anticipated) by an immediate suggestion from the housekeeper,
recommending a visit to St. Crux. In giving his answer to the advice thus
tendered, he made his first mistake. Instead of deferring his decision until
the next day, he accepted Mrs. Lecount's suggestion on the day when it was
offered to him.
The consequences of this error were of no great
importance. The housekeeper merely set herself to watch her master one day
earlier than had been calculated on--a result which had been already provid=
ed
for by the wise precautionary measure of forbidding Noel Vanstone all commu=
nication
with North Shingles. Doubting, as Captain Wragge had foreseen, the sincerit=
y of
her master's desire to break off his connection with the Bygraves by going =
to
St. Crux, Mrs. Lecount tested the truth or falsehood of the impression prod=
uced
on her own mind by vigilantly watching for sign s of secret communication on
one side or on the other. The close attention with which she had hitherto
observed the out-goings and in-comings at North Shingles was now entirely
transferred to her master. For the rest of that third day she never let him=
out
of her sight; she never allowed any third person who came to the house, on =
any
pretense whatever, a minute's chance of private communication with him. At
intervals through the night she stole to the door of his room, to listen and
assure herself that he was in bed; and before sunrise the next morning, the
coast-guardsman going his rounds was surprised to see a lady who had risen =
as
early as himself engaged over her work at one of the upper windows of Sea V=
iew.
On the fourth morning Noel Vanstone came down =
to
breakfast conscious of the mistake that he had committed on the previous da=
y.
The obvious course to take, for the purpose of gaining time, was to declare
that his mind was still undecided. He made the assertion boldly when the ho=
usekeeper
asked him if he meant to move that day. Again Mrs. Lecount offered no remar=
k,
and again the signs and tokens of incredulity showed themselves in her face.
Vacillation of purpose was not at all unusual in her experience of her mast=
er.
But on this occasion she believed that his caprice of conduct was assumed f=
or
the purpose of gaining time to communicate with North Shingles, and she
accordingly set her watch on him once more with doubled and trebled vigilan=
ce.
No letters came that morning. Toward noon the
weather changed for the worse, and all idea of walking out as usual was
abandoned. Hour after hour, while her master sat in one of the parlors, Mrs.
Lecount kept watch in the other, with the door into the passage open, and w=
ith
a full view of North Shingles through the convenient side-window at which s=
he had
established herself. Not a sign that was suspicious appeared, not a sound t=
hat
was suspicious caught her ear. As the evening closed in, her master's
hesitation came to an end. He was disgusted with the weather; he hated the
place; he foresaw the annoyance of more meetings with Mr. Bygrave, and he w=
as
determined to go to St. Crux the first thing the next morning. Lecount could
stay behind to pack up the curiosities and settle with the trades-people, a=
nd
could follow him to the admiral's on the next day. The housekeeper was a li=
ttle
staggered by the tone and manner in which he gave these orders. He had, to =
her
own certain knowledge, effected no communication of any sort with North
Shingles, and yet he seemed determined to leave Aldborough at the earliest =
possible
opportunity. For the first time she hesitated in her adherence to her own
conclusions. She remembered that her master had complained of the Bygraves
before they returned to Aldborough; and she was conscious that her own
incredulity had once already misled her when the appearance of the
traveling-carriage at the door had proved even Mr. Bygrave himself to be as
good as his word.
Still Mrs. Lecount determined to act with
unrelenting caution to the last. That night, when the doors were closed, she
privately removed the keys from the door in front and the door at the back.=
She
then softly opened her bedroom window and sat down by it, with her bonnet a=
nd
cloak on, to prevent her taking cold. Noel Vanstone's window was on the sam=
e side
of the house as her own. If any one came in the dark to speak to him from t=
he
garden beneath, they would speak to his housekeeper as well. Prepared at all
points to intercept every form of clandestine communication which stratagem=
could
invent, Mrs. Lecount watched through the quiet night. When morning came, she
stole downstairs before the servant was up, restored the keys to their plac=
es,
and re-occupied her position in the parlor until Noel Vanstone made his
appearance at the breakfast-table. Had he altered his mind? No. He declined
posting to the railway on account of the expense, but he was as firm as eve=
r in
his resolution to go to St. Crux. He desired that an inside place might be =
secured
for him in the early coach. Suspicious to the last, Mrs. Lecount sent the
baker's man to take the place. He was a public servant, and Mr. Bygrave wou=
ld
not suspect him of performing a private errand.
The coach called at Sea View. Mrs. Lecount saw=
her
master established in his place, and ascertained that the other three inside
seats were already occupied by strangers. She inquired of the coachman if t=
he outside
places (all of which were not yet filled up) had their full complement of
passengers also. The man replied in the affirmative. He had two gentlemen to
call for in the town, and the others would take their places at the inn. Mr=
s.
Lecount forthwith turned her steps toward the inn, and took up her position=
on
the Parade opposite from a point of view which would enable her to see the =
last
of the coach on its departure. In ten minutes more it rattled away, full
outside and in; and the housekeeper's own eyes assured her that neither Mr.
Bygrave himself, nor any one belonging to North Shingles, was among the
passengers.
There was only one more precaution to take, and
Mrs. Lecount did not neglect it. Mr. Bygrave had doubtless seen the coach c=
all
at Sea View. He might hire a carriage and follow it to the railway on pure =
speculation.
Mrs. Lecount remained within view of the inn (the only place at which a
carriage could be obtained) for nearly an hour longer, waiting for events.
Nothing happened; no carriage made its appearance; no pursuit of Noel Vanst=
one
was now within the range of human possibility. The long strain on Mrs.
Lecount's mind relaxed at last. She left her seat on the Parade, and return=
ed
in higher spirits than usual, to perform the closing household ceremonies at
Sea View.
She sat down alone in the parlor and drew a lo=
ng
breath of relief. Captain Wragge's calculations had not deceived him. The
evidence of her own senses had at last conquered the housekeeper's incredul=
ity,
and had literally forced her into the opposite extreme of belief.
Estimating the events of the last three days f=
rom
her own experience of them; knowing (as she certainly knew) that the first =
idea
of going to St. Crux had been started by herself, and that her master had f=
ound
no opportunity and shown no inclination to inform the family at North Shing=
les
that he had accepted her proposal, Mrs. Lecount was fairly compelled to
acknowledge that not a fragment of foundation remained to justify the conti=
nued
suspicion of treachery in her own mind. Looking at the succession of
circumstances under the new light thrown on them by results, she could see
nothing unaccountable, nothing contradictory anywhere. The attempt to pass =
off
the forged pictures as originals was in perfect harmony with the character =
of
such a man as Mr. Bygrave. Her master's indignation at the attempt to impos=
e on
him; his plainly-expressed suspicion that Miss Bygrave was privy to it; his=
disappointment
in the niece; his contemptuous treatment of the uncle on the Parade; his
weariness of the place which had been the scene of his rash intimacy with
strangers, and his readiness to quit it that morning, all commended themsel=
ves
as genuine realities to the housekeeper's mind, for one sufficient reason. =
Her
own eyes had seen Noel Vanstone take his departure from Aldborough without
leaving, or attempting to leave, a single trace behind him for the Bygraves=
to
follow.
Thus far the housekeeper's conclusions led her,
but no further. She was too shrewd a woman to trust the future to chance and
fortune. Her master's variable temper might relent. Accident might at any t=
ime
give Mr. Bygrave an opportunity of repairing the error that he had committe=
d, and
of artfully regaining his lost place in Noel Vanstone's estimation. Admitti=
ng
that circumstances had at last declared themselves unmistakably in her favo=
r,
Mrs. Lecount was not the less convinced that nothing would permanently assu=
re
her master's security for the future but the plain exposure of the conspira=
cy
which she had striven to accomplish from the first--which she was resolved =
to
accomplish still.
"I always enjoy myself at St. Crux,"
thought Mrs. Lecount, opening her account-books, and sorting the tradesmen's
bills. "The admiral is a gentleman, the house is noble, the table is
excellent. No matter! Here at Sea View I stay by myself till I have seen the
inside of Miss Bygrave's wardrobe."
She packed her master's collection of curiosit=
ies
in their various cases, settled the claims of the trades-people, and
superintended the covering of the furniture in the course of the day. Toward
nightfall she went out, bent on investigation, and ventured into the garden=
at
North Shingles under cover of the darkness. She saw the light in the parlor=
window,
and the lights in the windows of the rooms upstairs, as usual. After an
instant's hesitation she stole to the house door, and noiselessly tried the
handle from the outside. It turned the lock as she had expected, from her
experience of houses at Aldborough and at other watering-places, but the do=
or
resisted her; the door was distrustfully bolted on the inside. After making
that discovery, she went round to the back of the house, and ascertained th=
at
the door on that side was secured in the same manner. "Bolt your doors,
Mr. Bygrave, as fast as you like," said the housekeeper, stealing back
again to the Parade. "You can't bolt the entrance to your servant's
pocket. The best lock you have may be opened by a golden key."
She went back to bed. The ceaseless watching, =
the
unrelaxing excitement of the last two days, had worn her out.
The next morning she rose at seven o'clock. In
half an hour more she saw the punctual Mr. Bygrave--as she had seen him on =
many
previous mornings at the same time--issue from the gate of North Shingles, =
with
his towels under his arm, and make his way to a boat that was waiting for h=
im
on the beach. Swimming was one among the many personal accomplishments of w=
hich
the captain was master. He was rowed out to sea every morning, and took his
bath luxuriously in the deep blue water. Mrs. Lecount had already computed =
the
time consumed in this recreation by her watch, and had discovered that a fu=
ll
hour usually elapsed from the moment when he embarked on the beach to the
moment when he returned.
During that period she had never seen any other inhabitant of North Shingles leave the house. The servant was no doubt at h= er work in the kitchen; Mrs. Bygrave was probably still in her bed; and Miss Bygrave (if she was up at that early hour) had perhaps received directions = not to venture out in her uncle's absence. The difficulty of meeting the obstacle = of Magdalen's presence in the house had been, for some days past, the one diff= iculty which all Mrs. Lecount's ingenuity had thus far proved unable to overcome.<= o:p>
She sat at the window for a quarter of an hour
after the captain's boat had left the beach with her mind hard at work, and=
her
eyes fixed mechanically on North Shingles--she sat considering what written
excuse she could send to her master for delaying her departure from Aldboro=
ugh for
some days to come--when the door of the house she was watching suddenly ope=
ned,
and Magdalen herself appeared in the garden. There was no mistaking her fig=
ure
and her dress. She took a few steps hastily toward the gate, stopped and pu=
lled
down the veil of her garden hat as if she felt the clear morning light too =
much
for her, then hurried out on the Parade and walked away northward, in such
haste, or in such pre-occupation of mind, that she went through the garden =
gate
without closing it after her.
Mrs. Lecount started up from her chair with a
moment's doubt of the evidence of her own eyes. Had the opportunity which s=
he
had been vainly plotting to produce actually offered itself to her of its o=
wn
accord? Had the chances declared themselves at last in her favor, after
steadily acting against her for so long? There was no doubt of it: in the
popular phrase, "her luck had turned." She snatched up her bonnet=
and
mantilla, and made for North Shingles without an instant's hesitation. Mr.
Bygrave out at sea; Miss Bygrave away for a walk; Mrs. Bygrave and the serv=
ant both
at home, and both easily dealt with--the opportunity was not to be lost; the
risk was well worth running!
This time the house door was easily opened: no=
one
had bolted it again after Magdalen's departure. Mrs. Lecount closed the door
softly, listened for a moment in the passage, and heard the servant noisily=
occupied
in the kitchen with her pots and pans. "If my lucky star leads me stra=
ight
into Miss Bygrave's room," thought the housekeeper, stealing noiseless=
ly
up the stairs, "I may find my way to her wardrobe without disturbing
anybody."
She tried the door nearest to the front of the
house on the right-hand side of the landing. Capricious chance had deserted=
her
already. The lock was turned. She tried the door opposite, on her left hand=
. The
boots ranged symmetrically in a row, and the razors on the dressing-table, =
told
her at once that she had not found the right room yet. She returned to the
right-hand side of the landing, walked down a little passage leading to the
back of the house, and tried a third door. The door opened, and the two
opposite extremes of female humanity, Mrs. Wragge and Mrs. Lecount, stood f=
ace
to face in an instant!
"I beg ten thousand pardons!" said M=
rs.
Lecount, with the most consummate self-possession.
"Lord bless us and save us!" cried M=
rs.
Wragge, with the most helpless amazement.
The two exclamations were uttered in a moment,=
and
in that moment Mrs. Lecount took the measure of her victim. Nothing of the
least importance escaped her. She noticed the Oriental Cashmere Robe lying =
half
made, and half unpicked again, on the table; she noticed the imbecile foot =
of
Mrs. Wragge searching blindly in the neighborhood of her chair for a lost s=
hoe;
she noticed that there was a second door in the room besides the door by wh=
ich
she had entered, and a second chair within easy reach, on which she might do
well to seat herself in a friendly and confidential way. "Pray don't
resent my intrusion," pleaded Mrs. Lecount, taking the chair. "Pr=
ay
allow me to explain myself!"
Speaking in her softest voice, surveying Mrs.
Wragge with a sweet smile on her insinuating lips, and a melting interest in
her handsome black eyes, the housekeeper told her little introductory serie=
s of
falsehoods with an artless truthfulness of manner which the Father of Lies
himself might have envied. She had heard from Mr. Bygrave that Mrs. Bygrave=
was
a great invalid; she had constantly reproached herself, in her idle half-ho=
urs
at Sea View (where she filled the situation of Mr. Noel Vanstone's
housekeeper), for not having offered her friendly services to Mrs. Bygrave;=
she
had been directed by her master (doubtless well known to Mrs. Bygrave, as o=
ne
of her husband's friends, and, naturally, one of her charming niece's
admirers), to join him that day at the residence to which he had removed fr=
om
Aldborough; she was obliged to leave early, but she could not reconcile it =
to
her conscience to go without calling to apologize for her apparent want of
neighborly consideration; she had found nobody in the house; she had not be=
en
able to make the servant hear; she had presumed (not discovering that apart=
ment
downstairs) that Mrs. Bygrave's boudoir might be on the upper story; she ha=
d thoughtlessly
committed an intrusion of which she was sincerely ashamed, and she could now
only trust to Mrs. Bygrave's indulgence to excuse and forgive her.
A less elaborate apology might have served Mrs.
Lecount's purpose. As soon as Mrs. Wragge's struggling perceptions had gras=
ped
the fact that her unexpected visitor was a neighbor well known to her by
repute, her whole being became absorbed in admiration of Mrs. Lecount's
lady-like manners, and Mrs. Lecount's perfectly-fitting gown! "What a
noble way she has of talking!" thought poor Mrs. Wragge, as the
housekeeper reached her closing sentence. "And, oh my heart alive, how
nicely she's dressed!"
"I see I disturb you," pursued Mrs.
Lecount, artfully availing herself of the Oriental Cashmere Robe as a means
ready at hand of reaching the end she had in view--"I see I disturb yo=
u,
ma'am, over an occupation which, I know by experience, requires the closest
attention. Dear, dear me, you are un picking the dress again, I see, after =
it
has been made! This is my own experience again, Mrs. Bygrave. Some dresses =
are
so obstinate! Some dresses seem to say to one, in so many words, 'No! you m=
ay
do what you like with me; I won't fit!'"
Mrs. Wragge was greatly struck by this happy
remark. She burst out laughing, and clapped her great hands in hearty appro=
val.
"That's what this gown has been saying to=
me
ever since I first put the scissors into it," she exclaimed, cheerfull=
y.
"I know I've got an awful big back, but that's no reason. Why should a
gown be weeks on hand, and then not meet behind you after all? It hangs ove=
r my
Boasom like a sack--it does. Look here, ma'am, at the skirt. It won't come
right. It draggles in front, and cocks up behind. It shows my heels--and, L=
ord knows,
I get into scrapes enough about my heels, without showing them into the
bargain!"
"May I ask a favor?" inquired Mrs.
Lecount, confidentially. "May I try, Mrs. Bygrave, if I can make my
experience of any use to you? I think our bosoms, ma'am, are our great
difficulty. Now, this bosom of yours?--Shall I say in plain words what I th=
ink?
This bosom of yours is an Enormous Mistake!"
"Don't say that!" cried Mrs. Wragge,
imploringly. "Don't please, there's a good soul! It's an awful big one=
, I
know; but it's modeled, for all that, from one of Magdalen's own."
She was far too deeply interested on the subje=
ct
of the dress to notice that she had forgotten herself already, and that she=
had
referred to Magdalen by her own name. Mrs. Lecount's sharp ears detected the
mistake the instant it was committed. "So! so!" she thought.
"One discovery already. If I had ever doubted my own suspicions, here =
is
an estimable lady who would now have set me right.--I beg your pardon,"
she proceeded, aloud, "did you say this was modeled from one of your
niece's dresses?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Wragge. "It's =
as
like as two peas."
"Then," replied Mrs. Lecount, adroit=
ly,
"there must be some serious mistake in the making of your niece's dres=
s.
Can you show it to me?"
"Bless your heart--yes!" cried Mrs.
Wragge. "Step this way, ma'am; and bring the gown along with you, plea=
se.
It keeps sliding off, out of pure aggravation, if you lay it out on the tab=
le.
There's lots of room on the bed in here."
She opened the door of communication and led t=
he
way eagerly into Magdalen's room. As Mrs. Lecount followed, she stole a loo=
k at
her watch. Never before had time flown as it flew that morning! In twenty m=
inutes
more Mr. Bygrave would be back from his bath.
"There!" said Mrs. Wragge, throwing =
open
the wardrobe, and taking a dress down from one of the pegs. "Look ther=
e!
There's plaits on her Boasom, and plaits on mine. Six of one and half a doz=
en
of the other; and mine are the biggest--that's all!"
Mrs. Lecount shook her head gravely, and enter=
ed
forthwith into subtleties of disquisition on the art of dressmaking which h=
ad
the desired effect of utterly bewildering the proprietor of the Oriental Ca=
shmere
Robe in less than three minutes.
"Don't!" cried Mrs. Wragge, implorin=
gly.
"Don't go on like that! I'm miles behind you; and my head's Buzzing
already. Tell us, like a good soul, what's to be done. You said something a=
bout
the pattern just now. Perhaps I'm too big for the pattern? I can't help it =
if I
am. Many's the good cry I had, when I was a growing girl, over my own size!
There's half too much of me, ma'am--measure me along or measure me across, =
I don't
deny it--there's half too much of me, anyway."
"My dear madam," protested Mrs. Leco=
unt,
"you do yourself a wrong! Permit me to assure you that you possess a
commanding figure--a figure of Minerva. A majestic simplicity in the form o=
f a
woman imperatively demands a majestic simplicity in the form of that woman's
dress. The laws of costume are classical; the laws of costume must not be t=
rifled
with! Plaits for Venus, puffs for Juno, folds for Minerva. I venture to sug=
gest
a total change of pattern. Your niece has other dresses in her collection. =
Why
may we not find a Minerva pattern among them?"
As she said those words, she led the way back =
to
the wardrobe.
Mrs. Wragge followed, and took the dresses out=
one
by one, shaking her head despondently. Silk dresses appeared, muslin dresses
appeared. The one dress which remained invisible was the dress of which Mrs.
Lecount was in search.
"There's the lot of 'em," said Mrs.
Wragge. "They may do for Venus and the two other Ones (I've seen 'em in
picters without a morsel of decent linen among the three), but they won't do
for Me."
"Surely there is another dress left?"
said Mrs. Lecount, pointing to the wardrobe, but touching nothing in it.
"Surely I see something hanging in the corner behind that dark
shawl?"
Mrs. Wragge removed the shawl; Mrs. Lecount op=
ened
the door of the wardrobe a little wider. There--hitched carelessly on the
innermost peg--there, with its white spots, and its double flounce, was the
brown Alpaca dress!
The suddenness and completeness of the discove=
ry
threw the housekeeper, practiced dissembler as she was, completely off her
guard. She started at the sight of the dress. The instant afterward her eyes
turned uneasily toward Mrs. Wragge. Had the start been observed? It had pas=
sed entirely
unnoticed. Mrs. Wragge's whole attention was fixed on the Alpaca dress: she=
was
staring at it incomprehensibly, with an expression of the utmost dismay.
"You seem alarmed, ma'am," said Mrs.
Lecount. "What is there in the wardrobe to frighten you?"
"I'd have given a crown piece out of my
pocket," said Mrs. Wragge, "not to have set my eyes on that gown.=
It
had gone clean out of my head, and now it's come back again. Cover it up!&q=
uot;
cried Mrs. Wragge, throwing the shawl over the dress in a sudden fit of
desperation. "If I look at it much longer, I shall think I'm back agai=
n in
Vauxhall Walk!"
Vauxhall Walk! Those two words told Mrs. Lecou=
nt
she was on the brink of another discovery. She stole a second look at her
watch. There was barely ten minutes to spare before the time when Mr. Bygra=
ve
might return; there was not one of those ten minutes which might not bring =
his niece
back to the house. Caution counseled Mrs. Lecount to go, without running any
more risks. Curiosity rooted her to the spot, and gave the courage to stay =
at
all hazards until the time was up. Her amiable smile began to harden a litt=
le
as she probed her way tenderly into Mrs. Wragge's feeble mind.
"You have some unpleasant remembrances of
Vauxhall Walk?" she said, with the gentlest possible tone of inquiry in
her voice. "Or perhaps I should say, unpleasant remembrances of that d=
ress
belonging to your niece?"
"The last time I saw her with that gown on," said Mrs. Wragge, dropping into a chair and beginning to tremble, "was the time when I came back from shopping and saw the Ghost."<= o:p>
"The Ghost?" repeated Mrs. Lecount,
clasping her hands in graceful astonishment. "Dear madam, pardon me! Is
there such a thing in the world? Where did you see it? In Vauxhall Walk? Te=
ll
me--you are the first lady I ever met with who has seen a ghost--pray tell
me!"
Flattered by the position of importance which =
she
had suddenly assumed in the housekeeper's eyes, Mrs. Wragge entered at full
length into the narrative of her supernatural adventure. The breathless
eagerness with which Mrs. Lecount listened to her description of the specte=
r's
costume, the specter's hurry on the stairs, and the specter's disappearance=
in the
bedroom; the extraordinary interest which Mrs. Lecount displayed on hearing
that the dress in the wardrobe was the very dress in which Magdalen happene=
d to
be attired at the awful moment when the ghost vanished, encouraged Mrs. Wra=
gge
to wade deeper and deeper into details, and to involve herself in a confusi=
on
of collateral circumstances out of which there seemed to be no prospect of =
her
emerging for hours to come. Faster and faster the inexorable minutes flew b=
y;
nearer and nearer came the fatal moment of Mr. Bygrave's return. Mrs. Lecou=
nt
looked at her watch for the third time, without an attempt on this occasion=
to
conceal the action from her companion's notice. There were literally two
minutes left for her to get clear of North Shingles. Two minutes would be e=
nough,
if no accident happened. She had discovered the Alpaca dress; she had heard=
the
whole story of the adventure in Vauxhall Walk; and, more than that, she had
even informed herself of the number of the house--which Mrs. Wragge happene=
d to
remember, because it answered to the number of years in her own age. All th=
at
was necessary to her master's complete enlightenment she had now accomplish=
ed.
Even if there had been time to stay longer, there was nothing worth staying
for. "I'll strike this worthy idiot dumb with a coup d'etat," tho=
ught
the housekeeper, "and vanish before she recovers herself."
"Horrible!" cried Mrs. Lecount,
interrupting the ghostly narrative by a shrill little scream and making for=
the
door, to Mrs. Wragge's unutterable astonishment, without the least ceremony.
"You freeze the very marrow of my bones. Good-morning!" She coolly
tossed the Oriental Cashmere Robe into Mrs. Wragge's expansive lap and left=
the
room in an instant.
As she swiftly descended the stairs, she heard=
the
door of the bedroom open.
"Where are your manners?" cried a vo=
ice
from above, hailing her feebly over the banisters. "What do you mean by
pitching my gown at me in that way? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!&qu=
ot;
pursued Mrs. Wragge, turning from a lamb to a lioness, as she gradually
realized the indignity offered to the Cashmere Robe. "You nasty foreig=
ner,
you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
Pursued by this valedictory address, Mrs. Leco=
unt
reached the house door, and opened it without interruption. She glided rapi=
dly
along the garden path, passed through the gate, and finding herself safe on=
the
Parade, stopped, and looked toward the sea.
The first object which her eyes encountered was
the figure of Mr. Bygrave standing motionless on the beach--a petrified bat=
her,
with his towels in his hand! One glance at him was enough to show that he h=
ad seen
the housekeeper passing out through his garden gate.
Rightly conjecturing that Mr. Bygrave's first
impulse would lead him to make instant inquiries in his own house, Mrs. Lec=
ount
pursued her way back to Sea View as composedly as if nothing had happened. =
When
she entered the parlor where her solitary breakfast was waiting for her, sh=
e was
surprised to see a letter lying on the table. She approached to take it up =
with
an expression of impatience, thinking it might be some tradesman's bill whi=
ch
she had forgotten.
It was the forged letter from Zurich.
=
THE postmark and the handwriting on the address
(admirably imitated from the original) warned Mrs. Lecount of the contents =
of
the letter before she opened it.
After waiting a moment to compose herself, she
read the announcement of her brother's relapse.
There was nothing in the handwriting, there wa=
s no
expression in any part of the letter which could suggest to her mind the
faintest suspicion of foul play. Not the shadow of a doubt occurred to her =
that
the summons to her brother's bedside was genuine. The hand that held the le=
tter
dropped heavily into her lap; she became pale, and old, and haggard in a
moment. Thoughts, far removed from her present aims and interests; remembra=
nces
that carried her back to other lands than England, to other times than the =
time
of her life in service, prolonged their inner shadows to the surface, and
showed the traces of their mysterious passage darkly on her face. The minut=
es
followed each other, and still the servant below stairs waited vainly for t=
he
parlor bell. The minutes followed each other, and still she sat, tearless a=
nd
quiet, dead to the present and the future, living in the past.
The entrance of the servant, uncalled, roused =
her.
With a heavy sigh, the cold and secret woman folded the letter up again and
addressed herself to the interests and the duties of the passing time.
She decided the question of going or not going=
to
Zurich, after a very brief consideration of it. Before she had drawn her ch=
air
to the breakfast-table she had resolved to go.
Admirably as Captain Wragge's stratagem had
worked, it might have failed--unassisted by the occurrence of the morning--=
to
achieve this result. The very accident against which it had been the captai=
n's
chief anxiety to guard--the accident which had just taken place in spite of=
him--was,
of all the events that could have happened, the one event which falsified e=
very
previous calculation, by directly forwarding the main purpose of the
conspiracy! If Mrs. Lecount had not obtained the information of which she w=
as
in search before the receipt of the letter from Zurich, the letter might ha=
ve
addressed her in vain. She would have hesitated before deciding to leave
England, and that hesitation might have proved fatal to the captain's schem=
e.
As it was, with the plain proofs in her
possession, with the gown discovered in Magdalen's wardrobe, with the piece=
cut
out of it in her own pocketbook, and with the knowledge, obtained from Mrs.
Wragge, of the very house in which the disguise had been put on, Mrs. Lecou=
nt
had now at her command the means of warning Noel Vanstone as she had never =
been
able to warn him yet, or, in other words, the means of guarding against any
dangerous tendencies toward reconciliation with the Bygraves which might
otherwise have entered his mind during her absence at Zurich. The only
difficulty which now perplexed her was the difficulty of deciding whether s=
he
should communicate with her master personally or by writing, before her
departure from England.
She looked again at the doctor's letter. The w=
ord
"instantly," in the sentence which summoned her to her dying brot=
her,
was twice underlined. Admiral Bartram's house was at some distance from the
railway; the time consumed in driving to St. Crux, and driving back again,
might be time fatally lost on the journey to Zurich. Although she would
infinitely have preferred a personal interview with Noel Vanstone, there wa=
s no
choice on a matter of life and death but to save the precious hours by writ=
ing
to him.
After sending to secure a place at once in the
early coach, she sat down to write to her master.
Her first thought was to tell him all that had=
happened
at North Shingles that morning. On reflection, however, she rejected the id=
ea. Once
already (in copying the personal description from Miss Garth's letter) she =
had
trusted her weapons in her master's hands, and Mr. Bygrave had contrived to
turn them against her. She resolved this time to keep them strictly in her =
own
possession. The secret of the missing fragment of the Alpaca dress was know=
n to
no living creature but herself; and, until her return to England, she
determined to keep it to herself. The necessary impression might be produce=
d on
Noel Vanstone's mind without venturing into details. She knew by experience=
the
form of letter which might be trusted to produce an effect on him, and she =
now wrote
it in these words:
=
"DEAR
MR. NOEL--Sad news has reached me from Switzerland. My beloved brother is d=
ying
and his medical attendant summons me instantly to Zurich. The serious neces=
sity
of availing myself of the earliest means of conveyance to the Continent lea=
ves
me but one alternative. I must profit by the permission to leave England, if
necessary, which you kindly granted to me at the beginning of my brother's
illness, and I must avoid all delay by going straight to London, instead of
turning aside, as I should have liked, to see you first at St. Crux.
"Painfully as I am affected by the family
calamity which has fallen on me, I cannot let this opportunity pass without
adverting to another subject which seriously concerns your welfare, and in
which (on that account) your old housekeeper feels the deepest interest.
"I am going to surprise and shock you, Mr.
Noel. Pray don't be agitated! pray compose yourself!
"The impudent attempt to cheat you, which=
has
happily opened your eyes to the true character of our neighbors at North
Shingles, was not the only object which Mr. Bygrave had in forcing himself =
on
your acquaintance. The infamous conspiracy with which you were threatened in
London has been in full progress against you under Mr. Bygrave's direction,=
at
Aldborough. Accident--I will tell you what accident when we meet--has put m=
e in
possession of information precious to your future security. I have discover=
ed,
to an absolute certainty, that the person calling herself Miss Bygrave is no
other than the woman who visited us in disguise at Vauxhall Walk.
"I suspected this from the first, but I h=
ad
no evidence to support my suspicions; I had no means of combating the false
impression produced on you. My hands, I thank Heaven, are tied no longer. I
possess absolute proof of the assertion that I have just made--proof that y=
our
own eyes can see--proof that would satisfy you, if you were judge in a Cour=
t of
Justice.
"Perhaps even yet, Mr. Noel, you will ref=
use
to believe me? Be it so. Believe me or not, I have one last favor to ask, w=
hich
your English sense of fair play will not deny me.
"This melancholy journey of mine will kee=
p me
away from England for a fortnight, or, at most, for three weeks. You will
oblige me--and you will certainly not sacrifice your own convenience and
pleasure--by staying through that interval with your friends at St. Crux. I=
f,
before my return, some unexpected circumstance throws you once more into th=
e company
of the Bygraves, and if your natural kindness of heart inclines you to rece=
ive
the excuses which they will, in that case, certainly address to you, place =
one
trifling restraint on yourself, for your own sake, if not for mine. Suspend
your flirtation with the young lady (I beg pardon of all other young ladies=
for
calling her so!) until my return. If, when I come back, I fail to prove to =
you
that Miss Bygrave is the woman who wore that disguise, and used those
threatening words, in Vauxhall Wall, I will engage to leave your service at=
a
day's notice; and I will atone for the sin of bearing false witness against=
my neighbor
by resigning every claim I have to your grateful remembrance, on your fathe=
r's
account as well as on your own. I make this engagement without reserves of =
any
kind; and I promise to abide by it--if my proofs fail--on the faith of a go=
od
Catholic, and the word of an honest woman. Your faithful servant,
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
=
The
closing sentences of this letter--as the housekeeper well knew when she wro=
te
them--embodied the one appeal to Noel Vanstone which could be certainly tru=
sted
to produce a deep and lasting effect. She might have staked her oath, her l=
ife,
or her reputation, on proving the assertion which she had made, and have fa=
iled
to leave a permanent impression on his mind. But when she staked not only h=
er
position in his service, but her pecuniary claims on him as well, she at on=
ce
absorbed the ruling passion of his life in expectation of the result. There=
was
not a doubt of it, in the strongest of all his interests--the interest of
saving his money--he would wait.
"Checkmate for Mr. Bygrave!" thought
Mrs. Lecount, as she sealed and directed the letter. "The battle is
over--the game is played out."
While Mrs. Lecount was providing for her maste=
r's
future security at Sea View, events were in full progress at North Shingles=
.
As soon as Captain Wragge recovered his
astonishment at the housekeeper's appearance on his own premises, he hurried
into the house, and, guided by his own forebodings of the disaster that had
happened, made straight for his wife's room.
Never, in all her former experience, had poor =
Mrs.
Wragge felt the full weight of the captain's indignation as she felt it now.
All the little intelligence she naturally possessed vanished at once in the
whirlwind of her husband's rage. The only plain facts which he could extract
from her were two in number. In the first place, Magdalen's rash desertion =
of
her post proved to have no better reason to excuse it than Magdalen's incor=
rigible
impatience: she had passed a sleepless night; she had risen feverish and
wretched; and she had gone out, reckless of all consequences, to cool her
burning head in the fresh air. In the second place, Mrs. Wragge had, on her=
own
confession, seen Mrs. Lecount, had talked with Mrs. Lecount, and had ended =
by
telling Mrs. Lecount the story of the ghost. Having made these discoveries,
Captain Wragge wasted no time in contending with his wife's terror and
confusion. He withdrew at once to a window which commanded an uninterrupted
prospect of Noel Vanstone's house, and there established himself on the wat=
ch
for events at Sea View, precisely as Mrs. Lecount had established herself on
the watch for events at North Shingles.
Not a word of comment on the disaster of the
morning escaped him when Magdalen returned and found him at his post. His f=
low
of language seemed at last to have run dry. "I told you what Mrs. Wrag=
ge
would do," he said, "and Mrs. Wragge has done it." He sat
unflinchingly at the window with a patience which Mrs. Lecount herself could
not have surpassed. The one active proceeding in which he seemed to think it
necessary to engage was performed by deputy. He sent the servant to the inn=
to
hire a chaise and a fast horse, and to say that he would call himself before
noon that day and tell the hostler when the vehicle would be wanted. Not a =
sign
of impatience escaped him until the time drew near for the departure of the=
early
coach. Then the captain's curly lips began to twitch with anxiety, and the
captain's restless fingers beat the devil's tattoo unremittingly on the
window-pane.
The coach appeared at last, and drew up at Sea
View. In a minute more, Captain Wragge's own observation informed him that =
one
among the passengers who left Aldborough that morning was--Mrs. Lecount.
The main uncertainty disposed of, a serious
question--suggested by the events of the morning--still remained to be solv=
ed.
Which was the destined end of Mrs. Lecount's journey--Zurich or St. Crux? T=
hat
she would certainly inform her master of Mrs. Wragge's ghost story, and of =
every
other disclosure in relation to names and places which might have escaped M=
rs.
Wragge's lips, was beyond all doubt. But of the two ways at her disposal of
doing the mischief--either personally or by letter--it was vitally importan=
t to
the captain to know which she had chosen. If she had gone to the admiral's,=
no
choice would be left him but to follow the coach, to catch the train by whi=
ch
she traveled, and to outstrip her afterward on the drive from the station in
Essex to St. Crux. If, on the contrary, she had been contented with writing=
to
her master, it would only be necessary to devise measures for intercepting =
the
letter. The captain decided on going to the post-office, in the first place=
. Assuming
that the housekeeper had written, she would not have left the letter at the
mercy of the servant--she would have seen it safely in the letter-box before
leaving Aldborough.
"Good-morning," said the captain,
cheerfully addressing the postmaster. "I am Mr. Bygrave of North Shing=
les.
I think you have a letter in the box, addressed to Mr.--?"
The postmaster was a short man, and consequent=
ly a
man with a proper idea of his own importance. He solemnly checked Captain
Wragge in full career.
"When a letter is once posted, sir,"=
he
said, "nobody out of the office has any business with it until it reac=
hes
its address."
The captain was not a man to be daunted, even =
by a
postmaster. A bright idea struck him. He took out his pocketbook, in which
Admiral Bartram's address was written, and returned to the charge.
"Suppose a letter has been wrongly direct=
ed
by mistake?" he began. "And suppose the writer wants to correct t=
he
error after the letter is put into the box?"
"When a letter is once posted, sir,"
reiterated the impenetrable local authority, "nobody out of the office
touches it on any pretense whatever."
"Granted, with all my heart," persis=
ted
the captain. "I don't want to touch it--I only want to explain myself.=
A
lady has posted a letter here, addressed to 'Noel Vanstone, Esq., Admiral
Bartram's, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex.' She wrote in a great hurry, and s=
he
is not quite certain whether she added the name of the post-town, 'Ossory.'=
It is
of the last importance that the delivery of the letter should not be delaye=
d.
What is to hinder your facilitating the post-office work, and obliging a la=
dy,
by adding the name of the post-town (if it happens to be left out), with yo=
ur
own hand? I put it to you as a zealous officer, what possible objection can
there be to granting my request?"
The postmaster was compelled to acknowledge th=
at
there could be no objection, provided nothing but a necessary line was adde=
d to
the address, provided nobody touched the letter but himself, and provided t=
he
precious time of the post-office was not suffered to run to waste. As there
happened to be nothing particular to do at that moment, he would readily ob=
lige
the lady at Mr. Bygrave's request.
Captain Wragge watched the postmaster's hands,=
as
they sorted the letters in the box, with breathless eagerness. Was the lett=
er
there? Would the hands of the zealous public servant suddenly stop? Yes! Th=
ey stopped,
and picked out a letter from the rest.
"'Noel Vanstone, Esquire,' did you say?&q=
uot;
asked the postmaster, keeping the letter in his own hand.
"'Noel Vanstone, Esquire,'" replied =
the
captain, "'Admiral Bartram's, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh.'"
"Ossory, Essex," chimed in the
postmaster, throwing the letter back into the box. "The lady has made =
no
mistake, sir. The address is quite right."
Nothing but a timely consideration of the heavy
debt he owed to appearances prevented Captain Wragge from throwing his tall
white hat up in the air as soon as he found the street once more. All furth=
er
doubt was now at an end. Mrs. Lecount had written to her master--therefore =
Mrs.
Lecount was on her way to Zurich!
With his head higher than ever, with the tails=
of
his respectable frock-coat floating behind him in the breeze, with his boso=
m's
native impudence sitting lightly on its throne, the captain strutted to the=
inn
and called for the railway time-table. After making certain calculations (in
black and white, as a matter of course), he ordered his chaise to be ready =
in
an hour--so as to reach the railway in time for the second train running to
London--with which there happened to be no communication from Aldborough by
coach.
His next proceeding was of a far more serious
kind; his next proceeding implied a terrible certainty of success. The day =
of
the week was Thursday. From the inn he went to the church, saw the clerk, a=
nd
gave the necessary notice for a marriage by license on the following Monday=
.
Bold as he was, his nerves were a little shake=
n by
this last achievement; his hand trembled as it lifted the latch of the gard=
en gate.
He doctored his nerves with brandy and water before he sent for Magdalen to
inform her of the proceedings of the morning. Another outbreak might reason=
ably
be expected when she heard that the last irrevocable step had been taken, a=
nd
that notice had been given of the wedding-day.
The captain's watch warned him to lose no time=
in
emptying his glass. In a few minutes he sent the necessary message upstairs.
While waiting for Magdalen's appearance, he provided himself with certain
materials which were now necessary to carry the enterprise to its crowning
point. In the first place, he wrote his assumed name (by no means in so fin=
e a
hand as usual) on a blank visiting-card, and added underneath these words:
"Not a moment is to be lost. I am waiting for you at the door--come do=
wn
to me directly." His next proceeding was to take some half-dozen envel=
opes
out of the case, and to direct them all alike to the following address: &qu=
ot;Thomas
Bygrave, Esq., Mussared's Hotel, Salisbury Street, Strand, London." Af=
ter
carefully placing the envelopes and the card in his breast-pocket, he shut =
up
the desk. As he rose from the writing-table, Magdalen came into the room.
The captain took a moment to decide on the best
method of opening the interview, and determined, in his own phrase, to dash=
at
it. In two words he told Magdalen what had happened, and informed her that
Monday was to be her wedding-day.
He was prepared to quiet her, if she burst int=
o a
frenzy of passion; to reason with her, if she begged for time; to sympathize
with her, if she melted into tears. To his inexpressible surprise, results
falsified all his calculations. She heard him without uttering a word, with=
out shedding
a tear. When he had done, she dropped into a chair. Her large gray eyes sta=
red
at him vacantly. In one mysterious instant all her beauty left her; her face
stiffened awfully, like the face of a corpse. For the first time in the
captain's experience of her, fear--all-mastering fear--had taken possession=
of
her, body and soul.
"You are not flinching," he said, tr= ying to rouse her. "Surely you are not flinching at the last moment?"<= o:p>
No light of intelligence came into her eyes, no
change passed over her face. But she heard him--for she moved a little in t=
he
chair, and slowly shook her head.
"You planned this marriage of your own
freewill," pursued the captain, with the furtive look and the faltering
voice of a man ill at ease. "It was your own idea--not mine. I won't h=
ave
the responsibility laid on my shoulders--no! not for twice two hundred poun=
ds.
If your resolution fails you; if you think better of it--?"
He stopped. Her face was changing; her lips we=
re
moving at last. She slowly raised her left hand, with the fingers outspread;
she looked at it as if it was a hand that was strange to her; she counted t=
he
days on it, the days before the marriage.
"Friday, one," she whispered to hers=
elf;
"Saturday, two; Sunday, three; Monday--" Her hands dropped into h=
er
lap, her face stiffened again; the deadly fear fastened its paralyzing hold=
on
her once more, and the next words died away on her lips.
Captain Wragge took out his handkerchief and w=
iped
his forehead.
"Damn the two hundred pounds!" he sa=
id.
"Two thousand wouldn't pay me for this!"
He put the handkerchief back, took the envelop=
es
which he had addressed to himself out of his pocket, and, approaching her
closely for the first time, laid his hand on her arm.
"Rouse yourself," he said, "I h=
ave
a last word to say to you. Can you listen?"
She struggled, and roused herself--a faint tin=
ge
of color stole over her white cheeks--she bowed her head.
"Look at these," pursued Captain Wra=
gge,
holding up the envelopes. "If I turn these to the use for which they h=
ave
been written, Mrs. Lecount's master will never receive Mrs. Lecount's lette=
r.
If I tear them up, he will know by to-morrow's post that you are the woman =
who
visited him in Vauxhall Walk. Say the word! Shall I tear the envelopes up, =
or
shall I put them back in my pocket?"
There was a pause of dead silence. The murmur =
of
the summer waves on the shingle of the beach and the voices of the summer
idlers on the Parade floated through the open window, and filled the empty
stillness of the room.
She raised her head; she lifted her hand and
pointed steadily to the envelopes.
"Put them back," she said.
"Do you mean it?" he asked.
"I mean it."
As she gave that answer, there was a sound of
wheels on the road outside.
"You hear those wheels?" said Captain
Wragge.
"I hear them."
"You see the chaise?" said the capta=
in,
pointing through the window as the chaise which had been ordered from the i=
nn
made its appearance at the garden gate.
"I see it."
"And, of your own free-will, you tell me =
to
go?"
"Yes. Go!"
Without another word he left her. The servant =
was
waiting at the door with his traveling bag. "Miss Bygrave is not
well," he said. "Tell your mistress to go to her in the parlor.&q=
uot;
He stepped into the chaise, and started on the
first stage of the journey to St. Crux.
TOWARD three o'clock in the afternoon Captain
Wragge stopped at the nearest station to Ossory which the railway passed in=
its
course through Essex. Inquiries made on the spot informed him that he might
drive to St. Crux, remain there for a quarter of an hour, and return to the=
station
in time for an evening train to London. In ten minutes more the captain was=
on
the road again, driving rapidly in the direction of the coast.
After proceeding some miles on the highway, the
carriage turned off, and the coachman involved himself in an intricate netw=
ork
of cross-roads.
"Are we far from St. Crux?" asked the
captain, growing impatient, after mile on mile had been passed without a si=
gn
of reaching the journey's end.
"You'll see the house, sir, at the next t=
urn
in the road," said the man.
The next turn in the road brought them within =
view
of the open country again. Ahead of the carriage, Captain Wragge saw a long
dark line against the sky--the line of the sea-wall which protects the low
coast of Essex from inundation. The flat intermediate country was intersect=
ed by
a labyrinth of tidal streams, winding up from the invisible sea in strange
fantastic curves--rivers at high water, and channels of mud at low. On his
right hand was a quaint little village, mostly composed of wooden houses,
straggling down to the brink of one of the tidal streams. On his left hand,
further away, rose the gloomy ruins of an abbey, with a desolate pile of
buildings, which covered two sides of a square attached to it. One of the
streams from the sea (called, in Essex, "backwaters") curled almo=
st
entirely round the house. Another, from an opposite quarter, appeared to run
straight through the grounds, and to separate one side of the shapeless mas=
s of
buildings, which was in moderate repair, from another, which was little bet=
ter
than a ruin. Bridges of wood and bridges of brick crossed the stream, and g=
ave
access to the house from all points of the compass. No human creature appea=
red in
the neighborhood, and no sound was heard but the hoarse barking of a house-=
dog
from an invisible courtyard.
"Which door shall I drive to, sir?"
asked the coachman. "The front or the back?"
"The back," said Captain Wragge, fee=
ling
that the less notice he attracted in his present position, the safer that
position might be.
The carriage twice crossed the stream before t=
he
coachman made his way through the grounds into a dreary inclosure of stone.=
At
an open door on the inhabited side of the place sat a weather-beaten old ma=
n,
busily at work on a half-finished model of a ship. He rose and came to the =
carriage
door, lifting up his spectacles on his forehead, and looking disconcerted at
the appearance of a stranger.
"Is Mr. Noel Vanstone staying here?"
asked Captain Wragge.
"Yes, sir," replied the old man.
"Mr. Noel came yesterday."
"Take that card to Mr. Vanstone, if you
please," said the captain, "and say I am waiting here to see
him."
In a few minutes Noel Vanstone made his
appearance, breathless and eager--absorbed in anxiety for news from Aldboro=
ugh.
Captain Wragge opened the carriage door, seized his outstretched hand, and
pulled him in without ceremony.
"Your housekeeper has gone," whisper=
ed
the captain, "and you are to be married on Monday. Don't agitate yours=
elf,
and don't express your feelings--there isn't time for it. Get the first act=
ive
servant you can find in the house to pack your bag in ten minutes, take lea=
ve
of the admiral, and come back at once with me to the London train."
Noel Vanstone faintly attempted to ask a quest=
ion.
The captain declined to hear it.
"As much talk as you like on the road,&qu=
ot;
he said. "Time is too precious for talking here. How do we know Lecount
may not think better of it? How do we know she may not turn back before she
gets to Zurich?"
That startling consideration terrified Noel
Vanstone into instant submission.
"What shall I say to the admiral?" he
asked, helplessly.
"Tell him you are going to be married, to=
be
sure! What does it matter, now Lecount's back is turned? If he wonders you
didn't tell him before, say it's a runaway match, and the bride is waiting =
for
you. Stop! Any letters addressed to you in your absence will be sent to this
place, of course? Give the admiral these envelopes, and tell him to forward
your letters under cover to me. I am an old customer at the hotel we are go=
ing
to; and if we find the place full, the landlord may be depended on to take =
care
of any letters with my name on them. A safe address in London for your
correspondence may be of the greatest importance. How do we know Lecount may
not write to you on her way to Zurich?"
"What a head you have got!" cried No=
el
Vanstone, eagerly taking the envelopes. "You think of everything."=
;
He left the carriage in high excitement, and r=
an
back into the house. In ten minutes more Captain Wragge had him in safe
custody, and the horses started on their return journey.
The travelers reached London in good time that
evening, and found accommodation at the hotel.
Knowing the restless, inquisitive nature of the
man he had to deal with, Captain Wragge had anticipated some little difficu=
lty
and embarrassment in meeting the questions which Noel Vanstone might put to=
him
on the way to London. To his great relief, a startling domestic discovery
absorbed his traveling companion's whole attention at the outset of the
journey. By some extraordinary oversight, Miss Bygrave had been left, on the
eve of her marriage, unprovided with a maid. Noel Vanstone declared that he=
would
take the whole responsibility of correcting this deficiency in the arrangem=
ents,
on his own shoulders; he would not trouble Mr. Bygrave to give him any
assistance; he would confer, when they got to their journey's end, with the
landlady of the hotel, and would examine the candidates for the vacant offi=
ce
himself. All the way to London, he returned again and again to the same
subject; all the evening, at the hotel, he was in and out of the landlady's
sitting-room, until he fairly obliged her to lock the door. In every other
proceeding which related to his marriage, he had been kept in the backgroun=
d;
he had been compelled to follow in the footsteps of his ingenious friend. In
the matter of the lady's maid he claimed his fitting position at last--he
followed nobody; he took the lead!
The forenoon of the next day was devoted to
obtaining the license--the personal distinction of making the declaration on
oath being eagerly accepted by Noel Vanstone, who swore, in perfect good fa=
ith
(on information previously obtained from the captain) that the lady was of =
age.
The document procured, the bridegroom returned to examine the characters and
qualifications of the women-servants out of the place whom the landlady had
engaged to summon to the hotel, while Captain Wragge turned his steps, &quo=
t;on
business personal to himself," toward the residence of a friend in a
distant quarter of London.
The captain's friend was connected with the la=
w,
and the captain's business was of a twofold nature. His first object was to
inform himself of the legal bearings of the approaching marriage on the fut=
ure
of the husband and the wife. His second object was to provide beforehand for
destroying all traces of the destination to which he might betake himself w=
hen
he left Aldborough on the wedding-day. Having reached his end successfully =
in
both these cases, he returned to the hotel, and found Noel Vanstone nursing=
his
offended dignity in the landlady's sitting-room. Three ladies' maids had
appeared to pass their examination, and had all, on coming to the question =
of
wages, impudently declined accepting the place. A fourth candidate was expe=
cted
to present herself on the next day; and, until she made her appearance, Noe=
l Vanstone
positively declined removing from the metropolis. Captain Wragge showed his
annoyance openly at the unnecessary delay thus occasioned in the return to =
Aldborough,
but without producing any effect. Noel Vanstone shook his obstinate little
head, and solemnly refused to trifle with his responsibilities.
The first event which occurred on Saturday mor=
ning
was the arrival of Mrs. Lecount's letter to her master, inclosed in one of =
the
envelopes which the captain had addressed to himself. He received it (by
previous arrangement with the waiter) in his bedroom--read it with the clos=
est attention--and
put it away carefully in his pocketbook. The letter was ominous of serious
events to come when the housekeeper returned to England; and it was due to
Magdalen--who was the person threatened--to place the warning of danger in =
her
own possession.
Later in the day the fourth candidate appeared=
for
the maid's situation--a young woman of small expectations and subdued manne=
rs,
who looked (as the landlady remarked) like a person overtaken by misfortune=
. She
passed the ordeal of examination successfully, and accepted the wages offer=
ed
with out a murmur. The engagement having been ratified on both sides, fresh
delays ensued, of which Noel Vanstone was once more the cause. He had not y=
et
made up his mind whether he would, or would not, give more than a guinea for
the wedding-ring; and he wasted the rest of the day to such disastrous purp=
ose
in one jeweler's shop after another, that he and the captain, and the new
lady's maid (who traveled with them), were barely in time to catch the last
train from London that evening. It was late at night when they left the rai=
lway
at the nearest station to Aldborough. Captain Wragge had been strangely sil=
ent
all through the journey. His mind was ill at ease. He had left Magdalen, un=
der
very critical circumstances, with no fit person to control her, and he was
wholly ignorant of the progress of events in his absence at North Shingles.=
WHAT had happened at Aldborough in Captain
Wragge's absence? Events had occurred which the captain's utmost dexterity
might have found it hard to remedy.
As soon as the chaise had left North Shingles,
Mrs. Wragge received the message which her husband had charged the servant =
to
deliver. She hastened into the parlor, bewildered by her stormy interview w=
ith
the captain, and penitently conscious that she had done wrong, without know=
ing
what the wrong was. If Magdalen's mind had been unoccupied by the one idea =
of
the marriage which now filled it--if she had possessed composure enough to
listen to Mrs. Wragge's rambling narrative of what had happened during her
interview with the housekeeper--Mrs. Lecount's visit to the wardrobe must,
sooner or later, have formed part of the disclosure; and Magdalen, although=
she
might never have guessed the truth, must at least have been warned that the=
re
was some element of danger lurking treacherously in the Alpaca dress. As it
was, no such consequence as this followed Mrs. Wragge's appearance in the
parlor; for no such consequence was now possible.
Events which had happened earlier in the morni=
ng,
events which had happened for days and weeks past, had vanished as complete=
ly
from Magdalen's mind as if they had never taken place. The horror of the co=
ming
Monday--the merciless certainty implied in the appointment of the day and
hour--petrified all feeling in her, and annihilated all thought. Mrs. Wragge
made three separate attempts to enter on the subject of the housekeeper's
visit. The first time she might as well have addressed herself to the wind,=
or
to the sea. The second attempt seemed likely to be more successful. Magdalen
sighed, listened for a moment indifferently, and then dismissed the subject.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "The end has come all the sam=
e.
I'm not angry with you. Say no more." Later in the day, from not knowi=
ng
what else to talk about, Mrs. Wragge tried again. This time Magdalen turned=
on
her impatiently. "For God's sake, don't worry me about trifles! I can't
bear it." Mrs. Wragge closed her lips on the spot, and returned to the
subject no more. Magdalen, who had been kind to her at all other times, had
angrily forbidden it. The captain--utterly ignorant of Mrs. Lecount's inter=
est in
the secrets of the wardrobe--had never so much as approached it. All the
information that he had extracted from his wife's mental confusion, he had
extracted by putting direct questions, derived purely from the resources of=
his
own knowledge. He had insisted on plain answers, without excuses of any kin=
d;
he had carried his point as usual; and his departure the same morning had l=
eft
him no chance of re-opening the question, even if his irritation against his
wife had permitted him to do so. There the Alpaca dress hung, neglected in =
the
dark--the unnoticed, unsuspected center of dangers that were still to come.=
Toward the afternoon Mrs. Wragge took courage =
to
start a suggestion of her own--she pleaded for a little turn in the fresh a=
ir.
Magdalen passively put on her hat; passively
accompanied her companion along the public walk, until they reached its
northward extremity. Here the beach was left solitary, and here they sat do=
wn,
side by side, on the shingle. It was a bright, exhilarating day; pleasure-b=
oats
were sailing on the calm blue water; Aldborough was idling happily afloat a=
nd
ashore. Mrs. Wragge recovered her spirits in the gayety of the prospect--she
amused herself like a child, by tossing pebbles into the sea. From time to =
time
she stole a questioning glance at Magdalen, and saw no encouragement in her
manner, no change to cordiality in her face. She sat silent on the slope of=
the
shingle, with her elbow on her knee, and her head resting on her hand, look=
ing
out over the sea--looking with rapt attention, and yet with eyes that seeme=
d to
notice nothing. Mrs. Wragge wearied of the pebbles, and lost her interest in
looking at the pleasure-boats. Her great head began to nod heavily, and she
dozed in the warm, drowsy air. When she woke, the pleasure-boats were far o=
ff; their
sails were white specks in the distance. The idlers on the beach were thinn=
ed
in number; the sun was low in the heaven; the blue sea was darker, and ripp=
led
by a breeze. Changes on sky and earth and ocean told of the waning day; cha=
nge
was everywhere--except close at her side. There Magdalen sat, in the same
position, with weary eyes that still looked over the sea, and still saw
nothing.
"Oh, do speak to me!" said Mrs. Wrag=
ge.
Magdalen started, and looked about her vacantl=
y.
"It's late," she said, shivering und=
er
the first sensation that reached her of the rising breeze. "Come home;=
you
want your tea." They walked home in silence.
"Don't be angry with me for asking,"
said Mrs. Wragge, as they sat together at the tea-table. "Are you
troubled, my dear, in your mind?"
"Yes," replied Magdalen. "Don't
notice me. My trouble will soon be over."
She waited patiently until Mrs. Wragge had mad=
e an
end of the meal, and then went upstairs to her own room.
"Monday!" she said, as she sat down =
at
her toilet-table. "Something may happen before Monday comes!"
Her fingers wandered mechanically among the
brushes and combs, the tiny bottles and cases placed on the table. She set =
them
in order, now in one way, and now in another--then on a sudden pushed them =
away
from her in a heap. For a minute or two her hands remained idle. That inter=
val
passed, they grew restless again, and pulled the two little drawers backward
and forward in their grooves. Among the objects laid in one of them was a P=
rayer-book
which had belonged to her at Combe-Raven, and which she had saved with her
other relics of the past, when she and her sister had taken their farewell =
of
home. She opened the Prayer-book, after a long hesitation, at the Marriage
Service, shut it again before she had read a line, and put it back hurriedl=
y in
one of the drawers. After turning the key in the locks, she rose and walked=
to
the window. "The horrible sea!" she said, turning from it with a
shudder of disgust--"the lonely, dreary, horrible sea!"
She went back to the drawer, and took the
Prayer-book out for the second time, half opened it again at the Marriage
Service, and impatiently threw it back into the drawer. This time, after
turning the lock, she took the key away, walked with it in her hand to the =
open
window, and threw it violently from her into the garden. It fell on a bed
thickly planted with flowers. It was invisible; it was lost. The sense of i=
ts loss
seemed to relieve her.
"Something may happen on Friday; something
may happen on Saturday; something may happen on Sunday. Three days still!&q=
uot;
She closed the green shutters outside the wind=
ow
and drew the curtains to darken the room still more. Her head felt heavy; h=
er
eyes were burning hot. She threw herself on her bed, with a sullen impulse =
to sleep
away the time. The quiet of the house helped her; the darkness of the room
helped her; the stupor of mind into which she had fallen had its effect on =
her
senses; she dropped into a broken sleep. Her restless hands moved incessant=
ly,
her head tossed from side to side of the pillow, but still she slept. Ere l=
ong
words fell by ones and twos from her lips; words whispered in her sleep,
growing more and more continuous, more and more articulate, the longer the
sleep lasted--words which seemed to calm her restlessness and to hush her i=
nto
deeper repose. She smiled; she was in the happy land of dreams; Frank's nam=
e escaped
her. "Do you love me, Frank?" she whispered. "Oh, my darling=
, say
it again! say it again!"
The time passed, the room grew darker; and sti=
ll
she slumbered and dreamed. Toward sunset--without any noise inside the hous=
e or
out to account for it--she started up on the bed, awake again in an instant=
. The
drowsy obscurity of the room struck her with terror. She ran to the window,
pushed open the shutters, and leaned far out into the evening air and the
evening light. Her eyes devoured the trivial sights on the beach; her ears
drank in the welcome murmur of the sea. Anything to deliver her from the wa=
king
impression which her dreams had left! No more darkness, no more repose. Sle=
ep
that came mercifully to others came treacherously to her. Sleep had only cl=
osed
her eyes on the future, to open them on the past.
She went down again into the parlor, eager to
talk--no matter how idly, no matter on what trifles. The room was empty.
Perhaps Mrs. Wragge had gone to her work--perhaps she was too tired to talk.
Magdalen took her hat from the table and went out. The sea that she had shr=
unk
from, a few hours since, looked friendly now. How lovely it was in its cool
evening blue! What a god-like joy in the happy multitude of waves leaping u=
p to
the light of heaven!
She stayed out until the night fell and the st=
ars
appeared. The night steadied her.
By slow degrees her mind recovered its balance=
and
she looked her position unflinchingly in the face. The vain hope that accid=
ent
might defeat the very end for which, of her own free-will, she had ceaseles=
sly plotted
and toiled, vanished and left her; self-dissipated in its own weakness. She
knew the true alternative, and faced it. On one side was the revolting orde=
al
of the marriage; on the other, the abandonment of her purpose. Was it too l=
ate
to choose between the sacrifice of the purpose and the sacrifice of herself?
Yes! too late. The backward path had closed behind her. Time that no wish c=
ould
change, Time that no prayers could recall, had made her purpose a part of
herself: once she had governed it; now it governed her. The more she shrank,
the harder she struggled, the more mercilessly it drove her on. No other
feeling in her was strong enough to master it--not even the horror that was=
maddening
her--the horror of her marriage.
Toward nine o'clock she went back to the house=
.
"Walking again!" said Mrs. Wragge,
meeting her at the door. "Come in and sit down, my dear. How tired you
must be!"
Magdalen smiled, and patted Mrs. Wragge kindly=
on
the shoulder.
"You forget how strong I am," she sa=
id.
"Nothing hurts me."
She lit her candle and went upstairs again into
her room. As she returned to the old place by her toilet-table, the vain ho=
pe
in the three days of delay, the vain hope of deliverance by accident, came =
back
to her--this time in a form more tangible than the form which it had hither=
to
worn.
"Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Something may
happen to him; something may happen to me. Something serious; something fat=
al.
One of us may die."
A sudden change came over her face. She shiver=
ed,
though there was no cold in the air. She started, though there was no noise=
to
alarm her.
"One of us may die. I may be the one.&quo=
t;
She fell into deep thought, roused herself aft=
er a
while, and, opening the door, called to Mrs. Wragge to come and speak to he=
r.
"You were right in thinking I should fati=
gue
myself," she said. "My walk has been a little too much for me. I =
feel
tired, and I am going to bed. Good-night." She kissed Mrs. Wragge and
softly closed the door again.
After a few turns backward and forward in the
room, she abruptly opened her writing-case and began a letter to her sister.
The letter grew and grew under her hands; she filled sheet after sheet of
note-paper. Her heart was full of her subject: it was her own story address=
ed
to Norah. She shed no tears; she was composed to a quiet sadness. Her pen r=
an smoothly
on. After writing for more than two hours, she left off while the letter was
still unfinished. There was no signature attached to it--there was a blank
space reserved, to be filled up at some other time. After putting away the
case, with the sheets of writing secured inside it, she walked to the window
for air, and stood there looking out.
The moon was waning over the sea. The breeze of
the earlier hours had died out. On earth and ocean, the spirit of the Night
brooded in a deep and awful calm.
Her head drooped low on her bosom, and all the
view waned before her eyes with the waning moon. She saw no sea, no sky. De=
ath,
the Tempter, was busy at her heart. Death, the Tempter, pointed homeward, to
the grave of her dead parents in Combe-Raven churchyard.
"Nineteen last birthday," she though=
t.
"Only nineteen!" She moved away from the window, hesitated, and t=
hen
looked out again at the view. "The beautiful night!" she said,
gratefully. "Oh, the beautiful night!"
She left the window and lay down on her bed.
Sleep, that had come treacherously before, came mercifully now; came deep a=
nd
dreamless, the image of her last waking thought--the image of Death.
Early the next morning Mrs. Wragge went into
Magdalen's room, and found that she had risen betimes. She was sitting befo=
re
the glass, drawing the comb slowly through and through her hair--thoughtful=
and
quiet.
"How do you feel this morning, my dear?&q=
uot;
asked Mrs. Wragge. "Quite well again?"
"Yes."
After replying in the affirmative, she stopped,
considered for a moment, and suddenly contradicted herself.
"No," she said, "not quite well=
. I
am suffering a little from toothache."
As she altered her first answer in those words=
she
gave a twist to her hair with the comb, so that it fell forward and hid her
face.
At breakfast she was very silent, and she took
nothing but a cup of tea.
"Let me go to the chemist's and get
something," said Mrs. Wragge.
"No, thank you."
"Do let me!"
"No!"
She refused for the second time, sharply and
angrily. As usual, Mrs. Wragge submitted, and let her have her own way. When
breakfast was over, she rose, without a word of explanation, and went out. =
Mrs.
Wragge watched her from the window and saw that she took the direction of t=
he chemist's
shop.
On reaching the chemist's door she stopped--pa=
used
before entering the shop, and looked in at the window--hesitated, and walked
away a little--hesitated again, and took the first turning which led back t=
o the
beach.
Without looking about her, without caring what
place she chose, she seated herself on the shingle. The only persons who we=
re
near to her, in the position she now occupied, were a nursemaid and two lit=
tle
boys. The youngest of the two had a tiny toy-ship in his hand. After lookin=
g at
Magdalen for a little while with the quaintest gravity and attention, the b=
oy suddenly
approached her, and opened the way to an acquaintance by putting his toy
composedly on her lap.
"Look at my ship," said the child,
crossing his hands on Magdalen's knee.
She was not usually patient with children. In
happier days she would not have met the boy's advance toward her as she met=
it
now. The hard despair in her eyes left them suddenly; her fast-closed lips
parted and trembled. She put the ship back into the child's hands and lifted
him on her lap.
"Will you give me a kiss?" she said,=
faintly.
The boy looked at his ship as if he would rather have kissed the ship.
She repeated the question--repeated it almost
humbly. The child put his hand up to her neck and kissed her.
"If I was your sister, would you love
me?" All the misery of her friendless position, all the wasted tendern=
ess
of her heart, poured from her in those words.
"Would you love me?" she repeated,
hiding her face on the bosom of the child's frock.
"Yes," said the boy. "Look at my
ship."
She looked at the ship through her gathering
tears.
"What do you call it?" she asked, tr=
ying
ha rd to find her way even to the interest of a child.
"I call it Uncle Kirke's ship," said=
the
boy. "Uncle Kirke has gone away."
The name recalled nothing to her memory. No remembrances but old remembrances lived in her now. "Gone?" she repeated absently, thinking what she should say to her little friend next.<= o:p>
"Yes," said the boy. "Gone to
China."
Even from the lips of a child that word struck=
her
to the heart. She put Kirke's little nephew off her lap, and instantly left=
the
beach.
As she turned back to the house, the struggle =
of
the past night renewed itself in her mind. But the sense of relief which the
child had brought to her, the reviving tenderness which she had felt while =
he
sat on her knee, influenced her still. She was conscious of a dawning hope,
opening freshly on her thoughts, as the boy's innocent eyes had opened on h=
er face
when he came to her on the beach. Was it too late to turn back? Once more s=
he
asked herself that question, and now, for the first time, she asked it in
doubt.
She ran up to her own room with a lurking dist=
rust
in her changed self which warned her to act, and not to think. Without wait=
ing
to remove her shawl or to take off her hat, she opened her writing-case and
addressed these lines to Captain Wragge as fast as her pen could trace them=
:
"You will find the money I promised you
inclosed in this. My resolution has failed me. The horror of marrying him is
more than I can face. I have left Aldborough. Pity my weakness, and forget =
me.
Let us never meet again."
With throbbing heart, with eager, trembling
fingers, she drew her little white silk bag from her bosom and took out the
banknotes to inclose them in the letter. Her hand searched impetuously; her
hand had lost its discrimination of touch. She grasped the whole contents of
the bag in one handful of papers, and drew them out violently, tearing some=
and
disarranging the folds of others. As she threw them down before her on the
table, the first object that met her eye was her own handwriting, faded alr=
eady
with time. She looked closer, and saw the words she had copied from her dead
father's letter--saw the lawyer's brief and terrible commentary on them
confronting her at the bottom of the page:
Mr. Vanstone's daughters are Nobody's Children,
and the law leaves them helpless at their uncle's mercy.
Her throbbing heart stopped; her trembling han=
ds
grew icily quiet. All the Past rose before her in mute, overwhelming reproa=
ch.
She took up the lines which her own hand had written hardly a minute since,=
and
looked at the ink, still wet on the letters, with a vacant incredulity.
The color that had risen on her cheeks faded f=
rom
them once more. The hard despair looked out again, cold and glittering, in =
her
tearless eyes. She folded the banknotes carefully, and put them back in her
bag. She pressed the copy of her father's letter to her lips, and returned =
it
to its place with the banknotes. When the bag was in her bosom again, she
waited a little, with her face hidden in her hands, then deliberately tore =
up
the lines addressed to Captain Wragge. Before the ink was dry, the letter l=
ay
in fragments on the floor.
"No!" she said, as the last morsel of
the torn paper dropped from her hand. "On the way I go there is no tur=
ning
back."
She rose composedly and left the room. While
descending the stairs, she met Mrs. Wragge coming up. "Going out again=
, my
dear?" asked Mrs. Wragge. "May I go with you?"
Magdalen's attention wandered. Instead of
answering the question, she absently answered her own thoughts.
"Thousands of women marry for money,"
she said. "Why shouldn't I?"
The helpless perplexity of Mrs. Wragge's face =
as
she spoke those words roused her to a sense of present things. "My poor
dear!" she said; "I puzzle you, don't I? Never mind what I say--a=
ll
girls talk nonsense, and I'm no better than the rest of them. Come! I'll gi=
ve
you a treat. You shall enjoy yourself while the captain is away. We will ha=
ve a
long drive by ourselves. Put on your smart bonnet, and come with me to the =
hotel.
I'll tell the landlady to put a nice cold dinner into a basket. You shall h=
ave
all the things you like, and I'll wait on you. When you are an old, old wom=
an,
you will remember me kindly, won't you? You will say: 'She wasn't a bad gir=
l;
hundreds worse than she was live and prosper, and nobody blames them.' Ther=
e!
there! go and put your bonnet on. Oh, my God, what is my heart made of! How=
it
lives and lives, when other girls' hearts would have died in them long
ago!"
In half an hour more she and Mrs. Wragge were
seated together in the carriage. One of the horses was restive at starting.
"Flog him," she cried angrily to the driver. "What are you
frightened about? Flog him! Suppose the carriage was upset," she said,
turning suddenly to her companion; "and suppose I was thrown out and
killed on the spot? Nonsense! don't look at me in that way. I'm like your
husband; I have a dash of humor, and I'm only joking."
They were out the whole day. When they reached
home again, it was after dark. The long succession of hours passed in the f=
resh
air left them both with the same sense of fatigue. Again that night Magdalen
slept the deep dreamless sleep of the night before. And so the Friday close=
d.
=
Her
last thought at night had been the thought which had sustained her througho=
ut
the day. She had laid her head on the pillow with the same reckless resolut=
ion
to submit to the coming trial which had already expressed itself in words w=
hen
she and Mrs. Wragge met by accident on the stairs. When she woke on the mor=
ning
of Saturday, the resolution was gone. The Friday's thoughts--the Friday's
events even--were blotted out of her mind. Once again, creeping chill throu=
gh
the flow of her young blood, she felt the slow and deadly prompting of desp=
air
which had come to her in the waning moonlight, which had whispered to her in
the awful calm.
"I saw the end as the end must be," =
she
said to herself, "on Thursday night. I have been wrong ever since.&quo=
t;
When she and her companion met that morning, s=
he
reiterated her complaint of suffering from the toothache; she repeated her
refusal to allow Mrs. Wragge to procure a remedy; she left the house after =
breakfast,
in the direction of the chemist's shop, exactly as she had left it on the
morning before.
This time she entered the shop without an
instant's hesitation.
"I have got an attack of toothache,"=
she
said, abruptly, to an elderly man who stood behind the counter.
"May I look at the tooth, miss?"
"There is no necessity to look. It is a
hollow tooth. I think I have caught cold in it."
The chemist recommended various remedies which
were in vogue fifteen years since. She declined purchasing any of them.
"I have always found Laudanum relieve the
pain better than anything else," she said, trifling with the bottles on
the counter, and looking at them while she spoke, instead of looking at the
chemist. "Let me have some Laudanum."
"Certainly, miss. Excuse my asking the
question--it is only a matter of form. You are staying at Aldborough, I
think?"
"Yes. I am Miss Bygrave, of North Shingle=
s."
The chemist bowed; and, turning to his shelves,
filled an ordinary half-ounce bottle with laudanum immediately. In ascertai=
ning
his customer's name and address beforehand, the owner of the shop had taken=
a
precaution which was natural to a careful man, but which was by no means
universal, under similar circumstances, in the state of the law at that tim=
e.
"Shall I put you up a little cotton wool =
with
the laudanum?" he asked, after he had placed a label on the bottle, and
had written a word on it in large letters.
"If you please. What have you just writte=
n on
the bottle?" She put the question sharply, with something of distrust =
as
well as curiosity in her manner.
The chemist answered the question by turning t=
he
label toward her. She saw written on it, in large letters--POISON.
"I like to be on the safe side, miss,&quo=
t;
said the old man, smiling. "Very worthy people in other respects are o=
ften
sadly careless where poisons are concerned."
She began trifling again with the bottles on t=
he
counter, and put another question, with an ill-concealed anxiety to hear the
answer.
"Is there danger," she asked, "=
in
such a little drop of Laudanum as that?"
"There is Death in it, miss," replied
the chemist, quietly.
"Death to a child, or to a person in deli=
cate
health?"
"Death to the strongest man in England, l=
et
him be who he may."
With that answer, the chemist sealed up the bo=
ttle
in its wrapping of white paper and handed the laudanum to Magdalen across t=
he
counter. She laughed as she took it from him, and paid for it.
"There will be no fear of accidents at No=
rth
Shingles," she said. "I shall keep the bottle locked up in my
dressing-case. If it doesn't relieve the pain, I must come to you again, and
try some other remedy. Good-morning."
"Good-morning, miss."
She went straight back to the house without on=
ce
looking up, without noticing any one who passed her. She brushed by Mrs. Wr=
agge
in the passage as she might have brushed by a piece of furniture. She ascen=
ded
the stairs, and caught her foot twice in her dress, from sheer inattention =
to
the common precaution of holding it up. The trivial daily interests of life=
had
lost their hold on her already.
In the privacy of her own room, she took the
bottle from its wrapping, and threw the paper and the cotton wool into the
fire-place. At the moment when she did this there was a knock at the door. =
She
hid the little bottle, and looked up impatiently. Mrs. Wragge came into the=
room.
"Have you got something for your toothach=
e,
my dear?"
"Yes."
"Can I do anything to help you?"
"No."
Mrs. Wragge still lingered uneasily near the d=
oor.
Her manner showed plainly that she had something more to say.
"What is it?" asked Magdalen, sharpl=
y.
"Don't be angry," said Mrs. Wragge.
"I'm not settled in my mind about the captain. He's a great writer, an=
d he
hasn't written. He's as quick as lightning, and he hasn't come back. Here's
Saturday, and no signs of him. Has he run away, do you think? Has anything
happened to him?"
"I should think not. Go downstairs; I'll =
come
and speak to you about it directly."
As soon as she was alone again, Magdalen rose =
from
her chair, advanced toward a cupboard in the room which locked, and paused =
for
a moment, with her hand on the key, in doubt. Mrs. Wragge's appearance had =
disturbed
the whole current of her thoughts. Mrs. Wragge's last question, trifling as=
it
was, had checked her on the verge of the precipice--had roused the old vain
hope in her once more of release by accident.
"Why not?" she said. "Why may
something not have happened to one of them?"
She placed the laudanum in the cupboard, locked
it, and put the key in her packet. "Time enough still," she thoug=
ht,
"before Monday. I'll wait till the captain comes back."
After some consultation downstairs, it was agr=
eed
that the servant should sit up that night, in expectation of her master's
return. The day passed quietly, without events of any kind. Magdalen dreamed
away the hours over a book. A weary patience of expectation was all she fel=
t now--the
poignant torment of thought was dulled and blunted at last. She passed the =
day
and the evening in the parlor, vaguely conscious of a strange feeling of
aversion to going back to her own room. As the night advanced, as the noises
ceased indoors and out, her restlessness began to return. She endeavored to
quiet herself by reading. Books failed to fix her attention. The newspaper =
was
lying in a corner of the room: she tried the newspaper next.
She looked mechanically at the headings of the
articles; she listlessly turned over page after page, until her wandering
attention was arrested by the narrative of an Execution in a distant part of
England. There was nothing to strike her in the story of the crime, and yet=
she
read it. It was a common, horribly common, act of bloodshed--the murder of a
woman in farm-service by a man in the same employment who was jealous of he=
r. He
had been convicted on no extraordinary evidence, he had been hanged under no
unusual circumstances. He had made his confession, when he knew there was no
hope for him, like other criminals of his class, and the newspaper had prin=
ted
it at the end of the article, in these terms:
"I kept company with the deceased for a y=
ear
or thereabouts. I said I would marry her when I had money enough. She said I
had money enough now. We had a quarrel. She refused to walk out with me any
more; she wouldn't draw me my beer; she took up with my fellow-servant, Dav=
id Crouch.
I went to her on the Saturday, and said I would marry her as soon as we cou=
ld
be asked in church if she would give up Crouch. She laughed at me. She turn=
ed
me out of the wash-house, and the rest of them saw her turn me out. I was n=
ot
easy in my mind. I went and sat on the gate--the gate in the meadow they ca=
ll
Pettit's Piece. I thought I would shoot her. I went and fetched my gun and
loaded it. I went out into Pettit's Piece again. I was hard put to it to ma=
ke
up my mind. I thought I would try my luck--I mean try whether to kill her or
not---by throwing up the Spud of the plow into the air. I said to myself, i=
f it
falls flat, I'll spare her; if it falls point in the earth, I'll kill her. =
I took
a good swing with it, and shied it up. It fell point in the earth. I went a=
nd
shot her. It was a bad job, but I did it. I did it, as they said I did it at
the trial. I hope the Lord will have mercy on me. I wish my mother to have =
my
old clothes. I have no more to say."
In the happier days of her life, Magdalen would
have passed over the narrative of the execution, and the printed confession
which accompanied it unread; the subject would have failed to attract her. =
She
read the horrible story now--read it with an interest unintelligible to
herself. Her attention, which had wandered over higher and better things, f=
ollowed
every sentence of the murderer's hideously direct confession from beginning=
to
end. If the man or the woman had been known to her, if the place had been
familiar to her memory, she could hardly have followed the narrative more
closely, or have felt a more distinct impression of it left on her mind. She
laid down the paper, wondering at herself; she took it up once more, and tr=
ied
to read some other portion of the contents. The effort was useless; her
attention wandered again. She threw the paper away, and went out into the
garden. The night was dark; the stars were few and faint. She could just see
the gravel-walk--she could just pace backward and forward between the house=
door
and the gate.
The confession in the newspaper had taken a
fearful hold on her mind. As she paced the walk, the black night opened over
the sea, and showed her the murderer in the field hurling the Spud of the p=
low
into the air. She ran, shuddering, back to the house. The murderer followed=
her
into the parlor. She seized the candle and went up into her room. The visio=
n of
her own distempered fancy followed her to the place where the laudanum was
hidden, and vanished there.
It was midnight, and there was no sign yet of =
the
captain's return.
She took from the writing-case the long letter
which she had written to Norah, and slowly read it through. The letter quie=
ted
her. When she reached the blank space left at the end, she hurriedly turned
back and began it over again.
One o'clock struck from the church clock, and
still the captain never appeared.
She read the letter for the second time; she
turned back obstinately, despairingly, and began it for the third time. As =
she
once more reached the last page, she looked at her watch. It was a quarter =
to
two. She had just put the watch back in the belt of her dress, when there c=
ame
to her--far off in the stillness of the morning--a sound of wheels.
She dropped the letter and clasped her cold ha=
nds
in her lap and listened. The sound came on, faster and faster, nearer and
nearer--the trivial sound to all other ears; the sound of Doom to hers. It
passed the side of the house; it traveled a little further on; it stopped. =
She heard
a loud knocking--then the opening of a window--then voices--then a long
silence--than the wheels again coming back--then the opening of the door be=
low,
and the sound of the captain's voice in the passage.
She could endure it no longer. She opened her =
door
a little way and called to him.
He ran upstairs instantly, astonish ed that she
was not in bed. She spoke to him through the narrow opening of the door,
keeping herself hidden behind it, for she was afraid to let him see her fac=
e.
"Has anything gone wrong?" she asked=
.
"Make your mind easy," he answered.
"Nothing has gone wrong."
"Is no accident likely to happen between =
this
and Monday?"
"None whatever. The marriage is a
certainty."
"A certainty?"
"Yes."
"Good-night."
She put her hand out through the door. He took=
it
with some little surprise; it was not often in his experience that she gave=
him
her hand of her own accord.
"You have sat up too long," he said,=
as
he felt the clasp of her cold fingers. "I am afraid you will have a bad
night--I'm afraid you will not sleep."
She softly closed the door.
"I shall sleep," she said, "sou=
nder
than you think for."
=
It was
past two o'clock when she shut herself up alone in her room. Her chair stoo=
d in
its customary place by the toilet-table. She sat down for a few minutes
thoughtfully, then opened her letter to Norah, and turned to the end where =
the
blank space was left. The last lines written above the space ran thus:
"... I have laid my whole heart bare to you; I have hidden nothing. It=
has
come to this. The end I have toiled for, at such terrible cost to myself, i=
s an
end which I must reach or die. It is wickedness, madness, what you will--bu=
t it
is so. There are now two journeys before me to choose between. If I can mar=
ry
him--the journey to the church. If the profanation of myself is more than I=
can
bear--the journey to the grave!"
Under that last sentence, she wrote these line=
s:
"My choice is made. If the cruel law will=
let
you, lay me with my father and mother in the churchyard at home. Farewell, =
my
love! Be always innocent; be always happy. If Frank ever asks about me, say=
I
died forgiving him. Don't grieve long for me, Norah--I am not worth it.&quo=
t;
She sealed the letter, and addressed it to her
sister. The tears gathered in her eyes as she laid it on the table. She wai=
ted
until her sight was clear again, and then took the banknotes once more from=
the
little bag in her bosom. After wrapping them in a sheet of note paper, she
wrote Captain Wragge's name on the inclosure, and added these words below i=
t:
"Lock the door of my room, and leave me till my sister comes. The mone=
y I
promised you is in this. You are not to blame; it is my fault, and mine onl=
y.
If you have any friendly remembrance of me, be kind to your wife for my
sake."
After placing the inclosure by the letter to
Norah, she rose and looked round the room. Some few little things in it were
not in their places. She set them in order, and drew the curtains on either
side at the head of her bed. Her own dress was the next object of her scrut=
iny.
It was all as neat, as pure, as prettily arranged as ever. Nothing about he=
r was
disordered but her hair. Some tresses had fallen loose on one side of her h=
ead;
she carefully put them back in their places with the help of her glass.
"How pale I look!" she thought, with a faint smile. "Shall I=
be
paler still when they find me in the morning?"
She went straight to the place where the lauda=
num
was hidden, and took it out. The bottle was so small that it lay easily in =
the
palm of her hand. She let it remain there for a little while, and stood loo=
king
at it.
"DEATH!" she said. "In this dro=
p of
brown drink--DEATH!"
As the words passed her lips, an agony of
unutterable horror seized on her in an instant. She crossed the room
unsteadily, with a maddening confusion in her head, with a suffocating angu=
ish
at her heart. She caught at the table to support herself. The faint clink of
the bottle, as it fell harmlessly from her loosened grasp and rolled against
some porcelain object on the table, struck through her brain like the strok=
e of
a knife. The sound of her own voice, sunk to a whisper--her voice only utte=
ring
that one word, Death--rushed in her ears like the rushing of a wind. She
dragged herself to the bedside, and rested her head against it, sitting on =
the
floor. "Oh, my life! my life!" she thought; "what is my life
worth, that I cling to it like this?"
An interval passed, and she felt her strength
returning. She raised herself on her knees and hid her face on the bed. She
tried to pray--to pray to be forgiven for seeking the refuge of death. Fran=
tic
words burst from her lips--words which would have risen to cries, if she had
not stifled them in the bed-clothes. She started to her feet; despair stren=
gthened
her with a headlong fury against herself. In one moment she was back at the
table; in another, the poison was once more in her hand.
She removed the cork and lifted the bottle to =
her
mouth.
At the first cold touch of the glass on her li=
ps,
her strong young life leaped up in her leaping blood, and fought with the wh=
ole
frenzy of its loathing against the close terror of Death. Every active powe=
r in
the exuberant vital force that was in her rose in revolt against the destru=
ction
which her own will would fain have wreaked on her own life. She paused: for=
the
second time, she paused in spite of herself. There, in the glorious perfect=
ion
of her youth and health--there, trembling on the verge of human existence, =
she
stood; with the kiss of the Destroyer close at her lips, and Nature, faithf=
ul
to its sacred trust, fighting for the salvation of her to the last.
No word passed her lips. Her cheeks flushed de=
ep;
her breath came thick and fast. With the poison still in her hand, with the
sense that she might faint in another moment, she made for the window, and
threw back the curtain that covered it.
The new day had risen. The broad gray dawn flo=
wed
in on her, over the quiet eastern sea.
She saw the waters heaving, large and silent, =
in
the misty calm; she felt the fresh breath of the morning flutter cool on her
face. Her strength returned; her mind cleared a little. At the sight of the
sea, her memory recalled the walk in the garden overnight, and the picture =
which
her distempered fancy had painted on the black void. In thought, she saw the
picture again--the murderer hurling the Spud of the plow into the air, and
setting the life or death of the woman who had deserted him on the hazard of
the falling point. The infection of that terrible superstition seized on her
mind as suddenly as the new day had burst on her view. The premise of relea=
se
which she saw in it from the horror of her own hesitation roused the last
energies of her despair. She resolved to end the struggle by setting her li=
fe
or death on the hazard of a chance.
On what chance?
The sea showed it to her. Dimly distinguishable
through the mist, she saw a little fleet of coasting-vessels slowly drifting
toward the house, all following the same direction with the favoring set of=
the
tide. In half an hour--perhaps in less--the fleet would have passed her win=
dow.
The hands of her watch pointed to four o'clock. She seated herself close at=
the
side of the window, with her back toward the quarter from which the vessels
were drifting down on her--with the poison placed on the window-sill and the
watch on her lap. For one half-hour to come she determined to wait there and
count the vessels as they went by. If in that time an even number passed he=
r,
the sign given should be a sign to live. If the uneven number prevailed, th=
e end
should be Death.
With that final resolution, she rested her head
against the window and waited for the ships to pass.
The first came, high, dark and near in the mis=
t,
gliding silently over the silent sea. An interval--and the second followed,
with the third close after it. Another interval, longer and longer drawn
out--and nothing passed. She looked at her watch. Twelve minutes, and three=
ships.
Three.
The fourth came, slower than the rest, larger =
than
the rest, further off in the mist than the rest. The interval followed; a l=
ong
interval once more. Then the next vessel passed, darkest and nearest of all.
Five. The next uneven number--
Five.
She looked at her watch again. Nineteen minute=
s,
and five ships. Twenty minutes. Twenty-one, two, three--and no sixth vessel.
Twenty-four, and the sixth came by. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven,
twenty-eight, and the next uneven number--the fatal Seven--glided into view.
Two minutes to the end of the half-hour. And seven ships.
Twenty-nine, and nothing followed in the wake =
of
the seventh ship. The minute-hand of the watch moved on half-way to thirty,=
and
still the white heaving sea was a misty blank. Without moving her head from=
the
window, she took the poison in one hand, and raised the watch in the other.=
As
the quick seconds counted each other out, her eyes, as quick as they, looked
from the watch to the sea, from the sea to the watch--looked for the last t=
ime
at the sea--and saw the EIGHTH ship.
She never moved, she never spoke. The death of
thought, the death of feeling, seemed to have come to her already. She put =
back
the poison mechanically on the ledge of the window and watched, as in a dre=
am,
the ship gliding smoothly on its silent way--gliding till it melted dimly i=
nto
shadow--gliding till it was lost in the mist.
The strain on her mind relaxed when the Messen=
ger
of Life had passed from her sight.
"Providence?" she whispered faintly =
to
herself. "Or chance?"
Her eyes closed, and her head fell back. When =
the
sense of life returned to her, the morning sun was warm on her face--the bl=
ue
heaven looked down on her--and the sea was a sea of gold.
She fell on her knees at the window and burst =
into
tears.
* * * * *
Toward noon that day, the captain, waiting bel=
ow
stairs, and hearing no movement in Magdalen's room, felt uneasy at the long
silence. He desired the new maid to follow him upstairs, and, pointing to t=
he
door, told her to go in softly and see whether her mistress was awake.
The maid entered the room, remained there a
moment, and came out again, closing the door gently.
"She looks beautiful, sir," said the
girl; "and she's sleeping as quietly as a new-born child."
THE morning of her husband's return to North
Shingles was a morning memorable forever in the domestic calendar of Mrs.
Wragge. She dated from that occasion the first announcement which reached h=
er
of Magdalen's marriage.
It had been Mrs. Wragge's earthly lot to pass =
her
life in a state of perpetual surprise. Never yet, however, had she wandered=
in
such a maze of astonishment as the maze in which she lost herself when the
captain coolly told her the truth. She had been sharp enough to suspect Mr.=
Noel
Vanstone of coming to the house in the character of a sweetheart on approva=
l;
and she had dimly interpreted certain expressions of impatience which had
fallen from Magdalen's lips as boding ill for the success of his suit, but =
her
utmost penetration had never reached as far as a suspicion of the impending
marriage. She rose from one climax of amazement to another, as her husband
proceeded with his disclosure. A wedding in the family at a day's notice! a=
nd
that wedding Magdalen's! and not a single new dress ordered for anybody, the
bride included! and the Oriental Cashmere Robe totally unavailable on the
occasion when she might have worn it to the greatest advantage! Mrs. Wragge=
dropped
crookedly into a chair, and beat her disorderly hands on her unsymmetrical
knees, in utter forgetfulness of the captain's presence and the captain's
terrible eye. It would not have surprised her to hear that the world had co=
me
to an end, and that the only mortal whom Destiny had overlooked, in winding=
up
the affairs of this earthly planet, was herself!
Leaving his wife to recover her composure by h=
er
own unaided efforts, Captain Wragge withdrew to wait for Magdalen's appeara=
nce
in the lower regions of the house. It was close on one o'clock before the s=
ound
of footsteps in the room above warned him that she was awake and stirring. =
He
called at once for the maid (whose name he had ascertained to be Louisa), a=
nd
sent her upstairs to her mistress for the second time.
Magdalen was standing by her dressing-table wh=
en a
faint tap at the door suddenly roused her. The tap was followed by the soun=
d of
a meek voice, which announced itself as the voice of "her maid," =
and
inquired if Miss Bygrave needed any assistance that morning.
"Not at present," said Magdalen, as =
soon
as she had recovered the surprise of finding herself unexpectedly provided =
with
an attendant. "I will ring when I want you."
After dismissing the woman with that answer, s= he accidentally looked from the door to the window. Any speculations on the subject of the new servant in which she might otherwise have engaged were instantly suspended by the sight of the bottle of laudanum, still standing = on the ledge of the window, where she had left it at sunrise. She took it once= more in her hand, with a strange confusion of feeling--with a vague doubt even y= et, whether the sight of it reminded her of a terrible reality or a terrible dr= eam. Her first impulse was to rid herself of it on the spot. She raised the bott= le to throw the contents out of the window, and paused, in sudden distrust of = the impulse that had come to her. "I have accepted my new life," she thought. "How do I know what that life may have in store for me?"= She turned from the window and went back to the table. "I may be forced to drink it yet," she said, and put the laudanum into her dressing-case.<= o:p>
Her mind was not at ease when she had done thi=
s:
there seemed to be some indefinable ingratitude in the act. Still she made =
no
attempt to remove the bottle from its hiding-place. She hurried on her toil=
et;
she hastened the time when she could ring for the maid, and forget herself =
and
her waking thoughts in a new subject. After touching the bell, she took from
the table her letter to Norah and her letter to the captain, put them both =
into
her dressing-case with the laudanum, and locked it securely with the key wh=
ich
she kept attached to her watch-chain.
Magdalen's first impression of her attendant w=
as
not an agreeable one. She could not investigate the girl with the experienc=
ed
eye of the landlady at the London hotel, who had characterized the stranger=
as
a young person overtaken by misfortune, and who had showed plainly, by her =
look
and manner, of what nature she suspected that misfortune to be. But with th=
is
drawback, Magdalen was perfectly competent to detect the tokens of sickness=
and
sorrow lurking under the surface of the new maid's activity and politeness.=
She
suspected the girl was ill-tempered; she disliked her name; and she was
indisposed to welcome any servant who had been engaged by Noel Vanstone. But
after the first few minutes, "Louisa" grew on her liking. She
answered all the questions put to her with perfect directness; she appeared=
to
understand her duties thoroughly; and she never spoke until she was spoken =
to
first. After making all the inquiries that occurred to her at the time, and
after determining to give the maid a fair trial, Magdalen rose to leave the=
room.
The very air in it was still heavy to her with the oppression of the past
night.
"Have you anything more to say to me?&quo=
t;
she asked, turning to the servant, with her hand on the door.
"I beg your pardon, miss," said Loui=
sa,
very respectfully and very quietly. "I think my master told me that the
marriage was to be to-morrow?"
Magdalen repressed the shudder that stole over=
her
at that reference to the marriage on the lips of a stranger, and answered in
the affirmative.
"It's a very short time, miss, to prepare=
in.
If you would be so kind as to give me my orders about the packing before yo=
u go
downstairs--?"
"There are no such preparations to make as you suppose," said Magdalen, hastily. "The few things I have here= can be all packed at once, if you like. I shall wear the same dress to-morrow w= hich I have on to-day. Leave out the straw bonnet and the light shawl, and put everything else into my boxes. I have no new dresses to pack; I have nothing ordered for the occasion of any sort." She tried to add some commonpla= ce phrases of explanation, accounting as probably as might be for the absence = of the usual wedding outfit and wedding-dress. But no further reference to the= marriage would pass her lips, and without an other word she abruptly left the room.<= o:p>
The meek and melancholy Louisa stood lost in
astonishment. "Something wrong here," she thought. "I'm half
afraid of my new place already." She sighed resignedly, shook her head,
and went to the wardrobe. She first examined the drawers underneath, took o=
ut
the various articles of linen laid inside, and placed them on chairs. Openi=
ng
the upper part of the wardrobe next, she ranged the dresses in it side by s=
ide
on the bed. Her last proceeding was to push the empty boxes into the middle=
of
the room, and to compare the space at her disposal with the articles of dre=
ss which
she had to pack. She completed her preliminary calculations with the ready
self-reliance of a woman who thoroughly understood her business, and began =
the
packing forthwith. Just as she had placed the first article of linen in the
smaller box, the door of the room opened, and the house-servant, eager for
gossip, came in.
"What do you want?" asked Louisa,
quietly.
"Did you ever hear of anything like
this!" said the house-servant, entering on her subject immediately.
"Like what?"
"Like this marriage, to be sure. You're
London bred, they tell me. Did you ever hear of a young lady being married
without a single new thing to her back? No wedding veil, and no wedding
breakfast, and no wedding favors for the servants. It's flying in the face =
of
Providence--that's what I say. I'm only a poor servant, I know. But it's
wicked, downright wicked--and I don't care who hears me!"
Louisa went on with the packing.
"Look at her dresses!" persisted the
house-servant, waving her hand indignantly at the bed. "I'm only a poor
girl, but I wouldn't marry the best man alive without a new gown to my back.
Look here! look at this dowdy brown thing here. Alpaca! You're not going to
pack this Alpaca thing, are you? Why, it's hardly fit for a servant! I don't
know that I'd take a gift of it if it was offered me. It would do for me if=
I
took it up in the skirt, and let it out in the waist--and it wouldn't look =
so bad
with a bit of bright trimming, would it?"
"Let that dress alone, if you please,&quo=
t;
said Louisa, as quietly as ever.
"What did you say?" inquired the oth=
er,
doubting whether her ears had not deceived her.
"I said, let that dress alone. It belongs=
to
my mistress, and I have my mistress's orders to pack up everything in the r=
oom.
You are not helping me by coming here--you are very much in my way."
"Well!" said the house-servant,
"you may be London bred, as they say. But if these are your London
manners, give me Suffolk!" She opened the door with an angry snatch at=
the
handle, shut it violently, opened it again, and looked in. "Give me
Suffolk!" said the house-servant, with a parting nod of her head to po=
int
the edge of her sarcasm.
Louisa proceeded impenetrably with her packing=
up.
Having neatly disposed of the linen in the sma=
ller
box, she turned her attention to the dresses next. After passing them caref=
ully
in review, to ascertain which was the least valuable of the collection, and=
to place
that one at the bottom of the trunk for the rest to lie on, she made her ch=
oice
with very little difficulty. The first gown which she put into the box was-=
-the
brown Alpaca dress.
Meanwhile Magdalen had joined the captain
downstairs. Although he could not fail to notice the languor in her face and
the listlessness of all her movements, he was relieved to find that she met=
him
with perfect composure. She was even self-possessed enough to ask him for n=
ews
of his journey, with no other signs of agitation than a passing change of c=
olor
and a little trembling of the lips.
"So much for the past," said Captain
Wragge, when his narrative of the expedition to London by way of St. Crux h=
ad
come to an end. "Now for the present. The bridegroom--"
"If it makes no difference," she
interposed, "call him Mr. Noel Vanstone."
"With all my heart. Mr. Noel Vanstone is
coming here this afternoon to dine and spend the evening. He will be tireso=
me
in the last degree; but, like all tiresome people, he is not to be got rid =
of
on any terms. Before he comes, I have a last word or two of caution for your
private ear. By this time to-morrow we shall have parted--without any certa=
in knowledge,
on either side, of our ever meeting again. I am anxious to serve your inter=
ests
faithfully to the last; I am anxious you should feel that I have done all I
could for your future security when we say good-by."
Magdalen looked at him in surprise. He spoke in
altered tones. He was agitated; he was strangely in earnest. Something in h=
is
look and manner took her memory back to the first night at Aldborough, when=
she
had opened her mind to him in the darkening solitude--when they two had sat=
together
alone on the slope of the martello tower. "I have no reason to think
otherwise than kindly of you," she said.
Captain Wragge suddenly left his chair, and to=
ok a
turn backward and forward in the room. Magdalen's last words seemed to have
produced some extraordinary disturbance in him.
"Damn it!" he broke out; "I can=
't
let you say that. You have reason to think ill of me. I have cheated you. Y=
ou
never got your fair share of profit from the Entertainment, from first to l=
ast.
There! now the murder's out!"
Magdalen smiled, and signed to him to come bac=
k to
his chair.
"I know you cheated me," she said,
quietly. "You were in the exercise of your profession, Captain Wragge.=
I
expected it when I joined you. I made no complaint at the time, and I make =
none
now. If the money you took is any recompense for all the trouble I have giv=
en
you, you are heartily welcome to it."
"Will you shake hands on that?" asked
the captain, with an awkwardness and hesitation strongly at variance with h=
is
customary ease of manner.
Magdalen gave him her hand. He wrung it hard.
"You are a strange girl," he said, trying to speak lightly. "=
;You
have laid a hold on me that I don't quite understand. I'm half uncomfortabl=
e at
taking the money from you now; and yet you don't want it, do you?" He
hesitated. "I almost wish," he said, "I had never met you on=
the
Walls of York."
"It is too late to wish that, Captain Wra=
gge.
Say no more. You only distress me--say no more. We have other subjects to t=
alk
about. What were those words of caution which you had for my private ear?&q=
uot;
The captain took another turn in the room, and struggled back again into his every-day character. He produced from his pocketbook Mrs. Lecount's letter to her master, and handed it to Magdalen.<= o:p>
"There is the letter that might have ruin=
ed
us if it had ever reached its address," he said. "Read it careful=
ly.
I have a question to ask you when you have done."
Magdalen read the letter. "What is this
proof," she inquired, "which Mrs. Lecount relies on so
confidently!"
"The very question I was going to ask
you," said Captain Wragge. "Consult your memory of what happened =
when
you tried that experiment in Vauxhall Walk. Did Mrs. Lecount get no other
chance against you than the chances you have told me of already?"
"She discovered that my face was disguise=
d,
and she heard me speak in my own voice."
"And nothing more?"
"Nothing more."
"Very good. Then my interpretation of the
letter is clearly the right one. The proof Mrs. Lecount relies on is my wif=
e's
infernal ghost story--which is, in plain English, the story of Miss Bygrave
having been seen in Miss Vanstone's disguise; the witness being the very pe=
rson
who is afterward presented at Aldborough in the character of Miss Bygrave's=
aunt.
An excellent chance for Mrs. Lecount, if she can only lay her hand at the r=
ight
time on Mrs. Wragge, and no chance at all, if she can't. Make your mind eas=
y on
that point. Mrs. Lecount and my wife have seen the last of each other. In t=
he
meantime, don't neglect the warning I give you, in giving you this letter. =
Tear
it up, for fear of accidents, but don't forget it."
"Trust me to remember it," replied
Magdalen, destroying the letter while she spoke. "Have you anything mo=
re
to tell me?"
"I have some information to give you,&quo=
t;
said Captain Wragge, "which may be useful, because it relates to your
future security. Mind, I want to know nothing about your proceedings when
to-morrow is over; we settled that when we first discussed this matter. I a=
sk
no questions, and I make no guesses. All I want to do now is to warn you of
your legal position after your marriage, and to leave you to make what use =
you
please of your knowledge, at your own sole discretion. I took a lawyer's
opinion on the point when I was in London, thinking it might be useful to
you."
"It is sure to be useful. What did the la=
wyer
say?"
"To put it plainly, this is what he said.=
If
Mr. Noel Vanstone ever discovers that you have knowingly married him under a
false name, he can apply to the Ecclesiastical Court to have his marriage
declared null and void. The issue of the application would rest with the
judges. But if he could prove that he had been intentionally deceived, the
legal opinion is that his case would be a strong one."
"Suppose I chose to apply on my side?&quo=
t;
said Magdalen, eagerly. "What then?"
"You might make the application,"
replied the captain. "But remember one thing--you would come into Court
with the acknowledgment of your own deception. I leave you to imagine what =
the
judges would think of that."
"Did the lawyer tell you anything else?&q=
uot;
"One thing besides," said Captain
Wragge. "Whatever the law might do with the marriage in the lifetime of
both the parties to it--on the death of either one of them, no application =
made
by the survivor would avail; and, as to the case of that survivor, the marr=
iage
would remain valid. You understand? If he dies, or if you die--and if no
application has been made to the Court--he the survivor, or you the survivo=
r,
would have no power of disputing the marriage. But in the lifetime of both =
of you,
if he claimed to have the marriage dissolved, the chances are all in favor =
of
his carrying his point."
He looked at Magdalen with a furtive curiosity=
as
he said those words. She turned her head aside, absently tying her watch-ch=
ain
into a loop and untying it again, evidently thinking with the closest atten=
tion
over what he had last said to her. Captain Wragge walked uneasily to the wi=
ndow
and looked out. The first object that caught his eye was Mr. Noel Vanstone
approaching from Sea View. He returned instantly to his former place in the
room, and addressed himself to Magdalen once more.
"Here is Mr. Noel Vanstone," he said.
"One last caution before he comes in. Be on your guard with him about =
your
age. He put the question to me before he got the License. I took the shorte=
st
way out of the difficulty, and told him you were twenty-one, and he made th=
e declaration
accordingly. Never mind about me; after to-morrow I am invisible. But, in y=
our
own interests, don't forget, if the subject turns up, that you were of age =
when
you were married. There is nothing more. You are provided with every necess=
ary
warning that I can give you. Whatever happens in the future, remember I have
done my best."
He hurried to the door without waiting for an
answer, and went out into the garden to receive his guest.
Noel Vanstone made his appearance at the gate,
solemnly carrying his bridal offering to North Shingles with both hands. The
object in question was an ancient casket (one of his father's bargains); in=
side
the casket reposed an old-fashioned carbuncle brooch, set in silver (anothe=
r of
his father's bargains)--bridal presents both, possessing the inestimable me=
rit
of leaving his money undisturbed in his pocket. He shook his head portentou=
sly
when the captain inquired after his health and spirits. He had passed a wak=
eful
night; ungovernable apprehensions of Lecount's sudden re-appearance had bes=
et
him as soon as he found himself alone at Sea View. Sea View was redolent of
Lecount: Sea View (though built on piles, and the strongest house in Englan=
d)
was henceforth odious to him. He had felt this all night; he had also felt =
his
responsibilities. There was the lady's maid, to begin with. Now he had hired
her, he began to think she wouldn't do. She might fall sick on his hands; s=
he
might have deceived him by a false character; she and the landlady of the h=
otel
might have been in league together. Horrible! Really horrible to think of. =
Then
there was the other responsibility--perhaps the heavier of the two--the
responsibility of deciding where he was to go and spend his honeymoon
to-morrow. He would have preferred one of his father's empty houses: But ex=
cept
at Vauxhall Walk (which he supposed would be objected to), and at Aldborough
(which was of course out of the question) all the houses were let. He would=
put
himself in Mr. Bygrave's hands. Where had Mr. Bygrave spent his own honeymo=
on?
Given the British Islands to choose from, where would Mr. Bygrave pitch his
tent, on a careful review of all the circumstances?
At this point the bridegroom's questions sudde=
nly
came to an end, and the bridegroom's face exhibited an expression of
ungovernable astonishment. His judicious friend, whose advice had been at h=
is disposal
in every other emergency, suddenly turned round on him, in the emergency of=
the
honeymoon, and flatly declined discussing the subject.
"No!" said the captain, as Noel Vans=
tone
opened his lips to plead for a hearing, "you must really excuse me. My
point of view in this matter is, as usual, a peculiar one. For some time pa=
st I
have been living in an atmosphere of deception, to suit your convenience. T=
hat
atmosphere, my good sir, is getting close; my Moral Being requires ventilat=
ion.
Settle the choice of a locality with my niece, and leave me, at my particul=
ar request,
in total ignorance of the subject. Mrs. Lecount is certain to come here on =
her
return from Zurich, and is certain to ask me where you are gone. You may th=
ink
it strange, Mr. Vanstone; but when I tell her I don't know, I wish to enjoy=
the
unaccustomed luxury of feeling, for once in a way, that I am speaking the
truth!"
With those words, he opened the sitting-room d=
oor,
introduced Noel Vanstone to Magdalen's presence, bowed himself out of the r=
oom
again, and set forth alone to while away the rest of the afternoon by takin=
g a
walk. His face showed plain tokens of anxiety, and his party-colored eyes
looked hither and thither distrustfully, as he sauntered along the shore.
"The time hangs heavy on our hands," thought the captain. "I
wish to-morrow was come and gone."
=
The
day passed and nothing happened; the evening and the night followed, placid=
ly
and uneventfully. Monday came, a cloudless, lovely day; Monday confirmed the
captain's assertion that the marriage was a certainty. Toward ten o'clock, =
the
clerk, ascending the church steps quoted the old proverb to the pew-opener,
meeting him under the porch: "Happy the bride on whom the sun
shines!"
In a quarter of an hour more the wedding-party=
was
in the vestry, and the clergyman led the way to the altar. Carefully as the
secret of the marriage had been kept, the opening of the church in the morn=
ing
had been enough to betray it. A small congregation, almost entirely compose=
d of
women, were scattered here and there among the pews. Kirke's sister and her
children were staying with a friend at Aldborough, and Kirke's sister was o=
ne
of the congregation.
As the wedding-party entered the church, the
haunting terror of Mrs. Lecount spread from Noel Vanstone to the captain. F=
or
the first few minutes, the eyes of both of them looked among the women in t=
he
pews with the same searching scrutiny, and looked away again with the same =
sense
of relief. The clergyman noticed that look, and investigated the License mo=
re
closely than usual. The clerk began to doubt privately whether the old prov=
erb
about the bride was a proverb to be always depended on. The female members =
of
the congregation murmured among themselves at the inexcusable disregard of
appearances implied in the bride's dress. Kirke's sister whispered venomous=
ly
in her friend's ear, "Thank God for to-day for Robert's sake." Mr=
s.
Wragge cried silently, with the dread of some threatening calamity she knew=
not
what. The one person present who remained outwardly undisturbed was Magdale=
n herself.
She stood, with tearless resignation, in her place before the altar--stood,=
as
if all the sources of human emotion were frozen up within her.
The clergyman opened the Book.
* * * * *
It was done. The awful words which speak from
earth to Heaven were pronounced. The children of the two dead
brothers--inheritors of the implacable enmity which had parted their
parents--were Man and Wife.
From that moment events hurried with a headlong
rapidity to the parting scene. They were back at the house while the words =
of
the Marriage Service seemed still ringing in their ears. Before they had be=
en
five minutes indoors the carriage drew up at the garden gate. In a minute m=
ore
the opportunity came for which Magdalen and the captain had been on the
watch--the opportunity of speaking together in private for the last time. S=
he
still preserved her icy resignation; she seemed beyond all reach now of the
fear that had once mastered her, of the remorse that had once tortured her
soul. With a firm hand she gave him the promised money. With a firm face she
looked her last at him. "I'm not to blame," he whispered, eagerly;
"I have only done what you asked me." She bowed her head; she ben=
t it
toward him kindly and let him touch her fore-head with his lips. "Take
care!" he said. "My last words are--for God's sake take care when=
I'm
gone!" She turned from him with a smile, and spoke her farewell words =
to
his wife. Mrs. Wragge tried hard to face her loss bravely--the loss of the
friend whose presence had fallen like light from Heaven over the dim pathwa=
y of
her life. "You have been very good to me, my dear; I thank you kindly;=
I
thank you with all my heart." She could say no more; she clung to Magd=
alen
in a passion of tears, as her mother might have clung to her, if her mother=
had
lived to see that horrible day. "I'm frightened for you!" cried t=
he
poor creature, in a wild, wailing voice. "Oh, my darling, I'm frighten=
ed
for you!" Magdalen desperately drew herself free--kissed her--and hurr=
ied
out to the door. The expression of that artless gratitude, the cry of that
guileless love, shook her as nothing else had shaken her that day. It was a
refuge to get to the carriage--a refuge, though the man she had married sto=
od there
waiting for her at the door.
Mrs. Wragge tried to follow her into the garde=
n.
But the captain had seen Magdalen's face as she ran out, and he steadily he=
ld
his wife back in the passage. From that distance the last farewells were
exchanged. As long as the carriage was in sight, Magdalen looked back at th=
em;
she waved her handkerchief as she turned the corner. In a moment more the l=
ast
thread which bound her to them was broken; the familiar companionship of ma=
ny
months was a thing of the past already!
Captain Wragge closed the house door on the id=
lers
who were looking in from the Parade. He led his wife back into the
sitting-room, and spoke to her with a forbearance which she had never yet
experienced from him.
"She has gone her way," he said,
"and in another hour we shall have gone ours. Cry your cry out--I don't
deny she's worth crying for."
Even then--even when the dread of Magdalen's
future was at its darkest in his mind--the ruling habit of the man's life c=
lung
to him. Mechanically he unlocked his dispatch-box. Mechanically he opened h=
is Book
of Accounts, and made the closing entry--the entry of his last transaction =
with
Magdalen--in black and white. "By Rec'd from Miss Vanstone," wrote
the captain, with a gloomy brow, "Two hundred pounds."
"You won't be angry with me?" said M=
rs.
Wragge, looking timidly at her husband through her tears. "I want a wo=
rd
of comfort, captain. Oh, do tell me, when shall I see her again?"
The captain closed the book, and answered in o=
ne
inexorable word: "Never!"
=
Between
eleven and twelve o'clock that night Mrs. Lecount drove into Zurich.
Her brother's house, when she stopped before i=
t,
was shut up. With some difficulty and delay the servant was aroused. She he=
ld
up her hands in speechless amazement when she opened the door and saw who t=
he
visitor was.
"Is my brother alive?" asked Mrs.
Lecount, entering the house.
"Alive!" echoed the servant. "He
has gone holiday-making into the country, to finish his recovery in the fine
fresh air."
The housekeeper staggered back against the wal=
l of
the passage. The coachman and the servant put her into a chair. Her face was
livid, and her teeth chattered in her head.
"Send for my brother's doctor," she
said, as soon as she could speak.
The doctor came. She handed him a letter befor=
e he
could say a word.
"Did you write that letter?"
He looked it over rapidly, and answered her
without hesitation,
"Certainly not!"
"It is your handwriting."
"It is a forgery of my handwriting."=
She rose from the chair with a new strength in
her.
"When does the return mail start for
Paris?" she asked.
"In half an hour."
"Send instantly and take me a place in
it!"
The servant hesitated, the doctor protested. S=
he
turned a deaf ear to them both.
"Send!" she reiterated, "or I w=
ill
go myself."
They obeyed. The servant went to take the plac=
e:
the doctor remained and held a conversation with Mrs. Lecount. When the
half-hour had passed, he helped her into her place in the mail, and charged=
the
conductor privately to take care of his passenger.
"She has traveled from England without
stopping," said the doctor; "and she is traveling back again with=
out
rest. Be careful of her, or she will break down under the double journey.&q=
uot;
The mail started. Before the first hour of the=
new
day was at an end Mrs. Lecount was on her way back to England.
THE END OF THE FOURTH SCENE.
From George Bartram to Noel Vanstone.
"St. Crux, September 4th, 1847.
"MY DEAR NOEL--Here are two plain questio=
ns
at starting. In the name of all that is mysterious, what are you hiding for?
And why is everything relating to your marriage kept an impenetrable secret
from your oldest friends?
"I have been to Aldborough to try if I co=
uld
trace you from that place, and have come back as wise as I went. I have app=
lied
to your lawyer in London, and have been told, in reply, that you have forbi=
dden
him to disclose the place of your retreat to any one without first receivin=
g your
permission to do so. All I could prevail on him to say was, that he would
forward any letter which might be sent to his care. I write accordingly, and
mind this, I expect an answer.
"You may ask, in your ill-tempered way, w=
hat
business I have to meddle with affairs of yours which it is your pleasure to
keep private. My dear Noel, there is a serious reason for our opening
communications with you from this house. You don't know what events have ta=
ken
place at St. Crux since you ran away to get married; and though I detest
writing letters, I must lose an hour's shooting to-day in trying to enlight=
en
you.
"On the twenty-third of last month, the
admiral and I were disturbed over our wine after dinner by the announcement
that a visitor had unexpectedly arrived at St. Crux. Who do you think the
visitor was? Mrs. Lecount!
"My uncle, with that old-fashioned bachel=
or
gallantry of his which pays equal respect to all wearers of petticoats, left
the table directly to welcome Mrs. Lecount. While I was debating whether I
should follow him or not, my meditations were suddenly brought to an end by=
a
loud call from the admiral. I ran into the morning-room, and there was your=
unfortunate
housekeeper on the sofa, with all the women servants about her, more dead t=
han
alive. She had traveled from England to Zurich, and from Zurich back again =
to
England, without stopping; and she looked, seriously and literally, at deat=
h's
door. I immediately agreed with my uncle that the first thing to be done wa=
s to
send for medical help. We dispatched a groom on the spot, and, at Mrs.
Lecount's own request, sent all the servants in a body out of the room.
"As soon as we were alone, Mrs. Lecount
surprised us by a singular question. She asked if you had received a letter
which she had addressed to you before leaving England at this house. When we
told her that the letter had been forwarded, under cover to your friend Mr.
Bygrave, by your own particular request, she turned as pale as ashes; and w=
hen
we added that you had left us in company with this same Mr. Bygrave, she cl=
asped
her hands and stared at us as if she had taken leave of her senses. Her next
question was, 'Where is Mr. Noel now?' We could only give her one reply--Mr.
Noel had not informed us. She looked perfectly thunderstruck at that answer.
'He has gone to his ruin!' she said. 'He has gone away in company with the
greatest villain in England. I must find him! I tell you I must find Mr. No=
el!
If I don't find him at once, it will be too late. He will be married!' she
burst out quite frantically. 'On my honor and my oath, he will be married!'=
The
admiral, incautiously perhaps, but with the best intentions, told her you w=
ere married
already. She gave a scream that made the windows ring again and dropped bac=
k on
the sofa in a fainting-fit. The doctor came in the nick of time, and soon
brought her to. But she was taken ill the same night; she has grown worse a=
nd
worse ever since; and the last medical report is, that the fever from which=
she
has been suffering is in a fair way to settle on her brain.
"Now, my dear Noel, neither my uncle nor I
have any wish to intrude ourselves on your confidence. We are naturally
astonished at the extraordinary mystery which hangs over you and your marri=
age,
and we cannot be blind to the fact that your housekeeper has, apparently, s=
ome strong
reason of her own for viewing Mrs. Noel Vanstone with an enmity and distrust
which we are quite ready to believe that lady has done nothing to deserve.
Whatever strange misunderstanding there may have been in your household, is
your business (if you choose to keep it to yourself), and not ours. All we =
have
any right to do is to tell you what the doctor says. His patient has been
delirious; he declines to answer for her life if she goes on as she is goin=
g on
now; and he thinks--finding that she is perpetually talking of her master--=
that
your presence would be useful in quieting her, if you could come here at on=
ce,
and exert your influence before it is too late.
"What do you say? Will you emerge from the
darkness that surrounds you and come to St. Crux? If this was the case of an
ordinary servant, I could understand your hesitating to leave the delights =
of
your honeymoon for any such object as is here proposed to you. But, my dear
fellow, Mrs. Lecount is not an ordinary servant. You are under obligations =
to her
fidelity and attachment in your father's time, as well as in your own; and =
if you
can quiet the anxieties which seem to be driving this unfortunate woman mad=
, I
really think you ought to come here and do so. Your leaving Mrs. Noel Vanst=
one
is of course out of the question. There is no necessity for any such
hard-hearted proceeding. The admiral desires me to remind you that he is yo=
ur
oldest friend living, and that his house is at your wife's disposal, as it =
has
always been at yours. In this great rambling-place she need dread no near
association with the sick-room; and, with all my uncle's oddities, I am sure
she will not think the offer of his friendship an offer to be despised.
"Have I told you already that I went to
Aldborough to try and find a clew to your whereabouts? I can't be at the
trouble of looking back to see; so, if I have told you, I tell you again. T=
he
truth is, I made an acquaintance at Aldborough of whom you know something--=
at
least by report.
"After applying vainly at Sea View, I wen=
t to
the hotel to inquire about you. The landlady could give me no information; =
but
the moment I mentioned your name, she asked if I was related to you; and wh=
en I
told her I was your cousin, she said there was a young lady then at the hot=
el whose
name was Vanstone also, who was in great distress about a missing relative,=
and
who might prove of some use to me--or I to her--if we knew of each other's
errand at Aldborough. I had not the least idea who she was, but I sent in my
card at a venture; and in five minutes afterward I found myself in the pres=
ence
of one of the most charming women these eyes ever looked on.
"Our first words of explanation informed =
me
that my family name was known to her by repute. Who do you think she was? T=
he
eldest daughter of my uncle and yours--Andrew Vanstone. I had often heard my
poor mother in past years speak of her brother Andrew, and I knew of that s=
ad
story at Combe-Raven. But our families, as you are aware, had always been e=
stranged,
and I had never seen my charming cousin before. She has the dark eyes and h=
air,
and the gentle, retiring manners that I always admire in a woman. I don't w=
ant
to renew our old disagreement about your father's conduct to those two sist=
ers,
or to deny that his brother Andrew may have behaved badly to him; I am will=
ing
to admit that the high moral position he took in the matter is quite
unassailable by such a miserable sinner as I am; and I will not dispute tha=
t my
own spendthrift habits incapacitate me from offering any opinion on the con=
duct
of other people's pecuniary affairs. But, with all these allowances and
drawbacks, I can tell you one thing, Noel. If you ever see the elder Miss
Vanstone, I venture to prophesy that, for the first time in your life, you =
will
doubt the propriety of following your father's example.
"She told me her little story, poor thing,
most simply and unaffectedly. She is now occupying her second situation as a
governess--and, as usual, I, who know everybody, know the family. They are
friends of my uncle's, whom he has lost sight of latterly--the Tyrrels of
Portland Place--and they treat Miss Vanstone with as much kindness and
consideration as if she was a member of the family. One of their old servan=
ts
accompanied her to Aldborough, her object in traveling to that place being =
what
the landlady of the hotel had stated it to be. The family reverses have, it=
seems,
had a serious effect on Miss Vanstone's younger sister, who has left her
friends and who has been missing from home for some time. She had been last
heard of at Aldborough; and her elder sister, on her return from the Contin=
ent
with the Tyrrels, had instantly set out to make inquiries at that place.
"This was all Miss Vanstone told me. She
asked whether you had seen anything of her sister, or whether Mrs. Lecount =
knew
anything of her sister--I suppose because she was aware you had been at
Aldborough. Of course I could tell her nothing. She entered into no details=
on
the subject, and I could not presume to ask her for any. All I did was to s=
et
to work with might and main to assist her inquiries. The attempt was an utt=
er
failure; nobody could give us any information. We tried personal descriptio=
n of
course; and strange to say, the only young lady formerly staying at Aldboro=
ugh
who answered the description was, of all the people in the world, the lady =
you
have married! If she had not had an uncle and aunt (both of whom have left =
the
place), I should have begun to suspect that you had married your cousin wit=
hout
knowing it! Is this the clew to the mystery? Don't be angry; I must have my
little joke, and I can't help writing as carelessly as I talk. The end of it
was, our inquiries were all baffled, and I traveled back with Miss Vanstone=
and
her attendant as far as our station here. I think I shall call on the Tyrre=
ls
when I am next in London. I have certainly treated that family with the most
inexcusable neglect.
"Here I am at the end of my third sheet of
note-paper! I don't often take the pen in hand; but when I do, you will agr=
ee
with me that I am in no hurry to lay it aside again. Treat the rest of my
letter as you like, but consider what I have told you about Mrs. Lecount, a=
nd
remember that time is of consequence.
"Ever yours,
"GEORGE BARTRAM."
From Norah Vanstone to Miss Garth.
"Portland Place.
"MY DEAR MISS GARTH--More sorrow, more
disappointment! I have just returned from Aldborough, without making any
discovery. Magdalen is still lost to us.
"I cannot attribute this new overthrow of=
my
hopes to any want of perseverance or penetration in making the necessary
inquiries. My inexperience in such matters was most kindly and unexpectedly
assisted by Mr. George Bartram. By a strange coincidence, he happened to be=
at Aldborough,
inquiring after Mr. Noel Vanstone, at the very time when I was there inquir=
ing
aft er Magdalen. He sent in his card, and knowing, when I looked at the nam=
e,
that he was my cousin--if I may call him so--I thought there would be no
impropriety in my seeing him and asking his advice. I abstained from enteri=
ng
into particulars for Magdalen's sake, and I made no allusion to that letter=
of
Mrs. Lecount's which you answered for me. I only told him Magdalen was miss=
ing,
and had been last heard of at Aldborough. The kindness which he showed in
devoting himself to my assistance exceeds all description. He treated me, i=
n my
forlorn situation, with a delicacy and respect which I shall remember
gratefully long after he has himself perhaps forgotten our meeting altogeth=
er. He
is quite young--not more than thirty, I should think. In face and figure, he
reminded me a little of the portrait of my father at Combe-Raven--I mean the
portrait in the dining-room, of my father when he was a young man.
"Useless as our inquiries were, there is =
one
result of them which has left a very strange and shocking impression on my
mind.
"It appears that Mr. Noel Vanstone has la=
tely
married, under mysterious circumstances, a young lady whom he met with at
Aldborough, named Bygrave. He has gone away with his wife, telling nobody b=
ut
his lawyer where he has gone to. This I heard from Mr. George Bartram, who =
was endeavoring
to trace him, for the purpose of communicating the news of his housekeeper's
serious illness--the housekeeper being the same Mrs. Lecount whose letter y=
ou
answered. So far, you may say, there is nothing which need particularly
interest either of us. But I think you will be as much surprised as I was w=
hen
I tell you that the description given by the people at Aldborough of Miss
Bygrave's appearance is most startlingly and unaccountably like the descrip=
tion
of Magdalen's appearance. This discovery, taken in connection with all the =
circumstances
we know of, has had an effect on my mind which I cannot describe to you--wh=
ich
I dare not realize to myself. Pray come and see me! I have never felt so
wretched about Magdalen as I feel now. Suspense must have weakened my nerve=
s in
some strange way. I feel superstitious about the slightest things. This
accidental resemblance of a total stranger to Magdalen fills me every now a=
nd
then with the most horrible misgivings--merely because Mr. Noel Vanstone's =
name
happens to be mixed up with it. Once more, pray come to me; I have so much =
to
say to you that I cannot, and dare not, say in writing.
"Gratefully and affectionately yours,
"NORAH."
From Mr. John Loscombe (Solicitor) to George
Bartram, Esq.
"Lincoln's Inn, London, September 6th, 18=
47.
"SIR--I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your note, inclosing a letter addressed to my client, Mr. Noel Vanstone, and requesting that I will forward the same to Mr. Vanstone's present address.<= o:p>
"Since I last had the pleasure of
communicating with you on this subject, my position toward my client is
entirely altered. Three days ago I received a letter from him, which stated=
his
intention of changing his place of residence on the next day then ensuing, =
but
which left me entirely in ignorance on the subject of the locality to which=
it
was his intention to remove. I have not heard from him since; and, as he ha=
d previously
drawn on me for a larger sum of money than usual, there would be no present
necessity for his writing to me again--assuming that it is his wish to keep=
his
place of residence concealed from every one, myself included.
"Under these circumstances, I think it ri=
ght
to return you your letter, with the assurance that I will let you know, if I
happen to be again placed in a position to forward it to its destination.
"Your obedient servant,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From Norah Vanstone to Miss Garth.
"Portland Place.
"MY DEAR MISS GARTH--Forget the letter I
wrote to you yesterday, and all the gloomy forebodings that it contains. Th=
is
morning's post has brought new life to me. I have just received a letter,
addressed to me at your house, and forwarded here, in your absence from home
yesterday, by your sister. Can you guess who the writer is?--Magdalen!
"The letter is very short; it seems to ha=
ve
been written in a hurry. She says she has been dreaming of me for some nigh=
ts
past, and the dreams have made her fear that her long silence has caused me
more distress on her account than she is worth. She writes, therefore, to
assure me that she is safe and well--that she hopes to see me before long--=
and
that she has something to tell me, when we meet, which will try my sisterly
love for her as nothing has tried it yet. The letter is not dated; but the
postmark is 'Allonby,' which I have found, on referring to the Gazetteer, t=
o be
a little sea-side place in Cumberland. There is no hope of my being able to
write back, for Magdalen expressly says that she is on the eve of departure
from her present residence, and that she is not at liberty to say where she=
is
going to next, or to leave instructions for forwarding any letters after he=
r.
"In happier times I should have thought t=
his
letter very far from being a satisfactory one, and I should have been serio=
usly
alarmed by that allusion to a future confidence on her part which will try =
my
love for her as nothing has tried it yet. But after all the suspense I have=
suffered,
the happiness of seeing her handwriting again seems to fill my heart and to
keep all other feelings out of it. I don't send you her letter, because I k=
now
you are coming to me soon, and I want to have the pleasure of seeing you re=
ad
it.
"Ever affectionately yours,
"NORAH.
"P.S.--Mr. George Bartram called on Mrs.
Tyrrel to-day. He insisted on being introduced to the children. When he was
gone, Mrs. Tyrrel laughed in her good-humored way, and said that his anxiet=
y to
see the children looked, to her mind, very much like an anxiety to see me. =
You
may imagine how my spirits are improved when I can occupy my pen in writing=
such
nonsense as this!"
From Mrs. Lecount to Mr. de Bleriot, General
Agent, London.
"St. Crux, October 23d, 1847.
"DEAR SIR--I have been long in thanking y=
ou
for the kind letter which promises me your assistance, in friendly remembra=
nce
of the commercial relations formerly existing between my brother and yourse=
lf.
The truth is, I have over-taxed my strength on my recovery from a long and =
dangerous
illness; and for the last ten days I have been suffering under a relapse. I=
am
now better again, and able to enter on the business which you so kindly off=
er
to undertake for me.
"The person whose present place of abode =
it
is of the utmost importance to me to discover is Mr. Noel Vanstone. I have
lived, for many years past, in this gentleman's service as house-keeper; and
not having received my formal dismissal, I consider myself in his service s=
till.
During my absence on the Continent he was privately married at Aldborough, =
in
Suffolk, on the eighteenth of August last. He left Aldborough the same day,
taking his wife with him to some place of retreat which was kept a secret f=
rom
everybody except his lawyer, Mr. Loscombe, of Lincoln's Inn. After a short =
time
he again removed, on the 4th of September, without informing Mr. Loscombe, =
on
this occasion, of his new place of abode. From that date to this the lawyer=
has
remained (or has pretended to remain) in total ignorance of where he now is=
. Application
has been made to Mr. Loscombe, under the circumstances, to mention what that
former place of residence was, of which Mr. Vanstone is known to have infor=
med him.
Mr. Loscombe has declined acceding to this request, for want of formal
permission to disclose his client's proceedings after leaving Aldborough. I
have all these latter particulars from Mr. Loscombe's correspondent--the ne=
phew
of the gentleman who owns this house, and whose charity has given me an asy=
lum,
during the heavy affliction of my sickness, under his own roof.
"I believe the reasons which have induced=
Mr.
Noel Vanstone to keep himself and his wife in hiding are reasons which rela=
te
entirely to myself. In the first p lace, he is aware that the circumstances
under which he has married are such as to give me the right of regarding hi=
m with
a just indignation. In the second place, he knows that my faithful services,
rendered through a period of twenty years, to his father and to himself, fo=
rbid
him, in common decency, to cast me out helpless on the world without a
provision for the end of my life. He is the meanest of living men, and his =
wife
is the vilest of living women. As long as he can avoid fulfilling his
obligations to me, he will; and his wife's encouragement may be trusted to
fortify him in his ingratitude.
"My object in determining to find him out=
is
briefly this. His marriage has exposed him to consequences which a man of t=
en
times his courage could not face without shrinking. Of those consequences he
knows nothing. His wife knows, and keeps him in ignorance. I know, and can =
enlighten
him. His security from the danger that threatens him is in my hands alone; =
and
he shall pay the price of his rescue to the last farthing of the debt that
justice claims for me as my due--no more, and no less.
"I have now laid my mind before you, as y=
ou
told me, without reserve. You know why I want to find this man, and what I =
mean
to do when I find him. I leave it to your sympathy for me to answer the ser=
ious
question that remains: How is the discovery to be made? If a first trace of
them can be found, after their departure from Aldborough, I believe careful=
inquiry
will suffice for the rest. The personal appearance of the wife, and the
extraordinary contrast between her husband and herself, are certain to be
remarked, and remembered, by every stranger who sees them.
"When you favor me with your answer, plea=
se
address it to 'Care of Admiral Bartram, St. Crux-in the-Marsh, near Ossory,
Essex'. Your much obliged
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
From Mr. de Bleriot to Mrs. Lecount.
"Dark's Buildings, Kingsland,
"October 25th, 1847.
"Private and Confidential.
"DEAR MADAM--I hasten to reply to your fa=
vor
of Saturday's date. Circumstances have enabled me to forward your interests=
, by
consulting a friend of mine possessing great experience in the management of
private inquiries of all sorts. I have placed your case before him (without=
mentioning
names); and I am happy to inform you that my views and his views of the pro=
per
course to take agree in every particular.
"Both myself and friend, then, are of opi=
nion
that little or nothing can be done toward tracing the parties you mention,
until the place of their temporary residence after they left Aldborough has
been discovered first. If this can be done, the sooner it is done the bette=
r.
Judging from your letter, some weeks must have passed since the lawyer rece=
ived
his information that they had shifted their quarters. As they are both rema=
rkable-looking
people, the strangers who may have assisted them on their travels have prob=
ably
not forgotten them yet. Nevertheless, expedition is desirable.
"The question for you to consider is, whe=
ther
they may not possibly have communicated the address of which we stand in ne=
ed
to some other person besides the lawyer. The husband may have written to
members of his family, or the wife may have written to members of her famil=
y.
Both myself and friend are of opinion that the latter chance is the likelie=
r of
the two. If you have any means of access in the direction of the wife's fam=
ily,
we strongly recommend you to make use of them. If not, please supply us with
the names of any of her near relations or intimate female friends whom you
know, and we will endeavor to get access for you.
"In any case, we request you will at once
favor us with the most exact personal description that can be written of bo=
th
the parties. We may require your assistance, in this important particular, =
at
five minutes' notice. Favor us, therefore, with the description by return of
post. In the meantime, we will endeavor to ascertain on our side whether an=
y information
is to be privately obtained at Mr. Loscombe's office. The lawyer himself is
probably altogether beyond our reach. But if any one of his clerks can be
advantageously treated with on such terms as may not overtax your pecuniary
resources, accept my assurance that the opportunity shall be made the most =
of
by, dear madam, your faithful servant,
"ALFRED DE BLERIOT."
From Mr. Pendril to Norah Vanstone.
"Serle Street, October 27th. 1847.
"MY DEAR MISS VANSTONE--A lady named Leco=
unt
(formerly attached to Mr. Noel Vanstone's service in the capacity of
housekeeper) has called at my office this morning, and has asked me to furn=
ish
her with your address. I have begged her to excuse my immediate compliance =
with
her request, and to favor me with a call to-morrow morning, when I shall be
prepared to meet her with a definite answer.
"My hesitation in this matter does not
proceed from any distrust of Mrs. Lecount personally, for I know nothing
whatever to her prejudice. But in making her request to me, she stated that=
the
object of the desired interview was to speak to you privately on the subjec=
t of
your sister. Forgive me for acknowledging that I determined to withhold the
address as soon as I heard this. You will make allowances for your old frie=
nd, and
your sincere well-wisher? You will not take it amiss if I express my strong
disapproval of your allowing yourself, on any pretense whatever, to be mixe=
d up
for the future with your sister's proceedings.
"I will not distress you by saying more t=
han
this. But I feel too deep an interest in your welfare, and too sincere an
admiration of the patience with which you have borne all your trials, to say
less.
"If I cannot prevail on you to follow my
advice, you have only to say so, and Mrs. Lecount shall have your address
to-morrow. In this case (which I cannot contemplate without the greatest
unwillingness), let me at least recommend you to stipulate that Miss Garth
shall be present at the interview. In any matter with which your sister is
concerned, you may want an old friend's advice, and an old friend's protect=
ion
against your own generous impulses. If I could have helped you in this way,=
I
would; but Mrs. Lecount gave me indirectly to understand that the subject t=
o be
discussed was of too delicate a nature to permit of my presence. Whatever t=
his
objection may be really worth, it cannot apply to Miss Garth, who has broug=
ht
you both up from childhood. I say, again, therefore, if you see Mrs. Lecoun=
t,
see her in Miss Garth's company.
"Always most truly yours,
"WILLIAM PENDRIL."
From Norah Vanstone to Mr. Pendril.
"Portland Place, Wednesday.
"DEAR MR. PENDRIL--Pray don't think I am
ungrateful for your kindness. Indeed, indeed I am not! But I must see Mrs.
Lecount. You were not aware when you wrote to me that I had received a few
lines from Magdalen--not telling me where she is, but holding out the hope =
of
our meeting before long. Perhaps Mrs. Lecount may have something to say to =
me
on this very subject. Even if it should not be so, my sister--do what she
may--is still my sister. I can't desert her; I can't turn my back on any one
who comes to me in her name. You know, dear Mr. Pendril, I have always been=
obstinate
on this subject, and you have always borne with me. Let me owe another
obligation to you which I can never return, and bear with me still!
"Need I say that I willingly accept that =
part
of your advice which refers to Miss Garth? I have already written to beg th=
at
she will come here at four to-morrow afternoon. When you see Mrs. Lecount,
please inform her that Miss Garth will be with me, and that she will find u=
s both
ready to receive her here to-morrow at four o'clock. Gratefully yours,
"NORAH VANSTONE."
=
IX.
From Mr. de Bleriot to Mrs. Lecount.
"Private.
"Dark's Buildings, October 28th.
"DEAR MADAM--One of Mr. Loscombe's clerks=
has
proved amenable to a small pecuniary consideration, and has mentioned a
circumstance which it may be of some importance to you to know.
"Nearly a month since, accident gave the
clerk in question an opportunity of looking into one of the documents on his
master's table, which had attracted his attention from a slight peculiar it=
y in
the form and color of the paper. He had only time, during Mr. Loscombe's mo=
mentary
absence, to satisfy his curiosity by looking at the beginning of the docume=
nt
and at the end. At the beginning he saw the customary form used in making a
will; at the end he discovered the signature of Mr. Noel Vanstone, with the
names of two attesting witnesses, and the date (of which he is quite
certain)--the thirtieth of September last.
"Before the clerk had time to make any
further investigations, his master returned, sorted the papers on the table,
and carefully locked up the will in the strong box devoted to the custody of
Mr. Noel Vanstone's documents. It has been ascertained that, at the close of
September, Mr. Loscombe was absent from the office. If he was then employed=
in superintending
the execution of his client's will--which is quite possible--it follows cle=
arly
that he was in the secret of Mr. Vanstone's address after the removal of the
4th of September; and if you can do nothing on your side, it may be desirab=
le
to have the lawyer watched on ours. In any case, it is certainly ascertained
that Mr. Noel Vanstone has made his will since his marriage. I leave you to
draw your own conclusions from that fact, and remain, in the hope of hearing
from you shortly,
"Your faithful servant,
"ALFRED DE BLERIOT."
From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril.
"Portland Place, October 28th.
"MY DEAR SIR--Mrs. Lecount has just left =
us.
If it was not too late to wish, I should wish, from the bottom of my heart,
that Norah had taken your advice, and had refused to see her.
"I write in such distress of mind that I
cannot hope to give you a clear and complete account of the interview. I can
only tell you briefly what Mrs. Lecount has done, and what our situation now
is. The rest must be left until I am more composed, and until I can speak to
you personally.
"You will remember my informing you of the
letter which Mrs. Lecount addressed to Norah from Aldborough, and which I
answered for her in her absence. When Mrs. Lecount made her appearance to-d=
ay,
her first words announced to us that she had come to renew the subject. As =
well
as I can remember it, this is what she said, addressing herself to Norah:
"'I wrote to you on the subject of your
sister, Miss Vanstone, some little time since, and Miss Garth was so good a=
s to
answer the letter. What I feared at that time has come true. Your sister has
defied all my efforts to check her; she has disappeared in company with my
master, Mr. Noel Vanstone; and she is now in a position of danger which may
lead to her disgrace and ruin at a moment's notice. It is my interest to
recover my master, it is your interest to save your sister. Tell me--for ti=
me
is precious--have you any news of her?'
"Norah answered, as well as her terror and
distress would allow her, 'I have had a letter, but there was no address on
it.'
"Mrs. Lecount asked, 'Was there no postma=
rk
on the envelope?'
"Norah said, 'Yes; Allonby.'
"'Allonby is better than nothing,' said M=
rs.
Lecount. 'Allonby may help you to trace her. Where is Allonby?'
"Norah told her. It all passed in a minut=
e. I
had been too much confused and startled to interfere before, but I composed
myself sufficiently to interfere now.
"'You have entered into no particulars,' I
said. 'You have only frightened us--you have told us nothing.'
"'You shall hear the particulars, ma'am,'
said Mrs. Lecount; 'and you and Miss Vanstone shall judge for yourselves if=
I
have frightened you without a cause.'
"Upon this, she entered at once upon a lo=
ng
narrative, which I cannot--I might almost say, which I dare not--repeat. You
will understand the horror we both felt when I tell you the end. If Mrs.
Lecount's statement is to be relied on, Magdalen has carried her mad resolu=
tion
of recovering her father's fortune to the last and most desperate extremity=
--she
has married Michael Vanstone's son under a false name. Her husband is at th=
is
moment still persuaded that her maiden name was Bygrave, and that she is re=
ally
the niece of a scoundrel who assisted her imposture, and whom I recognize, =
by
the description of him, to have been Captain Wragge.
"I spare you Mrs. Lecount's cool avowal, =
when
she rose to leave us, of her own mercenary motives in wishing to discover h=
er
master and to enlighten him. I spare you the hints she dropped of Magdalen's
purpose in contracting this infamous marriage. The one aim and object of my=
letter
is to implore you to assist me in quieting Norah's anguish of mind. The sho=
ck
she has received at hearing this news of her sister is not the worst result=
of
what has happened. She has persuaded herself that the answers she innocently
gave, in her distress, to Mrs. Lecount's questions on the subject of her
letter--the answers wrung from her under the sudden pressure of confusion a=
nd
alarm--may be used to Magdalen's prejudice by the woman who purposely start=
led
her into giving the information. I can only prevent her from taking some
desperate step on her side--some step by which she may forfeit the friendsh=
ip
and protection of the excellent people with whom she is now living--by remi=
nding
her that if Mrs. Lecount traces her master by means of the postmark on the
letter, we may trace Magdalen at the same time, and by the same means. What=
ever
objection you may personally feel to renewing the efforts for the rescue of=
this
miserable girl which failed so lamentably at York, I entreat you, for Norah=
's
sake, to take the same steps now which we took then. Send me the only assur=
ance
which will quiet her--the assurance, under your own hand, that the search on
our side has begun. If you will do this, you may trust me, when the time co=
mes,
to stand between these two sisters, and to defend Norah's peace, character,=
and
future prosperity at any price.
"Most sincerely yours,
"HARRIET GARTH."
From Mrs. Lecount to Mr. de Bleriot.
"October 28th.
"DEAR SIR--I have found the trace you wan=
ted.
Mrs. Noel Vanstone has written to her sister. The letter contains no addres=
s,
but the postmark is Allonby, in Cumberland. From Allonby, therefore, the
inquiries must begin. You have already in your possession the personal
description of both husband and wife. I urgently recommend you not to lose =
one unnecessary
moment. If it is possible to send to Cumberland immediately on receipt of t=
his
letter, I beg you will do so.
"I have another word to say before I clos=
e my
note--a word about the discovery in Mr. Loscombe's office.
"It is no surprise to me to hear that Mr.
Noel Vanstone has made his will since his marriage, and I am at no loss to
guess in whose favor the will is made. If I succeed in finding my master, l=
et
that person get the money if that person can. A course to follow in this ma=
tter
has presented itself to my mind since I received your letter, but my ignora=
nce
of details of business and intricacies of law leaves me still uncertain whe=
ther
my idea is capable of ready and certain execution. I know no professional
person whom I can trust in this delicate and dangerous business. Is your la=
rge
experience in other matters large enough to help me in this? I will call at
your office to-morrow at two o'clock, for the purpose of consulting you on =
the
subject. It is of the greatest importance, when I next see Mr. Noel Vanston=
e,
that he should find me thoroughly prepared beforehand in this matter of the
will. Your much obliged servant,
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
From Mr. Pendril to Miss Garth.
"Serle Street, October 29th.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--I have only a moment to
assure you of the sorrow with which I have read your letter. The circumstan=
ces
under which you urge your request, and the reasons you give for making it, =
are
sufficient to silence any objection I might otherwise feel to the course you
propose. A trustworthy person, whom I have myself instructed, will start fo=
r Allonby
to-day, and as soon as I receive any news from him, you shall hear of it by
special messenger. Tell Miss Vanstone this, and pray add the sincere expres=
sion
of my sympathy and regard.
"Faithfully yours,
"WILLIAM PENDRIL."
From Mr. de Bleriot to Mrs. Lecount.
"Dark's Buildings. November 1st.
"DEAR MADAM--I have the pleasure of infor=
ming
you that the discovery has been made with far less trouble than I had
anticipated.
"Mr. and Mrs. Noel Vanstone have been tra=
ced
across the Solway Firth to Dumfries, and thence to a cottage a few miles fr=
om
the town, on the banks of the Nith. The exact address is Baliol Cottage, ne=
ar
Dumfries.
"This information, though easily hunted u=
p,
has nevertheless been obtained under rather singular circumstances.
"Before leaving Allonby, the persons in my
employ discovered, to their surprise, that a stranger was in the place purs=
uing
the same inquiry as themselves. In the absence of any instructions preparing
them for such an occurrence as this, they took their own view of the
circumstance. Considering the man as an intruder on their business, whose
success might deprive them of the credit and reward of making the discovery=
, they
took advantage of their superiority in numbers, and of their being first in=
the
field, and carefully misled the stranger before they ventured any further w=
ith
their own investigations. I am in possession of the details of their
proceedings, with which I need not trouble you. The end is, that this perso=
n,
whoever he may be, was cleverly turned back southward on a false scent befo=
re
the men in my employment crossed the Firth.
"I mention the circumstance, as you may be
better able than I am to find a clew to it, and as it may possibly be of a
nature to induce you to hasten your journey.
"Your faithful servant,
"ALFRED DE BLERIOT."
From Mrs. Lecount to Mr. de Bleriot.
"November 1st.
"DEAR SIR--One line to say that your lett=
er
has just reached me at my lodging in London. I think I know who sent the
strange man to inquire at Allonby. It matters little. Before he finds out h=
is
mistake, I shall be at Dumfries. My luggage is packed, and I start for the
North by the next train.
"Your deeply obliged
"VIRGINIE LECOUNT."
CHAPTER
I.
TOWARD eleven o'clock, on the morning of the t=
hird
of November, the breakfast-table at Baliol Cottage presented that essential=
ly
comfortless appearance which is caused by a meal in a state of transition--=
that
is to say, by a meal prepared for two persons, which has been already eaten=
by
one, and which has not yet been approached by the other. It must be a hardy
appetite which can contemplate without a momentary discouragement the batte=
red
egg-shell, the fish half stripped to a skeleton, the crumbs in the plate, a=
nd
the dregs in the cup. There is surely a wise submission to those weaknesses=
in
human nature which must be respected and not reproved, in the sympathizing
rapidity with which servants in places of public refreshment clear away all
signs of the customer in the past, from the eyes of the customer in the
present. Although his predecessor may have been the wife of his bosom or the
child of his loins, no man can find himself confronted at table by the trac=
es
of a vanished eater, without a passing sense of injury in connection with t=
he idea
of his own meal.
Some such impression as this found its way into
the mind of Mr. Noel Vanstone when he entered the lonely breakfast-parlor at
Baliol Cottage shortly after eleven o'clock. He looked at the table with a
frown, and rang the bell with an expression of disgust.
"Clear away this mess," he said, when
the servant appeared. "Has your mistress gone?"
"Yes, sir--nearly an hour ago."
"Is Louisa downstairs?"
"Yes, sir."
"When you have put the table right, send
Louisa up to me."
He walked away to the window. The momentary
irritation passed away from his face; but it left an expression there which
remained--an expression of pining discontent. Personally, his marriage had
altered him for the worse. His wizen little cheeks were beginning to shrink
into hollows, his frail little figure had already contracted a slight stoop.
The former delicacy of his complexion had gone--the sickly paleness of it w=
as
all that remained. His thin flaxen mustaches were no longer pragmatically w=
axed
and twisted into a curl: their weak feathery ends hung meekly pendent over =
the
querulous corners of his mouth. If the ten or twelve weeks since his marria=
ge
had been counted by his locks, they might have reckoned as ten or twelve ye=
ars.
He stood at the window mechanically picking leaves from a pot of heath plac=
ed
in front of it, and drearily humming the forlorn fragment of a tune.
The prospect from the window overlooked the co=
urse
of the Nith at a bend of the river a few miles above Dumfries. Here and the=
re,
through wintry gaps in the wooded bank, broad tracts of the level cultivated
valley met the eye. Boats passed on the river, and carts plodded along the =
high-road
on their way to Dumfries. The sky was clear; the November sun shone as
pleasantly as if the year had been younger by two good months; and the view,
noted in Scotland for its bright and peaceful charm, was presented at the b=
est
which its wintry aspect could assume. If it had been hidden in mist or dren=
ched
with rain, Mr. Noel Vanstone would, to all appearance, have found it as
attractive as he found it now. He waited at the window until he heard Louis=
a's
knock at the door, then turned back sullenly to the breakfast-table and told
her to come in.
"Make the tea," he said. "I know
nothing about it. I'm left here neglected. Nobody helps me."
The discreet Louisa silently and submissively
obeyed.
"Did your mistress leave any message for
me," he asked, "before she went away?"
"No message in particular, sir. My mistre= ss only said she should be too late if she waited breakfast any longer."<= o:p>
"Did she say nothing else?"
"She told me at the carriage door, sir, t=
hat
she would most likely be back in a week."
"Was she in good spirits at the carriage
door?"
"No, sir. I thought my mistress seemed ve=
ry
anxious and uneasy. Is there anything more I can do, sir?"
"I don't know. Wait a minute."
He proceeded discontentedly with his breakfast.
Louisa waited resignedly at the door.
"I think your mistress has been in bad
spirits lately," he resumed, with a sudden outbreak of petulance.
"My mistress has not been very cheerful,
sir."
"What do you mean by not very cheerful? Do
you mean to prevaricate? Am I nobody in the house? Am I to be kept in the d=
ark
about everything? Is your mistress to go away on her own affairs, and leave=
me
at home like a child--and am I not even to ask a question about her? Am I t=
o be
prevaricated with by a servant? I won't be prevaricated with! Not very chee=
rful?
What do you mean by not very cheerful?"
"I only meant that my mistress was not in
good spirits, sir."
"Why couldn't you say it, then? Don't you
know the value of words? The most dreadful consequences sometimes happen fr=
om
not knowing the value of words. Did your mistress tell you she was going to
London?"
"Yes, sir."
"What did you think when your mistress to=
ld
you she was going to London? Did you think it odd she was going without
me?"
"I did not presume to think it odd, sir.-=
-Is
there anything more I can do for you, if you please, sir?"
"What sort of a morning is it out? Is it
warm? Is the sun on the garden?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you seen the sun yourself on the
garden?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get me my great-coat; I'll take a little
turn. Has the man brushed it? Did you see the man brush it yourself? What do
you mean by saying he has brushed it, when you didn't see him? Let me look =
at
the tails. If there's a speck of dust on the tails, I'll turn the man
off!--Help me on with it."
Louisa helped him on with his coat, and gave h=
im
his hat. He went out irritably. The coat was a large one (it had belonged to
his father); the hat was a large one (it was a misfit purchased as a bargai=
n by
himself). He was submerged in his hat and coat; he looked singularly small,=
and
frail, and miserable, as he slowly wended his way, in the wintry sunlight, =
down
the garden walk. The path sloped gently from the back of the house to the w=
ater
side, from which it was parted by a low wooden fence. After pacing backward=
and
forward slowly for some little time, he stopped at the lower extremity of t=
he
garden, and, leaning on the fen ce, looked down listlessly at the smooth fl=
ow
of the river.
His thoughts still ran on the subject of his f=
irst
fretful question to Louisa--he was still brooding over the circumstances un=
der
which his wife had left the cottage that morning, and over the want of cons=
ideration
toward himself implied in the manner of her departure. The longer he though=
t of
his grievance, the more acutely he resented it. He was capable of great
tenderness of feeling where any injury to his sense of his own importance w=
as
concerned. His head drooped little by little on his arms, as they rested on=
the
fence, and, in the deep sincerity of his mortification, he sighed bitterly.=
The sigh was answered by a voice close at his
side.
"You were happier with me, sir," said
the voice, in accents of tender regret.
He looked up with a scream--literally, with a
scream--and confronted Mrs. Lecount.
Was it the specter of the woman, or the woman
herself? Her hair was white; her face had fallen away; her eyes looked out
large, bright, and haggard over her hollow cheeks. She was withered and old.
Her dress hung loose round her wasted figure; not a trace of its buxom autu=
mnal
beauty remained. The quietly impenetrable resolution, the smoothly insinuat=
ing voice--these
were the only relics of the past which sickness and suffering had left in M=
rs.
Lecount.
"Compose yourself, Mr. Noel," she sa=
id,
gently. "You have no cause to be alarmed at seeing me. Your servant, w=
hen
I inquired, said you were in the garden, and I came here to find you. I have
traced you out, sir, with no resentment against yourself, with no wish to
distress you by so much as the shadow of a reproach. I come here on what has
been, and is still, the business of my life--your service."
He recovered himself a little, but he was still
incapable of speech. He held fast by the fence, and stared at her.
"Try to possess your mind, sir, of what I
say," proceeded Mrs. Lecount. "I have come here not as your enemy,
but as your friend. I have been tried by sickness, I have been tried by
distress. Nothing remains of me but my heart. My heart forgives you; my hea=
rt,
in your sore need--need which you have yet to feel-places me at your servic=
e.
Take my arm, Mr. Noel. A little turn in the sun will help you to recover
yourself."
She put his hand through her arm and marched h=
im
slowly up the garden walk. Before she had been five minutes in his company,=
she
had resumed full possession of him in her own right.
"Now down again, Mr. Noel," she said.
"Gently down again, in this fine sunlight. I have much to say to you, =
sir,
which you never expected to hear from me. Let me ask a little domestic ques=
tion
first. They told me at the house door Mrs. Noel Vanstone was gone away on a
journey. Has she gone for long?"
Her master's hand trembled on her arm as she p=
ut
that question. Instead of answering it, he tried faintly to plead for himse=
lf.
The first words that escaped him were prompted by his first returning
sense--the sense that his housekeeper had taken him into custody. He tried =
to
make his peace with Mrs. Lecount.
"I always meant to do something for
you," he said, coaxingly. "You would have heard from me before lo=
ng.
Upon my word and honor, Lecount, you would have heard from me before
long!"
"I don't doubt it, sir," replied Mrs.
Lecount. "But for the present, never mind about Me. You and your inter=
ests
first."
"How did you come here?" he asked,
looking at her in astonishment. "How came you to find me out?"
"It is a long story, sir; I will tell it =
you
some other time. Let it be enough to say now that I have found you. Will Mr=
s.
Noel be back again at the house to-day? A little louder, sir; I can hardly =
hear
you. So! so! Not back again for a week! And where has she gone? To London, =
did you
say? And what for?--I am not inquisitive, Mr. Noel; I am asking serious
questions, under serious necessity. Why has your wife left you here, and go=
ne
to London by herself?"
They were down at the fence again as she made =
that
last inquiry, and they waited, leaning against it, while Noel Vanstone
answered. Her reiterated assurances that she bore him no malice were produc=
ing
their effect; he was beginning to recover himself. The old helpless habit o=
f addressing
all his complaints to his housekeeper was returning already with the
re-appearance of Mrs. Lecount--returning insidiously, in company with that
besetting anxiety to talk about his grievances, which had got the better of=
him
at the breakfast-table, and which had shown the wound inflicted on his vani=
ty
to his wife's maid.
"I can't answer for Mrs. Noel Vanstone,&q=
uot;
he said, spitefully. "Mrs. Noel Vanstone has not treated me with the
consideration which is my due. She has taken my permission for granted, and=
she
has only thought proper to tell me that the object of her journey is to see=
her
friends in London. She went away this morning without bidding me good-by. S=
he
takes her own way as if I was nobody; she treats me like a child. You may n=
ot
believe it, Lecount, but I don't even know who her friends are. I am left q=
uite
in the dark; I am left to guess for myself that her friends in London are h=
er
uncle and aunt."
Mrs. Lecount privately considered the question=
by
the help of her own knowledge obtained in London. She soon reached the obvi=
ous
conclusion. After writing to her sister in the first instance, Magdalen had
now, in all probability, followed the letter in person. There was little do=
ubt that
the friends she had gone to visit in London were her sister and Miss Garth.=
"Not her uncle and aunt, sir," resum=
ed
Mrs. Lecount, composedly. "A secret for your private ear! She has no u=
ncle
and aunt. Another little turn before I explain myself--another little turn =
to
compose your spirits."
She took him into custody once more, and march=
ed
him back toward the house.
"Mr. Noel!" she said, suddenly stopp=
ing
in the middle of the walk. "Do you know what was the worst mischief you
ever did yourself in your life? I will tell you. That worst mischief was
sending me to Zurich."
His hand began to tremble on her arm once more=
.
"I didn't do it!" he cried piteously.
"It was all Mr. Bygrave."
"You acknowledge, sir, that Mr. Bygrave
deceived me?" proceeded Mrs. Lecount. "I am glad to hear that. You
will be all the readier to make the next discovery which is waiting for
you--the discovery that Mr. Bygrave has deceived you. He is not here to slip
through my fingers now, and I am not the helpless woman in this place that I
was at Aldborough. Thank God!"
She uttered that devout exclamation through her
set teeth. All her hatred of Captain Wragge hissed out of her lips in those=
two
words.
"Oblige me, sir, by holding one side of my
traveling-bag," she resumed, "while I open it and take something
out."
The interior of the bag disclosed a series of
neatly-folded papers, all laid together in order, and numbered outside. Mrs.
Lecount took out one of the papers, and shut up the bag again with a loud s=
nap
of the spring that closed it.
"At Aldborough, Mr. Noel, I had only my o=
wn
opinion to support me," she remarked. "My own opinion was nothing
against Miss Bygrave's youth and beauty, and Mr. Bygrave's ready wit. I cou=
ld
only hope to attack your infatuation with proofs, and at that time I had not
got them. I have got them now! I am armed at all points with proofs; I bris=
tle
from head to foot with proofs; I break my forced silence, and speak with the
emphasis of my proofs. Do you know this writing, sir?"
He shrank back from the paper which she offere=
d to
him.
"I don't understand this," he said,
nervously. "I don't know what you want, or what you mean."
Mrs. Lecount forced the paper into his hand.
"You shall know what I mean, sir, if you will give me a moment's
attention," she said. "On the day after you went away to St. Crux=
, I
obtained admission to Mr. Bygrave's house, and I had some talk in private w=
ith
Mr. Bygrave's wife. That talk supplied me with the means to convince you wh=
ich
I had wanted to find for weeks and weeks past. I wrote you a letter to say
so--I wrote to tell you that I would forfeit my place in your service, and =
my expectations
from your generosity, if I did not prove to you when I came back from
Switzerland that my own private suspicion of Miss Bygrave was the truth. I
directed that letter to you at St. Crux, and I posted it myself. Now, Mr. N=
oel,
read the paper which I have forced into your hand. It is Admiral Bartram's
written affirmation that my letter came to St. Crux, and that he inclosed i=
t to
you, under cover to Mr. Bygrave, at your own request. Did Mr. Bygrave ever =
give
you that letter? Don't agitate yourself, sir! One word of reply will do--Ye=
s or
No."
He read the paper, and looked up at her with
growing bewilderment and fear. She obstinately waited until he spoke.
"No," he said, faintly; "I never got the letter."
"First proof!" said Mrs. Lecount, ta=
king
the paper from him, and putting it back in the bag. "One more, with yo=
ur
kind permission, before we come to things more serious still. I gave you a =
written
description, sir, at Aldborough, of a person not named, and I asked you to
compare it with Miss Bygrave the next time you were in her company. After
having first shown the description to Mr. Bygrave--it is useless to deny it
now, Mr. Noel; your friend at North Shingles is not here to help you!--afte=
r having
first shown my note to Mr. Bygrave, you made the comparison, and you found =
it
fail in the most important particular. There were two little moles placed c=
lose
together on the left side of the neck, in my description of the unknown lad=
y,
and there were no little moles at all when you looked at Miss Bygrave's nec=
k. I
am old enough to be your mother, Mr. Noel. If the question is not indelicat=
e,
may I ask what the present state of your knowledge is on the subject of your
wife's neck?"
She looked at him with a merciless steadiness.=
He
drew back a few steps, cowering under her eye. "I can't say," he
stammered. "I don't know. What do you mean by these questions? I never
thought about the moles afterward; I never looked. She wears her hair
low--"
"She has excellent reasons to wear it low,
sir," remarked Mrs. Lecount. "We will try and lift that hair befo=
re
we have done with the subject. When I came out here to find you in the gard=
en,
I saw a neat young person through the kitchen window, with her work in her
hand, who looked to my eyes like a lady's maid. Is this young person your
wife's maid? I beg your pardon, sir, did you say yes? In that case, another
question, if you please. Did you engage her, or did your wife?"
"I engaged her--"
"While I was away? While I was in total
ignorance that you meant to have a wife, or a wife's maid?"
"Yes."
"Under those circumstances, Mr. Noel, you
cannot possibly suspect me of conspiring to deceive you, with the maid for =
my
instrument. Go into the house, sir, while I wait here. Ask the woman who
dresses Mrs. Noel Vanstone's hair morning and night whether her mistress ha=
s a
mark on the left side of her neck, and (if so) what that mark is?"
He walked a few steps toward the house without
uttering a word, then stopped, and looked back at Mrs. Lecount. His blinking
eyes were steady, and his wizen face had become suddenly composed. Mrs. Lec=
ount
advanced a little and joined him. She saw the change; but, with all her
experience of him, she failed to interpret the true meaning of it.
"Are you in want of a pretense, sir?"
she asked. "Are you at a loss to account to your wife's maid for such a
question as I wish you to put to her? Pretenses are easily found which will=
do
for persons in her station of life. Say I have come here with news of a leg=
acy
for Mrs. Noel Vanstone, and that there is a question of her identity to set=
tle
before she can receive the money."
She pointed to the house. He paid no attention=
to
the sign. His face grew paler and paler. Without moving or speaking he stood
and looked at her.
"Are you afraid?" asked Mrs. Lecount=
.
Those words roused him; those words lit a spar=
k of
the fire of manhood in him at last. He turned on her like a sheep on a dog.=
"I won't be questioned and ordered!"=
he
broke out, trembling violently under the new sensation of his own courage.
"I won't be threatened and mystified any longer! How did you find me o=
ut
at this place? What do you mean by coming here with your hints and your
mysteries? What have you got to say against my wife?"
Mrs. Lecount composedly opened the traveling-b=
ag
and took out her smelling bottle, in case of emergency.
"You have spoken to me in plain words,&qu=
ot;
she said. "In plain words, sir, you shall have your answer. Are you too
angry to listen?"
Her looks and tones alarmed him, in spite of
himself. His courage began to sink again; and, desperately as he tried to
steady it, his voice trembled when he answered her.
"Give me my answer," he said, "=
and
give it at once."
"Your commands shall be obeyed, sir, to t=
he
letter," replied Mrs. Lecount. "I have come here with two objects=
. To
open your eyes to your own situation, and to save your fortune--perhaps your
life. Your situation is this. Miss Bygrave has married you under a false
character and a false name. Can you rouse your memory? Can you call to mind=
the
disguised woman who threatened you in Vauxhall Walk? That woman--as certain=
ly
as I stand here--is now your wife."
He looked at her in breathless silence, his li=
ps
falling apart, his eyes fixed in vacant inquiry. The suddenness of the
disclosure had overreached its own end. It had stupefied him.
"My wife?" he repeated, and burst in=
to
an imbecile laugh.
"Your wife," reiterated Mrs. Lecount=
.
At the repetition of those two words the strai=
n on
his faculties relaxed. A thought dawned on him for the first time. His eyes
fixed on her with a furtive alarm, and he drew back hastily. "Mad!&quo=
t;
he said to himself, with a sudden remembrance of what his friend Mr. Bygrave
had told him at Aldborough, sharpened by his own sense of the haggard chang=
e that
he saw in her face.
He spoke in a whisper, but Mrs. Lecount heard =
him.
She was close at his side again in an instant. For the first time, her
self-possession failed her, and she caught him angrily by the arm.
"Will you put my madness to the proof,
sir?" she asked.
He shook off her hold; he began to gather cour=
age
again, in the intense sincerity of his disbelief, courage to face the asser=
tion
which she persisted in forcing on him.
"Yes," he answered. "What must I
do?"
"Do what I told you," said Mrs. Leco=
unt.
"Ask the maid that question about her mistress on the spot. And if she
tells you the mark is there, do one thing more. Take me up into your wife's
room, and open her wardrobe in my presence with your own hands."
"What do you want with her wardrobe?"=
; he
asked.
"You shall know when you open it."
"Very strange!" he said to himself,
vacantly. "It's like a scene in a novel--it's like nothing in real
life." He went slowly into the house, and Mrs. Lecount waited for him =
in
the garden.
After an absence of a few minutes only he appe=
ared
again, on the top of the flight of steps which led into the garden from the
house. He held by the iron rail with one hand, while with the other he beck=
oned
to Mrs. Lecount to join him on the steps.
"What does the maid say?" she asked,=
as
she approached him. "Is the mark there?"
He answered in a whisper, "Yes." Wha=
t he
had heard from the maid had produced a marked change in him. The horror of =
the
coming discovery had laid its paralyzing hold on his mind. He moved
mechanically; he looked and spoke like a man in a dream.
"Will you take my arm, sir?"
He shook his head, and, preceding her along the
passage and up the stairs, led the way into his wife's room. When she joined
him and locked the door, he stood passively waiting for his directions, wit=
hout
making any remark, without showing any external appearance of surprise. He =
had not
removed either his hat or coat. Mrs. Lecount took them off for him. "T=
hank
you," he said, with the docility of a well-trained child. "It's l=
ike
a scene in a novel--it's like nothing in real life."
The bed-chamber was not very large, and the
furniture was heavy and old-fashioned. But evidences of Magdalen's natural
taste and refinement were visible everywhere, in the little embellishments =
that
graced and enlivened the aspect of the room. The perfume of dried rose-leav=
es hung
fra grant on the cool air. Mrs. Lecount sniffed the perfume with a disparag=
ing
frown and threw the window up to its full height. "Pah!" she said,
with a shudder of virtuous disgust, "the atmosphere of deceit!"
She seated herself near the window. The wardro=
be
stood against the wall opposite, and the bed was at the side of the room on=
her
right hand. "Open the wardrobe, Mr. Noel," she said. "I don'=
t go
near it. I touch nothing in it myself. Take out the dresses with your own h=
and
and put them on the bed. Take them out one by one until I tell you to
stop."
He obeyed her. "I'll do it as well as I
can," he said. "My hands are cold, and my head feels half
asleep."
The dresses to be removed were not many, for
Magdalen had taken some of them away with her. After he had put two dresses=
on
the bed, he was obliged to search in the inner recesses of the wardrobe bef=
ore
he could find a third. When he produced it, Mrs. Lecount made a sign to him=
to stop.
The end was reached already; he had found the brown Alpaca dress.
"Lay it out on the bed, sir," said M=
rs.
Lecount. "You will see a double flounce running round the bottom of it.
Lift up the outer flounce, and pass the inner one through your fingers, inc=
h by
inch. If you come to a place where there is a morsel of the stuff missing, =
stop
and look up at me."
He passed the flounce slowly through his finge=
rs
for a minute or more, then stopped and looked up. Mrs. Lecount produced her
pocket-book and opened it.
"Every word I now speak, sir, is of serio=
us
consequence to you and to me," she said. "Listen with your closest
attention. When the woman calling herself Miss Garth came to see us in Vaux=
hall
Walk, I knelt down behind the chair in which she was sitting and I cut a mo=
rsel
of stuff from the dress she wore, which might help me to know that dress if=
I ever
saw it again. I did this while the woman's whole attention was absorbed in
talking to you. The morsel of stuff has been kept in my pocketbook from that
time to this. See for yourself, Mr. Noel, if it fits the gap in that dress
which your own hands have just taken from your wife's wardrobe."
She rose and handed him the fragment of stuff =
across
the bed. He put it into the vacant space in the flounce as well as his
trembling fingers would let him.
"Does it fit, sir?" asked Mrs. Lecou=
nt.
The dress dropped from his hands, and the dead=
ly
bluish pallor--which every doctor who attended him had warned his housekeep=
er
to dread--overspread his face slowly. Mrs. Lecount had not reckoned on such=
an
answer to her question as she now saw in his cheeks. She hurried round to h=
im,
with the smelling-bottle in her hand. He dropped to his knees and caught at=
her
dress with the grasp of a drowning man. "Save me!" he gasped, in a
hoarse, breathless whisper. "Oh, Lecount, save me!"
"I promise to save you," said Mrs.
Lecount; "I am here with the means and the resolution to save you. Come
away from this place--come nearer to the air." She raised him as she
spoke, and led him across the room to the window. "Do you feel the chi=
ll
pain again on your left side?" she asked, with the first signs of alarm
that she had shown yet. "Has your wife got any eau-de-cologne, any
sal-volatile in her room? Don't exhaust yourself by speaking--point to the
place!"
He pointed to a little triangular cupboard of =
old
worm-eaten walnut-wood fixed high in a corner of the room. Mrs. Lecount tri=
ed
the door: it was locked.
As she made that discovery, she saw his head s=
ink
back gradually on the easy-chair in which she had placed him. The warning of
the doctors in past years--"If you ever let him faint, you let him
die"--recurred to her memory as if it had been spoken the day before. =
She
looked at the cupboard again. In a recess under it lay some ends of cord,
placed there apparently for purposes of packing. Without an instant's
hesitation, she snatched up a morsel of cord, tied one end fast round the k=
nob
of the cupboard door, and seizing the other end in both hands, pulled it su=
ddenly
with the exertion of her whole strength. The rotten wood gave way, the cupb=
oard
doors flew open, and a heap of little trifles poured out noisily on the flo=
or.
Without stopping to notice the broken china and glass at her feet, she look=
ed
into the dark recesses of the cupboard and saw the gleam of two glass bottl=
es.
One was put away at the extreme back of the shelf, the other was a little in
advance, almost hiding it. She snatched them both out at once, and took the=
m,
one in each hand, to the window, where she could read their labels in the
clearer light.
The bottle in her right hand was the first bot=
tle
she looked at. It was marked--Sal-volatile.
She instantly laid the other bottle aside on t=
he
table without looking at it. The other bottle lay there, waiting its turn. =
It
held a dark liquid, and it was labeled--POISON.
=
MRS. LECOUNT mixed the sal-volatile with water,
and administered it immediately. The stimulant had its effect. In a few min=
utes
Noel Vanstone was able to raise himself in the chair without assistance; hi=
s color
changed again for the better, and his breath came and went more freely.
"How do you feel now, sir?" asked Mr=
s.
Lecount. "Are you warm again on your left side?"
He paid no attention to that inquiry; his eyes,
wandering about the room, turned by chance toward the table. To Mrs. Lecoun=
t's
surprise, instead of answering her, he bent forward in his chair, and looked
with staring eyes and pointing hand at the second bottle which she had take=
n from
the cupboard, and which she had hastily laid aside without paying attention=
to
it. Seeing that some new alarm possessed him, she advanced to the table, and
looked where he looked. The labeled side of the bottle was full in view; and
there, in the plain handwriting of the chemist at Aldborough, was the one
startling word confronting them both--"Poison."
Even Mrs. Lecount's self-possession was shaken=
by
that discovery. She was not prepared to see her own darkest forebodings--the
unacknowledged offspring of her hatred for Magdalen--realized as she saw th=
em
realized now. The suicide-despair in which the poison had been procured; th=
e suicide-purpose
for which, in distrust of the future, the poison had been kept, had brought
with them their own retribution. There the bottle lay, in Magdalen's absenc=
e, a
false witness of treason which had never entered her mind--treason against =
her
husband's life!
With his hand still mechanically pointing at t=
he
table Noel Vanstone raised his head and looked up at Mrs. Lecount.
"I took it from the cupboard," she s=
aid,
answering the look. "I took both bottles out together, not knowing whi=
ch
might be the bottle I wanted. I am as much shocked, as much frightened, as =
you
are."
"Poison!" he said to himself, slowly.
"Poison locked up by my wife in the cupboard in her own room." He
stopped, and looked at Mrs. Lecount once more. "For me?" he asked=
, in
a vacant, inquiring tone.
"We will not talk of it, sir, until your = mind is more at ease," said Mrs. Lecount. "In the meantime, the danger that lies waiting in this bottle shall be instantly destroyed in your presence." She took out the cork, and threw the laudanum out of window, and the empty bottle after it. "Let us try to forget this dreadful discovery for the present," she resumed; "let us go downstairs at once. All that I have now to say to you can be said in another room."<= o:p>
She helped him to rise from the chair, and took
his arm in her own. "It is well for him; it is well for me," she
thought, as they went downstairs together, "that I came when I did.&qu=
ot;
On crossing the passage, she stepped to the fr=
ont
door, where the carriage was waiting which had brought her from Dumfries, a=
nd
instructed the coachman to put up his horses at the nearest inn, and to call
again for her in two hours' time. This done, she accompanied Noel Vanstone =
into
the sitting-room, stirred up the fire, and placed him before it comfortably=
in
an easy-chair. He sat for a few minutes, warming his hands feebly like an o=
ld
man, and staring straight into the flame. Then he spoke.
"When the woman came and threatened me in
Vauxhall Walk," he began, still staring into the fire, "you came =
back
to the parlor after she was gone, and you told me--?" He stopped, shiv=
ered
a little, and lost the thread of his recollections at that point.
"I told you, sir," said Mrs. Lecount,
"that the woman was, in my opinion, Miss Vanstone herself. Don't start,
Mr. Noel! Your wife is away, and I am here to take care of you. Say to
yourself, if you feel frightened, 'Lecount is here; Lecount will take care =
of
me.' The truth must be told, sir, however hard to bear the truth may be. Mi=
ss
Magdalen Vanstone was the woman who came to you in disguise; and the woman =
who came
to you in disguise is the woman you have married. The conspiracy which she
threatened you with in London is the conspiracy which has made her your wif=
e.
That is the plain truth. You have seen the dress upstairs. If that dress had
been no longer in existence, I should still have had my proofs to convince =
you.
Thanks to my interview with Mrs. Bygrave I have discovered the house your w=
ife
lodged at in London; it was opposite our house in Vauxhall Walk. I have lai=
d my
hand on one of the landlady's daughters, who watched your wife from an inner
room, and saw her put on the disguise; who can speak to her identity, and to
the identity of her companion, Mrs. Bygrave; and who has furnished me, at my
own request, with a written statement of facts, which she is ready to affir=
m on
oath if any person ventures to contradict her. You shall read the statement,
Mr. Noel, if you like, when you are fitter to understand it. You shall also
read a letter in the handwriting of Miss Garth--who will repeat to you
personally every word she has written to me--a letter formally denying that=
she
was ever in Vauxhall Walk, and formally asserting that those moles on your
wife's neck are marks peculiar to Miss Magdalen Vanstone, whom she has known
from childhood. I say it with a just pride--you will find no weak place
anywhere in the evidence which I bring you. If Mr. Bygrave had not stolen my
letter, you would have had your warning before I was cruelly deceived into
going to Zurich; and the proofs which I now bring you, after your marriage,=
I
should then have offered to you before it. Don't hold me responsible, sir, =
for
what has happened since I left England. Blame your uncle's bastard daughter,
and blame that villain with the brown eye and the green!"
She spoke her last venomous words as slowly and
distinctly as she had spoken all the rest. Noel Vanstone made no answer--he
still sat cowering over the fire. She looked round into his face. He was cr=
ying
silently. "I was so fond of her!" said the miserable little creat=
ure;
"and I thought she was so fond of Me!"
Mrs. Lecount turned her back on him in disdain=
ful
silence. "Fond of her!" As she repeated those words to herself, h=
er
haggard face became almost handsome again in the magnificent intensity of i=
ts
contempt.
She walked to a book-case at the lower end of =
the
room, and began examining the volumes in it. Before she had been long engag=
ed
in this way, she was startled by the sound of his voice, affrightedly calli=
ng her
back. The tears were gone from his face; it was blank again with terror whe=
n he
now turned it toward her.
"Lecount!" he said, holding to her w=
ith
both hands. "Can an egg be poisoned? I had an egg for breakfast this
morning, and a little toast."
"Make your mind easy, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount. "The poison of your wife's deceit is the only poison you have
taken yet. If she had resolved already on making you pay the price of your
folly with your life, she would not be absent from the house while you were
left living in it. Dismiss the thought from your mind. It is the middle of =
the
day; you want refreshment. I have more to say to you in the interests of yo=
ur own
safety--I have something for you to do, which must be done at once. Recruit
your strength, and you will do it. I will set you the example of eating, if=
you
still distrust the food in this house. Are you composed enough to give the
servant her orders, if I ring the bell? It is necessary to the object I hav=
e in
view for you, that nobody should think you ill in body or troubled in mind.=
Try
first with me before the servant comes in. Let us see how you look and speak
when you say, 'Bring up the lunch.'"
After two rehearsals, Mrs. Lecount considered =
him
fit to give the order, without betraying himself.
The bell was answered by Louisa--Louisa looked
hard at Mrs. Lecount. The luncheon was brought up by the house-maid--the
house-maid looked hard at Mrs. Lecount. When luncheon was over, the table w=
as
cleared by the cook--the cook looked hard at Mrs. Lecount. The three servan=
ts
were plainly suspicious that something extraordinary was going on in the ho=
use.
It was hardly possible to doubt that they had arranged to share among
themselves the three opportunities which the service of the table afforded =
them
of entering the room.
The curiosity of which she was the object did =
not
escape the penetration of Mrs. Lecount. "I did well," she thought,
"to arm myself in good time with the means of reaching my end. If I let
the grass grow under my feet, one or the other of those women might get in =
my
way." Roused by this consideration, she produced her traveling-bag fro=
m a
corner, as soon as the last of the servants had entered the room; and seati=
ng herself
at the end of the table opposite Noel Vanstone, looked at him for a moment,
with a steady, investigating attention. She had carefully regulated the
quantity of wine which he had taken at luncheon--she had let him drink exac=
tly
enough to fortify, without confusing him; and she now examined his face
critically, like an artist examining his picture at the end of the day's wo=
rk.
The result appeared to satisfy her, and she opened the serious business of =
the
interview on the spot.
"Will you look at the written evidence I =
have
mentioned to you, Mr. Noel, before I say any more?" she inquired. &quo=
t;Or
are you sufficiently persuaded of the truth to proceed at once to the
suggestion which I have now to make to you?"
"Let me hear your suggestion," he sa=
id,
sullenly resting his elbows on the table, and leaning his head on his hands=
.
Mrs. Lecount took from her traveling-bag the
written evidence to which she had just alluded, and carefully placed the pa=
pers
on one side of him, within easy reach, if he wished to refer to them. Far f=
rom
being daunted, she was visibly encouraged by the ungraciousness of his mann=
er. Her
experience of him informed her that the sign was a promising one. On those =
rare
occasions when the little resolution that he possessed was roused in him, it
invariably asserted itself--like the resolution of most other weak
men--aggressively. At such times, in proportion as he was outwardly sullen =
and
discourteous to those about him, his resolution rose; and in proportion as =
he
was considerate and polite, it fell. The tone of the answer he had just giv=
en,
and the attitude he assumed at the table, convinced Mrs. Lecount that Spani=
sh
wine and Scotch mutton had done their duty, and had rallied his sinking
courage.
"I will put the question to you for form's
sake, sir, if you wish it," she proceeded. "But I am already cert=
ain,
without any question at all, that you have made your will?"
He nodded his head without looking at her.
"You have made it in your wife's favor?&q=
uot;
He nodded again.
"You have left her everything you
possess?"
"No."
Mrs. Lecount looked surprised.
"Did you exercise a reserve toward her, M=
r.
Noel, of your own accord?" she inquired; "or is it possible that =
your
wife put her own limits to her interest in your will?"
He was uneasily silent--he was plainly ashamed=
to
answer the question. Mrs. Lecount repeated it in a less direct form.
"How much have you left your widow, Mr. N=
oel,
in the event of your death?"
"Eighty thousand pounds."
That reply answered the question. Eighty thous=
and
pounds was exactly the fortune which Michael Vanstone had taken from his
brother's orphan children at his brother's death--exactly the fortune of wh=
ich
Michael Vanstone's son had kept possession, in his turn, as pitilessly as h=
is
father before him. Noel Vanstone's silence was eloquent of the confession w=
hich
he was ashamed to make. His doting weakness had, beyond all doubt, placed h=
is
whole property at the feet of his wife. And thi s girl, whose vindictive da=
ring
had defied all restraints--this girl, who had not shrunk from her desperate
determination even at the church door--had, in the very hour of her triumph,
taken part only from the man who would willingly have given all!--had
rigorously exacted her father's fortune from him to the last farthing; and =
had
then turned her back on the hand that was tempting her with tens of thousan=
ds
more! For the moment, Mrs. Lecount was fairly silenced by her own surprise;
Magdalen had forced the astonishment from her which is akin to admiration, =
the
astonishment which her enmity would fain have refused. She hated Magdalen w=
ith
a tenfold hatred from that time.
"I have no doubt, sir," she resumed,
after a momentary silence, "that Mrs. Noel gave you excellent reasons =
why
the provision for her at your death should be no more, and no less, than ei=
ghty
thousand pounds. And, on the other hand, I am equally sure that you, in your
innocence of all suspicion, found those reasons conclusive at the time. That
time has now gone by. Your eyes are opened, sir; and you will not fail to
remark (as I remark) that the Combe-Raven property happens to reach the same
sum exactly, as the legacy which your wife's own instructions directed you =
to
leave her. If you are still in any doubt of the motive for which she married
you, look in your own will--and there the motive is!"
He raised his head from his hands, and became
closely attentive to what she was saying to him, for the first time since t=
hey
had faced each other at the table. The Combe-Raven property had never been
classed by itself in his estimation. It had come to him merged in his fathe=
r's other
possessions, at his father's death. The discovery which had now opened befo=
re
him was one to which his ordinary habits of thought, as well as his innocen=
ce
of suspicion, had hitherto closed his eyes. He said nothing; but he looked =
less
sullenly at Mrs. Lecount. His manner was more ingratiating; the high tide of
his courage was already on the ebb.
"Your position, sir, must be as plain by =
this
time to you as it is to me," said Mrs. Lecount. "There is only one
obstacle now left between this woman and the attainment of her end. That
obstacle is your life. After the discovery we have made upstairs, I leave y=
ou
to consider for yourself what your life is worth."
At those terrible words, the ebbing resolution=
in
him ran out to the last drop. "Don't frighten me!" he pleaded;
"I have been frightened enough already." He rose, and dragged his
chair after him, round the table to Mrs. Lecount's side. He sat down and
caressingly kissed her hand. "You good creature!" he said, in a
sinking voice. "You excellent Lecount! Tell me what to do. I'm full of
resolution--I'll do anything to save my life!"
"Have you got writing materials in the ro=
om,
sir?" asked Mrs. Lecount. "Will you put them on the table, if you
please?"
While the writing materials were in process of
collection, Mrs. Lecount made a new demand on the resources of her
traveling-bag. She took two papers from it, each indorsed in the same neat
commercial handwriting. One was described as "Draft for proposed
Will," and the other as "Draft for proposed Letter." When she
placed them before her on the table, her hand shook a little; and she appli=
ed
the smelling-salts, which she had brought with her in Noel Vanstone's
interests, to her own nostrils.
"I had hoped, when I came here, Mr.
Noel," she proceeded, "to have given you more time for considerat=
ion
than it seems safe to give you now. When you first told me of your wife's
absence in London, I thought it probable that the object of her journey was=
to
see her sister and Miss Garth. Since the horrible discovery we have made
upstairs, I am inclined to alter that opinion. Your wife's determination no=
t to
tell you who the friends are whom she has gone to see, fills me with alarm.=
She
may have accomplices in London--accomplices, for anything we know to the co=
ntrary,
in this house. All three of your servants, sir, have taken the opportunity,=
in
turn, of coming into the room and looking at me. I don't like their looks!
Neither you nor I know what may happen from day to day, or even from hour to
hour. If you take my advice, you will get the start at once of all possible
accidents; and, when the carriage comes back, you will leave this house with
me!"
"Yes, yes!" he said, eagerly; "=
I'll
leave the house with you. I wouldn't stop here by myself for any sum of mon=
ey
that could be offered me. What do we want the pen and ink for? Are you to
write, or am I?"
"You are to write, sir," said Mrs.
Lecount. "The means taken for promoting your own safety are to be mean=
s set
in motion, from beginning to end, by yourself. I suggest, Mr. Noel--and you
decide. Recognize your own position, sir. What is your first and foremost
necessity? It is plainly this. You must destroy your wife's interest in your
death by making another will."
He vehemently nodded his approval; his color r=
ose,
and his blinking eyes brightened in malicious triumph. "She shan't hav=
e a
farthing," he said to himself, in a whisper--"she shan't have a
farthing!"
"When your will is made, sir," proce=
eded
Mrs. Lecount, "you must place it in the hands of a trustworthy person-=
-not
my hands, Mr. Noel; I am only your servant! Then, when the will is safe, and
when you are safe, write to your wife at this house. Tell her her infamous
imposture is discovered; tell her you have made a new will, which leaves he=
r penniless
at your death; tell her, in your righteous indignation, that she enters your
doors no more. Place yourself in that strong position, and it is no longer =
you
who are at your wife's mercy, but your wife who is at yours. Assert your own
power, sir, with the law to help you, and crush this woman into submission =
to
any terms for the future that you please to impose."
He eagerly took up the pen. "Yes," he
said, with a vindictive self-importance, "any terms I please to
impose." He suddenly checked himself and his face became dejected and
perplexed. "How can I do it now?" he asked, throwing down the pen=
as
quickly as he had taken it up.
"Do what, sir?" inquired Mrs. Lecoun=
t.
"How can I make my will, with Mr. Loscombe
away in London, and no lawyer here to help me?"
Mrs. Lecount gently tapped the papers before h=
er
on the table with her forefinger.
"All the help you need, sir, is waiting f=
or
you here," she said. "I considered this matter carefully before I
came to you; and I provided myself with the confidential assistance of a fr=
iend
to guide me through those difficulties which I could not penetrate for myse=
lf.
The friend to whom I refer is a gentleman of Swiss extraction, but born and
bred in England. He is not a lawyer by profession--but he has had his own s=
ufficient
experience of the law, nevertheless; and he has supplied me, not only with a
model by which you may make your will, but with the written sketch of a let=
ter
which it is as important for us to have, as the model of the will itself. T=
here
is another necessity waiting for you, Mr. Noel, which I have not mentioned =
yet,
but which is no less urgent in its way than the necessity of the will."=
;
"What is it?" he asked, with roused
curiosity.
"We will take it in its turn, sir,"
answered Mrs. Lecount. "Its turn has not come yet. The will, if you
please, first. I will dictate from the model in my possession and you will
write."
Noel Vanstone looked at the draft for the Will=
and
the draft for the Letter with suspicious curiosity.
"I think I ought to see the papers myself,
before you dictate," he said. "It would be more satisfactory to my
own mind, Lecount."
"By all means, sir," rejoined Mrs.
Lecount, handing him the papers immediately.
He read the draft for the Will first, pausing =
and
knitting his brows distrustfully, wherever he found blank spaces left in the
manuscript to be filled in with the names of persons and the enumeration of
sums bequeathed to them. Two or three minutes of reading brought him to the=
end
of the paper. He gave it back to Mrs. Lecount without making any objection =
to
it.
The draft for the Letter was a much longer
document. He obstinately read it through to the end, with an expression of
perplexity and discontent which showed that it was utterly unintelligible to
him. "I must have this explained," he said, with a touch of his o=
ld
self-importance, "before I take any steps in the matter."
"It shall be explained, sir, as we go
on," said Mrs. Lecount.
"Every word of it?"
"Every word of it, Mr. Noel, when its turn
comes. You have no objection to the will? To the will, then, as I said befo=
re,
let us devote ourselves first. You have seen for yourself that it is short
enough and simple enough for a child to understand it. But if any doubts re=
main
on your mind, by all means compose those doubts by showing your will to a
lawyer by profession. In the meantime, let me not be considered intrusive i=
f I
remind you that we are all mortal, and that the lost opportunity can never =
be
recalled. While your time is your own, sir, and while your enemies are
unsuspicious of you, make your will!"
She opened a sheet of note-paper and smoothed =
it
out before him; she dipped the pen in ink, and placed it in his hands. He t=
ook
it from her without speaking--he was, to all appearance, suffering under so=
me temporary
uneasiness of mind. But the main point was gained. There he sat, with the p=
aper
before him, and the pen in his hand; ready at last, in right earnest, to ma=
ke
his will.
"The first question for you to decide,
sir," said Mrs. Lecount, after a preliminary glance at her Draft, &quo=
t;is
your choice of an executor. I have no desire to influence your decision; bu=
t I
may, without impropriety, remind you that a wise choice means, in other wor=
ds,
the choice of an old and tried friend whom you know that you can trust.&quo=
t;
"It means the admiral, I suppose?" s=
aid
Noel Vanstone.
Mrs. Lecount bowed.
"Very well," he continued. "The
admiral let it be."
There was plainly some oppression still weighi=
ng
on his mind. Even under the trying circumstances in which he was placed it =
was
not in his nature to take Mrs. Lecount's perfectly sensible and disinterest=
ed
advice without a word of cavil, as he had taken it now.
"Are you ready, sir?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount dictated the first paragraph from=
the
Draft, as follows:
=
"This
is the last Will and Testament of me, Noel Vanstone, now living at Baliol
Cottage, near Dumfries. I revoke, absolutely and in every particular, my fo=
rmer
will executed on the thirtieth of September, eighteen hundred and forty-sev=
en;
and I hereby appoint Rear-Admiral Arthur Everard Bartram, of St.
Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex, sole executor of this my will."
=
"Have
you written those words, sir?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount laid down the Draft; Noel Vanstone
laid down the pen. They neither of them looked at each other. There was a l=
ong
silence.
"I am waiting, Mr. Noel," said Mrs.
Lecount, at last, "to hear what your wishes are in respect to the disp=
osal
of your fortune. Your large fortune," she added, with merciless emphas=
is.
He took up the pen again, and began picking the
feathers from the quill in dead silence.
"Perhaps your existing will may help you =
to
instruct me, sir," pursued Mrs. Lecount. "May I inquire to whom y=
ou
left all your surplus money, after leaving the eighty thousand pounds to yo=
ur
wife?"
If he had answered that question plainly, he m=
ust
have said: "I have left the whole surplus to my cousin, George
Bartram"--and the implied acknowledgment that Mrs. Lecount's name was =
not
mentioned in the will must then have followed in Mrs. Lecount's presence. A
much bolder man, in his situation, might have felt the same oppression and =
the
same embarrassment which he was feeling now. He picked the last morsel of f=
eather
from the quill; and, desperately leaping the pitfall under his feet, advanc=
ed
to meet Mrs. Lecount's claims on him of his own accord.
"I would rather not talk of any will but =
the
will I am making now," he said uneasily. "The first thing,
Lecount--" He hesitated--put the bare end of the quill into his
mouth--gnawed at it thoughtfully--and said no more.
"Yes, sir?" persisted Mrs. Lecount.<= o:p>
"The first thing is--"
"Yes, sir?"
"The first thing is, to--to make some
provision for You?"
He spoke the last words in a tone of plaintive
interrogation--as if all hope of being met by a magnanimous refusal had not
deserted him even yet. Mrs. Lecount enlightened his mind on this point, wit=
hout
a moment's loss of time.
"Thank you, Mr. Noel," she said, with
the tone and manner of a woman who was not acknowledging a favor, but recei=
ving
a right.
He took another bite at the quill. The
perspiration began to appear on his face.
"The difficulty is," he remarked,
"to say how much."
"Your lamented father, sir," rejoined
Mrs. Lecount, "met that difficulty (if you remember) at the time of his
last illness?"
"I don't remember," said Noel Vansto=
ne,
doggedly.
"You were on one side of his bed, sir, an=
d I
was on the other. We were vainly trying to persuade him to make his will. A=
fter
telling us he would wait and make his will when he was well again, he looked
round at me, and said some kind and feeling words which my memory will trea=
sure
to my dying day. Have you forgotten those words, Mr. Noel?"
"Yes," said Mr. Noel, without
hesitation.
"In my present situation, sir," reto=
rted
Mrs. Lecount, "delicacy forbids me to improve your memory."
She looked at her watch, and relapsed into
silence. He clinched his hands, and writhed from side to side of his chair =
in
an agony of indecision. Mrs. Lecount passively refused to take the slightest
notice of him.
"What should you say--?" he began, a=
nd
suddenly stopped again.
"Yes, sir?"
"What should you say to--a thousand
pounds?"
Mrs. Lecount rose from her chair, and looked h=
im
full in the face, with the majestic indignation of an outraged woman.
"After the service I have rendered you
to-day, Mr. Noel," she said, "I have at least earned a claim on y=
our
respect, if I have earned nothing more. I wish you good-morning."
"Two thousand!" cried Noel Vanstone,
with the courage of despair.
Mrs. Lecount folded up her papers and hung her
traveling-bag over her arm in contemptuous silence.
"Three thousand!"
Mrs. Lecount moved with impenetrable dignity f=
rom
the table to the door.
"Four thousand!"
Mrs. Lecount gathered her shawl round her with=
a
shudder, and opened the door.
"Five thousand!"
He clasped his hands, and wrung them at her in=
a
frenzy of rage and suspense. "Five thousand" was the death-cry of=
his
pecuniary suicide.
Mrs. Lecount softly shut the door again, and c=
ame
back a step.
"Free of legacy duty, sir?" she
inquired.
"No."
Mrs. Lecount turned on her heel and opened the
door again.
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount came back, and resumed her place =
at
the table as if nothing had happened.
"Five thousand pounds, free of legacy dut=
y,
was the sum, sir, which your father's grateful regard promised me in his
will," she said, quietly. "If you choose to exert your memory, as=
you
have not chosen to exert it yet, your memory will tell you that I speak the
truth. I accept your filial performance of your father's promise, Mr. Noel-=
-and
there I stop. I scorn to take a mean advantage of my position toward you; I
scorn to grasp anything from your fears. You are protected by my respect fo=
r myself,
and for the Illustrious Name I bear. You are welcome to all that I have don=
e,
and to all that I have suffered in your service. The widow of Professor
Lecompte, sir, takes what is justly hers--and takes no more!"
As she spoke those words, the traces of sickne= ss seemed, for the moment, to disappear from her face; her eyes shone with a s= teady inner light; all the woman warmed and brightened in the radiance of her own= triumph--the triumph, trebly won, of carrying her point, of vindicating her integrity, a= nd of matching Magdalen's incorruptible self-denial on Magdalen's own ground.<= o:p>
"When you are yourself again, sir, we will
proceed. Let us wait a little first."
She gave him time to compose himself; and then,
after first looking at her Draft, dictated the second paragraph of the will=
, in
these terms:
=
"I
give and bequeath to Madame Virginie Lecompte (widow of Professor Lecompt e,
late of Zurich) the sum of Five Thousand Pounds, free of Legacy Duty. And, =
in
making this bequest, I wi sh to place it on record that I am not only
expressing my own sense of Madame Lecompte's attachment and fidelity in the
capacity of my housekeeper, but that I also believe myself to be executing =
the
intentions of my deceased father, who, but for the circumstance of his dying
intestate, would have left Madame Lecompte, in his will, the same token of
grateful regard for her services which I now leave her in mine."
=
"Have
you written the last words, sir?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount leaned across the table and offer=
ed
Noel Vanstone her hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Noel," she said.
"The five thousand pounds is the acknowledgment on your father's side =
of
what I have done for him. The words in the will are the acknowledgment on
yours."
A faint smile flickered over his face for the
first time. It comforted him, on reflection, to think that matters might ha=
ve
been worse. There was balm for his wounded spirit in paying the debt of
gratitude by a sentence not negotiable at his banker's. Whatever his father
might have done, he had got Lecount a bargain, after all!
"A little more writing, sir," resumed
Mrs. Lecount, "and your painful but necessary duty will be performed. =
The
trifling matter of my legacy being settled, we may come to the important
question that is left. The future direction of a large fortune is now waiti=
ng
your word of command. To whom is it to go?"
He began to writhe again in his chair. Even un=
der
the all-powerful fascination of his wife the parting with his money on paper
had not been accomplished without a pang. He had endured the pang; he had
resigned himself to the sacrifice. And now here was the dreaded ordeal agai=
n, awaiting
him mercilessly for the second time!
"Perhaps it may assist your decision, sir= , if I repeat a question which I have put to you already," observed Mrs. Lecount. "In the will that you made under your wife's influence, to wh= om did you leave the surplus money which remained at your own disposal?"<= o:p>
There was no harm in answering the question no=
w.
He acknowledged that he had left the money to his cousin George.
"You could have done nothing better, Mr.
Noel; and you can do nothing better now," said Mrs. Lecount. "Mr.
George and his two sisters are your only relations left. One of those siste=
rs
is an incurable invalid, with more than money enough already for all the wa=
nts
which her affliction allows her to feel. The other is the wife of a man even
richer than yourself. To leave the money to these sisters is to waste it. To
leave the money to their brother George is to give your cousin exactly the =
assistance
which he will want when he one day inherits his uncle's dilapidated house a=
nd
his uncle's impoverished estate. A will which names the admiral your execut=
or
and Mr. George your heir is the right will for you to make. It does honor to
the claims of friendship, and it does justice to the claims of blood."=
She spoke warmly; for she spoke with a grateful
remembrance of all that she herself owed to the hospitality of St. Crux. No=
el
Vanstone took up another pen and began to strip the second quill of its
feathers as he had stripped the first.
"Yes," he said, reluctantly, "I
suppose George must have it--I suppose George has the principal claim on
me." He hesitated: he looked at the door, he looked at the window, as =
if
he longed to make his escape by one way or the other. "Oh, Lecount,&qu=
ot;
he cried, piteously, "it's such a large fortune! Let me wait a little
before I leave it to anybody."
To his surprise; Mrs. Lecount at once complied
with this characteristic request.
"I wish you to wait, sir," she repli=
ed.
"I have something important to say, before you add another line to your
will. A little while since, I told you there was a second necessity connect=
ed
with your present situation, which had not been provided for yet, but which
must be provided for, when the time came. The time has come now. You have a=
serious
difficulty to meet and conquer before you can leave your fortune to your co=
usin
George."
"What difficulty?" he asked.
Mrs. Lecount rose from her chair without
answering, stole to the door, and suddenly threw it open. No one was listen=
ing
outside; the passage was a solitude, from one end to the other.
"I distrust all servants," she said,
returning to her place--"your servants particularly. Sit closer, Mr. N=
oel.
What I have now to say to you must be heard by no living creature but
ourselves."
=
THERE was a pause of a few minutes while Mrs.
Lecount opened the second of the two papers which lay before her on the tab=
le,
and refreshed her memory by looking it rapidly through. This done, she once
more addressed herself to Noel Vanstone, carefully lowering her voice, so a=
s to
render it inaudible to any one who might be listening in the passage outsid=
e.
"I must beg your permission, sir," s=
he
began, "to return to the subject of your wife. I do so most unwillingl=
y;
and I promise you that what I have now to say about her shall be said, for =
your
sake and for mine, in the fewest words. What do we know of this woman, Mr.
Noel--judging her by her own confession when she came to us in the characte=
r of
Miss Garth, and by her own acts afterward at Aldborough? We know that, if d=
eath
had not snatched your father out of her reach, she was ready with her plot =
to
rob him of the Combe-Raven money. We know that, when you inherited the mone=
y in
your turn, she was ready with her plot to rob you. We know how she carried =
that
plot through to the end; and we know that nothing but your death is wanted,=
at
this moment, to crown her rapacity and her deception with success. We are s=
ure
of these things. We are sure that she is young, bold, and clever--that she =
has
neither doubts, scruples, nor pity--and that she possesses the personal qua=
lities
which men in general (quite incomprehensibly to me!) are weak enough to adm=
ire.
These are not fancies, Mr. Noel, but facts; you know them as well as I
do."
He made a sign in the affirmative, and Mrs.
Lecount went on:
"Keep in your mind what I have said of the
past, sir, and now look with me to the future. I hope and trust you have a =
long
life still before you; but let us, for the moment only, suppose the case of
your death--your death leaving this will behind you, which gives your fortu=
ne to
your cousin George. I am told there is an office in London in which copies =
of
all wills must be kept. Any curious stranger who chooses to pay a shilling =
for
the privilege may enter that office, and may read any will in the place at =
his
or her discretion. Do you see what I am coming to, Mr. Noel? Your disinheri=
ted
widow pays her shilling, and reads your will. Your disinherited widow sees =
that
the Combe-Raven money, which has gone from your father to you, goes next fr=
om
you to Mr. George Bartram. What is the certain end of that discovery? The e=
nd
is, that you leave to your cousin and your friend the legacy of this woman's
vengeance and this woman's deceit-vengeance made more resolute, deceit made
more devilish than ever, by her exasperation at her own failure. What is yo=
ur cousin
George? He is a generous, unsuspicious man; incapable of deceit himself, and
fearing no deception in others. Leave him at the mercy of your wife's
unscrupulous fascinations and your wife's unfathomable deceit, and I see the
end as certainly as I see you sitting there! She will blind his eyes, as she
blinded yours; and, in spite of you, in spite of me, she will have the
money!"
She stopped, and left her last words time to g=
ain
their hold on his mind. The circumstances had been stated so clearly, the
conclusion from them had been so plainly drawn, that he seized her meaning
without an effort, and seized it at once.
"I see!" he said, vindictively clinc=
hing
his hands. "I understand, Lecount! She shan't have a farthing. What sh=
all
I do? Shall I leave the money to the admiral?" He paused, and consider=
ed a
little. "No," he resumed; "there's the same danger in leavin=
g it
to the admiral that there is in leaving it to George."
"There is no danger, Mr. Noel, if you tak=
e my
advice."
"What is your advice?"
"Follow your own idea, sir. Take the pen =
in
hand again, and leave the money to Admiral Bartram."
He mechanically dipped the pen in the ink, and
then hesitated.
"You shall know where I am leading you,
sir," said Mrs. Lecount, "before you sign your will. In the meant=
ime,
let us gain every inch of ground we can, as we go on. I want the will to be=
all
written out before we advance a single step beyond it. Begin your third
paragraph, Mr. Noel, under the lines which leave me my legacy of five thous=
and
pounds."
She dictated the last momentous sentence of the
will (from the rough draft in her own possession) in these words:
=
"The
whole residue of my estate, after payment of my burial expenses and my lawf=
ul
debts, I give and bequeath to Rear-Admiral Arthur Everard Bartram, my Execu=
tor
aforesaid; to be by him applied to such uses as he may think fit.
"Signed, sealed, and delivered, this third
day of November, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, by Noel Vanstone, the
within-named testator, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the prese=
nce
of us--"
=
"Is
that all?" asked Noel Vanstone, in astonishment.
"That is enough, sir, to bequeath your
fortune to the admiral; and therefore that is all. Now let us go back to the
case which we have supposed already. Your widow pays her shilling, and sees
this will. There is the Combe-Raven money left to Admiral Bartram, with a d=
eclaration
in plain words that it is his, to use as he likes. When she sees this, what
does she do? She sets her trap for the admiral. He is a bachelor, and he is=
an
old man. Who is to protect him against the arts of this desperate woman?
Protect him yourself, sir, with a few more strokes of that pen which has do=
ne
such wonders already. You have left him this legacy in your will--which your
wife sees. Take the legacy away again, in a letter--which is a dead secret
between the admiral and you. Put the will and the letter under one cover, a=
nd
place them in the admiral's possession, with your written directions to him=
to
break the seal on the day of your death. Let the will say what it says now;=
and
let the letter (which is your secret and his) tell him the truth. Say that,=
in
leaving him your fortune, you leave it with the request that he will take h=
is
legacy with one hand from you, and give it with the other to his nephew Geo=
rge.
Tell him that your trust in this matter rests solely on your confidence in =
his
honor, and on your belief in his affectionate remembrance of your father and
yourself. You have known the admiral since you were a boy. He has his little
whims and oddities; but he is a gentleman from the crown of his head to the
sole of his foot; and he is utterly incapable of proving false to a trust in
his honor, reposed by his dead friend. Meet the difficulty boldly, by such =
a stratagem
as this; and you save these two helpless men from your wife's snare, one by
means of the other. Here, on one side, is your will, which gives the fortun=
e to
the admiral, and sets her plotting accordingly. And there, on the other sid=
e,
is your letter, which privately puts the money into the nephew's hands!&quo=
t;
The malicious dexterity of this combination was
exactly the dexterity which Noel Vanstone was most fit to appreciate. He tr=
ied
to express his approval and admiration in words. Mrs. Lecount held up her h=
and warningly
and closed his lips.
"Wait, sir, before you express your
opinion," she went on. "Half the difficulty is all that we have
conquered yet. Let us say, the admiral has made the use of your legacy which
you have privately requested him to make of it. Sooner or later, however we=
ll
the secret may be kept, your wife will discover the truth. What follows that
discovery! She lays siege to Mr. George. All you have done is to leave him =
the
money by a roundabout way. There he is, after an interval of time, as much =
at her
mercy as if you had openly mentioned him in your will. What is the remedy f=
or
this? The remedy is to mislead her, if we can, for the second time--to set =
up
an obstacle between her and the money, for the protection of your cousin
George. Can you guess for yourself, Mr. Noel, what is the most promising
obstacle we can put in her way?"
He shook his head. Mrs. Lecount smiled, and
startled him into close attention by laying her hand on his arm.
"Put a Woman in her way, sir!" she
whispered in her wiliest tones. "We don't believe in that fascinating
beauty of hers--whatever you may do. Our lips don't burn to kiss those smoo=
th
cheeks. Our arms don't long to be round that supple waist. We see through h=
er
smiles and her graces, and her stays and her padding--she can't fascinate u=
s!
Put a woman in her way, Mr. Noel! Not a woman in my helpless situation, who=
is
only a servant, but a woman with the authority and the jealousy of a Wife. =
Make
it a condition, in your letter to the admiral, that if Mr. George is a bach=
elor
at the time of your death, he shall marry within a certain time afterward, =
or
he shall not have the legacy. Suppose he remains single in spite of your
condition, who is to have the money then? Put a woman in your wife's way, s=
ir,
once more--and leave the fortune, in that case, to the married sister of yo=
ur
cousin George."
She paused. Noel Vanstone again attempted to
express his opinion, and again Mrs. Lecount's hand extinguished him in sile=
nce.
"If you approve, Mr. Noel," she said,
"I will take your approval for granted. If you object, I will meet your
objection before it is out of your mouth. You may say: Suppose this conditi=
on
is sufficient to answer the purpose, why hide it in a private letter to the
admiral? Why not openly write it down, with my cousin's name, in the will? =
Only
for one reason, sir. Only because the secret way is the sure way, with such=
a woman
as your wife. The more secret you can keep your intentions, the more time y=
ou
force her to waste in finding them out for herself. That time which she los=
es
is time gained from her treachery by the admiral--time gained by Mr. George=
(if
he is still a bachelor) for his undisturbed choice of a lady--time gained, =
for
her own security, by the object of his choice, who might otherwise be the f=
irst
object of your wife's suspicion and your wife's hostility. Remember the bot=
tle
we have discovered upstairs; and keep this desperate woman ignorant, and th=
erefore
harmless, as long as you can. There is my advice, Mr. Noel, in the fewest a=
nd
plainest words. What do you say, sir? Am I almost as clever in my way as yo=
ur
friend Mr. Bygrave? Can I, too, conspire a little, when the object of my
conspiracy is to assist your wishes and to protect your friends?"
Permitted the use of his tongue at last, Noel =
Vanstone's
admiration of Mrs. Lecount expressed itself in terms precisely similar to t=
hose
which he had used on a former occasion, in paying his compliments to Captai=
n Wragge.
"What a head you have got!" were the grateful words which he had =
once
spoken to Mrs. Lecount's bitterest enemy. "What a head you have got!&q=
uot;
were the grateful words which he now spoke again to Mrs. Lecount herself. S=
o do
extremes meet; and such is sometimes the all-embracing capacity of the appr=
oval
of a fool!
"Allow my head, sir, to deserve the
compliment which you have paid to it," said Mrs. Lecount. "The le=
tter
to the admiral is not written yet. Your will there is a body without a soul=
--an
Adam without an Eve--until the letter is completed and laid by its side. A
little more dictation on my part, a little more writing on yours, and our w=
ork
is done. Pardon me. The letter will be longer than the will; we must have
larger paper than the note-paper this time."
The writing-case was searched, and some letter
paper was found in it of the size required. Mrs. Lecount resumed her dictat=
ion;
and Noel Vanstone resumed his pen.
=
"Baliol
Cottage, Dumfries,
"November 3d, 1847.
"Private.
"DEAR ADMIRAL BARTRAM--When you open my W=
ill
(in which you are named my sole executor), you will find that I have bequea=
thed
the whole residue of my estate--after payment of one legacy of five thousand
pounds--to yourself. It is the purpose of my letter to tell you privately w=
hat
the object is for which I have left you the fortune which is now placed in =
your
hands.
"I beg you to consider this large legacy =
as
intended, under certain conditions, to be given by you to your nephew Georg=
e.
If your nephew is married at the time of my death, and if his wife is livin=
g, I
request you to put him at once in possession of your legacy; accompanying i=
t by
the expression of my desire (which I am sure he will consider a sacred and
binding obligation on him) that he will settle the money on his wife--and on
his children, if he has any. If, on the other hand, he is unmarried at the =
time
of my death, or if he is a widower--in either of those cases, I make it a
condition of his receiving the legacy, that he shall be married within the
period of--"
=
Mrs.
Lecount laid down the Draft letter from which she had been dictating thus f=
ar,
and informed Noel Vanstone by a sign that his pen might rest.
"We have come to the question of time,
sir," she observed. "How long will you give your cousin to marry,=
if
he is single, or a widower, at the time of your death?"
"Shall I give him a year?" inquired =
Noel
Vanstone.
"If we had nothing to consider but the interests of Propriety," said Mrs. Lecount, "I should say a year = too, sir--especially if Mr. George should happen to be a widower. But we have yo= ur wife to consider, as well as the interests of Propriety. A year of delay, between your death and your cousin's marriage, is a dangerously long time to leave the disposal of your fortune in suspense. Give a determined woman a y= ear to plot and contrive in, and there is no saying what she may not do."<= o:p>
"Six months?" suggested Noel Vanston=
e.
"Six months, sir," rejoined Mrs.
Lecount, "is the preferable time of the two. A six months' interval fr=
om
the day of your death is enough for Mr. George. You look discomposed, sir; =
what
is the matter?"
"I wish you wouldn't talk so much about my
death," he broke out, petulantly. "I don't like it! I hate the ve=
ry
sound of the word!"
Mrs. Lecount smiled resignedly, and referred to
her Draft.
"I see the word 'decease' written here,&q=
uot;
she remarked. "Perhaps, Mr. Noel, you would prefer it?"
"Yes," he said; "I prefer
'Decease.' It doesn't sound so dreadful as 'Death.'"
"Let us go on with the letter, sir."=
She resumed her dictation, as follows:
=
"...in
either of those cases, I make it a condition of his receiving the legacy th=
at
he shall be married within the period of Six calendar months from the day o=
f my
decease; that the woman he marries shall not be a widow; and that his marri=
age
shall be a marriage by Banns, publicly celebrated in the parish church of
Ossory--where he has been known from his childhood, and where the family and
circumstances of his future wife are likely to be the subject of public
interest and inquiry."
=
"This,"
said Mrs. Lecount, quietly looking up from the Draft, "is to protect M=
r.
George, sir, in case the same trap is set for him which was successfully set
for you. She will not find her false character and her false name fit quite=
so
easily next time--no, not even with Mr. Bygrave to help her! Another dip of
ink, Mr. Noel; let us write the next paragraph. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Lecount went on.
=
"If
your nephew fails to comply with these conditions--that is to say, if being
either a bachelor or a widower at the time of my decease, he fails to marry=
in
all respects as I have here instructed him to marry, within Six calendar mo=
nths
from that time--it is my desire that he shall not receive the legacy, or any
part of it. I request you, in the case here supposed, to pass him over
altogether; and to give the fortune left you in my will to his married sist=
er,
Mrs. Girdlestone.
"Having now put you in possession of my
motives and intentions, I come to the next question which it is necessary to
consider. If, when you open this letter, your nephew is an unmarried man, i=
t is
clearly indispensable that he should know of the conditions here imposed on
him, as soon, if possible, as you know of them yourself. Are you, under the=
se circumstances,
freely to communicate to him what I have here written to you? Or are you to
leave him under the impression that no such private expression of my wishes=
as
this is in existence; and are you to state all the conditions relating to h=
is
marriage, as if they emanated entirely from yourself?
"If you will adopt this latter alternativ=
e,
you will add one more to the many obligations under which your friendship h=
as
placed me.
"I have serious reason to believe that the
possession of my money, and the discovery of any peculiar arrangements rela=
ting
to the disposal of it, will be objects (after my decease) of the fraud and
conspiracy of an unscrupulous person. I am therefore anxious--for your sake=
, in
the first place--that no suspicion of the existence of this letter should be
conveyed to the mind of the person to whom I allude. And I am equally desir=
ous--for
Mrs. Girdlestone's sake, in the second place--that this same person should =
be
entirely ignorant that the legacy will pass into Mrs. Girdlestone's possess=
ion,
if your nephew is not married in the given time. I know George's easy, plia=
ble
disposition; I dread the attempts that will be made to practice on it; and I
feel sure that the prudent course will be, to abstain from trusting him with
secrets, the rash revelation of which might be followed by serious, and eve=
n dangerous
results.
"State the conditions, therefore, to your
nephew, as if they were your own. Let him think they have been suggested to
your mind by the new responsibilities imposed on you as a man of property, =
by
your position in my will, and by your consequent anxiety to provide for the=
perpetuation
of the family name. If these reasons are not sufficient to satisfy him, the=
re
can be no objection to your referring him, for any further explanations whi=
ch
he may desire, to his wedding-day.
"I have done. My last wishes are now conf=
ided
to you, in implicit reliance on your honor, and on your tender regard for t=
he
memory of your friend. Of the miserable circumstances which compel me to wr=
ite
as I have written here, I say nothing. You will hear of them, if my life is=
spared,
from my own lips--for you will be the first friend whom I shall consult in =
my
difficulty and distress. Keep this letter strictly secret, and strictly in =
your
own possession, until my requests are complied with. Let no human being but
yourself know where it is, on any pretense whatever.
"Believe me, dear Admiral Bartram,
affectionately yours,
"NOEL VANSTONE."
=
"Have
you signed, sir?" asked Mrs. Lecount. "Let me look the letter ove=
r,
if you please, before we seal it up."
She read the letter carefully. In Noel Vanston=
e's
close, cramped handwriting, it filled two pages of letter-paper, and ended =
at
the top of the third page. Instead of using an envelope, Mrs. Lecount folded
it, neatly and securely, in the old-fashioned way. She lit the taper in the=
ink-stand,
and returned the letter to the writer.
"Seal it, Mr. Noel," she said,
"with your own hand, and your own seal." She extinguished the tap=
er,
and handed him the pen again. "Address the letter, sir," she
proceeded, "to Admiral Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh, Essex. Now, add
these words, and sign them, above the address: To be kept in your own
possession, and to be opened by yourself only, on the day of my death--or
'Decease,' if you prefer it--Noel Vanstone. Have you done? Let me look at it
again. Quite right in every particular. Accept my congratulations, sir. If =
your
wife has not plotted her last plot for the Combe-Raven money, it is not you=
r fault,
Mr. Noel--and not mine!"
Finding his attention released by the completi=
on
of the letter, Noel Vanstone reverted at once to purely personal
considerations. "There is my packing-up to be thought of now," he
said. "I can't go away without my warm things."
"Excuse me, sir," rejoined Mrs. Leco=
unt,
"there is the Will to be signed first; and there must be two persons f=
ound
to witness your signature." She looked out of the front window, and saw
the carriage waiting at the door. "The coachman will do for one of the
witnesses," she said. "He is in respectable service at Dumfries, =
and
he can be found if he happens to be wanted. We must have one of your own
servants, I suppose, for the other witness. They are all de testable women;=
but
the cook is the least ill-looking of the three. Send for the cook, sir; whi=
le I
go out and call the coachman. When we have got our witnesses here, you have
only to speak to them in these words: 'I have a document here to sign, and =
I wish
you to write your names on it, as witnesses of my signature.' Nothing more,=
Mr.
Noel! Say those few words in your usual manner--and, when the signing is ov=
er,
I will see myself to your packing-up, and your warm things."
She went to the front door, and summoned the
coachman to the parlor. On her return, she found the cook already in the ro=
om.
The cook looked mysteriously offended, and stared without intermission at M=
rs.
Lecount. In a minute more the coachman--an elderly man--came in. He was
preceded by a relishing odor of whisky; but his head was Scotch; and nothing
but his odor betrayed him.
"I have a document here to sign," sa=
id
Noel Vanstone, repeating his lesson; "and I wish you to write your nam=
es
on it, as witnesses of my signature."
The coachman looked at the will. The cook never
removed her eyes from Mrs. Lecount.
"Ye'll no object, sir," said the
coachman, with the national caution showing itself in every wrinkle on his
face--"ye'll no object, sir, to tell me, first, what the Doecument may
be?"
Mrs. Lecount interposed before Noel Vanstone's
indignation could express itself in words.
"You must tell the man, sir, that this is
your Will," she said. "When he witnesses your signature, he can s=
ee
as much for himself if he looks at the top of the page."
"Ay, ay," said the coachman, looking=
at
the top of the page immediately. "His last Will and Testament. Hech, s=
irs!
there's a sair confronting of Death in a Doecument like yon! A' flesh is
grass," continued the coachman, exhaling an additional puff of whisky,=
and
looking up devoutly at the ceiling. "Tak' those words in connection wi=
th
that other Screepture: Many are ca'ad, but few are chosen. Tak' that again,=
in connection
with Rev'lations, Chapter the First, verses One to Fefteen. Lay the whole to
heart; and what's your Walth, then? Dross, sirs! And your body? (Screepture
again.) Clay for the potter! And your life? (Screepture once more.) The Bre=
eth
o' your Nostrils!"
The cook listened as if the cook was at church:
but she never removed her eyes from Mrs. Lecount.
"You had better sign, sir. This is appare= ntly some custom prevalent in Dumfries during the transaction of business," said Mrs. Lecount, resignedly. "The man means well, I dare say."<= o:p>
She added those last words in a soothing tone,=
for
she saw that Noel Vanstone's indignation was fast merging into alarm. The
coachman's outburst of exhortation seemed to have inspired him with fear, as
well as disgust.
He dipped the pen in the ink, and signed the W=
ill
without uttering a word. The coachman (descending instantly from Theology to
Business) watched the signature with the most scrupulous attention; and sig=
ned
his own name as witness, with an implied commentary on the proceeding, in t=
he
form of another puff of whisky, exhaled through the medium of a heavy sigh.=
The
cook looked away from Mrs. Lecount with an effort--signed her name in a vio=
lent
hurry--and looked back again with a start, as if she expected to see a load=
ed
pistol (produced in the interval) in the housekeeper's hands. "Thank
you," said Mrs. Lecount, in her friendliest manner. The cook shut up h=
er
lips aggressively and looked at her master. "You may go!" said her
master. The cook coughed contemptuously, and went.
"We shan't keep you long," said Mrs.
Lecount, dismissing the coachman. "In half an hour, or less, we shall =
be
ready for the journey back."
The coachman's austere countenance relaxed for= the first time. He smiled mysteriously, and approached Mrs. Lecount on tiptoe.<= o:p>
"Ye'll no forget one thing, my leddy,&quo=
t;
he said, with the most ingratiating politeness. "Ye'll no forget the
witnessing as weel as the driving, when ye pay me for my day's wark!" =
He
laughed with guttural gravity; and, leaving his atmosphere behind him, stal=
ked
out of the room.
"Lecount," said Noel Vanstone, as so=
on
as the coachman closed the door, "did I hear you tell that man we shou=
ld
be ready in half an hour?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you blind?"
He asked the question with an angry stamp of h=
is
foot. Mrs. Lecount looked at him in astonishment.
"Can't you see the brute is drunk?" =
he
went on, more and more irritably. "Is my life nothing? Am I to be left=
at
the mercy of a drunken coachman? I won't trust that man to drive me, for any
consideration under heaven! I'm surprised you could think of it, Lecount.&q=
uot;
"The man has been drinking, sir," sa=
id
Mrs. Lecount. "It is easy to see and to smell that. But he is evidently
used to drinking. If he is sober enough to walk quite straight--which he
certainly does--and to sign his name in an excellent handwriting--which you=
may
see for yourself on the Will--I venture to think he is sober enough to driv=
e us
to Dumfries."
"Nothing of the sort! You're a foreigner,
Lecount; you don't understand these people. They drink whisky from morning =
to
night. Whisky is the strongest spirit that's made; whisky is notorious for =
its
effect on the brain. I tell you, I won't run the risk. I never was driven, =
and
I never will be driven, by anybody but a sober man."
"Must I go back to Dumfries by myself,
sir?"
"And leave me here? Leave me alone in this
house after what has happened? How do I know my wife may not come back
to-night? How do I know her journey is not a blind to mislead me? Have you =
no
feeling, Lecount? Can you leave me in my miserable situation--?" He sa=
nk
into a chair and burst out crying over his own idea, before he had complete=
d the
expression of it in words. "Too bad!" he said, with his handkerch=
ief over
his face--"too bad!"
It was impossible not to pity him. If ever mor=
tal
was pitiable, he was the man. He had broken down at last, under the conflic=
t of
violent emotions which had been roused in him since the morning. The effort=
to follow
Mrs. Lecount along the mazes of intricate combination through which she had
steadily led the way, had upheld him while that effort lasted: the moment it
was at an end, he dropped. The coachman had hastened a result--of which the
coachman was far from being the cause.
"You surprise me--you distress me, sir,&q=
uot;
said Mrs. Lecount. "I entreat you to compose yourself. I will stay her=
e,
if you wish it, with pleasure--I will stay here to-night, for your sake. You
want rest and quiet after this dreadful day. The coachman shall be instantly
sent away, Mr. Noel. I will give him a note to the landlord of the hotel, a=
nd the
carriage shall come back for us to-morrow morning, with another man to drive
it."
The prospect which those words presented cheer=
ed
him. He wiped his eyes, and kissed Mrs. Lecount's hand. "Yes!" he
said, faintly; "send the coachman away--and you stop here. You good
creature! You excellent Lecount! Send the drunken brute away, and come back
directly. We will be comfortable by the fire, Lecount--and have a nice litt=
le
dinner--and try to make it like old times." His weak voice faltered; he
returned to the fire side, and melted into tears again under the pathetic
influence of his own idea.
Mrs. Lecount left him for a minute to dismiss =
the
coachman. When she returned to the parlor she found him with his hand on the
bell.
"What do you want, sir?" she asked.<= o:p>
"I want to tell the servants to get your =
room
ready," he answered. "I wish to show you every attention,
Lecount."
"You are all kindness, Mr. Noel; but wait=
one
moment. It may be well to have these papers put out of the way before the
servant comes in again. If you will place the Will and the Sealed Letter
together in one envelope--and if you will direct it to the admiral--I will =
take
care that the inclosure so addressed is safely placed in his own hands. Wil=
l you
come to the table, Mr. Noel, only for one minute more?"
No! He was obstinate; he refused to move from =
the
fire; he was sick and tired of writing: he wished he had never been born, a=
nd
he loathed the sight of pen and ink. All Mrs. Lecount's patience and all Mr=
s.
Lecount's persuasion were required to induce him to write t he admiral's
address for the second time. She only succeeded by bringing the blank envel=
ope to
him upon the paper-case, and putting it coaxingly on his lap. He grumbled, =
he
even swore, but he directed the envelope at last, in these terms: "To
Admiral Bartram, St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Favored by Mrs. Lecount." With
that final act of compliance his docility came to an end. He refused, in the
fiercest terms, to seal the envelope. There was no need to press this
proceeding on him. His seal lay ready on the table, and it mattered nothing
whether he used it, or whether a person in his confidence used it for him. =
Mrs.
Lecount sealed the envelope, with its two important inclosures placed safely
inside.
She opened her traveling-bag for the last time,
and pausing for a moment before she put the sealed packet away, looked at it
with a triumph too deep for words. She smiled as she dropped it into the ba=
g.
Not the shadow of a suspicion that the Will might contain superfluous phras=
es and
expressions which no practical lawyer would have used; not the vestige of a
doubt whether the Letter was quite as complete a document as a practical la=
wyer
might have made it, troubled her mind. In blind reliance--born of her hatred
for Magdalen and her hunger for revenge--in blind reliance on her own abili=
ties
and on her friend's law, she trusted the future implicitly to the promise of
the morning's work.
As she locked her traveling-bag Noel Vanstone =
rang
the bell. On this occasion, the summons was answered by Louisa.
"Get the spare room ready," said her
master; "this lady will sleep here to-night. And air my warm things; t=
his
lady and I are going away to-morrow morning."
The civil and submissive Louisa received her
orders in sullen silence--darted an angry look at her master's impenetrable
guest--and left the room. The servants were evidently all attached to their=
mistress's
interests, and were all of one opinion on the subject of Mrs. Lecount.
"That's done!" said Noel Vanstone, w=
ith
a sigh of infinite relief. "Come and sit down, Lecount. Let's be
comfortable--let's gossip over the fire."
Mrs. Lecount accepted the invitation and drew =
an
easy-chair to his side. He took her hand with a confidential tenderness, and
held it in his while the talk went on. A stranger, looking in through the w=
indow,
would have taken them for mother and son, and would have thought to himself=
: "What
a happy home!"
The gossip, led by Noel Vanstone, consisted as
usual of an endless string of questions, and was devoted entirely to the
subject of himself and his future prospects. Where would Lecount take him to
when they went away the next morning? Why to London? Why should he be left =
in
London, while Lecount went on to St. Crux to give the admiral the Letter and
the Will? Because his wife might follow him, if he went to the admiral's? W=
ell,
there was something in that. And because he ought to be safely concealed fr=
om
her, in some comfortable lodging, near Mr. Loscombe? Why near Mr. Loscombe?=
Ah,
yes, to be sure--to know what the law would do to help him. Would the law s=
et
him free from the Wretch who had deceived him? How tiresome of Lecount not =
to
know! Would the law say he had gone and married himself a second time, beca=
use
he had been living with the Wretch, like husband and wife, in Scotland?
Anything that publicly assumed to be a marriage was a marriage (he had hear=
d)
in Scotland. How excessively tiresome of Lecount to sit there and say she k=
new
nothing about it! Was he to stay long in London by himself, with nobody but=
Mr.
Loscombe to speak to? Would Lecount come back to him as soon as she had put
those important papers in the admiral's own hands? Would Lecount consider
herself still in his service? The good Lecount! the excellent Lecount! And
after all the law-business was over--what then? Why not leave this horrid
England and go abroad again? Why not go to France, to some cheap place near
Paris? Say Versailles? say St. Germain? In a nice little French house--chea=
p?
With a nice French bonne to cook--who wouldn't waste his substance in the
grease-pot? With a nice little garden--where he could work himself, and get
health, and save the expense of keeping a gardener? It wasn't a bad idea. A=
nd
it seemed to promise well for the future--didn't it, Lecount?
So he ran on--the poor weak creature! the abje=
ct,
miserable little man!
As the darkness gathered at the close of the s=
hort
November day he began to grow drowsy--his ceaseless questions came to an en=
d at
last--he fell asleep. The wind outside sang its mournful winter-song; the t=
ramp
of passing footsteps, the roll of passing wheels on the road ceased in drea=
ry
silence. He slept on quietly. The firelight rose and fell on his wizen litt=
le
face and his nervous, drooping hands. Mrs. Lecount had not pitied him yet. =
She
began to pity him now. Her point was gained; her interest in his will was
secured; he had put his future life, of his own accord, under her fostering
care--the fire was comfortable; the circumstances were favorable to the gro=
wth
of Christian feeling. "Poor wretch!" said Mrs. Lecount, looking at
him with a grave compassion--"poor wretch!"
The dinner-hour roused him. He was cheerful at
dinner; he reverted to the idea of the cheap little house in France; he smi=
rked
and simpered; and talked French to Mrs. Lecount, while the house-maid and
Louisa waited, turn and turn about, under protest. When dinner was over, he=
returned
to his comfortable chair before the fire, and Mrs. Lecount followed him. He
resumed the conversation--which meant, in his case, repeating his questions.
But he was not so quick and ready with them as he had been earlier in the d=
ay.
They began to flag--they continued, at longer and longer intervals--they ce=
ased
altogether. Toward nine o'clock he fell asleep again.
It was not a quiet sleep this time. He muttere=
d,
and ground his teeth, and rolled his head from side to side of the chair. M=
rs.
Lecount purposely made noise enough to rouse him. He woke, with a vacant eye
and a flushed cheek. He walked about the room restlessly, with a new idea in
his mind--the idea of writing a terrible letter; a letter of eternal farewe=
ll
to his wife. How was it to be written? In what language should he express h=
is
feelings? The powers of Shakespeare himself would be unequal to the emergen=
cy!
He had been the victim of an outrage entirely without parallel. A wretch had
crept into his bosom! A viper had hidden herself at his fireside! Where cou=
ld
words be found to brand her with the infamy she deserved? He stopped, with a
suffocating sense in him of his own impotent rage--he stopped, and shook his
fist tremulously in the empty air.
Mrs. Lecount interfered with an energy and a
resolution inspired by serious alarm. After the heavy strain that had been =
laid
on his weakness already, such an outbreak of passionate agitation as was now
bursting from him might be the destruction of his rest that night and of hi=
s strength
to travel the next day. With infinite difficulty, with endless promises to
return to the subject, and to advise him about it in the morning, she preva=
iled
on him, at last, to go upstairs and compose himself for the night. She gave=
him
her arm to assist him. On the way upstairs his attention, to her great reli=
ef,
became suddenly absorbed by a new fancy. He remembered a certain warm and
comfortable mixture of wine, eggs, sugar, and spices, which she had often b=
een
accustomed to make for him in former times, and which he thought he should
relish exceedingly before he went to bed. Mrs. Lecount helped him on with h=
is dressing-gown--then
went down-stairs again to make his warm drink for him at the parlor fire.
She rang the bell and ordered the necessary
ingredients for the mixture, in Noel Vanstone's name. The servants, with the
small ingenious malice of their race, brought up the materials one by one, =
and
kept her waiting for each of them as long as possible. She had got the
saucepan, and the spoon, and the tumbler, and the nutmeg-grater, and the
wine--but not the egg, the sugar, or the spices--when she heard him above,
walking backward and forward noisily in his room; exciting hi mself on the =
old subject
again, beyond all doubt.
She went upstairs once more; but he was too qu= ick for her--he heard her outside the door; and when she opened it, she found h= im in his chair, with his back cunningly turned toward her. Knowing him too we= ll to attempt any remonstrance, she merely announced the speedy arrival of the= warm drink and turned to leave the room. On her way out, she noticed a table in a corner, with an inkstand and a paper-case on it, and tried, without attract= ing his attention, to take the writing materials away. He was too quick for her again. He asked, angrily, if she doubted his promise. She put the writing materials back on the table, for fear of offending him, and left the room.<= o:p>
In half an hour more the mixture was ready. She
carried it up to him, foaming and fragrant, in a large tumbler. "He wi=
ll
sleep after this," she thought to herself, as she opened the door; &qu=
ot;I
have made it stronger than usual on purpose."
He had changed his place. He was sitting at the
table in the corner--still with his back to her, writing. This time his qui=
ck
ears had not served him; this time she caught him in the fact.
"Oh, Mr. Noel! Mr. Noel!" she said,
reproachfully, "what is your promise worth?"
He made no answer. He was sitting with his left
elbow on the table, and with his head resting on his left hand. His right h=
and
lay back on the paper, with the pen lying loose in it. "Your drink, Mr.
Noel," she said, in a kinder tone, feeling unwilling to offend him. He
took no notice of her. She went to the table to rouse him. Was he deep in
thought?
He was dead!
THE END OF THE FIFTH SCENE.
From Mrs. Noel Vanstone to Mr. Loscombe.
"Park Terrace, St. John's Wood, November =
5th.
"DEAR SIR--I came to London yesterday for=
the
purpose of seeing a relative, leaving Mr. Vanstone at Baliol Cottage, and
proposing to return to him in the course of the week. I reached London late=
last
night, and drove to these lodgings, having written to secure accommodation
beforehand.
"This morning's post has brought me a let=
ter
from my own maid, whom I left at Baliol Cottage, with instructions to write=
to
me if anything extraordinary took place in my absence. You will find the gi=
rl's
letter inclosed in this. I have had some experience of her; and I believe s=
he is
to be strictly depended on to tell the truth.
"I purposely abstain from troubling you by
any useless allusions to myself. When you have read my maid's letter, you w=
ill
understand the shock which the news contained in it has caused me. I can on=
ly
repeat that I place implicit belief in her statement. I am firmly persuaded=
that
my husband's former housekeeper has found him out, has practiced on his
weakness in my absence, and has prevailed on him to make another Will. From
what I know of this woman, I feel no doubt that she has used her influence =
over
Mr. Vanstone to deprive me, if possible, of all future interests in my
husband's fortune.
"Under such circumstances as these, it is=
in
the last degree important--for more reasons than I need mention here--that I
should see Mr. Vanstone, and come to an explanation with him, at the earlie=
st possible
opportunity. You will find that my maid thoughtfully kept her letter open u=
ntil
the last moment before post-time--without, however, having any later news t=
o give
me than that Mrs. Lecount was to sleep at the cottage last night and that s=
he
and Mr. Vanstone were to leave together this morning. But for that last pie=
ce
of intelligence, I should have been on my way back to Scotland before now. =
As
it is, I cannot decide for myself what I ought to do next. My going back to
Dumfries, after Mr. Vanstone has left it, seems like taking a journey for
nothing --and my staying in London appears to be almost equally useless.
"Will you kindly advise me in this
difficulty? I will come to you at Lincoln's Inn at any time this afternoon =
or
to-morrow which you may appoint. My next few hours are engaged. As soon as =
this
letter is dispatched, I am going to Kensington, with the object of ascertai=
ning
whether certain doubts I feel about the means by which Mrs. Lecount may have
accomplished her discovery are well founded or not. If you will let me have
your answer by return of post, I will not fail to get back to St. John's Wo=
od
in time to receive it. Believe me, dear sir, yours sincerely,
"MAGDALEN VANSTONE."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn, November 5th.
"DEAR MADAM--Your letter and its inclosure
have caused me great concern and surprise. Pressure of business allows me no
hope of being able to see you either to-day or to-morrow morning. But if th=
ree
o'clock to-morrow afternoon will suit you, at that hour you will find me at
your service.
"I cannot pretend to offer a positive opi=
nion
until I know more of the particulars connected with this extraordinary busi=
ness
than I find communicated either in your letter or in your maid's. But with =
this
reserve, I venture to suggest that your remaining in London until to-morrow=
may
possibly lead to other results besides your consultation at my chambers. Th=
ere
is at least a chance that you or I may hear something further in this stran=
ge
matter by the morning's post. I remain, dear madam, faithfully yours,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From Mrs. Noel Vanstone to Miss Garth.
"November 5th, Two o'Clock.
"I have just returned from Westmoreland
House--after purposely leaving it in secret, and purposely avoiding you und=
er
your own roof. You shall know why I came, and why I went away. It is due to=
my
remembrance of old times not to treat you like a stranger, although I can n=
ever
again treat you like a friend.
"I set forth on the third from the North =
to
London. My only object in taking this long journey was to see Norah. I had =
been
suffering for many weary weeks past such remorse as only miserable women li=
ke
me can feel. Perhaps the suffering weakened me; perhaps it roused some old
forgotten tenderness--God knows!--I can't explain it; I can only tell you t=
hat
I began to think of Norah by day, and to dream of Norah by night, till I was
almost heartbroken. I have no better reason than this to give for running a=
ll
the risks which I ran, and coming to London to see her. I don't wish to cla=
im
more for myself than I deserve; I don't wish to tell you I was the reformed=
and
repenting creature whom you might have approved. I had only one feeling in =
me
that I know of. I wanted to put my arms round Norah's neck, and cry my heart
out on Norah's bosom. Childish enough, I dare say. Something might have com=
e of
it; nothing might have come of it--who knows?
"I had no means of finding Norah without =
your
assistance. However you might disapprove of what I had done, I thought you
would not refuse to help me to find my sister. When I lay down last night i=
n my
strange bed, I said to myself, 'I will ask Miss Garth, for my father's sake=
and
my mother's sake, to tell me.' You don't know what a comfort I felt in that=
thought.
How should you? What do good women like you know of miserable sinners like =
me?
All you know is that you pray for us at church.
"Well, I fell asleep happily that night--=
for
the first time since my marriage. When the morning came, I paid the penalty=
of
daring to be happy only for one night. When the morning came, a letter came
with it, which told me that my bitterest enemy on earth (you have meddled s=
ufficiently
with my affairs to know what enemy I mean) had revenged herself on me in my
absence. In following the impulse which led me to my sister, I had gone to =
my
ruin.
"The mischief was beyond all present reme=
dy,
when I received the news of it. Whatever had happened, whatever might happe=
n, I
made up my mind to persist in my resolution of seeing Norah before I did
anything else. I suspected you of being concerned in the disaster which had
overtaken me--because I felt positively certain at Aldborough that you and =
Mrs.
Lecount had written to each other. But I never suspected Norah. If I lay on=
my
death-bed at this moment I could say with a safe conscience I never suspect=
ed
Norah.
"So I went this morning to Westmor eland
House to ask you for my sister's address, and to acknowledge plainly that I
suspected you of being again in correspondence with Mrs. Lecount.
"When I inquired for you at the door, they
told me you had gone out, but that you were expected back before long. They
asked me if I would see your sister, who was then in the school-room. I des=
ired
that your sister should on no account be disturbed: my business was not with
her, but with you. I begged to be allowed to wait in a room by myself until=
you
returned.
"They showed me into the double room on t=
he
ground-floor, divided by curtains--as it was when I last remember it. There=
was
a fire in the outer division of the room, but none in the inner; and for th=
at
reason, I suppose, the curtains were drawn. The servant was very civil and =
attentive
to me. I have learned to be thankful for civility and attention, and I spok=
e to
her as cheerfully as I could. I said to her, 'I shall see Miss Garth here, =
as
she comes up to the door, and I can beckon her in through the long window.'=
The
servant said I could do so, if you came that way, but that you let yourself=
in
sometimes with your own key by the back-garden gate; and if you did this, s=
he
would take care to let you know of my visit. I mention these trifles, to sh=
ow
you that there was no pre-meditated deceit in my mind when I came to the ho=
use.
"I waited a weary time, and you never cam=
e: I
don't know whether my impatience made me think so, or whether the large fire
burning made the room really as hot as I felt it to be--I only know that, a=
fter
a while, I passed through the curtains into the inner room, to try the cool=
er atmosphere.
"I walked to the long window which leads =
into
the back garden, to look out, and almost at the same time I heard the door
opened--the door of the room I had just left, and your voice and the voice =
of
some other woman, a stranger to me, talking. The stranger was one of the pa=
rlor-boarders,
I dare say. I gathered from the first words you exchanged together, that you
had met in the passage--she on her way downstairs, and you on your way in f=
rom
the back garden. Her next question and your next answer informed me that th=
is
person was a friend of my sister's, who felt a strong interest in her, and =
who
knew that you had just returned from a visit to Norah. So far, I only hesit=
ated
to show myself, because I shrank, in my painful situation, from facing a
stranger. But when I heard my own name immediately afterward on your lips a=
nd
on hers, then I purposely came nearer to the curtain between us, and purpos=
ely
listened.
"A mean action, you will say? Call it mea=
n,
if you like. What better can you expect from such a woman as I am?
"You were always famous for your memory.
There is no necessity for my repeating the words you spoke to your friend, =
and
the words your friend spoke to you, hardly an hour since. When you read the=
se
lines, you will know, as well as I know, what those words told me. I ask fo=
r no
particulars; I will take all your reasons and all your excuses for granted.=
It
is enough for me to know that you and Mr. Pendril have been searching for me
again, and that Norah is in the conspiracy this time, to reclaim me in spit=
e of
myself. It is enough for me to know that my letter to my sister has been tu=
rned
into a trap to catch me, and that Mrs. Lecount's revenge has accomplished i=
ts
object by means of information received from Norah's lips.
"Shall I tell you what I suffered when I
heard these things? No; it would only be a waste of time to tell you. Whate=
ver
I suffer, I deserve it--don't I?
"I waited in that inner room--knowing my =
own
violent temper, and not trusting myself to see you, after what I had heard-=
-I
waited in that inner room, trembling lest the servant should tell you of my
visit before I could find an opportunity of leaving the house. No such misf=
ortune
happened. The servant, no doubt, heard the voices upstairs, and supposed th=
at
we had met each other in the passage. I don't know how long or how short a =
time
it was before you left the room to go and take off your bonnet--you went, a=
nd
your friend went with you. I raised the long window softly, and stepped into
the back garden. The way by which you returned to the house was the way by
which I left it. No blame attaches to the servant. As usual, where I am
concerned, nobody is to blame but me.
"Time enough has passed now to quiet my m=
ind
a little. You know how strong I am? You remember how I used to fight against
all my illnesses when I was a child? Now I am a woman, I fight against my
miseries in the same way. Don't pity me, Miss Garth! Don't pity me!
"I have no harsh feeling against Norah. T=
he
hope I had of seeing her is a hope taken from me; the consolation I had in
writing to her is a consolation denied me for the future. I am cut to the
heart; but I have no angry feeling toward my sister. She means well, poor
soul--I dare say she means well. It would distress her, if she knew what has
happened. Don't tell her. Conceal my visit, and burn my letter.
"A last word to yourself and I have done:=
"If I rightly understand my present
situation, your spies are still searching for me to just as little purpose =
as
they searched at York. Dismiss them--you are wasting your money to no purpo=
se.
If you discovered me to-morrow, what could you do? My position has altered.=
I am
no longer the poor outcast girl, the vagabond public performer, whom you on=
ce
hunted after. I have done what I told you I would do--I have made the gener=
al
sense of propriety my accomplice this time. Do you know who I am? I am a
respectable married woman, accountable for my actions to nobody under heaven
but my husband. I have got a place in the world, and a name in the world, at
last. Even the law, which is the friend of all you respectable people, has
recognized my existence, and has become my friend too! The Archbishop of
Canterbury gave me his license to be married, and the vicar of Aldborough
performed the service. If I found your spies following me in the street, an=
d if
I chose to claim protection from them, the law would acknowledge my claim. =
You
forget what wonders my wickedness has done for me. It has made Nobody's Chi=
ld Somebody's
Wife.
"If you will give these considerations th=
eir
due weight; if you will exert your excellent common sense, I have no fear of
being obliged to appeal to my newly-found friend and protector--the law. You
will feel, by this time, that you have meddled with me at last to some purp=
ose.
I am estranged from Norah--I am discovered by my husband--I am defeated by =
Mrs.
Lecount. You have driven me to the last extremity; you have strengthened me=
to
fight the battle of my life with the resolution which only a lost and
friendless woman can feel. Badly as your schemes have prospered, they have =
not
proved totally useless after all!
"I have no more to say. If you ever speak
about me to Norah, tell her that a day may come when she will see me again-=
-the
day when we two sisters have recovered our natural rights; the day when I p=
ut
Norah's fortune into Norah's hand.
"Those are my last words. Remember them t=
he
next time you feel tempted to meddle with me again.
"MAGDALEN VANSTONE."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn, November 6th.
"DEAR MADAM--This morning's post has
doubtless brought you the same shocking news which it has brought to me. You
must know by this time that a terrible affliction has befallen you--the
affliction of your husband's sudden death.
"I am on the point of starting for the No=
rth,
to make all needful inquiries, and to perform whatever duties I may with
propriety undertake, as solicitor to the deceased gentleman. Let me earnest=
ly recommend
you not to follow me to Baliol Cottage, until I have had time to write to y=
ou
first, and to give you such advice as I cannot, through ignorance of all the
circumstances, pretend to offer now. You may rely on my writing, after my
arrival in Scot-land, by the first post. I remain, dear madam, faithfully
yours,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From Mr. Pendril to Miss Garth.
"Serle Street, November 6th.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--I return you Mrs. Noel
Vanstone's letter. I can understand your mortification at the tone in which=
it
is written, and your distress at the manner in which this unhappy woman has
interpreted the conversation that she overheard at your house. I cannot
honestly add that I lament what has happened. My opinion has never altered
since the Combe-Raven time. I believe Mrs. Noel Vanstone to be one of the m=
ost reckless,
desperate, and perverted women living; and any circumstances that estrange =
her
from her sister are circumstances which I welcome, for her sister's sake.
"There cannot be a moment's doubt on the
course you ought to follow in this matter. Even Mrs. Noel Vanstone herself
acknowledges the propriety of sparing her sister additional and unnecessary
distress. By all means, keep Miss Vanstone in ignorance of the visit to
Kensington, and of the letter which has followed it. It would be not only
unwise, but absolutely cruel, to enlighten her. If we had any remedy to app=
ly,
or even any hope to offer, we might feel some hesitation in keeping our sec=
ret.
But there is no remedy, and no hope. Mrs. Noel Vanstone is perfectly justif=
ied
in the view she takes of her own position. Neither you nor I can assert the
smallest right to control her.
"I have already taken the necessary measu=
res
for putting an end to our useless inquiries. In a few days I will write to =
Miss
Vanstone, and will do my best to tranquilize her mind on the subject of her
sister. If I can find no sufficient excuse to satisfy her, it will be better
she should think we have discovered nothing than that she should know the t=
ruth.
Believe me most truly yours,
"WILLIAM PENDRIL."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn, November 15th.
"DEAR MADAM--In compliance with your requ=
est,
I now proceed to communicate to you in writing what (but for the calamity w=
hich
has so recently befallen you) I should have preferred communicating by word=
of
mouth. Be pleased to consider this letter as strictly confidential between
yourself and me.
"I inclose, as you desire, a copy of the =
Will
executed by your late husband on the third of this month. There can be no
question of the genuineness of the original document. I protested, as a mat=
ter
of form, against Admiral Bartram's solicitor assuming a position of authori=
ty
at Baliol Cottage. But he took the position, nevertheless; acting as legal =
representative
of the sole Executor under the second Will. I am bound to say I should have
done the same myself in his place.
"The serious question follows, What can w=
e do
for the best in your interests? The Will executed under my professional
superintendence, on the thirtieth of September last, is at present supersed=
ed
and revoked by the second and later Will, executed on the third of November.
Can we dispute this document?
"I doubt the possibility of disputing the=
new
Will on the face of it. It is no doubt irregularly expressed; but it is dat=
ed,
signed, and witnessed as the law directs; and the perfectly simple and stra=
ightforward
provisions that it contains are in no respect, that I can see, technically =
open
to attack.
"This being the case, can we dispute the =
Will
on the ground that it has been executed when the Testator was not in a fit
state to dispose of his own property? or when the Testator was subjected to
undue and improper influence?
"In the first of these cases, the medical
evidence would put an obstacle in our way. We cannot assert that previous
illness had weakened the Testator's mind. It is clear that he died suddenly=
, as
the doctors had all along declared he would die, of disease of the heart. He
was out walking in his garden, as usual, on the day of his death; he ate a =
hearty
dinner; none of the persons in his service noticed any change in him; he wa=
s a
little more irritable with them than usual, but that was all. It is impossi=
ble
to attack the state of his faculties: there is no case to go into court wit=
h,
so far.
"Can we declare that he acted under undue
influence; or, in plainer terms, under the influence of Mrs. Lecount?
"There are serious difficulties, again, in
the way of taking this course. We cannot assert, for example, that Mrs. Lec=
ount
has assumed a place in the will which she has no fair claim to occupy. She =
has cunningly
limited her own legacy, not only to what is fairly due her, but to what the
late Mr. Michael Vanstone himself had the intention of leaving her. If I we=
re
examined on the subject, I should be compelled to acknowledge that I had he=
ard
him express this intention myself. It is only the truth to say that I have
heard him express it more than once. There is no point of attack in Mrs.
Lecount's legacy, and there is no point of attack in your late husband's ch=
oice
of an executor. He has made the wise choice, and the natural choice, of the
oldest and trustiest friend he had in the world.
"One more consideration remains--the most
important which I have yet approached, and therefore the consideration whic=
h I
have reserved to the last. On the thirtieth of September, the Testator exec=
utes
a will, leaving his widow sole executrix, with a legacy of eighty thousand =
pounds.
On the third of November following, he expressly revokes this will, and lea=
ves
another in its stead, in which his widow is never once mentioned, and in wh=
ich
the whole residue of his estate, after payment of one comparatively trifling
legacy, is left to a friend.
"It rests entirely with you to say whether
any valid reason can or can not be produced to explain such an extraordinar=
y proceeding
as this. If no reason can be assigned--and I know of none myself--I think we
have a point here which deserves our careful consideration; for it may be a=
point
which is open to attack. Pray understand that I am now appealing to you sol=
ely
as a lawyer, who is obliged to look all possible eventualities in the face.=
I
have no wish to intrude on your private affairs; I have no wish to write a =
word
which could be construed into any indirect reflection on yourself.
"If you tell me that, so far as you know,
your husband capriciously struck you out of his will, without assignable re=
ason
or motive for doing so, and without other obvious explanation of his conduct
than that he acted in this matter entirely under the influence of Mrs. Leco=
unt,
I will immediately take Counsel's opinion touching the propriety of disputi=
ng
the will on this ground. If, on the other hand, you tell me that there are
reasons (known to yourself, though unknown to me) for not taking the course=
I
propose, I will accept that intimation without troubling you, unless you wi=
sh
it, to explain yourself further. In this latter event, I will write to you
again; for I shall then have something more to say, which may greatly surpr=
ise
you, on the subject of the Will.
"Faithfully yours,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From Mrs. Noel Vanstone to Mr. Loscombe.
"November 16th.
"DEAR SIR--Accept my best thanks for the
kindness and consideration with which you have treated me; and let the
anxieties under which I am now suffering plead my excuse, if I reply to your
letter without ceremony, in the fewest possible words.
"I have my own reasons for not hesitating=
to
answer your question in the negative. It is impossible for us to go to law,=
as
you propose, on the subject of the Will.
"Believe me, dear sir, yours gratefully,<= o:p>
"MAGDALEN VANSTONE."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn. November 17th.
"DEAR MADAM--I beg to acknowledge the rec=
eipt
of your letter, answering my proposal in the negative, for reasons of your =
own.
Under these circumstances--on which I offer no comment--I beg to perform my
promise of again communicating with you on the subject of your late husband=
's Will.
"Be so kind as to look at your copy of the
document. You will find that the clause which devises the whole residue of =
your
husband's estate to Admiral Bartram ends in these terms: to be by him appli=
ed
to such uses as he may think fit.
"Simple as they may seem to you, these are
very remarkable words. In the first place, no practical lawyer would have u=
sed
them in drawing your husband's will. In the second place, they are utterly
useless to serve any plain straightforward purpose. The legacy is left
unconditionally to the admiral; and in the same breath he is told that he m=
ay
do what he likes with it! The phrase points clearly to one of two conclusio=
ns.
It has either dropped from the writer's pen in pure ignorance, or it has be=
en
carefully set where it appears to serve the purpose of a snare. I am firmly
persuaded that the latter explanation is the right one. The words are expre=
ssly
intended to mislead some person--yourself in all probability--and the cunni=
ng
which has put them to that use is a cunning which (as constantly happens wh=
en
uninstructed persons meddle with law) has overreached itself. My thirty yea=
rs'
experience reads those words in a sense exactly opposite to the sense which
they are intended to convey. I say that Admiral Bartram is not free to apply
his legacy to such purposes as he may think fit; I believe he is privately
controlled by a supplementary document in the shape of a Secret Trust.
"I can easily explain to you what I mean =
by a
Secret Trust. It is usually contained in the form of a letter from a Testat=
or
to his Executors, privately informing them of testamentary intentions on hi=
s part
which he has not thought proper openly to acknowledge in his will. I leave =
you
a hundred pounds; and I write a private letter enjoining you, on taking the
legacy, not to devote it to your own purposes, but to give it to some third
person, whose name I have my own reasons for not mentioning in my will. Tha=
t is
a Secret Trust.
"If I am right in my own persuasion that =
such
a document as I here describe is at this moment in Admiral Bartram's
possession--a persuasion based, in the first instance, on the extraordinary=
words
that I have quoted to you; and, in the second instance, on purely legal con=
siderations
with which it is needless to incumber my letter--if I am right in this opin=
ion,
the discovery of the Secret Trust would be, in all probability, a most
important discovery to your interests. I will not trouble you with technical
reasons, or with references to my experience in these matters, which only a
professional man could understand. I will merely say that I don't give up y=
our
cause as utterly lost, until the conviction now impressed on my own mind is
proved to be wrong.
"I can add no more, while this important
question still remains involved in doubt; neither can I suggest any means of
solving that doubt. If the existence of the Trust was proved, and if the na=
ture
of the stipulations contained in it was made known to me, I could then say
positively what the legal chances were of your being able to set up a Case =
on
the strength of it: and I could also tell you whether I should or should not
feel justified in personally undertaking that Case under a private arrangem=
ent
with yourself.
"As things are, I can make no arrangement,
and offer no advice. I can only put you confidentially in possession of my
private opinion, leaving you entirely free to draw your own inferences from=
it,
and regretting that I cannot write more confidently and more definitely tha=
n I have
written here. All that I could conscientiously say on this very difficult a=
nd
delicate subject, I have said.
"Believe me, dear madam, faithfully yours=
,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE.
"P.S.--I omitted one consideration in my =
last
letter, which I may mention here, in order to show you that no point in
connection with the case has escaped me. If it had been possible to show th=
at
Mr. Vanstone was domiciled in Scotland at the time of his death, we might h=
ave asserted
your interests by means of the Scotch law, which does not allow a husband t=
he
power of absolutely disinheriting his wife. But it is impossible to assert =
that
Mr. Vanstone was legally domiciled in Scotland. He came there as a visitor
only; he occupied a furnished house for the season; and he never expressed,
either by word or deed, the slightest intention of settling permanently in =
the
North."
From Mrs. Noel Vanstone to Mr. Loscombe.
"DEAR SIR--I have read your letter more t=
han
once, with the deepest interest and attention; and the oftener I read it, t=
he
more firmly I believe that there is really such a Letter as you mention in
Admiral Bartram's hands.
"It is my interest that the discovery sho=
uld
be made, and I at once acknowledge to you that I am determined to find the
means of secretly and certainly making it. My resolution rests on other mot=
ives
than the motives which you might naturally suppose would influence me. I on=
ly tell
you this, in case you feel inclined to remonstrate. There is good reason for
what I say, when I assure you that remonstrance will be useless.
"I ask for no assistance in this matter; I
will trouble nobody for advice. You shall not be involved in any rash
proceedings on my part. Whatever danger there may be, I will risk it. Whate=
ver
delays may happen, I will bear them patiently. I am lonely and friendless, =
and surely
troubled in mind, but I am strong enough to win my way through worse trials
than these. My spirits will rise again, and my time will come. If that Secr=
et
Trust is in Admiral Bartram's possession--when you next see me, you shall s=
ee
me with it in my own hands. Yours gratefully,
"MAGDALEN VANSTONE."
=
IT wanted little more than a fortnight to
Christmas; but the weather showed no signs yet of the frost and snow,
conventionally associated with the coming season. The atmosphere was
unnaturally warm, and the old year was dying feebly in sapping rain and
enervating mist.
Toward the close of the December afternoon,
Magdalen sat alone in the lodging which she had occupied since her arrival =
in
London. The fire burned sluggishly in the narrow little grate; the view of =
the
wet houses and soaking gardens opposite was darkening fast; and the bell of=
the
suburban muffin-boy tinkled in the distance drearily. Sitting close over the
fire, with a little money lying loose in her lap, Magdalen absently shifted=
the
coins to and fro on the smooth surface of her dress, incessantly altering t=
heir
positions toward each other, as if they were pieces of a "child's
puzzle" which she was trying to put together. The dim fire-light flami=
ng
up on her faintly from time to time showed changes which would have told th=
eir
own tale sadly to friends of former days. Her dress had become loose through
the wasting of her figure; but she had not cared to alter it. The old
restlessness in her movements, the old mobility in her expression, appeared=
no
more. Her face passively maintained its haggard composure, its changeless
unnatural calm. Mr. Pendril might have softened his hard sentence on her, i=
f he
had seen her now; and Mrs. Lecount, in the plenitude of her triumph, might =
have
pitied her fallen enemy at last.
Hardly four months had passed since the
wedding-day at Aldborough, and the penalty for that day was paid already--p=
aid
in unavailing remorse, in hopeless isolation, in irremediable defeat! Let t=
his
be said for her; let the truth which has been told of the fault be told of =
the
expiation as well. Let it be recorded of her that she enjoyed no secret tri=
umph
on the day of her success. The horror of herself with which her own act had=
inspired
her, had risen to its climax when the design of her marriage was achieved. =
She
had never suffered in secret as she suffered when the Combe-Raven money was
left to her in her husband's will. She had never felt the means taken to
accomplish her end so unutterably degrading to herself, as she felt them on=
the
day when the end was reached. Out of that feeling had grown the remorse whi=
ch
had hurried her to seek pardon and consolation in her sister's love. Never
since it had first entered her heart, never since she had first felt it sac=
red
to her at her father's grave, had the Purpose to which she had vowed hersel=
f,
so nearly lost its hold on her as at this time. Never might Norah's influen=
ce
have achieved such good as on the day when that influence was lost--the day
when the fatal words were overheard at Miss Garth's--the day when the fatal
letter from Scotland told of Mrs. Lecount's revenge.
The harm was done; the chance was gone. Time a=
nd
Hope alike had both passed her by.
Faintly and more faintly the inner voices now
pleaded with her to pause on the downward way. The discovery which had pois=
oned
her heart with its first distrust of her sister; the tidings which had foll=
owed
it of her husband's death; the sting of Mrs. Lecount's triumph, felt through
all, had done their work. The remorse which had embittered her married life=
was
deadened now to a dull despair. It was too late to make the atonement of
confession--too late to lay bare to the miserable husband the deeper secrets
that had once lurked in the heart of the miserable wife. Innocent of all
thought of the hideous treachery which Mrs. Lecount had imputed to her--she=
was
guilty of knowing how his health was broken when she married him; guilty of
knowing, when he left her the Combe-Raven money, that the accident of a mom=
ent,
harmless to other men, might place his life in jeopardy, and effect her
release. His death had told her this--had told her plainly what she had shr=
unk,
in his lifetime, from openly acknowledging to herself. From the dull tormen=
t of
that reproach; from the dreary wretchedness of doubting everybody, even to
Norah herself; from the bitter sense of her defeated schemes; from the blank
solitude of her friendless life--what refuge was left? But one refuge now. =
She
turned to the relentless Purpose which was hurrying her to her ruin, and cr=
ied
to it with the daring of her despair--Drive me on!
For days and days together she had bent her mi=
nd
on the one object which occupied it since she had received the lawyer's let=
ter.
For days and days together she had toiled to meet the first necessity of he=
r position--to
find a means of discovering the Secret Trust. There was no hope, this time,=
of
assistance from Captain Wragge. Long practice had made the old militia-man =
an
adept in the art of vanishing. The plow of the moral agriculturist left no
furrows--not a trace of him was to be found! Mr. Loscombe was too cautious =
to
commit himself to an active course of any kind; he passively maintained his
opinions and left the rest to his client---he desired to know nothing until=
the
Trust was placed in his hands. Magdalen's interests were now in Magdalen's =
own sole
care. Risk or no risk, what she did next she must do by herself.
The prospect had not daunted her. Alone she had
calculated the chances that might be tried. Alone she was now determined to
make the attempt.
"The time has come," she said to
herself, as she sat over the fire. "I must sound Louisa first."
She collected the scattered coins in her lap, =
and
placed them in a little heap on the table, then rose and rang the bell. The
landlady answered it.
"Is my servant downstairs?" inquired
Magdalen.
"Yes, ma'am. She is having her tea."=
"When she has done, say I want her up her=
e.
Wait a moment. You will find your money on the table--the money I owe you f=
or
last week. Can you find it? or would you like to have a candle?"
"It's rather dark, ma'am."
Magdalen lit a candle. "What notice must I
give you," she asked, as she put the candle on the table, "before=
I
leave?"
"A week is the usual notice, ma'am. I hope
you have no objection to make to the house?"
"None whatever. I only ask the question,
because I may be obliged to leave these lodgings rather sooner than I
anticipated. Is the money right?"
"Quite right, ma'am. Here is your
receipt."
"Thank you. Don't forget to send Louisa t=
o me
as soon as she has done her tea."
The landlady withdrew. As soon as she was alone
again, Magdalen extinguished the candle, and drew an empty chair close to h=
er
own chair on the hearth. This done, she resumed her former place, and waite=
d until
Louisa appeared. There was doubt in her face as she sat looking mechanically
into the fire. "A poor chance," she thought to herself; "but,
poor as it is, a chance that I must try."
In ten minutes more, Louisa's meek knock was
softly audible outside. She was surprised, on entering the room, to find no
other light in it than the light of the fire.
"Will you have the candles, ma'am?" =
she
inquired, respectfully.
"We will have candles if you wish for them
yourself," replied Magdalen; "not otherwise. I have something to =
say
to you. When I have said it, you shall decide whether we sit together in the
dark or in the light."
Louisa waited near the door, and listened to t=
hose
strange words in silent astonishment.
"Come here," said Magdalen, pointing=
to
the empty chair; "come here and sit down."
Louisa advanced, and timidly removed the chair
from its position at her mistress's side. Magdalen instantly drew it back
again. "No!" she said. "Come closer--come close by me."
After a moment's hesitation, Louisa obeyed.
"I ask you to sit near me," pursued
Magdalen, "because I wish to speak to you on equal terms. Whatever
distinctions there might once have been between us are now at an end. I am a
lonely woman thrown helpless on my own resources, without rank or place in =
the
world. I may or may not keep you as my friend. As mistress and maid the
connection between us must come to an end."
"Oh, ma'am, don't, don't say that!"
pleaded Louisa, faintly.
Magdalen sorrowfully and steadily went on.
"When you first came to me," she
resumed, "I thought I should not like you. I have learned to like you-=
-I
have learned to be grateful to you. From first to last you have been faithf=
ul
and good to me. The least I can do in return is not to stand in the way of =
your
future prospects."
"Don't send me away, ma'am!" said
Louisa, imploringly. "If you can only help me with a little money now =
and
then, I'll wait for my wages--I will, indeed."
Magdalen took her hand and went on, as sorrowf=
ully
and as steadily as before.
"My future life is all darkness, all
uncertainty," she said. "The next step I may take may lead me to =
my
prosperity or may lead me to my ruin. Can I ask you to share such a prospec=
t as
this? If your future was as uncertain as mine is--if you, too, were a
friendless woman thrown on the world--my conscience might be easy in letting
you cast your lot with mine. I might accept your attachment, for I might fe=
el I
was not wronging you. How can I feel this in your case? You have a future t=
o look
to. You are an excellent servant; you can get another place--a far better p=
lace
than mine. You can refer to me; and if the character I give is not consider=
ed sufficient,
you can refer to the mistress you served before me--"
At the instant when that reference to the girl=
's
last employer escaped Magdalen's lips, Louisa snatched her hand away and
started up affrightedly from her chair. There was a moment's silence. Both
mistress and maid were equally taken by surprise.
Magdalen was the first to recover herself.
"Is it getting too dark?" she asked,
significantly. "Are you going to light the candles, after all?"
Louisa drew back into the dimmest corner of the
room.
"You suspect me, ma'am!" she answered
out of the darkness, in a breathless whisper. "Who has told you? How d=
id
you find out--?" She stopped, and burst into tears. "I deserve yo=
ur
suspicion," she said, struggling to compose herself. "I can't den=
y it
to you. You have treated me so kindly; you have made me so fond of you! For=
give
me, Mrs. Vanstone--I am a wretch; I have deceived you."
"Come here and sit down by me again,"
said Magdalen. "Come--or I will get up myself and bring you back."=
;
Louisa slowly returned to her place. Dim as the
fire-light was, she seemed to fear it. She held her handkerchief over her f=
ace,
and shrank from her mistress as she seated herself again in the chair.
"You are wrong in thinking that any one h=
as
betrayed you to me," said Magdalen. "All that I know of you is, w=
hat
your own looks and ways have told me. You have had some secret trouble weig=
hing
on your mind ever since you have been in my service. I confess I have spoken
with the wish to find out more of you and your past life than I have found =
out yet--not
because I am curious, but because I have my secret troubles too. Are you an
unhappy woman, like me? If you are, I will take you into my confidence. If =
you
have nothing to tell me--if you choose to keep your secret--I don't blame y=
ou;
I only say, Let us part. I won't ask how you have deceived me. I will only
remember that you have been an honest and faithful and competent servant wh=
ile
I have employed you; and I will say as much in your favor to any new mistre=
ss
you like to send to me."
She waited for the reply. For a moment, and on=
ly
for a moment, Louisa hesitated. The girl's nature was weak, but not deprave=
d.
She was honestly attached to her mistress; and she spoke with a courage whi=
ch Magdalen
had not expected from her.
"If you send me away, ma'am," she sa=
id,
"I won't take my character from you till I have told you the truth; I
won't return your kindness by deceiving you a second time. Did my master ev=
er
tell you how he engaged me?"
"No. I never asked him, and he never told=
me."
"He engaged me, ma'am, with a written
character--"
"Yes?"
"The character was a false one."
Magdalen drew back in amazement. The confession
she heard was not the confession she had anticipated.
"Did your mistress refuse to give you a
character?" she asked. "Why?"
Louisa dropped on her knees and hid her face in
her mistress's lap. "Don't ask me!" she said. "I'm a miserab=
le,
degraded creature; I'm not fit to be in the same room with you!" Magda=
len
bent over her, and whispered a question in her ear. Louisa whispered back t=
he
one sad word of reply.
"Has he deserted you?" asked Magdale=
n,
after waiting a moment, and thinking first.
"No."
"Do you love him?"
"Dearly."
The remembrance of her own loveless marriage s=
tung
Magdalen to the quick.
"For God's sake, don't kneel to me!"=
she
cried, passionately. "If there is a degraded woman in this room, I am =
the
woman--not you!"
She raised the girl by main force from her kne=
es,
and put her back in the chair. They both waited a little in silence. Keeping
her hand on Louisa's shoulder, Magdalen seated herself again, and looked wi=
th unutterable
bitterness of sorrow into the dying fire. "Oh," she thought, &quo=
t;what
happy women there are in the world! Wives who love their husbands! Mothers =
who
are not ashamed to own their children! Are you quieter?" she asked, ge=
ntly
addressing Louisa once more. "Can you answer me, if I ask you something
else? Where is the child?"
"The child is out at nurse."
"Does the father help to support it?"=
;
"He does all he can, ma'am."
"What is he? Is he in service? Is he in a
trade?"
"His father is a master-carpenter--he wor=
ks
in his father's yard."
"If he has got work, why has he not marri=
ed
you?"
"It is his father's fault, ma'am--not his.
His father has no pity on us. He would be turned out of house and home if he
married me."
"Can he get no work elsewhere?"
"It's hard to get good work in London, ma=
'am.
There are so many in London--they take the bread out of each other's mouths=
. If
we had only had the money to emigrate, he would have married me long
since."
"Would he marry you if you had the money
now?"
"I am sure he would, ma'am. He could get
plenty of work in Australia, and double and treble the wages he gets here. =
He
is trying hard, and I am trying hard, to save a little toward it--I put by =
all
I can spare from my child. But it is so little! If we live for years to com=
e,
there seems no hope for us. I know I have done wrong every way--I know I do=
n't deserve
to be happy. But how could I let my child suffer?--I was obliged to go to s=
ervice.
My mistress was hard on me, and my health broke down in trying to live by my
needle. I would never have deceived anybody by a false character, if there =
had
been another chance for me. I was alone and helpless, ma'am; and I can only=
ask
you to forgive me."
"Ask better women than I am," said
Magdalen, sadly. "I am only fit to feel for you, and I do feel for you
with all my heart. In your place I should have gone into service with a fal=
se
character, too. Say no more of the past--you don't know how you hurt me in
speaking of it. Talk of the future. I think I can help you, and do you no h=
arm.
I think you can help me, and do me the greatest of all services in return.
Wait, and you shall hear what I mean. Suppose you were married--how much wo=
uld
it cost for you and your husband to emigrate?"
Louisa mentioned the cost of a steerage passag=
e to
Australia for a man and his wife. She spoke in low, hopeless tones. Moderat=
e as
the sum was, it looked like unattainable wealth in her eyes.
Magdalen started in her chair, and took the gi=
rl's
hand once more.
"Louisa!" she said, earnestly; "=
;if
I gave you the money, what would you do for me in return?"
The proposal seemed to strike Louisa speechless
with astonishment. She trembled violently, and said nothing. Magdalen repea=
ted
her words.
"Oh, ma'am, do you mean it?" said the
girl. "Do you really mean it?"
"Yes," replied Magdalen; "I rea=
lly
mean it. What would you do for me in return?"
"Do?" repeated Louisa. "Oh what=
is
there I would not do!" She tried to kiss her mistress's hand; but Magd=
alen
would not permit it. She resolutely, almost roughly, drew her hand away.
"I am laying you under no obligation,&quo=
t;
she said. "We are serving each other--that is all. Sit quiet, and let =
me
think."
For the next ten minutes there was silence in =
the
room. At the end of that time Magdalen took out her watch and held it close=
to
the grate. There was just firelight enough to show her the hour. It was clo=
se
on six o'clock.
"Are you composed enough to go downstairs=
and
deliver a message?" she asked, rising from her chair as she spoke to
Louisa again. "It is a very simple message--it is only to tell the boy
that I want a cab as soon as he can get me one. I must go out immediately. =
You
shall know why later in the evening. I have much more to say to you; but th=
ere
is no time to say it now. When I am gone, bring your work up here, and wait=
for
my return. I shall be back before bed-time."
Without another word of explanation, she hurri= edly lit a candle and withdrew into the bedroom to put on her bonnet and shawl.<= o:p>
BETWEEN nine and ten o clock the same evening,
Louisa, waiting anxiously, heard the long-expected knock at the house door.=
She
ran downstairs at once and let her mistress in.
Magdalen's face was flushed. She showed far mo=
re
agitation on returning to the house than she had shown on leaving it.
"Keep your place at the table," she said to Louisa, impatiently;
"but lay aside your work. I want you to attend carefully to what I am
going to say."
Louisa obeyed. Magdalen seated herself at the
opposite side of the table, and moved the candles, so as to obtain a clear =
and
uninterrupted view of her servant's face.
"Have you noticed a respectable elderly
woman," she began, abruptly, "who has been here once or twice in =
the
last fortnight to pay me a visit?"
"Yes, ma'am; I think I let her in the sec=
ond
time she came. An elderly person named Mrs. Attwood?"
"That is the person I mean. Mrs. Attwood =
is
Mr. Loscombe's housekeeper; not the housekeeper at his private residence, b=
ut
the housekeeper at his offices in Lincoln's Inn. I promised to go and drink=
tea
with her some evening this week, and I have been to-night. It is strange of=
me,
is it not, to be on these familiar terms with a woman in Mrs. Attwood's sit=
uation?"
Louisa made no answer in words. Her face spoke=
for
her: she could hardly avoid thinking it strange.
"I had a motive for making friends with M=
rs.
Attwood," Magdalen went on. "She is a widow, with a large family =
of
daughters. Her daughters are all in service. One of them is an under-housem=
aid
in the service of Admiral Bartram, at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. I found that o=
ut
from Mrs. Attwood's master; and as soon as I arrived at the discovery, I
privately determined to make Mrs. Attwood's acquaintance. Stranger still, i=
s it
not?"
Louisa began to look a little uneasy. Her
mistress's manner was at variance with her mistress's words--it was plainly
suggestive of something startling to come.
"What attraction Mrs. Attwood finds in my
society," Magdalen continued, "I cannot presume to say. I can only
tell you she has seen better days; she is an educated person; and she may l=
ike
my society on that account. At any rate, she has readily met my advances to=
ward
her. What attraction I find in this good woman, on my side, is soon told. I
have a great curiosity--an unaccountable curiosity, you will think--about t=
he
present course of household affairs at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Mrs. Attwood's
daughter is a good girl, and constantly writes to her mother. Her mother is
proud of the letters and proud of the girl, and is ready enough to talk abo=
ut
her daughter and her daughter's place. That is Mrs. Attwood's attraction to=
me.
You understand, so far?"
Yes--Louisa understood. Magdalen went on.
"Thanks to Mrs. Attwood and Mrs. Attwood's daughter," she said,
"I know some curious particulars already of the household at St. Crux.
Servants' tongues and servants' letters--as I need not tell you--are oftener
occupied with their masters and mistresses than their masters and mistresses
suppose. The only mistress at St. Crux is the housekeeper. But there is a m=
aster--Admiral
Bartram. He appears to be a strange old man, whose whims and fancies amuse =
his
servants as well as his friends. One of his fancies (the only one we need
trouble ourselves to notice) is, that he had men enough about him when he w=
as
living at sea, and that now he is living on shore, he will be waited on by
women-servants alone. The one man in the house is an old sailor, who has be=
en
all his life with his master--he is a kind of pensioner at St. Crux, and has
little or nothing to do with the housework. The other servants, indoors, are
all women; and instead of a footman to wait on him at dinner, the admiral h=
as a
parlor-maid. The parlor-maid now at St. Crux is engaged to be married, and =
as
soon as her master can suit himself she is going away. These discoveries I =
made
some days since. But when I saw Mrs. Attwood to-night, she had received ano=
ther
letter from her daughter in the interval, and that letter has helped me to =
find
out something more. The housekeeper is at her wits' end to find a new serva=
nt.
Her master insists on youth and good looks--he leaves everything else to th=
e housekeeper--but
he will have that. All the inquiries made in the neighborhood have failed to
produce the sort of parlor-maid whom the admiral wants. If nothing can be d=
one
in the next fortnight or three weeks, the housekeeper will advertise in the
Times, and will come to London herself to see the applicants, and to make
strict personal inquiry into their characters."
Louisa looked at her mistress more attentively
than ever. The expression of perplexity left her face, and a shade of
disappointment appeared there in its stead. "Bear in mind what I have
said," pursued Magdalen; "and wait a minute more, while I ask you
some questions. Don't think you understand me yet--I can assure you, you do=
n't
understand me. Have you always lived in service as lady's maid?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you ever lived as parlor-maid?"=
;
"Only in one place, ma'am, and not for lo=
ng
there."
"I suppose you lived long enough to learn
your duties?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What were your duties besides waiting at
table?"
"I had to show visitors in."
"Yes; and what else?"
"I had the plate and the glass to look af=
ter;
and the table-linen was all under my care. I had to answer all the bells,
except in the bedrooms. There were other little odds and ends sometimes to
do--"
"But your regular duties were the duties =
you
have just mentioned?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"How long ago is it since you lived in
service as a parlor-maid?"
"A little better than two years, ma'am.&q=
uot;
"I suppose you have not forgotten how to =
wait
at table, and clean plate, and the rest of it, in that time?"
At this question Louisa's attention, which had
been wandering more and more during the progress of Magdalen's inquiries,
wandered away altogether. Her gathering anxieties got the better of her
discretion, and even of her timidity. Instead of answering her mistress, sh=
e suddenly
and confusedly ventured on a question of her own.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said.
"Did you mean me to offer for the parlor-maid's place at St. Crux?&quo=
t;
"You?" replied Magdalen. "Certa=
inly
not! Have you forgotten what I said to you in this room before I went out? I
mean you to be married, and go to Australia with your husband and your chil=
d.
You have not waited as I told you, to hear me explain myself. You have drawn
your own conclusions, and you have drawn them wrong. I asked a question jus=
t now,
which you have not answered--I asked if you had forgotten your parlor-maid's
duties?"
"Oh, no, ma'am!" Louisa had replied
rather unwillingly thus far. She answered readily and confidently now.
"Could you teach the duties to another
servant?" asked Magdalen.
"Yes, ma'am--easily, if she was quick and
attentive."
"Could you teach the duties to Me?"<= o:p>
Louisa started, and changed color. "You,
ma'am!" she exclaimed, half in incredulity, half in alarm.
"Yes," said Magdalen. "Could you
qualify me to take the parlor-maid's place at St. Crux?"
Plain as those words were, the bewilderment wh=
ich
they produced in Louisa's mind seemed to render her incapable of comprehend=
ing
her mistress's proposal. "You, ma'am!" she repeated, vacantly.
"I shall perhaps help you to understand t=
his
extraordinary project of mine," said Magdalen, "if I tell you pla=
inly
what the object of it is. Do you remember what I said to you about Mr.
Vanstone's will when you came here from Scotland to join me?"
"Yes, ma'am. You told me you had been left
out of the will altogether. I'm sure my fellow-servant would never have been
one of the witnesses if she had known--"
"Never mind that now. I don't blame your
fellow-servant--I blame nobody but Mrs. Lecount. Let me go on with what I w=
as
saying. It is not at all certain that Mrs. Lecount can do me the mischief w=
hich
Mrs. Lecount intended. There is a chance that my lawyer, Mr. Loscombe, may =
be
able to gain me what is fairly my due, in spite of the will. The chance tur=
ns on
my discovering a letter which Mr. Loscombe believes, and which I believe, t=
o be
kept privately in Admiral Bartram's possession. I have not the least hope of
getting at that letter if I make the attempt in my own person. Mrs. Lecount=
has
poisoned the admiral's mind against me, and Mr. Vanstone has given him a se=
cret
to keep from me. If I wrote to him, he would not answer my letter. If I wen=
t to
his house, the door would be closed in my face. I must find my way into St.
Crux as a stranger--I must be in a position to look about the house,
unsuspected--I must be there with plenty of time on my hands. All the
circumstances are in my favor, if I am received into the house as a servant;
and as a servant I mean to go."
"But you are a lady, ma'am," objected
Louisa, in the greatest perplexity. "The servants at St. Crux would fi=
nd
you out."
"I am not at all afraid of their finding =
me
out," said Magdalen. "I know how to disguise myself in other peop=
le's
characters more cleverly than you suppose. Leave me to face the chances of
discovery--that is my risk. Let us talk of nothing now but what concerns yo=
u.
Don't decide yet whether you will, or will not, give me the help I want. Wa=
it,
and hear first what the help is. You are quick and clever at your needle. C=
an
you make me the sort of gown which it is proper for a servant to wear--and =
can
you alter one of my best silk dresses so as to make it fit yourself --in a
week's time?"
"I think I could get them done in a week,
ma'am. But why am I to wear--"
"Wait a little, and you will see. I shall
give the landlady her week's notice to-morrow. In the interval, while you a=
re
making the dresses, I can be learning the parlor-maid's duties. When the
house-servant here has brought up the dinner, and when you and I are alone =
in
the room--instead of your waiting on me, as usual, I will wait on you. (I am
quite serious; don't interrupt me!) Whatever I can learn besides, without
hindering you, I will practice carefully at every opportunity. When the wee=
k is
over, and the dresses are done, we will leave this place, and go into other
lodgings--you as the mistress and I as the maid."
"I should be found out, ma'am,"
interposed Louisa, trembling at the prospect before her. "I am not a
lady."
"And I am," said Magdalen, bitterly.
"Shall I tell you what a lady is? A lady is a woman who wears a silk g=
own,
and has a sense of her own importance. I shall put the gown on your back, a=
nd
the sense in your head. You speak good English; you are naturally quiet and=
self-restrained;
if you can only conquer your timidity, I have not the least fear of you. Th=
ere
will be time enough in the new lodging for you to practice your character, =
and
for me to practice mine. There will be time enough to make some more
dresses--another gown for me, and your wedding-dress (which I mean to give =
you)
for yourself. I shall have the newspaper sent every day. When the advertise=
ment
appears, I shall answer it--in any name I can take on the spur of the momen=
t;
in your name, if you like to lend it to me; and when the housekeeper asks me
for my character, I shall refer her to you. She will see you in the positio=
n of
mistress, and me in the position of maid--no suspicion can possibly enter h=
er
mind, unless you put it there. If you only have the courage to follow my
instructions, and to say what I shall tell you to say, the interview will be
over in ten minutes."
"You frighten me, ma'am," said Louis=
a,
still trembling. "You take my breath away with surprise. Courage! Where
shall I find courage?"
"Where I keep it for you," said
Magdalen--"in the passage-money to Australia. Look at the new prospect
which gives you a husband, and restores you to your child--and you will find
your courage there."
Louisa's sad face brightened; Louisa's faint h=
eart
beat quick. A spark of her mistress's spirit flew up into her eyes as she
thought of the golden future.
"If you accept my proposal," pursued
Magdalen, "you can be asked in church at once, if you like. I promise =
you
the money on the day when the advertisement appears in the newspaper. The r=
isk
of the housekeeper's rejecting me is my risk--not yours. My good looks are
sadly gone off, I know. But I think I can still hold my place against the o=
ther
servants--I think I can still look the parlor-maid whom Admiral Bartram wan=
ts.
There is nothing for you to fear in this matter; I should not have mentione=
d it
if there had been. The only danger is the danger of my being discovered at =
St.
Crux, and that falls entirely on me. By the time I am in the admiral's house
you will be married, and the ship will be taking you to your new life."=
;
Louisa's face, now brightening with hope, now
clouding again with fear, showed plain signs of the struggle which it cost =
her
to decide. She tried to gain time; she attempted confusedly to speak a few
words of gratitude; but her mistress silenced her.
"You owe me no thanks," said Magdale=
n.
"I tell you again, we are only helping each other. I have very little
money, but it is enough for your purpose, and I give it you freely. I have =
led
a wretched life; I have made others wretched about me. I can't even make you
happy, except by tempting you to a new deceit. There! there! it's not your
fault. Worse women than you are will help me, if you refuse. Decide as you
like, but don't be afraid of taking the money. If I succeed, I shall not wa=
nt
it. If I fail--"
She stopped, rose abruptly from her chair, and=
hid
her face from Louisa by walking away to the fire-place.
"If I fail," she resumed, warming her
foot carelessly at the fender, "all the money in the world will be of =
no
use to me. Never mind why--never mind Me--think of yourself. I won't take
advantage of the confession you have made to me; I won't influence you agai=
nst
your will. Do as you yourself think best. But remember one thing--my mind is
made up; nothing you can say or do will change it."
Her sudden removal from the table, the altered
tones of her voice as she spoke the last words, appeared to renew Louisa's
hesitation. She clasped her hands together in her lap, and wrung them hard.
"This has come on me very suddenly, ma'am," said the girl. "=
I am
sorely tempted to say Yes; and yet I am almost afraid--"
"Take the night to consider it,"
interposed Magdalen, keeping her face persistently turned toward the fire;
"and tell me what you have decided to do, when you come into my room
to-morrow morning. I shall want no help to-night--I can undress myself. You=
are
not so strong as I am; you are tired, I dare say. Don't sit up on my accoun=
t.
Good-night, Louisa, and pleasant dreams!"
Her voice sank lower and lower as she spoke th=
ose
kind words. She sighed heavily, and, leaning her arm on the mantel-piece, l=
aid
her head on it with a reckless weariness miserable to see. Louisa had not l=
eft
the room, as she supposed--Louisa came softly to her side, and kissed her h=
and.
Magdalen started; but she made no attempt, this time, to draw her hand away.
The sense of her own horrible isolation subdued her, at the touch of the se=
rvant's
lips. Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled with burning tears. "Don=
't
distress me!" she said, faintly. "The time for kindness has gone =
by;
it only overpowers me now. Good-night!"
When the morning came, the affirmative answer
which Magdalen had anticipated was the answer given.
On that day the landlady received her week's
notice to quit, and Louisa's needle flew fast through the stitches of the
parlor-maid's dress.
THE END OF THE SIXTH SCENE.
BETWEEN
THE SCENES - PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
I.
From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril.
"Westmoreland House, January 3d, 1848.
"DEAR MR. PENDRIL--I write, as you kindly
requested, to report how Norah is going on, and to tell you what changes I =
see
for the better in the state of her mind on the subject of her sister.
"I cannot say that she is becoming resign=
ed
to Magdalen's continued silence--I know her faithful nature too well to say=
it.
I can only tell you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy
pressure of sorrow and suspense in new thoughts and new hopes. I doubt if s=
he
has yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she i=
s not
conscious of it herself. I see her heart opening to the consolation of anot=
her
interest and another love. She has not said a word to me on the subject, nor
have I said a word to her. But as certainly as I know that Mr. George Bartr=
am's
visits have lately grown more and more frequent to the family at Portland
Place--so certainly I can assure you that Norah is finding a relief under h=
er
suspense, which is not of my bringing, and a hope in the future, which I ha=
ve
not taught her to feel.
"It is needless for me to say that I tell=
you
this in the strictest confidence. God knows whether the happy prospect which
seems to me to be just dawning will grow brighter or not as time goes on. T=
he
oftener I see Mr. George Bartram--and he has called on me more than once--t=
he stronger
my liking for him grows. To my poor judgment he seems to be a gentleman in =
the
highest and truest sense of the word. If I could live to see Norah his wife=
, I
should almost feel that I had lived long enough. But who can discern the
future? We have suffered so much that I am afraid to hope.
"Have you heard anything of Magdalen? I d=
on't
know why or how it is; but since I have known of her husband's death, my old
tenderness for her seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever. Always
yours truly,
"HARRIET GARTH."
From Mr. Pendril to Miss Garth.
"Serle Street, January 4th, 1848.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--Of Mrs. Noel Vanstone
herself I have heard nothing. But I have learned, since I saw you, that the
report of the position in which she is left by the death of her husband may=
be
depended upon as the truth. No legacy of any kind is bequeathed to her. Her
name is not once mentioned in her husband's will.
"Knowing what we know, it is not to be
concealed that this circumstance threatens us with more embarrassment, and
perhaps with more distress. Mrs. Noel Vanstone is not the woman to submit,
without a desperate resistance, to the total overthrow of all her schemes a=
nd
all her hopes. The mere fact that nothing whatever has been heard of her si=
nce
her husband's death is suggestive to my mind of serious mischief to come. In
her situation, and with her temper, the quieter she is now, the more invete=
rately
I, for one, distrust her in the future. It is impossible to say to what vio=
lent
measures her present extremity may not drive her. It is impossible to feel =
sure
that she may not be the cause of some public scandal this time, which may a=
ffect
her innocent sister as well as herself.
"I know you will not misinterpret the mot=
ive
which has led me to write these lines; I know you will not think that I am
inconsiderate enough to cause you unnecessary alarm. My sincere anxiety to =
see
that happy prospect realized to which your letter alludes has caused me to
write far less reservedly than I might otherwise have written. I strongly u=
rge you
to use your influence, on every occasion when you can fairly exert it, to
strengthen that growing attachment, and to place it beyond the reach of any
coming disasters, while you have the opportunity of doing so. When I tell y=
ou
that the fortune of which Mrs. Noel Vanstone has been deprived is entirely
bequeathed to Admiral Bartram; and when I add that Mr. George Bartram is
generally understood to be his uncle's heir--you will, I think, acknowledge
that I am not warning you without a cause. Yours most truly,
"WILLIAM PENDRIL."
From Admiral Bartram to Mrs. Drake (housekeepe=
r at
St. Crux).
"St. Crux, January 10th, 1848.
"MRS. DRAKE--I have received your letter =
from
London, stating that you have found me a new parlor-maid at last, and that =
the
girl is ready to return with you to St. Crux when your other errands in town
allow you to come back.
"This arrangement must be altered
immediately, for a reason which I am heartily sorry to have to write.
"The illness of my niece, Mrs.
Girdlestone--which appeared to be so slight as to alarm none of us, doctors
included--has ended fatally. I received this morning the shocking news of h=
er
death. Her husband is said to be quite frantic with grief. Mr. George has
already gone to his brother-in-law's, to superintend the last melancholy du=
ties
and I must follow him before the funeral takes place. We propose to take Mr=
. Girdlestone
away afterward, and to try the effect on him of change of place and new sce=
nes.
Under these sad circumstances, I may be absent from St. Crux a month or six
weeks at least; the house will be shut up, and the new servant will not be
wanted until my return.
"You will therefore tell the girl, on
receiving this letter, that a death in the family has caused a temporary ch=
ange
in our arrangements. If she is willing to wait, you may safely engage her to
come here in six weeks' time; I shall be back then, if Mr. George is not. If
she refuses, pay her what compensation is right, and so have done with her.
Yours,
"ARTHUR BARTRAM."
From Mrs. Drake to Admiral Bartram.
"January 11th.
"HONORED SIR--I hope to get my errands do=
ne,
and to return to St. Crux to-morrow, but write to save you anxiety, in case=
of
delay.
"The young woman whom I have engaged (Lou=
isa
by name) is willing to wait your time; and her present mistress, taking an
interest in her welfare, will provide for her during the interval. She unde=
rstands
that she is to enter on her new service in six weeks from the present
date--namely, on the twenty-fifth of February next.
"Begging you will accept my respectful
sympathy under the sad bereavement which has befallen the family,
"I remain, honored sir, your humble serva=
nt,
"SOPHIA DRAKE."
=
CHAPTER
I.
"THIS is where you are to sleep. Put your=
self
tidy, and then come down again to my room. The admiral has returned, and you
will have to begin by waiting on him at dinner to-day."
With those words, Mrs. Drake, the housekeeper,
closed the door; and the new parlor-maid was left alone in her bed-chamber =
at
St. Crux.
That day was the eventful twenty-fifth of
February. In barely four months from the time when Mrs. Lecount had placed =
her
master's private Instructions in his Executor's hands, the one combination =
of circumstances
against which it had been her first and foremost object to provide was exac=
tly
the combination which had now taken place. Mr. Noel Vanstone's widow and
Admiral Bartram's Secret Trust were together in the same house.
Thus far, events had declared themselves witho=
ut
an exception in Magdalen's favor. Thus far, the path which had led her to S=
t.
Crux had been a path without an obstacle: Louisa, whose name she had now ta=
ken,
had sailed three days since for Australia, with her husband and her child; =
she
was the only living creature whom Magdalen had trusted with her secret, and=
she
was by this time out of sight of the English land. The girl had been carefu=
l,
reliable and faithfully devoted to her mistress's interests to the last. She
had passed the ordeal of her interview with the housekeeper, and had forgot=
ten
none of the instructions by which she had been prepared to meet it. She had
herself proposed to turn the six weeks' delay, caused by the death in the a=
dmiral's
family, to good account, by continuing the all-important practice of those
domestic lessons, on the perfect acquirement of which her mistress's daring
stratagem depended for its success. Thanks to the time thus gained, when
Louisa's marriage was over, and the day of parting had come, Magdalen had
learned and mastered, in the nicest detail, everything that her former serv=
ant
could teach her. On the day when she passed the doors of St. Crux she enter=
ed
on her desperate venture, strong in the ready presence of mind under
emergencies which her later life had taught her, stronger still in the trai=
ned
capacity that she possessed for the assumption of a character not her own, =
strongest
of all in her two months' daily familiarity with the practical duties of the
position which she had undertaken to fill.
=
As
soon as Mrs. Drake's departure had left her alone, she unpacked her box, and
dressed herself for the evening.
She put on a lavender-colored
stuff-gown--half-mourning for Mrs. Girdlestone; ordered for all the servant=
s,
under the admiral's instructions--a white muslin apron, and a neat white cap
and collar, with ribbons to match the gown. In this servant's costume--in t=
he
plain gown fastening high round her neck, in the neat little white cap at t=
he
back of her head--in this simple dress, to the eyes of all men, not
linen-drapers, at once the most modest and the most alluring that a woman c=
an
wear, the sad changes which mental suffering had wrought in her beauty almo=
st
disappeared from view. In the evening costume of a lady, with her bosom
uncovered, with her figure armed, rather than dressed, in unpliable silk, t=
he
admiral might have passed her by without notice in his own drawing-room. In=
the
evening costume of a servant, no admirer of beauty could have looked at her
once and not have turned again to look at her for the second time.
Descending the stairs, on her way to the
house-keeper's room, she passed by the entrances to two long stone corridor=
s,
with rows of doors opening on them; one corridor situated on the second, and
one on the first floor of the house. "Many rooms!" she thought, as
she looked at the doors. "Weary work searching here for what I have co=
me
to find!"
On reaching the ground-floor she was met by a
weather-beaten old man, who stopped and stared at her with an appearance of
great interest. He was the same old man whom Captain Wragge had seen in the
backyard at St. Crux, at work on the model of a ship. All round the neighbo=
rhood
he was known, far and wide, as "the admiral's coxswain." His name=
was
Mazey. Sixty years had written their story of hard work at sea, and hard dr=
inking
on shore, on the veteran's grim and wrinkled face. Sixty years had proved h=
is
fidelity, and had brought his battered old carcass, at the end of the voyag=
e,
into port in his master's house.
Seeing no one else of whom she could inquire,
Magdalen requested the old man to show her the way that led to the
housekeeper's room.
"I'll show you, my dear," said old
Mazey, speaking in the high and hollow voice peculiar to the deaf. "Yo=
u're
the new maid--eh? And a fine-grown girl, too! His honor, the admiral, likes=
a
parlor-maid with a clean run fore and aft. You'll do, my dear--you'll do.&q=
uot;
"You must not mind what Mr. Mazey says to
you," remarked t he housekeeper, opening her door as the old sailor
expressed his approval of Magdalen in these terms. "He is privileged t=
o t
alk as he pleases; and he is very tiresome and slovenly in his habits; but =
he
means no harm."
With that apology for the veteran, Mrs. Drake =
led
Magdalen first to the pantry, and next to the linen-room, installing her, w=
ith
all due formality, in her own domestic dominions. This ceremony completed, =
the new
parlor-maid was taken upstairs, and was shown the dining-room, which opened=
out
of the corridor on the first floor. Here she was directed to lay the cloth,=
and
to prepare the table for one person only--Mr. George Bartram not having
returned with his uncle to St. Crux. Mrs. Drake's sharp eyes watched Magdal=
en
attentively as she performed this introductory duty; and Mrs. Drake's priva=
te
convictions, when the table was spread, forced her to acknowledge, so far, =
that
the new servant thoroughly understood her work.
An hour later the soup-tureen was placed on the
table; and Magdalen stood alone behind the admiral's empty chair, waiting h=
er
master's first inspection of her when he entered the dining-room.
A large bell rang in the lower regions--quick,
shambling footsteps pattered on the stone corridor outside--the door opened
suddenly--and a tall lean yellow old man, sharp as to his eyes, shrewd as to
his lips, fussily restless as to all his movements, entered the room, with =
two huge
Labrador dogs at his heels, and took his seat in a violent hurry. The dogs =
followed
him, and placed themselves, with the utmost gravity and composure, one on e=
ach
side of his chair. This was Admiral Bartram, and these were the companions =
of
his solitary meal.
"Ay! ay! ay! here's the new parlor-maid, =
to
be sure!" he began, looking sharply, but not at all unkindly, at Magda=
len.
"What's your name, my good girl? Louisa, is it? I shall call you Lucy,=
if
you don't mind. Take off the cover, my dear--I'm a minute or two late to-da=
y.
Don't be unpunctual to-morrow on that account; I am as regular as clock-wor=
k generally.
How are you after your journey? Did my spring-cart bump you about much in
bringing you from the station? Capital soup this--hot as fire--reminds me of
the soup we used to have in the West Indies in the year Three. Have you got
your half-mourning on? Stand there, and let me see. Ah, yes, very neat, and
nice, and tidy. Poor Mrs. Girdlestone! Oh dear, dear, dear, poor Mrs.
Girdlestone! You're not afraid of dogs, are you, Lucy? Eh? What? You like d=
ogs?
That's right! Always be kind to dumb animals. These two dogs dine with me e=
very
day, except when there's company. The dog with the black nose is Brutus, and
the dog with the white nose is Cassius. Did you ever hear who Brutus and
Cassius were? Ancient Romans? That's right---good girl. Mind your book and =
your
needle, and we'll get you a good husband one of these days. Take away the s=
oup,
my dear, take away the soup!"
This was the man whose secret it was now the o=
ne
interest of Magdalen's life to surprise! This was the man whose name had
supplanted hers in Noel Vanstone's will!
The fish and the roast meat followed; and the
admiral's talk rambled on--now in soliloquy, now addressed to the parlor-ma=
id,
and now directed to the dogs--as familiarly and as discontentedly as ever.
Magdalen observed with some surprise that the companions of the admiral's
dinner had, thus far, received no scraps from their master's plate. The two=
magnificent
brutes sat squatted on their haunches, with their great heads over the tabl=
e,
watching the progress of the meal, with the profoundest attention, but
apparently expecting no share in it. The roast meat was removed, the admira=
l's
plate was changed, and Magdalen took the silver covers off the two made-dis=
hes
on either side of the table. As she handed the first of the savory dishes to
her master, the dogs suddenly exhibited a breathless personal interest in t=
he proceedings.
Brutus gluttonously watered at the mouth; and the tongue of Cassius, protru=
ding
in unutterable expectation, smoked again between his enormous jaws.
The admiral helped himself liberally from the
dish; sent Magdalen to the side-table to get him some bread; and, when he
thought her eye was off him, furtively tumbled the whole contents of his pl=
ate
into Brutus's mouth. Cassius whined faintly as his fortunate comrade swallo=
wed
the savory mess at a gulp. "Hush! you fool," whispered the admira=
l.
"Your turn next!"
Magdalen presented the second dish. Once more =
the
old gentleman helped himself largely--once more he sent her away to the
side-table--once more he tumbled the entire contents of the plate down the
dog's throat, selecting Cassius this time, as became a considerate master a=
nd
an impartial man. When the next course followed--consisting of a plain pudd=
ing
and an unwholesome "cream"--Magdalen's suspicion of the function =
of
the dogs at the dinner-table was confirmed. While the master took the simple
pudding, the dogs swallowed the elaborate cream. The admiral was plainly af=
raid
of offending his cook on the one hand, and of offending his digestion on the
other--and Brutus and Cassius were the two trained accomplices who regularly
helped him every day off the horns of his dilemma. "Very good! very
good!" said the old gentleman, with the most transparent duplicity.
"Tell the cook, my dear, a capital cream!"
Having placed the wine and dessert on the tabl=
e,
Magdalen was about to withdraw. Before she could leave the room, her master
called her back.
"Stop, stop!" said the admiral;
"you don't know the ways of the house yet, Lucy. Put another wine-glas=
s here,
at my right hand--the largest you can find, my dear. I've got a third dog, =
who
comes in at dessert--a drunken old sea-dog who has followed my fortunes, af=
loat
and ashore, for fifty years and more. Yes, yes, that's the sort of glass we
want. You're a good girl--you're a neat, handy girl. Steady, my dear! there=
's
nothing to be frightened at!"
A sudden thump on the outside of the door,
followed by one mighty bark from each of the dogs, had made Magdalen start.
"Come in!" shouted the admiral. The door opened; the tails of Bru=
tus
and Cassius cheerfully thumped the floor; and old Mazey marched straight up=
to
the right-hand side of his master's chair. The veteran stood there, with his
legs wide apart and his balance carefully adjusted, as if the dining-room h=
ad
been a cabin, and the house a ship pitching in a sea-way.
The admiral filled the large glass with port,
filled his own glass with claret, and raised it to his lips.
"God bless the Queen, Mazey," said t=
he
admiral.
"God bless the Queen, your honor," s=
aid
old Mazey, swallowing his port, as the dogs swallowed the made-dishes, at a
gulp.
"How's the wind, Mazey?"
"West and by Noathe, your honor."
"Any report to-night, Mazey!"
"No report, your honor."
"Good-evening, Mazey."
"Good-evening, your honor."
The after-dinner ceremony thus completed, old
Mazey made his bow, and walked out of the room again. Brutus and Cassius
stretched themselves on the rug to digest mushrooms and made gravies in the
lubricating heat of the fire. "For what we have received, the Lord mak=
e us
truly thankful," said the admiral. "Go downstairs, my good girl, =
and
get your supper. A light meal, Lucy, if you take my advice--a light meal, or
you will have the nightmare. Early to bed, my dear, and early to rise, make=
s a
parlor-maid healthy and wealthy and wise. That's the wisdom of your
ancestors--you mustn't laugh at it. Good-night." In those words Magdal=
en
was dismissed; and so her first day's experience of Admiral Bartram came to=
an
end.
=
After
breakfast the next morning, the admiral's directions to the new parlor-maid
included among them one particular order which, in Magdalen's situation, it=
was
especially her interest to receive. In the old gentleman's absence from home
that day, on local business which took him to Ossory, she was directed to m=
ake
herself acquainted with the whole inhabited quarter of the house, and to le=
arn
the positions of the various rooms, so as to know where the bells called her
when the bells rang. Mrs. Drake was charged with the duty of superintending=
the
voyage of domestic discovery, unless she happened to be otherwise engaged--=
in which
case any one of the inferior servants would be equally competent to act as
Magdalen's guide.
At noon the admiral left for Ossory, and Magda=
len
presented herself in Mrs. Drake's room, to be shown over the house. Mrs. Dr=
ake
happened to be otherwise engaged, and referred her to the head house-maid. =
The head
house-maid happened on that particular morning to be in the same condition =
as
Mrs. Drake, and referred her to the under-house-maids. The under-house-maids
declared they were all behindhand and had not a minute to spare--they
suggested, not too civilly, that old Mazey had nothing on earth to do, and =
that
he knew the house as well, or better, than he knew his A B C. Magdalen took=
the
hint, with a secret indignation and contempt which it cost her a hard strug=
gle
to conceal. She had suspected, on the previous night, and she was certain n=
ow,
that the women-servants all incomprehensibly resented her presence among th=
em with
the same sullen unanimity of distrust. Mrs. Drake, as she had seen for hers=
elf,
was really engaged that morning over her accounts. But of all the servants
under her who had made their excuses not one had even affected to be more
occupied than usual. Their looks said plainly, "We don't like you; and=
we
won't show you over the house."
She found her way to old Mazey, not by the sca=
nty
directions given her, but by the sound of the veteran's cracked and quaveri=
ng
voice, singing in some distant seclusion a verse of the immortal
sea-song--"Tom Bowling." Just as she stopped among the rambling s=
tone
passages on the basement story of the house, uncertain which way to turn ne=
xt,
she heard the tuneless old voice in the distance, singing these lines:
"His form w=
as of
the manliest beau-u-u-uty, His heart w=
as
ki-i-ind and soft; Faithful be=
low
Tom did his duty, But now he'=
s gone
alo-o-o-o-oft --But now h=
e's
go-o-o-one aloft!"
Magdalen followed in the direction of the
quavering voice, and found herself in a little room looking out on the back
yard. There sat old Mazey, with his spectacles low on his nose, and his kno=
tty
old hands blundering over the rigging of his model ship. There were Brutus =
and
Cassius digesting before the fire again, and snoring as if they thoroughly
enjoyed it. There was Lord Nelson on one wall, in flaming watercolors; and
there, on the other, was a portrait of Admiral Bartram's last flagship, in =
full
sail on a sea of slate, with a salmon-colored sky to complete the illusion.=
"What, they won't show you over the
house--won't they?" said old Mazey. "I will, then! That head
house-maid's a sour one, my dear--if ever there was a sour one yet. You're =
too
young and good-looking to please 'em--that's what you are." He rose, t=
ook
off his spectacles, and feebly mended the fire. "She's as straight as a
poplar," said old Mazey, considering Magdalen's figure in drowsy
soliloquy. "I say she's as straight as a poplar, and his honor the adm=
iral
says so too! Come along, my dear," he proceeded, addressing himself to
Magdalen again. "I'll teach you your Pints of the Compass first. When =
you
know your Pints, blow high, blow low, you'll find it plain sailing all over=
the
house."
He led the way to the door--stopped, and sudde=
nly
bethinking himself of his miniature ship, went back to put his model away i=
n an
empty cupboard--led the way to the door again--stopped once more--remembere=
d that
some of the rooms were chilly--and pottered about, swearing and grumbling, =
and
looking for his hat. Magdalen sat down patiently to wait for him. She
gratefully contrasted his treatment of her with the treatment she had recei=
ved
from the women. Resist it as firmly, despise it as proudly as we may, all
studied unkindness--no matter how contemptible it may be--has a stinging po=
wer
in it which reaches to the quick. Magdalen only knew how she had felt the s=
mall
malice of the female servants, by the effect which the rough kindness of the
old sailor produced on her afterward. The dumb welcome of the dogs, when th=
e movements
in the room had roused them from their sleep, touched her more acutely stil=
l.
Brutus pushed his mighty muzzle companionably into her hand; and Cassius la=
id
his friendly fore-paw on her lap. Her heart yearned over the two creatures =
as
she patted and caressed them. It seemed only yesterday since she and the do=
gs
at Combe-Raven had roamed the garden together, and had idled away the summer
mornings luxuriously on the shady lawn.
Old Mazey found his hat at last, and they star=
ted
on their exploring expedition, with the dogs after them.
Leaving the basement story of the house, which=
was
entirely devoted to the servants' offices, they ascended to the first floor,
and entered the long corridor, with which Magdalen's last night's experience
had already made her acquainted. "Put your back ag'in this wall,"
said old Mazey, pointing to the long wall--pierced at irregular intervals w=
ith
windows looking out over a courtyard and fish-pond--which formed the right-=
hand
side of the corridor, as Magdalen now stood. "Put your back here,"=
; said
the veteran, "and look straight afore you. What do you
see?"--"The opposite wall of the passage," said
Magdalen.--"Ay! ay! what else?"--"The doors leading into the
rooms."--"What else?"--"I see nothing else." Old M=
azey
chuckled, winked, and shook his knotty forefinger at Magdalen, impressively.
"You see one of the Pints of the Compass, my dear. When you've got your
back ag'in this wall, and when you look straight afore you, you look Noathe=
. If
you ever get lost hereaway, put your back ag'in the wall, look out straight
afore you, and say to yourself: 'I look Noathe!' You do that like a good gi=
rl,
and you won't lose your bearings."
After administering this preliminary dose of
instruction, old Mazey opened the first of the doors on the left-hand side =
of
the passage. It led into the dining-room, with which Magdalen was already
familiar. The second room was fitted up as a library; and the third, as a m=
orning-room.
The fourth and fifth doors--both belonging to dismantled and uninhabited ro=
oms,
and both locked-brought them to the end of the north wing of the house, and=
to
the opening of a second and shorter passage, placed at a right angle to the
first. Here old Mazey, who had divided his time pretty equally during the
investigation of the rooms, in talking of "his honor the Admiral,"
and whistling to the dogs, returned with all possible expedition to the poi=
nts
of the compass, and gravely directed Magdalen to repeat the ceremony of put=
ting
her back against the wall. She attempted to shorten the proceedings, by dec=
laring
(quite correctly) that in her present position she knew she was looking eas=
t.
"Don't you talk about the east, my dear," said old Mazey, proceed=
ing
unmoved with his own system of instruction, "till you know the east fi=
rst.
Put your back ag'in this wall, and look straight afore you. What do you
see?" The remainder of the catechism proceeded as before. When the end=
was
reached, Magdalen's instructor was satisfied. He chuckled and winked at her
once more. "Now you may talk about the east, my dear," said the
veteran, "for now you know it."
The east passage, after leading them on for a =
few
yards only, terminated in a vestibule, with a high door in it which faced t=
hem
as they advanced. The door admitted them to a large and lofty drawing-room,=
decorated,
like all the other apartments, with valuable old-fashioned furniture. Leadi=
ng
the way across this room, Magdalen's conductor pushed back a heavy
sliding-door, opposite the door of entrance. "Put your apron over your
head," said old Mazey. "We are coming to the Banqueting-Hall now.=
The
floor's mortal cold, and the damp sticks to the place like cockroaches to a
collier. His honor the admiral calls it the Arctic Passage. I've got my name
for it, too--I call it, Freeze-your-Bones."
Magdalen passed through the doorway, and found
herself in the ancient Banqueting-Hall of St. Crux.
On her left hand she saw a row of lofty window=
s,
set deep in embrasures, and extending over a frontage of more than a hundred
fee t in length. On her right hand, ranged in one long row from end to end =
of
the opposite wall, hung a dismal collection of black, begrimed old pictures,
rotting from their frames, and representing battle-scenes by sea and land.
Below the pictures, midway down the length of the wall, yawned a huge caver=
n of
a fireplace, surmounted by a towering mantel-piece of black marble. The one
object of furniture (if furniture it might be called) visible far or near in
the vast emptiness of the place, was a gaunt ancient tripod of curiously ch=
ased
metal, standing lonely in the middle of the hall, and supporting a wide
circular pan, filled deep with ashes from an extinct charcoal fire. The high
ceiling, once finely carved and gilt, was foul with dirt and cobwebs; the n=
aked
walls at either end of the room were stained with damp; and the cold of the
marble floor struck through the narrow strip of matting laid down, parallel
with the windows, as a foot-path for passengers across the wilderness of th=
e room.
No better name for it could have been devised than the name which old Mazey=
had
found. "Freeze-your-Bones" accurately described, in three words, =
the
Banqueting-Hall at St. Crux.
"Do you never light a fire in this dismal
place?" asked Magdalen.
"It all depends on which side of
Freeze-your-Bones his honor the admiral lives," said old Mazey. "=
His
honor likes to shift his quarters, sometimes to one side of the house,
sometimes to the other. If he lives Noathe of Freeze-your-Bones--which is w=
here
you've just come from--we don't waste our coals here. If he lives South of =
Freeze-your-Bones--which
is where we are going to next--we light the fire in the grate and the charc=
oal
in the pan. Every night, when we do that, the damp gets the better of us: e=
very
morning, we turn to again, and get the better of the damp."
With this remarkable explanation, old Mazey led
the way to the lower end of the Hall, opened more doors, and showed Magdalen
through another suite of rooms, four in number, all of moderate size, and a=
ll
furnished in much the same manner as the rooms in the northern wing. She lo=
oked
out of the windows, and saw the neglected gardens of St. Crux, overgrown wi=
th
brambles and weeds. Here and there, at no great distance in the grounds, the
smoothly curving line of one of the tidal streams peculiar to the locality
wound its way, gleaming in the sunlight, through gaps in the brambles and
trees. The more distant view ranged over the flat eastward country beyond,
speckled with its scattered little villages; crossed and recrossed by its
network of "back-waters"; and terminated abruptly by the long
straight line of sea-wall which protects the defenseless coast of Essex from
invasion by the sea.
"Have we more rooms still to see?" a=
sked
Magdalen, turning from the view of the garden, and looking about her for
another door.
"No more, my dear--we've run aground here,
and we may as well wear round and put back again," said old Mazey.
"There's another side of the house--due south of you as you stand
now--which is all tumbling about our ears. You must go out into the garden =
if
you want to see it; it's built off from us by a brick bulkhead, t'other sid=
e of
this wall here. The monks lived due south of us, my dear, hundreds of years
afore his honor the admiral was born or thought of, and a fine time of it t=
hey had,
as I've heard. They sang in the church all the morning, and drank grog in t=
he
orchard all the afternoon. They slept off their grog on the best of
feather-beds, and they fattened on the neighborhood all the year round. Luc=
ky
beggars! lucky beggars!"
Apostrophizing the monks in these terms, and e=
vidently
regretting that he had not lived himself in those good old times, the veter=
an
led the way back through the rooms. On the return passage across "Free=
ze-your-Bones,"
Magdalen preceded him. "She's as straight as a poplar," mumbled o=
ld
Mazey to himself, hobbling along after his youthful companion, and wagging =
his
venerable head in cordial approval. "I never was particular what nation
they belonged to; but I always did like 'em straight and fine grown, and I
always shall like 'em straight and fine grown, to my dying day."
"Are there more rooms to see upstairs, on=
the
second floor?" asked Magdalen, when they had returned to the point from
which they had started.
The naturally clear, distinct tones of her voi=
ce
had hitherto reached the old sailor's imperfect sense of hearing easily eno=
ugh.
Rather to her surprise, he became stone deaf on a sudden, to her last quest=
ion.
"Are you sure of your Pints of the
Compass?" he inquired. "If you're not sure, put your back ag'in t=
he
wall, and we'll go all over 'em again, my dear, beginning with the
Noathe."
Magdalen assured him that she felt quite famil=
iar,
by this time, with all the points, the "Noathe" included; and then
repeated her question in louder tones. The veteran obstinately matched her =
by
becoming deafer than ever.
"Yes, my dear," he said, "you're
right; it is chilly in these passages; and unless I go back to my fire, my
fire'll go out--won't it? If you don't feel sure of your Pints of the Compa=
ss,
come in to me and I'll put you right again." He winked benevolently,
whistled to the dogs, and hobbled off. Magdalen heard him chuckle over his =
own
success in balking her curiosity on the subject of the second floor. "I
know how to deal with 'em!" said old Mazey to himself, in high triumph.
"Tall and short, native and foreign, sweethearts and wives--I know how=
to
deal with 'em!"
Left by herself, Magdalen exemplified the
excellence of the old sailor's method of treatment, in her particular case,=
by
ascending the stairs immediately, to make her own observations on the second
floor. The stone passage here was exactly similar, except that more doors
opened out of it, to the passage on the first floor. She opened the two nea=
rest
doors, one after another, at a venture, and discovered that both rooms were=
bed-chambers.
The fear of being discovered by one of the woman-servants in a part of the
house with which she had no concern, warned her not to push her investigati=
ons
on the bedroom floor too far at starting. She hurriedly walked down the pas=
sage
to see where it ended, discovered that it came to its termination in a
lumber-room, answering to the position of the vestibule downstairs, and
retraced her steps immediately.
On her way back she noticed an object which had
previously escaped her attention. It was a low truckle-bed, placed parallel
with the wall, and close to one of the doors on the bedroom side. In spite =
of
its strange and comfortless situation, the bed was apparently occupied at n=
ight
by a sleeper; the sheets were on it, and the end of a thick red fisherman's=
cap
peeped out from under the pillow. She ventured on opening the door near whi=
ch
the bed was placed, and found herself, as she conjectured from certain signs
and tokens, in the admiral's sleeping chamber. A moment's observation of the
room was all she dared risk, and, softly closing the door again, she return=
ed
to the kitchen regions.
The truckle-bed, and the strange position in w=
hich
it was placed, dwelt on her mind all through the afternoon. Who could possi=
bly
sleep in it? The remembrance of the red fisherman's cap, and the knowledge =
she
had already gained of Mazey's dog-like fidelity to his master, helped her t=
o guess
that the old sailor might be the occupant of the truckle-bed. But why, with
bedrooms enough and to spare, should he occupy that cold and comfortless
situation at night? Why should he sleep on guard outside his master's door?=
Was
there some nocturnal danger in the house of which the admiral was afraid? T=
he
question seemed absurd, and yet the position of the bed forced it irresisti=
bly
on her mind.
Stimulated by her own ungovernable curiosity on
this subject, Magdalen ventured to question the housekeeper. She acknowledg=
ed
having walked from end to end of the passage on the second floor, to see if=
it
was as long as the passage on the first; and she mentioned having noticed w=
ith astonishment
the position of the truckle-bed. Mrs. Drake answered her implied inquiry
shortly and sharply. "I don't blame a young girl like you," said =
the
old lady, "for being a little curious when she first comes into such a=
strange
house as this. But remember, for the future, that yo ur business does not l=
ie
on the bedroom story. Mr. Mazey sleeps on that bed you noticed. It is his h=
abit
at night to sleep outside his master's door." With that meager explana=
tion
Mrs. Drake's lips closed, and opened no more.
Later in the day Magdalen found an opportunity=
of
applying to old Mazey himself. She discovered the veteran in high good humo=
r,
smoking his pipe, and warming a tin mug of ale at his own snug fire.
"Mr. Mazey," she asked, boldly,
"why do you put your bed in that cold passage?"
"What! you have been upstairs, you young jade, have you?" said old Mazey, looking up from his mug with a leer.<= o:p>
Magdalen smiled and nodded. "Come! come! =
tell
me," she said, coaxingly. "Why do you sleep outside the admiral's
door?"
"Why do you part your hair in the middle,=
my
dear?" asked old Mazey, with another leer.
"I suppose, because I am accustomed to do
it," answered Magdalen.
"Ay! ay!" said the veteran. "Th=
at's
why, is it? Well, my dear, the reason why you part your hair in the middle =
is
the reason why I sleep outside the admiral's door. I know how to deal with
'em!" chuckled old Mazey, lapsing into soliloquy, and stirring up his =
ale
in high triumph. "Tall and short, native and foreign, sweethearts and
wives--I know how to deal with 'em!"
Magdalen's third and last attempt at solving t=
he
mystery of the truckle-bed was made while she was waiting on the admiral at
dinner. The old gentleman's questions gave her an opportunity of referring =
to
the subject, without any appearance of presumption or disrespect; but he pr=
oved
to be quite as impenetrable, in his way, as old Mazey and Mrs. Drake had be=
en
in theirs. "It doesn't concern you, my dear," said the admiral,
bluntly. "Don't be curious. Look in your Old Testament when you go
downstairs, and see what happened in the Garden of Eden through curiosity. =
Be a
good girl, and don't imitate your mother Eve."
Late at night, as Magdalen passed the end of t=
he
second-floor passage, proceeding alone on her way up to her own room, she
stopped and listened. A screen was placed at the entrance of the corridor, =
so
as to hide it from the view of persons passing on the stairs. The snoring s=
he heard
on the other side of the screen encouraged her to slip round it, and to adv=
ance
a few steps. Shading the light of her candle with her hand, she ventured cl=
ose
to the admiral's door, and saw, to her surprise, that the bed had been moved
since she had seen it in the day-time, so as to stand exactly across the do=
or,
and to bar the way entirely to any one who might attempt to enter the admir=
al's
room. After this discovery, old Mazey himself, snoring lustily, with the re=
d fisherman's
cap pulled down to his eyebrows, and the blankets drawn up to his nose, bec=
ame
an object of secondary importance only, by comparison with his bed. That the
veteran did actually sleep on guard before his master's door, and that he a=
nd
the admiral and the housekeeper were in the secret of this unaccountable
proceeding, was now beyond all doubt.
"A strange end," thought Magdalen,
pondering over her discovery as she stole upstairs to her own
sleeping-room--"a strange end to a strange day!"
=
THE first week passed, the second week passed,=
and
Magdalen was, to all appearance, no nearer to the discovery of the Secret T=
rust
than on the day when she first entered on her service at St. Crux.
But the fortnight, uneventful as it was, had n=
ot
been a fortnight lost. Experience had already satisfied her on one important
point--experience had shown that she could set the rooted distrust of the o=
ther
servants safely at defiance. Time had accustomed the women to her presence =
in the
house, without shaking the vague conviction which possessed them all alike,
that the newcomer was not one of themselves. All that Magdalen could do in =
her
own defense was to keep the instinctive female suspicion of her confined wi=
thin
those purely negative limits which it had occupied from the first, and this=
she
accomplished.
Day after day the women watched her with the
untiring vigilance of malice and distrust, and day after day not the vestig=
e of
a discovery rewarded them for their pains. Silently, intelligently, and ind=
ustriously--with
an ever-present remembrance of herself and her place--the new parlor-maid d=
id
her work. Her only intervals of rest and relaxation were the intervals pass=
ed
occasionally in the day with old Mazey and the dogs, and the precious inter=
val
of the night during which she was secure from observation in the solitude of
her room. Thanks to the superfluity of bed-chambers at St. Crux, each one of
the servants had the choice, if she pleased, of sleeping in a room of her o=
wn.
Alone in the night, Magdalen might dare to be herself again--might dream of=
the
past, and wake from the dream, encountering no curious eyes to notice that =
she
was in tears--might ponder over the future, and be roused by no whisperings=
in
corners, which tainted her with the suspicion of "having something on =
her
mind."
Satisfied, thus far, of the perfect security of
her position in the house, she profited next by a second chance in her favo=
r,
which--before the fortnight was at an end--relieved her mind of all doubt on
the formidable subject of Mrs. Lecount.
Partly from the accidental gossip of the women=
at
the table in the servants' hall; partly from a marked paragraph in a Swiss
newspaper, which she had found one morning lying open on the admiral's easy=
-chair--she
gained the welcome assurance that no danger was to be dreaded, this time, f=
rom
the housekeeper's presence on the scene. Mrs. Lecount had, as it appeared,
passed a week or more at St. Crux after the date of her master's death, and=
had
then left England, to live on the interest of her legacy, in honorable and
prosperous retirement, in her native place. The paragraph in the Swiss news=
paper
described the fulfillment of this laudable project. Mrs. Lecount had not on=
ly established
herself at Zurich, but (wisely mindful of the uncertainty of life) had also
settled the charitable uses to which her fortune was to be applied after her
death. One half of it was to go to the founding of a "Lecompte
Scholarship" for poor students in the University of Geneva. The other =
half
was to be employed by the municipal authorities of Zurich in the maintenance
and education of a certain number of orphan girls, natives of the city, who
were to be trained for domestic service in later life. The Swiss journalist
adverted to these philanthropic bequests in terms of extravagant eulogy. Zu=
rich
was congratulated on the possession of a Paragon of public virtue; and Will=
iam
Tell, in the character of benefactor to Switzerland, was compared
disadvantageously with Mrs. Lecount.
=
The
third week began, and Magdalen was now at liberty to take her first step
forward on the way to the discovery of the Secret Trust.
She ascertained from old Mazey that it was his
master's custom, during the winter and spring months, to occupy the rooms in
the north wing; and during the summer and autumn to cross the Arctic passag=
e of
"Freeze-your-Bones," and live in the eastward apartments which lo=
oked
out on the garden. While the Banqueting-Hall remained--owing to the admiral=
's
inadequate pecuniary resources--in its damp and dismantled state, and while=
the
interior of St. Crux was thus comfortlessly divided into two separate
residences, no more convenient arrangement than this could well have been
devised. Now and then (as Magdalen understood from her informant) there were
days, both in winter and summer, when the admiral became anxious about the
condition of the rooms which he was not occupying at the time, and when he
insisted on investigating the state of the furniture, the pictures, and the
books with his own eyes. On these occasions, in summer as in winter, a blaz=
ing
fire was kindled for some days previously in the large grate, and the charc=
oal was
lighted in the tripod-pan, to keep the Banqueting-Hall as warm as circumsta=
nces
would admit. As soon as the old gentleman's anxieties were set at rest the
rooms were shut up again, and "Freeze-your-Bones" was once more a=
bandoned
for weeks and weeks together to damp, desolation, and decay. The last of th=
ese
temporary migrations had taken place only a few days since; the admiral had
satisfied himself that the rooms in the east wing were none the worse for t=
he
absence of their master, and he might now be safely reckoned on as settled =
in
the north wing for weeks, and perhaps, if the season was cold, for months to
come.
Trifling as they might be in themselves, these
particulars were of serious importance to Magdalen, for they helped her to =
fix
the limits of the field of search. Assuming that the admiral was likely to =
keep
all his important documents within easy reach of his own hand, she might no=
w feel
certain that the Secret Trust was secured in one or other of the rooms in t=
he
north wing.
In which room? That question was not easy to
answer.
Of the four inhabitable rooms which were all at
the admiral's disposal during the day--that is to say, of the dining-room, =
the
library, the morning-room, and the drawing-room opening out of the
vestibule--the library appeared to be the apartment in which, if he had a
preference, he passed the greater part of his time. There was a table in th=
is
room, with drawers that locked; there was a magnificent Italian cabinet, wi=
th doors
that locked; there were five cupboards under the book-cases, every one of w=
hich
locked. There were receptacles similarly secured in the other rooms; and in=
all
or any of these papers might be kept.
She had answered the bell, and had seen him
locking and unlocking, now in one room, now in another, but oftenest in the
library. She had noticed occasionally that his expression was fretful and
impatient when he looked round at her from an open cabinet or cupboard and =
gave
his orders; and she inferred that something in connection with his papers a=
nd
possessions--it might or might not be the Secret Trust--irritated and annoy=
ed
him from time to time. She had heard him more than once lock something up in
one of the rooms, come out and go into another room, wait there a few minut=
es,
then return to the first room with his keys in his hand, and sharply turn t=
he
locks and turn them again. This fidgety anxiety about his keys and his
cupboards might be the result of the inbred restlessness of his disposition,
aggravated in a naturally active man by the aimless indolence of a life in
retirement--a life drifting backward and forward among trifles, with no reg=
ular
employment to steady it at any given hour of the day. On the other hand, it=
was
just as probable that these comings and goings, these lockings and unlockin=
gs, might
be attributable to the existence of some private responsibility which had
unexpectedly intruded itself into the old man's easy existence, and which
tormented him with a sense of oppression new to the experience of his later
years. Either one of these interpretations might explain his conduct as
reasonably and as probably as the other. Which was the right interpretation=
of
the two, it was, in Magdalen's position, impossible to say.
The one certain discovery at which she arrived=
was
made in her first day's observation of him. The admiral was a rigidly caref=
ul
man with his keys.
All the smaller keys he kept on a ring in the
breast-pocket of his coat. The larger he locked up together; generally, but=
not
always, in one of the drawers of the library table. Sometimes he left them
secured in this way at night; sometimes he took them up to the bedroom with=
him
in a little basket. He had no regular times for leaving them or for taking =
them
away with him; he had no discoverable reason for now securing them in the
library-table drawer, and now again locking them up in some other place. The
inveterate willfulness and caprice of his proceedings in these particulars
defied every effort to reduce them to a system, and baffled all attempts at
calculating on them beforehand.
The hope of gaining positive information to act
on, by laying artful snares for him which he might fall into in his talk,
proved, from the outset, to be utterly futile.
In Magdalen's situation all experiments of this
sort would have been in the last degree difficult and dangerous with any ma=
n.
With the admiral they were simply impossible. His tendency to veer about fr=
om
one subject to another; his habit of keeping his tongue perpetually going, =
so
long as there was anybody, no matter whom, within reach of the sound of his=
voice;
his comical want of all dignity and reserve with his servants, promised, in
appearance, much, and performed in reality nothing. No matter how diffident=
ly
or how respectfully Magdalen might presume on her master's example, and on =
her
master's evident liking for her, the old man instantly discovered the advan=
ce
she was making from her proper position, and instantly put her back in it
again, with a quaint good humor which inflicted no pain, but with a blunt
straightforwardness of purpose which permitted no escape. Contradictory as =
it
may sound, Admiral Bartram was too familiar to be approached; he kept the
distance between himself and his servant more effectually than if he had be=
en
the proudest man in England. The systematic reserve of a superior toward an=
inferior
may be occasionally overcome--the systematic familiarity never.
Slowly the time dragged on. The fourth week ca=
me;
and Magdalen had made no new discoveries. The prospect was depressing in the
last degree. Even in the apparently hopeless event of her devising a means =
of
getting at the admiral's keys, she could not count on retaining possession =
of
them unsuspected more than a few hours--hours which might be utterly wasted=
through
her not knowing in what direction to begin the search. The Trust might be
locked up in any one of some twenty receptacles for papers, situated in four
different rooms; and which room was the likeliest to look in, which recepta=
cle
was the most promising to begin with, which position among other heaps of
papers the one paper needful might be expected to occupy, was more than she
could say. Hemmed in by immeasurable uncertainties on every side; condemned=
, as
it were, to wander blindfold on the very brink of success, she waited for t=
he
chance that never came, for the event that never happened, with a patience =
which
was sinking already into the patience of despair.
Night after night she looked back over the
vanished days, and not an event rose on her memory to distinguish them one =
from
the other. The only interruptions to the weary uniformity of the life at St.
Crux were caused by the characteristic delinquencies of old Mazey and the d=
ogs.
At certain intervals, the original wildness br=
oke
out in the natures of Brutus and Cassius. The modest comforts of home, the
savory charms of made dishes, the decorous joy of digestions accomplished on
hearth-rugs, lost all their attractions, and the dogs ungratefully left the
house to seek dissipation and adventure in the outer world. On these occasi=
ons the
established after-dinner formula of question and answer between old Mazey a=
nd
his master varied a little in one particular. "God bless the Queen,
Mazey," and "How's the wind, Mazey?" were followed by a new =
inquiry:
"Where are the dogs, Mazey?" "Out on the loose, your honor, =
and
be damned to 'em," was the veteran's unvarying answer. The admiral alw=
ays
sighed and shook his head gravely at the news, as if Brutus and Cassius had
been sons of his own, who treated him with a want of proper filial respect.=
In
two or three days' time the dogs always returned, lean, dirty, and heartily
ashamed of themselves. For the whole of the next day they were invariably t=
ied
up in disgrace. On the day after they were scrubbed clean, and were formally
re-admitted to the dining-room. There, Civilization, acting through the sub=
tle
medium of the Saucepan, recovered its hold on them; and the admiral's two
prodigal sons, when they saw the covers removed, watered at the mouth as
copiously as ever.
Old Mazey, in his way, proved to be just as di=
sreputably
inclined on certain occasions as the dogs. At intervals, the original wildn=
ess
in his nature broke out; he, too, lost all relish for the comforts of home,=
and
ungratefully left the house. He usually disappeared in the afternoon, and
returned at night as drunk as liquor could make him. He was by many degrees=
too
seasoned a vessel to meet with any disasters on these occasions. His wicked=
old
legs might take roundabout methods of progression, but they never failed hi=
m;
his wicked old eyes might see double, but they always showed him the way ho=
me.
Try as hard as they might, the servants could never succeed in persuading h=
im
that he was drunk; he always scorned the imputation. He even declined to ad=
mit
the idea privately into his mind, until he had first tested his condition b=
y an
infallible criterion of his own.
It was his habit, in these cases of Bacchanali=
an
emergency, to stagger obstinately into his room on the ground-floor, to take
the model-ship out of the cupboard, and to try if he could proceed with the=
never-to-be-completed
employment of setting up the rigging. When he had smashed the tiny spars, a=
nd
snapped asunder the delicate ropes--then, and not till then, the veteran
admitted facts as they were, on the authority of practical evidence. "=
Ay!
ay!" he used to say confidentially to himself, "the women are rig=
ht.
Drunk again, Mazey--drunk again!" Having reached this discovery, it was
his habit to wait cunningly in the lower regions until the admiral was safe=
in
his room, and then to ascend in discreet list slippers to his post. Too war=
y to
attempt getting into the truckle-bed (which would have been only inviting t=
he
catastrophe of a fall against his master's door), he always walked himself
sober up and down the passage. More than once Magdalen had peeped round the
screen, and had seen the old sailor unsteadily keeping his watch, and fancy=
ing himself
once more at his duty on board ship. "This is an uncommonly lively ves=
sel
in a sea-way," he used to mutter under his breath, when his legs took =
him
down the passage in zigzag directions, or left him for the moment studying =
the
"Pints of the Compass" on his own system, with his back against t=
he
wall. "A nasty night, mind you," he would maunder on, taking anot=
her
turn. "As dark as your pocket, and the wind heading us again from the =
old
quarter." On the next day old Mazey, like the dogs, was kept downstair=
s in
disgrace. On the day after, like the dogs again, he was reinstated in his
privileges; and another change was introduced in the after-dinner formula. =
On
entering the room, the old sailor stopped short and made his excuses in this
brief yet comprehensive form of words, with his back against the door:
"Please your honor, I'm ashamed of myself." So the apology began =
and
ended. "This mustn't happen again, Mazey," the admiral used to
answer. "It shan't happen again, your honor." "Very good. Co=
me
here, and drink your glass of wine. God bless the Queen, Mazey." The
veteran tossed off his port, and the dialogue ended as usual.
So the days passed, with no incidents more
important than these to relieve their monotony, until the end of the fourth
week was at hand.
On the last day, an event happened; on the last
day, the long deferred promise of the future unexpectedly began to dawn. Wh=
ile
Magdalen was spreading the cloth in the dining-room, as usual, Mrs. Drake
looked in, and instructed her on this occasion, for the first time, to lay =
the
table for two persons. The admiral had received a letter from his nephew. E=
arly
that evening Mr. George Bartram was expected to return to St. Crux.
=
AFTER placing the second cover, Magdalen await=
ed
the ringing of the dinner-bell, with an interest and impatience which she f=
ound
it no easy task to conceal. The return of Mr. Bartram would, in all
probability, produce a change in the life of the house; and from change of =
any
kind, no matter how trifling, something might be hoped. The nephew might be=
accessible
to influences which had failed to reach the uncle. In any case, the two wou=
ld
talk of their affairs over their dinner; and through that talk--proceeding =
day
after day in her presence--the way to discovery, now absolutely invisible,
might, sooner or later, show itself.
At last the bell rang, the door opened, and the
two gentlemen entered the room together.
Magdalen was struck, as her sister had been
struck, by George Bartram's resemblance to her father--judging by the portr=
ait
at Combe-Raven, which presented the likeness of Andrew Vanstone in his youn=
ger
days. The light hair and florid complexion, the bright blue eyes and hardy
upright figure, familiar to her in the picture, were all recalled to her
memory, as the nephew followed the uncle across the room and took his place=
at
table. She was not prepared for this sudden revival of the lost association=
s of
home. Her attention wandered as she tried to conceal its effect on her; and=
she
made a blunder in waiting at table, for the first time since she had entered
the house.
A quaint reprimand from the admiral, half in j=
est,
half in earnest, gave her time to recover herself. She ventured another loo=
k at
George Bartram. The impression which he produced on her this time roused he=
r curiosity
immediately. His face and manner plainly expressed anxiety and preoccupatio=
n of
mind. He looked oftener at his plate than at his uncle, and at Magdalen her=
self
(except one passing inspection of the new parlor-maid, when the admiral spo=
ke
to her) he never looked at all. Some uncertainty was evidently troubling his
thoughts; some oppression was weighing on his natural freedom of manner. Wh=
at
uncertainty? what oppression? Would any personal revelations come out, litt=
le
by little, in the course of conversation at the dinner-table?
No. One set of dishes followed another set of
dishes, and nothing in the shape of a personal revelation took place. The
conversation halted on irregularly, between public affairs on one side and
trifling private topics on the other. Politics, home and foreign, took their
turn with the small household history of St. Crux; the leaders of the
revolution which expelled Louis Philippe from the throne of France marched =
side
by side, in the dinner-table review, with old Mazey and the dogs. The desse=
rt
was put on the table, the old sailor came in, drank his loyal toast, paid h=
is
respects to "Master George," and went out again. Magdalen followed
him, on her way back to the servants' offices, having heard nothing in the
conversation of the slightest importance to the furtherance of her own desi=
gn,
from the first word of it to the last. She struggled hard not to lose heart=
and
hope on the first day. They could hardly talk again to-morrow, they could
hardly talk again the next day, of the French Revolution and the dogs. Time
might do wonders yet; and time was all her own.
=
Left
together over their wine, the uncle and nephew drew their easy-chairs on ei=
ther
side of the fire; and, in Magdalen's absence, began the very conversation w=
hich
it was Magdalen's interest to hear.
"Claret, George?" said the admiral,
pushing the bottle across the table. "You look out of spirits."
"I am a little anxious, sir," replied
George, leaving his glass empty, and looking straight into the fire.
"I am glad to hear it," rejoined the
admiral. "I am more than a little anxious myself, I can tell you. Here=
we
are at the last days of March--and nothing done! Your time comes to an end =
on
the third of May; and there you sit, as if you had years still before you, =
to
turn round in."
George smiled, and resignedly helped himself to
some wine.
"Am I really to understand, sir," he
asked, "that you are serious in what you said to me last November? Are=
you
actually resolved to bind me to that incomprehensible condition?"
"I don't call it incomprehensible," =
said
the admiral, irritably.
"Don't you, sir? I am to inherit your est=
ate,
unconditionally--as you have generously settled it from the first. But I am=
not
to touch a farthing of the fortune poor Noel left you unless I am married
within a certain time. The house and lands are to be mine (thanks to your k=
indness)
under any circumstances. But the money with which I might improve them both=
is
to be arbitrarily taken away from me, if I am not a married man on the thir=
d of
May. I am sadly wanting in intelligence, I dare say, but a more
incomprehensible proceeding I never heard of!"
"No snapping and snarling, George! Say yo=
ur say
o ut. We don't understand sneering in Her Majesty's Navy!"
"I mean no offense, sir. But I think it's=
a
little hard to astonish me by a change of proceeding on your part, entirely
foreign to my experience of your character--and then, when I naturally ask =
for
an explanation, to turn round coolly and leave me in the dark. If you and N=
oel
came to some private arrangement together before he made his will, why not =
tell
me? Why set up a mystery between us, where no mystery need be?"
"I won't have it, George!" cried the
admiral, angrily drumming on the table with the nutcrackers. "You are
trying to draw me like a badger, but I won't be drawn! I'll make any condit=
ions
I please; and I'll be accountable to nobody for them unless I like. It's qu=
ite
bad enough to have worries and responsibilities laid on my unlucky shoulders
that I never bargained for--never mind what worries: they're not yours, the=
y're
mine--without being questioned and cross-questioned as if I was a witness i=
n a
box. Here's a pretty fellow!" continued the admiral, apostrophizing his
nephew in red-hot irritation, and addressing himself to the dogs on the
hearth-rug for want of a better audience. "Here's a pretty fellow? He =
is
asked to help himself to two uncommonly comfortable things in their way--a =
fortune
and a wife; he is allowed six months to get the wife in (we should have got
her, in the Navy, bag and baggage, in six days); he has a round dozen of ni=
ce
girls, to my certain knowledge, in one part of the country and another, all=
at
his disposal to choose from, and what does he do? He sits month after month,
with his lazy legs crossed before him; he leaves the girls to pine on the s=
tem,
and he bothers his uncle to know the reason why! I pity the poor unfortunate
women. Men were made of flesh and blood, and plenty of it, too, in my time.
They're made of machinery now."
"I can only repeat, sir, I am sorry to ha=
ve
offended you," said George.
"Pooh! pooh! you needn't look at me in th=
at
languishing way if you are," retorted the admiral. "Stick to your=
wine,
and I'll forgive you. Your good health, George. I'm glad to see you again at
St. Crux. Look at that plateful of sponge-cakes! The cook has sent them up =
in
honor of your return. We can't hurt her feelings, and we can't spoil our wi=
ne. Here!"--The
admiral tossed four sponge-cakes in quick succession down the accommodating
throats of the dogs. "I am sorry, George," the old gentleman grav=
ely
proceeded; "I am really sorry you haven't got your eye on one of those
nice girls. You don't know what a loss you're inflicting on yourself; you d=
on't
know what trouble and mortification you're causing me by this shilly-shally
conduct of yours."
"If you would only allow me to explain
myself, sir, you would view my conduct in a totally different light. I am r=
eady
to marry to-morrow, if the lady will have me."
"The devil you are! So you have got a lad=
y in
your eye, after all? Why in Heaven's name couldn't you tell me so before? N=
ever
mind, I'll forgive you everything, now I know you have laid your hand on a
wife. Fill your glass again. Here's her health in a bumper. By-the-by, who =
is she?"
"I'll tell you directly, admiral. When we
began this conversation, I mentioned that I was a little anxious--"
"She's not one of my round dozen of nice
girls--aha, Master George, I see that in your face already! Why are you
anxious?"
"I am afraid you will disapprove of my
choice, sir."
"Don't beat about the bush! How the deuce=
can
I say whether I disapprove or not, if you won't tell me who she is?"
"She is the eldest daughter of Andrew
Vanstone, of Combe-Raven."
"Who!!!"
"Miss Vanstone, sir."
The admiral put down his glass of wine untaste=
d.
"You're right, George," he said. &qu=
ot;I
do disapprove of your choice --strongly disapprove of it."
"Is it the misfortune of her birth, sir, =
that
you object to?"
"God forbid! the misfortune of her birth =
is
not her fault, poor thing. You know as well as I do, George, what I object
to."
"You object to her sister?"
"Certainly! The most liberal man alive mi=
ght
object to her sister, I think."
"It's hard, sir, to make Miss Vanstone su=
ffer
for her sister's faults."
"Faults, do you call them? You have a mig=
hty
convenient memory, George, when your own interests are concerned."
"Call them crimes if you like, sir--I say
again, it's hard on Miss Vanstone. Miss Vanstone's life is pure of all
reproach. From first to last she has borne her hard lot with such patience,=
and
sweetness, and courage as not one woman in a thousand would have shown in h=
er
place. Ask Miss Garth, who has known her from childhood. Ask Mrs. Tyrrel, w=
ho blesses
the day when she came into the house--"
"Ask a fiddlestick's end! I beg your pard=
on,
George, but you are enough to try the patience of a saint. My good fellow, I
don't deny Miss Vanstone's virtues. I'll admit, if you like, she's the best
woman that ever put on a petticoat. That is not the question--"
"Excuse me, admiral--it is the question, =
if
she is to be my wife."
"Hear me out, George; look at it from my
point of view, as well as your own. What did your cousin Noel do? Your cous=
in
Noel fell a victim, poor fellow, to one of the vilest conspiracies I ever h=
eard
of, and the prime mover of that conspiracy was Miss Vanstone's damnable sis=
ter.
She deceived him in the most infamous manner; and as soon as she was down f=
or a
handsome legacy in his will, she had the poison ready to take his life. Thi=
s is
the truth; we know it from Mrs. Lecount, who found the bottle locked up in =
her
own room. If you marry Miss Vanstone, you make this wretch your sister-in-l=
aw.
She becomes a member of our family. All the disgrace of what she has done; =
all
the disgrace of what she may do--and the Devil, who possesses her, only kno=
ws
what lengths she may go to next--becomes our disgrace. Good heavens, George,
consider what a position that is! Consider what pitch you touch, if you make
this woman your sister-in-law."
"You have put your side of the question,
admiral," said George resolutely; "now let me put mine. A certain
impression is produced on me by a young lady whom I meet with under very
interesting circumstances. I don't act headlong on that impression, as I mi=
ght
have done if I had been some years younger; I wait, and put it to the trial.
Every time I see this young lady the impression strengthens; her beauty gro=
ws
on me, her character grows on me; when I am away from her, I am restless an=
d dissatisfied;
when I am with her, I am the happiest man alive. All I hear of her conduct =
from
those who know her best more than confirms the high opinion I have formed of
her. The one drawback I can discover is caused by a misfortune for which sh=
e is
not responsible--the misfortune of having a sister who is utterly unworthy =
of
her. Does this discovery--an unpleasant discovery, I grant you--destroy all
those good qualities in Miss Vanstone for which I love and admire her? Noth=
ing
of the sort--it only makes her good qualities all the more precious to me by
contrast. If I am to have a drawback to contend with--and who expects anyth=
ing
else in this world?--I would infinitely rather have the drawback attached t=
o my
wife's sister than to my wife. My wife's sister is not essential to my
happiness, but my wife is. In my opinion, sir, Mrs. Noel Vanstone has done
mischief enough already. I don't see the necessity of letting her do more
mischief, by depriving me of a good wife. Right or wrong, that is my point =
of
view. I don't wish to trouble you with any questions of sentiment. All I wi=
sh
to say is that I am old enough by this time to know my own mind, and that my
mind is made up. If my marriage is essential to the execution of your inten=
tions
on my behalf, there is only one woman in the world whom I can marry, and th=
at
woman is Miss Vanstone."
There was no resisting this plain declaration.
Admiral Bartram rose from his chair without making any reply, and walked
perturbedly up and down the room.
The situation was emphatically a serious one. =
Mrs.
Girdlestone's death had already produced the failure of one of the two obje=
cts
contemplated by the Secret Trust. If the third of May arrived and found Geo=
rge
a single man, the second (and last) of the objects would then have failed in
its turn. In little more than a fortnight, at the very latest, the Banns mu=
st
be published in Ossory church, or the time would fail for compliance with o=
ne
of the stipulations insisted on in the Trust. Obstinate as the admiral was =
by
nature, strongly as he felt the objections which attached to his nephew's
contemplated alliance, he recoiled in spite of himself, as he paced the room
and saw the facts on either side immovably staring him in the face.
"Are you engaged to Miss Vanstone?" =
he
asked, suddenly.
"No, sir," replied George. "I
thought it due to your uniform kindness to me to speak to you on the subject
first."
"Much obliged, I'm sure. And you have put=
off
speaking to me to the last moment, just as you put off everything else. Do =
you
think Miss Vanstone will say yes when you ask her?"
George hesitated.
"The devil take your modesty!" shout=
ed
the admiral. "This is not a time for modesty; this is a time for speak=
ing
out. Will she or won't she?"
"I think she will, sir."
The admiral laughed sardonically, and took ano=
ther
turn in the room. He suddenly stopped, put his hands in his pockets, and st=
ood
still in a corner, deep in thought. After an interval of a few minutes, his=
face
cleared a little; it brightened with the dawning of a new idea. He walked r=
ound
briskly to George's side of the fire, and laid his hand kindly on his nephe=
w's
shoulder.
"You're wrong, George," he said;
"but it is too late now to set you right. On the sixteenth of next mon=
th
the Banns must be put up in Ossory church, or you will lose the money. Have=
you
told Miss Vanstone the position you stand in? Or have you put that off to t=
he
eleventh hour, like everything else?"
"The position is so extraordinary, sir, a=
nd
it might lead to so much misapprehension of my motives, that I have felt
unwilling to allude to it. I hardly know how I can tell her of it at all.&q=
uot;
"Try the experiment of telling her friend=
s.
Let them know it's a question of money, and they will overcome her scruples=
, if
you can't. But that is not what I had to say to you. How long do you propos=
e stopping
here this time?"
"I thought of staying a few days, and
then--"
"And then of going back to London and mak=
ing
your offer, I suppose? Will a week give you time enough to pick your opport=
unity
with Miss Vanstone--a week out of the fortnight or so that you have to
spare?"
"I will stay here a week, admiral, with
pleasure, if you wish it."
"I don't wish it. I want you to pack up y=
our
traps and be off to-morrow."
George looked at his uncle in silent astonishm=
ent.
"You found some letters waiting for you w=
hen
you got here," proceeded the admiral. "Was one of those letters f=
rom
my old friend, Sir Franklin Brock?"
"Yes, sir."
"Was it an invitation to you to go and st=
ay
at the Grange?"
"Yes, sir."
"To go at once?"
"At once, if I could manage it."
"Very good. I want you to manage it; I wa=
nt
you to start for the Grange to-morrow."
George looked back at the fire, and sighed
impatiently.
"I understand you now, admiral," he
said. "You are entirely mistaken in me. My attachment to Miss Vanstone=
is
not to be shaken in that manner."
Admiral Bartram took his quarter-deck walk aga=
in,
up and down the room.
"One good turn deserves another,
George," said the old gentleman. "If I am willing to make concess=
ions
on my side, the least you can do is to meet me half-way, and make concessio=
ns
on yours."
"I don't deny it, sir."
"Very well. Now listen to my proposal. Gi=
ve
me a fair hearing, George--a fair hearing is every man's privilege. I will =
be
perfectly just to begin with. I won't attempt to deny that you honestly bel=
ieve
Miss Vanstone is the only woman in the world who can make you happy. I don't
question that. What I do question is, whether you really know your own mind=
in this
matter quite so well as you think you know it yourself. You can't deny, Geo=
rge,
that you have been in love with a good many women in your time? Among the r=
est
of them, you have been in love with Miss Brock. No longer ago than this time
last year there was a sneaking kindness between you and that young lady, to=
say
the least of it. And quite right, too! Miss Brock is one of that round doze=
n of
darlings I mentioned over our first glass of wine."
"You are confusing an idle flirtation, si=
r,
with a serious attachment," said George. "You are altogether
mistaken--you are, indeed."
"Likely enough; I don't pretend to be
infallible--I leave that to my juniors. But I happen to have known you, Geo=
rge,
since you were the height of my old telescope; and I want to have this seri=
ous
attachment of yours put to the test. If you can satisfy me that your whole
heart and soul are as strongly set on Miss Vanstone as you suppose them to =
be, I
must knock under to necessity, and keep my objections to myself. But I must=
be
satisfied first. Go to the Grange to-morrow, and stay there a week in Miss
Brock's society. Give that charming girl a fair chance of lighting up the o=
ld
flame again if she can, and then come back to St. Crux, and let me hear the
result. If you tell me, as an honest man, that your attachment to Miss Vans=
tone
still remains unshaken, you will have heard the last of my objections from =
that
moment. Whatever misgivings I may feel in my own mind, I will say nothing, =
and
do nothing, adverse to your wishes. There is my proposal. I dare say it loo=
ks
like an old man's folly, in your eyes. But the old man won't trouble you mu=
ch
longer, George; and it may be a pleasant reflection, when you have got sons=
of your
own, to remember that you humored him in his last days."
He came back to the fire-place as he said those
words, and laid his hand once more on his nephew's shoulder. George took the
hand and pressed it affectionately. In the tenderest and best sense of the
word, his uncle had been a father to him.
"I will do what you ask me, sir," he
replied, "if you seriously wish it. But it is only right to tell you t=
hat
the experiment will be perfectly useless. However, if you prefer my passing=
a
week at the Grange to my passing it here, to the Grange I will go."
"Thank you, George," said the admira=
l,
bluntly. "I expected as much from you, and you have not disappointed
me.--If Miss Brock doesn't get us out of this mess," thought the wily =
old
gentleman, as he resumed his place at the table, "my nephew's weather-=
cock
of a head has turned steady with a vengeance!--We'll consider the question
settled for to-night, George," he continued, aloud, "and call ano=
ther
subject. These family anxieties don't improve the flavor of my old claret. =
The
bottle stands with you. What are they doing at the theaters in London? We
always patronized the theaters, in my time, in the Navy. We used to like a =
good
tragedy to begin with, and a hornpipe to cheer us up at the end of the ente=
rtainment."
For the rest of the evening, the talk flowed in
the ordinary channels. Admiral Bartram only returned to the forbidden subje=
ct
when he and his nephew parted for the night.
"You won't forget to-morrow, George?"=
;
"Certainly not, sir. I'll take the dog-ca=
rt,
and drive myself over after breakfast."
=
Before
noon the next day Mr. George Bartram had left the house, and the last chanc=
e in
Magdalen's favor had left it with him.
WHEN the servants' dinner-bell at St. Crux ran=
g as
usual on the day of George Bartram's departure, it was remarked that the new
parlor-maid's place at table remained empty. One of the inferior servants w=
as
sent to her room to make inquiries, and returned with the information that =
"Louisa"
felt a little faint, and begged that her attendance at table might be excus=
ed
for that day. Upon this, the superior authority of the housekeeper was invo=
ked,
and Mrs. Drake went upstairs immediately to ascertain the truth for herself.
Her first look of inquiry satisfied her that the parlor-maid's indispositio=
n,
whatever the cause of it might be, was certainly not assumed to serve any i=
dle
or sullen purpose of her own. She respectfully declined taking any of the
remedies which the housekeeper offered, and merely requested permission to =
try
the efficacy of a walk in the fresh air.
"I have been accustomed to more exercise,
ma'am, than I take here," she said. "Might I go into the garden, =
and
try what the air will do for me?"
"Certainly. Can you walk by yourself, or
shall I send some one with you?"
"I will go by myself, if you please,
ma'am."
"Very well. Put on your bonnet and shawl,
and, when you get out, keep in the east garden. The admiral sometimes walks=
in
the north garden, and he might feel surprised at seeing you there. Come to =
my
room, when you have had air and exercise enough, and let me see how you
are."
In a few minutes more Magdalen was out in the =
east
garden. The sky was clear and sunny; but the cold shadow of the house reste=
d on
the garden walk and chilled the midday air. She walked toward the ruins of =
the old
monastery, situated on the south side of the more modern range of buildings.
Here there were lonely open spaces to breathe in freely; here the pale March
sunshine stole through the gaps of desolation and decay, and met her inviti=
ngly
with the genial promise of spring.
She ascended three or four riven stone steps, =
and
seated herself on some ruined fragments beyond them, full in the sunshine. =
The
place she had chosen had once been the entrance to the church. In centuries
long gone by, the stream of human sin and human suffering had flowed, day a=
fter
day, to the confessional, over the place where she now sat. Of all the mise=
rable
women who had trodden those old stones in the bygone time, no more miserable
creature had touched them than the woman whose feet rested on them now.
Her hands trembled as she placed them on either
side of her, to support herself on the stone seat. She laid them on her lap;
they trembled there. She held them out, and looked at them wonderingly; they
trembled as she looked. "Like an old woman!" she said, faintly, a=
nd
let them drop again at her side.
For the first time, that morning, the cruel
discovery had forced itself on her mind--the discovery that her strength was
failing her, at the time when she had most confidently trusted to it, at the
time when she wanted it most. She had felt the surprise of Mr. Bartram's
unexpected departure, as if it had been the shock of the severest calamity =
that
could have befallen her. That one check to her hopes--a check which at other
times would only have roused the resisting power in her to new efforts--had=
struck
her with as suffocating a terror, had prostrated her with as all-mastering a
despair, as if she had been overwhelmed by the crowning disaster of expulsi=
on
from St. Crux. But one warning could be read in such a change as this. Into=
the
space of little more than a year she had crowded the wearing and wasting
emotions of a life. The bountiful gifts of health and strength, so prodigal=
ly
heaped on her by Nature, so long abused with impunity, were failing her at
last.
She looked up at the far faint blue of the sky.
She heard the joyous singing of birds among the ivy that clothed the ruins.=
Oh
the cold distance of the heavens! Oh the pitiless happiness of the birds! Oh
the lonely horror of sitting there, and feeling old and weak and worn, in t=
he
heyday of her youth! She rose with a last effort of resolution, and tried to
keep back the hysterical passion swelling at her heart by moving and looking
about her. Rapidly and more rapidly she walked to and fro in the sunshine. =
The
exercise helped her, through the very fatigue that she felt from it. She fo=
rced
the rising tears desperately back to their sources; she fought with the
clinging pain, and wrenched it from its hold. Little by little her mind beg=
an
to clear again: the despairing fear of herself grew less vividly present to=
her
thoughts. There were reserves of youth and strength in her still to be wast=
ed;
there was a spirit sorely wounded, but not yet subdued.
She gradually extended the limits of her walk;=
she
gradually recovered the exercise of her observation.
At the western extremity the remains of the
monastery were in a less ruinous condition than at the eastern. In certain
places, where the stout old walls still stood, repairs had been made at some
former time. Roofs of red tile had been laid roughly over four of the ancie=
nt
cells; wooden doors had been added; and the old monastic chambers had been =
used
as sheds to hold the multifarious lumber of St. Crux. No padlocks guarded a=
ny
of the doors. Magdalen had only to push them to let the daylight in on the =
litter
inside. She resolved to investigate the sheds one after the other--not from
curiosity, not with the idea of making discoveries of any sort. Her only ob=
ject
was to fill up the vacant time, and to keep the thoughts that unnerved her =
from
returning to her mind.
The first shed she opened contained the garden=
er's
utensils, large and small. The second was littered with fragments of broken
furniture, empty picture-frames of worm-eaten wood, shattered vases, boxes
without covers, and books torn from their bindings. As Magdalen turned to l=
eave
the shed, after one careless glance round her at the lumber that it contain=
ed,
her foot struck something on the ground which tinkled against a fragment of
china lying near it. She stooped, and discovered that the tinkling substance
was a rusty key.
She picked up the key and looked at it. She wa=
lked
out into the air, and considered a little. More old forgotten keys were
probably lying about among the lumber in the sheds. What if she collected a=
ll
she could find, and tried them, one after another, in the locks of the cabi=
nets
and cupboards now closed against her? Was there chance enough that any one =
of
them might fit to justify her in venturing on the experiment? If the locks =
at
St. Crux were as old-fashioned as the furniture--if there were no protective
niceties of modern invention to contend against--there was chance enough be=
yond
all question. Who could say whether the very key in her hand might not be t=
he
lost duplicate of one of the keys on the admiral's bunch? In the dearth of =
all
other means of finding the way to her end, the risk was worth running. A fl=
ash
of the old spirit sparkled in her weary eyes as she turned and re-entered t=
he
shed.
Half an hour more brought her to the limits of=
the
time which she could venture to allow herself in the open air. In that inte=
rval
she had searched the sheds from first to last, and had found five more keys=
. "Five
more chances!" she thought to herself, as she hid the keys, and hastily
returned to the house.
After first reporting herself in the housekeep=
er's
room, she went upstairs to remove her bonnet and shawl; taking that opportu=
nity
to hide the keys in her bed-chamber until night came. They were crusted thi=
ck with
rust and dirt; but she dared not attempt to clean them until bed-time seclu=
ded
her from the prying eyes of the servants in the solitude of her room.
When the dinner hour brought her, as usual, in=
to
personal contact with the admiral, she was at once struck by a change in hi=
m.
For the first time in her experience the old gentleman was silent and
depressed. He ate less than usual, and he hardly said five words to her from
the beginning of the meal to the end. Some unwelcome subject of reflection =
had
evidently fixed itself on his mind, and remained there persistently, in spi=
te
of his efforts to shake it off. At intervals through the evening, she wonde=
red
with an ever-growing perplexity what the subject could be.
At last the lagging hours reached their end, a=
nd
bed-time came. Before she slept that night Magdalen had cleaned the keys fr=
om
all impurities, and had oiled the wards, to help them smoothly into the loc=
ks.
The last difficulty that remained was the difficulty of choosing the time w=
hen the
experiment might be tried with the least risk of interruption and discovery.
After carefully considering the question overnight, Magdalen could only res=
olve
to wait and be guided by the events of the next day.
The morning came, and for the first time at St.
Crux events justified the trust she had placed in them. The morning came, a=
nd
the one remaining difficulty that perplexed her was unexpectedly smoothed a=
way by
no less a person than the admiral himself! To the surprise of every one in =
the
house, he announced at breakfast that he had arranged to start for London i=
n an
hour; that he should pass the night in town; and that he might be expected =
to
return to St. Crux in time for dinner on the next day. He volunteered no
further explanations to the housekeeper or to any one else, but it was easy=
to
see that his errand to London was of no ordinary importance in his own
estimation. He swallowed his breakfast in a violent hurry, and he was
impatiently ready for the carriage before it came to the door.
Experience had taught Magdalen to be cautious.=
She
waited a little, after Admiral Bartram's departure, before she ventured on
trying her experiment with the keys. It was well she did so. Mrs. Drake too=
k advantage
of the admiral's absence to review the condition of the apartments on the f=
irst
floor. The results of the investigation by no means satisfied her; brooms a=
nd
dusters were set to work; and the house-maids were in and out of the rooms
perpetually, as long as the daylight lasted.
The evening passed, and still the safe opportu=
nity
for which Magdalen was on the watch never presented itself. Bed-time came
again, and found her placed between the two alternatives of trusting to the
doubtful chances of the next morning, or of trying the keys boldly in the d=
ead of
night. In former times she would have made her choice without hesitation. S=
he
hesitated now; but the wreck of her old courage still sustained her, and she
determined to make the venture at night.
They kept early hours at St. Crux. If she wait=
ed
in her room until half-past eleven, she would wait long enough. At that time
she stole out on to the staircase, with the keys in her pocket, and the can=
dle
in her hand.
On passing the entrance to the corridor on the
bedroom floor, she stopped and listened. No sound of snoring, no shuffling =
of
infirm footsteps was to be heard on the other side of the screen. She looke=
d round
it distrustfully. The stone passage was a solitude, and the truckle-bed was
empty. Her own eyes had shown her old Mazey on his way to the upper regions,
more than an hour since, with a candle in his hand. Had he taken advantage =
of his
master's absence to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of sleeping in a room? As=
the
thought occurred to her, a sound from the further end of the corridor just
caught her ear. She softly advanced toward it, and heard through the door of
the last and remotest of the spare bed-chambers the veteran's lusty snoring=
in the
room inside. The discovery was startling, in more senses than one. It deepe=
ned
the impenetrable mystery of the truckle-bed; for it showed plainly that old
Mazey had no barbarous preference of his own for passing his nights in the
corridor; he occupied that strange and comfortless sleeping-place purely and
entirely on his master's account.
It was no time for dwelling on the reflections
which this conclusion might suggest. Magdalen retraced her steps along the
passage, and descended to the first floor. Passing the doors nearest to her,
she tried the library first. On the staircase and in the corridors she had =
felt
her heart throbbing fast with an unutterable fear; but a sense of security
returned to her when she found herself within the four walls of the room, a=
nd
when she had closed the door on the ghostly quiet outside.
The first lock she tried was the lock of the
table-drawer. None of the keys fitted it. Her next experiment was made on t=
he
cabinet. Would the second attempt fail, like the first?
No! One of the keys fitted; one of the keys, w=
ith
a little patient management, turned the lock. She looked in eagerly. There =
were
open shelves above, and one long drawer under them. The shelves were devote=
d to
specimens of curious minerals, neatly labeled and arranged. The drawer was
divided into compartments. Two of the compartments contained papers. In the
first, she discovered nothing but a collection of receipted bills. In the
second, she found a heap of business documents; but the writing, yellow with
age, was enough of itself to warn her that the Trust was not there. She shut
the doors of the cabinet, and, after locking them again with some little
difficulty, proceeded to try the keys in the bookcase cupboards next, before
she continued her investigations in the other rooms.
The bookcase cupboards were unassailable, the
drawers and cupboards in all the other rooms were unassailable. One after
another she tried them patiently in regular succession. It was useless. The
chance which the cabinet in the library had offered in her favor was the fi=
rst
chance and the last.
She went back to her room, seeing nothing but =
her
own gliding shadow, hearing nothing but her own stealthy footfall in the
midnight stillness of the house. After mechanically putting the keys away in
their former hiding-place, she looked toward her bed, and turned away from =
it, shuddering.
The warning remembrance of what she had suffered that morning in the garden=
was
vividly present to her mind. "Another chance tried," she thought =
to
herself, "and another chance lost! I shall break down again if I think=
of
it; and I shall think of it if I lie awake in the dark." She had broug=
ht a
work-box with her to St. Crux, as one of the many little things which in her
character of a servant it was desirable to possess; and she now opened the =
box
and applied herself resolutely to work. Her want of dexterity with her need=
le
assisted the object she had in view; it obliged her to pay the closest
attention to her employment; it forced her thoughts away from the two subje=
cts
of all others which she now dreaded most--herself and the future.
The next day, as he had arranged, the admiral
returned. His visit to London had not improved his spirits. The shadow of s=
ome
unconquerable doubt still clouded his face; his restless tongue was strange=
ly
quiet, while Magdalen waited on him at his solitary meal. That night the sn=
oring
resounded once more on the inner side of the screen, and old Mazey was back
again in the comfortless truckle-bed.
Three more days passed--April came. On the sec=
ond
of the month --returning as unexpectedly as he had departed a week before--=
Mr.
George Bartram re-appeared at St. Crux.
He came back early in the afternoon, and had an
interview with his uncle in the library. The interview over, he left the ho=
use
again, and was driven to the railway by the groom in time to catch the last
train to London that night. The groom noticed, on the road, that "Mr.
George seemed to be rather pleased than otherwise at leaving St. Crux."=
; He
also remarked, on his return, that the admiral swore at him for overdriving=
the
horses--an indication of ill-temper, on the part of his master, which he
described as being entirely without precedent in all his former experience.=
Magdalen,
in her department of service, had suffered in like manner under the old man=
's
irritable humor: he had been dissatisfied with everything she did in the
dining-room; and he had found fault with all the dishes, one after another,
from the mutton-broth to the toasted cheese.
The next two days passed as usual. On the third
day an event happened. In appearance, it was nothing more important than a =
ring
at the drawing-room bell. In reality, it was the forerunner of approaching =
catastrophe--the
formidable herald of the end.
It was Magdalen's business to answer the bell.=
On
reaching the drawing-room door, she knocked as usual. There was no reply. A=
fter
again knocking, and again receiving no answer, she ventured into the room, =
and was
instantly met by a current of cold air flowing full on her face. The heavy
sliding door in the opposite wall was pushed back, and the Arctic atmospher=
e of
Freeze-your-Bones was pouring unhindered into the empty room.
She waited near the door, doubtful what to do
next; it was certainly the drawing-room bell that had rung, and no other. S=
he
waited, looking through the open doorway opposite, down the wilderness of t=
he
dismantled Hall.
A little consideration satisfied her that it w=
ould
be best to go downstairs again, and wait there for a second summons fro m t=
he
bell. On turning to leave the room, she happened to look back once more, an=
d exactly
at that moment she saw the door open at the opposite extremity of the
Banqueting-Hall--the door leading into the first of the apartments in the e=
ast
wing. A tall man came out, wearing his great coat and his hat, and rapidly
approached the drawing-room. His gait betrayed him, while he was still too =
far
off for his features to be seen. Before he was quite half-way across the Ha=
ll,
Magdalen had recognized--the admiral.
He looked, not irritated only, but surprised as
well, at finding his parlor-maid waiting for him in the drawing-room, and
inquired, sharply and suspiciously, what she wanted there? Magdalen replied
that she had come there to answer the bell. His face cleared a little when =
he
heard the explanation. "Yes, yes; to be sure," he said. "I d=
id
ring, and then I forgot it." He pulled the sliding door back into its
place as he spoke. "Coals," he resumed, impatiently, pointing to =
the
empty scuttle. "I rang for coals."
Magdalen went back to the kitchen regions. Aft=
er
communicating the admiral's order to the servant whose special duty it was =
to
attend to the fires, she returned to the pantry, and, gently closing the do=
or,
sat down alone to think.
It had been her impression in the
drawing-room--and it was her impression still--that she had accidentally
surprised Admiral Bartram on a visit to the east rooms, which, for some urg=
ent
reason of his own, he wished to keep a secret. Haunted day and night by the=
one
dominant idea that now possessed her, she leaped all logical difficulties a=
t a
bound, and at once associated the suspicion of a secret proceeding on the a=
dmiral's
part with the kindred suspicion which pointed to him as the depositary of t=
he
Secret Trust. Up to this time it had been her settled belief that he kept a=
ll
his important documents in one or other of the suite of rooms which he happ=
ened
to be occupying for the time being. Why--she now asked herself, with a sudd=
en
distrust of the conclusion which had hitherto satisfied her mind--why might=
he
not lock some of them up in the other rooms as well? The remembrance of the
keys still concealed in their hiding-place in her room sharpened her sense =
of
the reasonableness of this new view. With one unimportant exception, those =
keys
had all failed when she tried them in the rooms on the north side of the ho=
use.
Might they not succeed with the cabinets and cupboards in the east rooms, on
which she had never tried them, or thought of trying them, yet? If there wa=
s a
chance, however small, of turning them to better account than she had turned
them thus far, it was a chance to be tried. If there was a possibility, how=
ever
remote, that the Trust might be hidden in any one of the locked repositorie=
s in
the east wing, it was a possibility to be put to the test. When? Her own
experience answered the question. At the time when no prying eyes were open,
and no accidents were to be feared--when the house was quiet--in the dead o=
f night.
She knew enough of her changed self to dread t=
he
enervating influence of delay. She determined to run the risk headlong that
night.
More blunders escaped her when dinner-time cam=
e;
the admiral's criticisms on her waiting at table were sharper than ever. His
hardest words inflicted no pain on her; she scarcely heard him--her mind wa=
s dull
to every sense but the sense of the coming trial. The evening which had pas=
sed
slowly to her on the night of her first experiment with the keys passed qui=
ckly
now. When bed-time came, bed-time took her by surprise.
She waited longer on this occasion than she had
waited before. The admiral was at home; he might alter his mind and go
downstairs again, after he had gone up to his room; he might have forgotten
something in the library and might return to fetch it. Midnight struck from=
the
clock in the servants' hall before she ventured out of her room, with the k=
eys again
in her pocket, with the candle again in her hand.
At the first of the stairs on which she set her
foot to descend, an all-mastering hesitation, an unintelligible shrinking f=
rom
some peril unknown, seized her on a sudden. She waited, and reasoned with
herself. She had recoiled from no sacrifices, she had yielded to no fears, =
in carrying
out the stratagem by which she had gained admission to St. Crux; and now, w=
hen
the long array of difficulties at the outset had been patiently conquered, =
now,
when by sheer force of resolution the starting-point was gained, she hesita=
ted
to advance. "I shrank from nothing to get here," she said to hers=
elf.
"What madness possesses me that I shrink now?"
Every pulse in her quickened at the thought, w=
ith
an animating shame that nerved her to go on. She descended the stairs, from=
the
third floor to the second, from the second to the first, without trusting
herself to pause again within easy reach of her own room. In another minute,
she had reached the end of the corridor, had crossed the vestibule, and had=
entered
the drawing-room. It was only when her grasp was on the heavy brass handle =
of
the sliding door--it was only at the moment before she pushed the door
back--that she waited to take breath. The Banqueting-Hall was close on the
other side of the wooden partition against which she stood; her excited
imagination felt the death-like chill of it flowing over her already.
She pushed back the sliding door a few inches-=
-and
stopped in momentary alarm. When the admiral had closed it in her presence =
that
day, she had heard no noise. When old Mazey had opened it to show her the r=
ooms
in the east wing, she had heard no noise. Now, in the night silence, she no=
ticed
for the first time that the door made a sound--a dull, rushing sound, like =
the
wind.
She roused herself, and pushed it further
back--pushed it halfway into the hollow chamber in the wall constructed to
receive it. She advanced boldly into the gap, and met the night view of the
Banqueting-Hall face to face.
The moon was rounding the southern side of the
house. Her paling beams streamed through the nearer windows, and lay in long
strips of slanting light on the marble pavement of the Hall. The black shad=
ows
of the pediments between each window, alternating with the strips of light,=
heightened
the wan glare of the moonshine on the floor. Toward its lower end, the Hall
melted mysteriously into darkness. The ceiling was lost to view; the yawning
fire-place, the overhanging mantel-piece, the long row of battle pictures
above, were all swallowed up in night. But one visible object was discernib=
le,
besides the gleaming windows and the moon-striped floor. Midway in the last=
and
furthest of the strips of light, the tripod rose erect on its gaunt black l=
egs,
like a monster called to life by the moon--a monster rising through the lig=
ht,
and melting invisibly into the upper shadows of the Hall. Far and near, all=
sound
lay dead, drowned in the stagnant cold. The soothing hush of night was awful
here. The deep abysses of darkness hid abysses of silence more immeasurable
still.
She stood motionless in the door-way, with
straining eyes, with straining ears. She looked for some moving thing, she
listened for some rising sound, and looked and listened in vain. A quick
ceaseless shivering ran through her from head to foot. The shivering of fea=
r,
or the shivering of cold? The bare doubt roused her resolute will.
"Now," she thought, advancing a step through the door-way, "=
or
never! I'll count the strips of moonlight three times over, and cross the
Hall."
"One, two, three, four, five. One, two,
three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five."
As the final number passed her lips at the thi=
rd
time of counting, she crossed the Hall. Looking for nothing, listening for
nothing, one hand holding the candle, the other mechanically grasping the f=
olds
of her dress, she sped, ghost-like, down the length of the ghostly place. S=
he reached
the door of the first of the eastern rooms, opened it, and ran in. The sudd=
en
relief of attaining a refuge, the sudden entrance into a new atmosphere,
overpowered her for the moment. She had just time to put the candle safely =
on a
table before she dropped giddy and breathless into the nearest chair.
Little by little she felt the rest quieting he=
r.
In a few minutes she became conscious of the triumph of having won her way =
to
the east rooms. In a few minutes she was strong enough to rise from the cha=
ir,
to take the keys from her pocket, and to look round her.
The first objects of furniture in the room whi=
ch
attracted her attention were an old bureau of carved oak, and a heavy buhl
table with a cabinet attached. She tried the bureau first; it looked the li=
keliest
receptacle for papers of the two. Three of the keys proved to be of a size =
to
enter the lock, but none of them would turn it. The bureau was unassailable=
. She
left it, and paused to trim the wick of the candle before she tried the buhl
cabinet next.
At the moment when she raised her hand to the
candle, she heard the stillness of the Banqueting-Hall shudder with the ter=
ror
of a sound--a sound faint and momentary, like the distant rushing of the wi=
nd.
The sliding door in the drawing-room had moved=
.
Which way had it moved? Had an unknown hand pu= shed it back in its socket further than she had pushed it, or pulled it to again, and closed it? The horror of being shut out all night, by some undiscoverab= le agency, from the life of the house, was stronger in her than the horror of = looking across the Banqueting-Hall. She made desperately for the door of the room.<= o:p>
It had fallen to silently after her when she h=
ad
come in, but it was not closed. She pulled it open, and looked.
The sight that met her eyes rooted her,
panic-stricken, to the spot.
Close to the first of the row of windows, coun=
ting
from the drawing-room, and full in the gleam of it, she saw a solitary figu=
re.
It stood motionless, rising out of the furthest strip of moonlight on the f=
loor.
As she looked, it suddenly disappeared. In another instant she saw it again=
, in
the second strip of moonlight--lost it again--saw it in the third strip--lo=
st
it once more--and saw it in the fourth. Moment by moment it advanced, now
mysteriously lost in the shadow, now suddenly visible again in the light, u=
ntil
it reached the fifth and nearest strip of moonlight. There it paused, and
strayed aside slowly to the middle of the Hall. It stopped at the tripod, a=
nd
stood, shivering audibly in the silence, with its hands raised over the dead
ashes, in the action of warming them at a fire. It turned back again, moving
down the path of the moonlight, stopped at the fifth window, turned once mo=
re,
and came on softly through the shadow straight to the place where Magdalen
stood.
Her voice was dumb, her will was helpless. Eve=
ry
sense in her but the seeing sense was paralyzed. The seeing sense--held fas=
t in
the fetters of its own terror--looked unchangeably straightforward, as it h=
ad
looked from the first. There she stood in the door-way, full in the path of=
the
figure advancing on her through the shadow, nearer and nearer, step by step=
.
It came close.
The bonds of horror that held her burst asunder
when it was within arm's-length. She started back. The light of the candle =
on
the table fell full on its face, and showed her--Admiral Bartram.
A long, gray dressing-gown was wrapped round h=
im.
His head was uncovered; his feet were bare. In his left hand he carried his
little basket of keys. He passed Magdalen slowly, his lips whispering witho=
ut intermission,
his open eyes staring straight before him with the glassy stare of death. H=
is
eyes revealed to her the terrifying truth. He was walking in his sleep.
The terror of seeing him as she saw him now was
not the terror she had felt when her eyes first lighted on him--an appariti=
on
in the moon-light, a specter in the ghostly Hall. This time she could strug=
gle against
the shock; she could feel the depth of her own fear.
He passed her, and stopped in the middle of the
room. Magdalen ventured near enough to him to be within reach of his voice =
as
he muttered to himself. She ventured nearer still, and heard the name of her
dead husband fall distinctly from the sleep-walker's lips.
"Noel!" he said, in the low monotono=
us
tones of a dreamer talking in his sleep, "my good fellow, Noel, take it
back again! It worries me day and night. I don't know where it's safe; I do=
n't
know where to put it. Take it back, Noel--take it back!"
As those words escaped him, he walked to the b=
uhl
cabinet. He sat down in the chair placed before it, and searched in the bas=
ket
among his keys. Magdalen softly followed him, and stood behind his chair,
waiting with the candle in her hand. He found the key, and unlocked the
cabinet. Without an instant's hesitation, he drew out a drawer, the second =
of a
row. The one thing in the drawer was a folded letter. He removed it, and pu=
t it
down before him on the table. "Take it back, Noel!" he repeated, =
mechanically;
"take it back!"
Magdalen looked over his shoulder and read the=
se
lines, traced in her husband's handwriting, at the top of the letter: To be
kept in your own possession, and to be opened by yourself only on the day o=
f my
decease. Noel Vanstone. She saw the words plainly, with the admiral's name =
and the
admiral's address written under them.
The Trust within reach of her hand! The Trust
traced to its hiding-place at last!
She took one step forward, to steal round his
chair and to snatch the letter from the table. At the instant when she move=
d,
he took it up once more, locked the cabinet, and, rising, turned and faced =
her.
In the impulse of the moment, she stretched out
her hand toward the hand in which he held the letter. The yellow candle-lig=
ht
fell full on him. The awful death-in-life of his face--the mystery of the s=
leeping
body, moving in unconscious obedience to the dreaming mind--daunted her. He=
r hand
trembled, and dropped again at her side.
He put the key of the cabinet back in the bask= et, and crossed the room to the bureau, with the basket in one hand and the let= ter in the other. Magdalen set the candle on the table again, and watched him. = As he had opened the cabinet, so he now opened the bureau. Once more Magdalen = stretched out her hand, and once more she recoiled before the mystery and the terror = of his sleep. He put the letter in a drawer at the back of the bureau, and clo= sed the heavy oaken lid again. "Yes," he said. "Safer there, as = you say, Noel--safer there." So he spoke. So, time after time, the words t= hat betrayed him revealed the dead man living and speaking again in the dream.<= o:p>
Had he locked the bureau? Magdalen had not hea=
rd
the lock turn. As he slowly moved away, walking back once more toward the
middle of the room, she tried the lid. It was locked. That discovery made, =
she
looked to see what he was doing next. He was leaving the room again, with t=
he
basket of keys in his hand. When her first glance overtook him, he was cros=
sing
the threshold of the door.
Some inscrutable fascination possessed her, so=
me
mysterious attraction drew her after him, in spite of herself. She took up =
the
candle and followed him mechanically, as if she too were walking in her sle=
ep. One
behind the other, in slow and noiseless progress, they crossed the
Banqueting-Hall. One behind the other, they passed through the drawing-room=
, and
along the corridor, and up the stairs. She followed him to his own door. He
went in, and shut it behind him softly. She stopped, and looked toward the
truckle-bed. It was pushed aside at the foot, some little distance away from
the bedroom door. Who had moved it? She held the candle close and looked to=
ward
the pillow, with a sudden curiosity and a sudden doubt.
The truckle-bed was empty.
The discovery startled her for the moment, and=
for
the moment only. Plain as the inferences were to be drawn from it, she never
drew them. Her mind, slowly recovering the exercise of its faculties, was s=
till
under the influence of the earlier and the deeper impressions produced on i=
t.
Her mind followed the admiral into his room, as her body had followed him
across the Banqueting-Hall.
Had he lain down again in his bed? Was he still
asleep? She listened at the door. Not a sound was audible in the room. She
tried the door, and, finding it not locked, softly opened it a few inches a=
nd
listened again. The rise and fall of his low, regular breathing instantly
caught her ear. He was still asleep.
She went into the room, and, shading th e
candle-light with her hand, approached the bedside to look at him. The dream
was past; the old man's sleep was deep and peaceful; his lips were still; h=
is
quiet hand was laid over the coverlet in motionless repose. He lay with his
face turned toward the right-hand side of the bed. A little table stood the=
re
within reach of his hand. Four objects were placed on it; his candle, his m=
atches,
his customary night drink of lemonade, and his basket of keys.
The idea of possessing herself of his keys that
night (if an opportunity offered when the basket was not in his hand) had f=
irst
crossed her mind when she saw him go into his room. She had lost it again f=
or
the moment, in the surprise of discovering the empty truckle-bed. She now
recovered it the instant the table attracted her attention. It was useless =
to waste
time in trying to choose the one key wanted from the rest--the one key was =
not
well enough known to her to be readily identified. She took all the keys fr=
om
the table, in the basket as they lay, and noiselessly closed the door behind
her on leaving the room.
The truckle-bed, as she passed it, obtruded it=
self
again on her attention, and forced her to think of it. After a moment's con=
sideration,
she moved the foot of the bed back to its customary position across the doo=
r.
Whether he was in the house or out of it, the veteran might return to his
deserted post at any moment. If he saw the bed moved from its usual place, =
he
might suspect something wrong, he might rouse his master, and the loss of t=
he
keys might be discovered.
Nothing happened as she descended the stairs,
nothing happened as she passed along the corridor; the house was as silent =
and
as solitary as ever. She crossed the Banqueting-Hall this time without
hesitation; the events of the night had hardened her mind against all imagi=
nary
terrors. "Now, I have got it!" she whispered to herself, in an
irrepressible outburst of exaltation, as she entered the first of the east
rooms and put her candle on the top of the old bureau.
Even yet there was a trial in store for her
patience. Some minutes elapsed--minutes that seemed hours--before she found=
the
right key and raised the lid of the bureau. At last she drew out the inner
drawer! At last she had the letter in her hand!
It had been sealed, but the seal was broken. S=
he
opened it on the spot, to make sure that she had actually possessed herself=
of
the Trust before leaving the room. The end of the letter was the first part=
of
it she turned to. It came to its conclusion high on the third page, and it =
was signed
by Noel Vanstone. Below the name these lines were added in the admiral's
handwriting:
=
"This
letter was received by me at the same time with the will of my friend, Noel
Vanstone. In the event of my death, without leaving any other directions
respecting it, I beg my nephew and my executors to understand that I consid=
er
the requests made in this document as absolutely binding on me.
"ARTHUR EVERARD BARTRAM."
=
She
left those lines unread. She just noticed that they were not in Noel Vansto=
ne's
handwriting; and, passing over them instantly, as immaterial to the object =
in
view, turned the leaves of the letter, and transferred her attention to the
opening sentences on the first page. She read these words:
=
"DEAR
ADMIRAL BARTRAM--When you open my Will (in which you are named my sole
executor), you will find that I have bequeathed the whole residue of my
estate--after payment of one legacy of five thousand pounds--to yourself. I=
t is
the purpose of my letter to tell you privately what the object is for which=
I
have left you the fortune which is now placed in your hands.
"I beg you to consider this large legacy =
as
intended--"
=
She
had proceeded thus far with breathless curiosity and interest, when her
attention suddenly failed her. Something--she was too deeply absorbed to kn=
ow
what--had got between her and the letter. Was it a sound in the Banqueting-=
Hall
again? She looked over her shoulder at the door behind her, and listened.
Nothing was to be heard, nothing was to be seen. She returned to the letter=
.
The writing was cramped and close. In her
impatient curiosity to read more, she failed to find the lost place again. =
Her
eyes, attracted by a blot, lighted on a sentence lower in the page than the
sentence at which she had left off. The first three words she saw riveted h=
er
attention anew--they were the first words she had met with in the letter wh=
ich directly
referred to George Bartram. In the sudden excitement of that discovery, she
read the rest of the sentence eagerly, before she made any second attempt to
return to the lost place:
=
"If
your nephew fails to comply with these conditions--that is to say, if, being
either a bachelor or a widower at the time of my decease, he fails to marry=
in
all respects as I have here instructed him to marry, within six calendar mo=
nths
from that time--it is my desire that he shall not receive--"
=
She
had read to that point, to that last word and no further, when a hand passed
suddenly from behind her between the letter and her eye, and gripped her fa=
st
by the wrist in an instant.
She turned with a shriek of terror, and found
herself face to face with old Mazey.
The veteran's eyes were bloodshot; his hand was
heavy; his list slippers were twisted crookedly on his feet; and his body
swayed to and fro on his widely parted legs. If he had tested his condition
that night by the unfailing criterion of the model ship, he must have
inevitably pronounced sentence on himself in the usual form: "Drunk ag=
ain,
Mazey; drunk again."
"You young Jezebel!" said the old
sailor, with a leer on one side of his face, and a frown on the other.
"The next time you take to night-walking in the neighborhood of
Freeze-your-Bones, use those sharp eyes of yours first, and make sure there=
's
nobody else night walking in the garden outside. Drop it, Jezebel! drop
it!"
Keeping fast hold of Magdalen's arm with one h=
and,
he took the letter from her with the other, put it back into the open drawe=
r, and
locked the bureau. She never struggled with him, she never spoke. Her energ=
y was
gone; her powers of resistance were crushed. The terrors of that horrible
night, following one close on the other in reiterated shocks, had struck her
down at last. She yielded as submissively, she trembled as helplessly, as t=
he
weakest woman living.
Old Mazey dropped her arm, and pointed with
drunken solemnity to a chair in an inner corner of the room. She sat down,
still without uttering a word. The veteran (breathing very hard over it)
steadied himself on both elbows against the slanting top of the bureau, and
from that commanding position addressed Magdalen once more.
"Come and be locked up!" said old Ma=
zey,
wagging his venerable head with judicial severity. "There'll be a cour=
t of
inquiry to-morrow morning, and I'm witness--worse luck!--I'm witness. You y=
oung
jade, you've committed burglary--that's what you've done. His honor the
admiral's keys stolen; his honor the admiral's desk ransacked; and his honor
the admiral's private letters broke open. Burglary! Burglary! Come and be l=
ocked
up!" He slowly recovered an upright position, with the assistance of h=
is
hands, backed by the solid resisting power of the bureau; and lapsed into
lachrymose soliloquy. "Who'd have thought it?" said old Mazey,
paternally watering at the eyes. "Take the outside of her, and she's as
straight as a poplar; take the inside of her, and she's as crooked as Sin. =
Such
a fine-grown girl, too. What a pity! what a pity!"
"Don't hurt me!" said Magdalen, fain=
tly,
as old Mazey staggered up to the chair, and took her by the wrist again.
"I'm frightened, Mr. Mazey--I'm dreadfully frightened."
"Hurt you?" repeated the veteran.
"I'm a deal too fond of you--and more shame for me at my age!--to hurt
you. If I let go of your wrist, will you walk straight before me, where I c=
an
see you all the way? Will you be a good girl, and walk straight up to your =
own
door?"
Magdalen gave the promise required of her--gav=
e it
with an eager longing to reach the refuge of her room. She rose, and tried =
to
take the candle from the bureau, but old Mazey's cunning hand was too quick=
for
her. "Let the candle be," said the veteran, winking in momentary =
forgetfulness
of his responsible position. "You're a trifle quicker on your legs tha=
n I
am, my dear, and you might leave me in the lurch, if I don't carry the
light."
They returned to the inhabited side of the hou=
se.
Staggering after Magdalen, with the basket of keys in one hand and the cand=
le
in the other, old Mazey sorrowfully compared her figure with the straightne=
ss of
the poplar, and her disposition with the crookedness of Sin, all the way ac=
ross
"Freeze-your-Bones," and all the way upstairs to her own door.
Arrived at that destination, he peremptorily refused to give her the candle
until he had first seen her safely inside the room. The conditions being
complied with, he resigned the light with one hand, and made a dash with the
other at the key, drew it from the inside of the lock, and instantly closed=
the
door. Magdalen heard him outside chuckling over his own dexterity, and fitt=
ing
the key into the lock again with infinite difficulty. At last he secured the
door, with a deep grunt of relief. "There she is safe!" Magdalen
heard him say, in regretful soliloquy. "As fine a girl as ever I sat e=
yes
on. What a pity! what a pity!"
The last sounds of his voice died out in the
distance; and she was left alone in her room.
=
Holding
fast by the banister, old Mazey made his way down to the corridor on the se=
cond
floor, in which a night light was always burning. He advanced to the
truckle-bed, and, steadying himself against the opposite wall, looked at it
attentively. Prolonged contemplation of his own resting-place for the night
apparently failed to satisfy him. He shook his head ominously, and, taking =
from
the side-pocket of his great-coat a pair of old patched slippers, surveyed =
them
with an aspect of illimitable doubt. "I'm all abroad to-night," he
mumbled to himself. "Troubled in my mind--that's what it is--troubled =
in
my mind."
The old patched slippers and the veteran's
existing perplexities happened to be intimately associated one with the oth=
er,
in the relation of cause and effect. The slippers belonged to the admiral, =
who
had taken one of his unreasonable fancies to this particular pair, and who
still persisted in wearing them long after they were unfit for his service.=
Early
that afternoon old Mazey had taken the slippers to the village cobbler to g=
et
them repaired on the spot, before his master called for them the next morni=
ng;
he sat superintending the progress and completion of the work until evening
came, when he and the cobbler betook themselves to the village inn to drink
each other's healths at parting. They had prolonged this social ceremony ti=
ll
far into the night, and they had parted, as a necessary consequence, in a
finished and perfect state of intoxication on either side.
If the drinking-bout had led to no other result
than those night wanderings in the grounds of St. Crux, which had shown old
Mazey the light in the east windows, his memory would unquestionably have p=
resented
it to him the next morning in the aspect of one of the praiseworthy
achievements of his life. But another consequence had sprung from it, which=
the
old sailor now saw dimly, through the interposing bewilderment left in his
brain by the drink. He had committed a breach of discipline, and a breach of
trust. In plainer words, he had deserted his post.
The one safeguard against Admiral Bartram's
constitutional tendency to somnambulism was the watch and ward which his
faithful old servant kept outside his door. No entreaties had ever prevaile=
d on
him to submit to the usual precaution taken in such cases. He peremptorily
declined to be locked into his room; he even ignored his own liability,
whenever a dream disturbed him, to walk in his sleep. Over and over again, =
old
Mazey had been roused by the admiral's attempts to push past the truckle-be=
d,
or to step over it, in his sleep; and over and over again, when the veteran=
had
reported the fact the next morning, his master had declined to believe him.=
As
the old sailor now stood, staring in vacant inquiry at the bed-chamber door,
these incidents of the past rose confusedly on his memory, and forced on him
the serious question whether the admiral had left his room during the earli=
er
hours of the night. If by any mischance the sleep-walking fit had seized hi=
m,
the slippers in old Mazey's hand pointed straight to the conclusion that
followed--his master must have passed barefoot in the cold night over the s=
tone
stairs and passages of St. Crux. "Lord send he's been quiet!"
muttered old Mazey, daunted, bold as he was and drunk as he was, by the bar=
e contemplation
of that prospect. "If his honor's been walking to-night, it will be the
death of him!"
He roused himself for the moment by main
force--strong in his dog-like fidelity to the admiral, though strong in not=
hing
else--and fought off the stupor of the drink. He looked at the bed with
steadier eyes and a clearer mind. Magdalen's precaution in returning it to =
its
customary position presented it to him necessarily in the aspect of a bed w=
hich
had never been moved from its place. He next examined the counterpane caref=
ully.
Not the faintest vestige appeared of the indentation which must have been l=
eft
by footsteps passing over it. There was the plain evidence before him--the
evidence recognizable at last by his own bewildered eyes--that the admiral =
had
never moved from his room.
"I'll take the Pledge to-morrow!"
mumbled old Mazey, in an outburst of grateful relief. The next moment the f=
umes
of the liquor floated back insidiously over his brain; and the veteran,
returning to his customary remedy, paced the passage in zigzag as usual, and
kept watch on the deck of an imaginary ship.
=
Soon
after sunrise, Magdalen suddenly heard the grating of the key from outside =
in
the lock of the door. The door opened, and old Mazey re-appeared on the
threshold. The first fever of his intoxication had cooled, with time, into a
mild, penitential glow. He breathed harder than ever, in a succession of low
growls, and wagged his venerable head at his own delinquencies without
intermission.
"How are you now, you young land-shark in
petticoats?" inquired the old sailor. "Has your conscience been q=
uiet
enough to let you go to sleep?"
"I have not slept," said Magdalen,
drawing back from him in doubt of what he might do next. "I have no
remembrance of what happened after you locked the door--I think I must have
fainted. Don't frighten me again, Mr. Mazey! I feel miserably weak and ill.
What do you want?"
"I want to say something serious,"
replied old Mazey, with impenetrable solemnity. "It's been on my mind =
to
come here and make a clean breast of it, for the last hour or more. Mark my
words, young woman. I'm going to disgrace myself."
Magdalen drew further and further back, and lo=
oked
at him in rising alarm.
"I know my duty to his honor the
admiral," proceeded old Mazey, waving his hand drearily in the directi=
on
of his master's door. "But, try as hard as I may, I can't find it in my
heart, you young jade, to be witness against you. I liked the make of you
(especially about the waist) when you first came into the house, and I can't
help liking the make of you still--though you have committed burglary, and
though you are as crooked as Sin. I've cast the eyes of indulgence on
fine-grown girls all my life, and it's too late in the day to cast the eyes=
of severity
on 'em now. I'm seventy-seven, or seventy-eight, I don't rightly know which.
I'm a battered old hulk, with my seams opening, and my pumps choked, and the
waters of Death powering in on me as fast as they can. I'm as miserable a
sinner as you'll meet with anywhere in these parts--Thomas Nagle, the cobbl=
er,
only excepted; and he's worse than I am, for he's the younger of the two, a=
nd
he ought to know better. But the long and short or it is, I shall go down t=
o my
grave with an eye of indulgence for a fine-grown girl. More shame for me, y=
ou
young Jezebel--more shame for me!"
The veteran's unmanageable eyes began to leer
again in spite of him, as he concluded his harangue in these terms: the last
reserves of austerity left in his face entrenched themselves dismally round=
the
corners of his mouth. Magdalen approached him again, and tried to speak. He
solemnly motioned her back with another dreary wave of his hand.
"No carneying!" said old Mazey;
"I'm bad enough already, without that. It's my duty to make my report =
to
his honor the admiral, and I will make it. But if you like to give the house
the slip before the burglary's reported, and the court of inquiry begins, I=
'll
disgrace myself by letting you go. It's market morning at Ossory, and Dawkes
will be driving the light cart over in a quarter of an hour's time. Dawkes =
will
take you if I ask him. I know my duty--my duty is to turn the key on you, a=
nd
see Dawkes damned first. But I can't find it in my heart to be hard on a fi=
ne
girl like you. It's bred in the bone, and it wunt come out of the flesh. Mo=
re
shame for me, I tell you again--more shame for me!"
The proposal thus strangely and suddenly prese=
nted
to her took Magdalen completely by surprise. She had been far too seriously
shaken by the events of the night to be capable of deciding on any subject =
at a
moment's notice. "You are very good to me, Mr. Mazey," she said.
"May I have a minute by myself to think?"
"Yes, you may," replied the veteran,
facing about forthwith and leaving the room. "They're all alike,"
proceeded old Mazey, with his head still running on the sex. "Whatever=
you
offer 'em, they always want something more. Tall and short, native and fore=
ign,
sweethearts and wives, they're all alike!"
Left by herself, Magdalen reached her decision
with far less difficulty than she had anticipated.
If she remained in the house, there were only =
two
courses before her--to charge old Mazey with speaking under the influence o=
f a
drunken delusion, or to submit to circumstances. Though she owed to the old=
sailor
her defeat in the very hour of success, his consideration for her at that
moment forbade the idea of defending herself at his expense--even supposing,
what was in the last degree improbable, that the defense would be credited.=
In
the second of the two cases (the case of submission to circumstances), but =
one
result could be expected--instant dismissal, and perhaps discovery as well.
What object was to be gained by braving that degradation--by leaving the ho=
use publicly
disgraced in the eyes of the servants who had hated and distrusted her from=
the
first? The accident which had literally snatched the Trust from her possess=
ion
when she had it in her hand was irreparable. The one apparent compensation
under the disaster--in other words, the discovery that the Trust actually
existed, and that George Bartram's marriage within a given time was one of =
the
objects contained in it--was a compensation which could only be estimated at
its true value by placing it under the light of Mr. Loscombe's experience.
Every motive of which she was conscious was a motive which urged her to lea=
ve the
house secretly while the chance was at her disposal. She looked out into th=
e passage,
and called softly to old Mazey to come back.
"I accept your offer thankfully, Mr.
Mazey," she said. "You don't know what hard measure you dealt out=
to
me when you took that letter from my hand. But you did your duty, and I can=
be
grateful to you for sparing me this morning, hard as you were upon me last
night. I am not such a bad girl as you think me--I am not, indeed."
Old Mazey dismissed the subject with another
dreary wave of his hand.
"Let it be," said the veteran; "=
;let
it be! It makes no difference, my girl, to such an old rascal as I am. If y=
ou
were fifty times worse than you are, I should let you go all the same. Put =
on
your bonnet and shawl, and come along. I'm a disgrace to myself and a warni=
ng
to others--that's what I am. No luggage, mind! Leave all your rattle-traps
behind you: to be overhauled, if necessary, at his honor the admiral's
discretion. I can be hard enough on your boxes, you young Jezebel, if I can=
't
be hard on you."
With these words, old Mazey led the way out of=
the
room. "The less I see of her the better--especially about the waist,&q=
uot;
he said to himself, as he hobbled downstairs with the help of the banisters=
.
The cart was standing in the back yard when th=
ey
reached the lower regions of the house, and Dawkes (otherwise the farm-bail=
iff's
man) was fastening the last buckle of the horse's harness. The hoar-frost o=
f the
morning was still white in the shade. The sparkling points of it glistened
brightly on the shaggy coats of Brutus and Cassius, as they idled about the
yard, waiting, with steaming mouths and slowly wagging tails, to see the ca=
rt
drive off. Old Mazey went out alone and used his influence with Dawkes, who,
staring in stolid amazement, put a leather cushion on the cart-seat for his
fellow-traveler. Shivering in the sharp morning air, Magdalen waited, while=
the
preliminaries of departure were in progress, conscious of nothing but a gid=
dy
bewilderment of thought, and a helpless suspension of feeling. The events of
the night confused themselves hideously with the trivial circumstances pass=
ing
before her eyes in the courtyard. She started with the sudden terror of the
night when old Mazey re-appeared to summon her out to the cart. She tremble=
d with
the helpless confusion of the night when the veteran cast the eyes of indul=
gence
on her for the last time, and gave her a kiss on the cheek at parting. The =
next
minute she felt him help her into the cart, and pat her on the back. The ne=
xt,
she heard him tell her in a confidential whisper that, sitting or standing,=
she
was as straight as a poplar either way. Then there was a pause, in which
nothing was said, and nothing done; and then the driver took the reins in h=
and
and mounted to his place.
She roused herself at the parting moment and
looked back. The last sight she saw at St. Crux was old Mazey wagging his h=
ead
in the courtyard, with his fellow-profligates, the dogs, keeping time to him
with their tails. The last words she heard were the words in which the vete=
ran
paid his farewell tribute to her charms:
"Burglary or no burglary," said old
Mazey, "she's a fine-grown girl, if ever there was a fine one yet. Wha=
t a
pity! what a pity!"
BETWEEN THE SCENES - PROG=
RESS
OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.
=
From George Bartram to Admiral Bartram.
"London, April 3d, 1848.
"MY DEAR UNCLE--One hasty line, to inform=
you
of a temporary obstacle, which we neither of us anticipated when we took le=
ave
of each other at St. Crux. While I was wasting the last days of the week at=
the
Grange, the Tyrrels must have been making their arrangements for leaving
London. I have just come from Portland Place. The house is shut up, and the=
family
(Miss Vanstone, of course, included) left England yesterday, to pass the se=
ason
in Paris.
"Pray don't let yourself be annoyed by th=
is
little check at starting. It is of no serious importance whatever. I have g=
ot
the address at which the Tyrrels are living, and I mean to cross the Channel
after them by the mail to-night. I shall find my opportunity in Paris just =
as
soon as I could have found it in London. The grass shall not grow under my
feet, I promise you. For once in my life, I will take Time as fiercely by t=
he forelock
as if I was the most impetuous man in England; and, rely on it, the moment I
know the result, you shall know the result, too. Affectionately yours,
"GEORGE BARTRAM."
From George Bartram to Miss Garth.
"Paris, April 13th.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--I have just written, wi=
th a
heavy heart, to my uncle, and I think I owe it to your kind interest in me =
not
to omit writing next to you.
"You will feel for my disappointment, I am
sure, when I tell you, in the fewest and plainest words, that Miss Vanstone=
has
refused me.
"My vanity may have grievously misled me,=
but
I confess I expected a very different result. My vanity may be misleading me
still; for I must acknowledge to you privately that I think Miss Vanstone w=
as
sorry to refuse me. The reason she gave for her decision--no doubt a suffic=
ient
reason in her estimation--did not at the time, and does not now, seem suffi=
cient
to me. Sh e spoke in the sweetest and kindest manner, but she firmly declar=
ed
that 'her family misfortunes' left her no honorable alternative--but to thi=
nk
of my own interests as I had not thought of them myself--and gratefully to
decline accepting my offer.
"She was so painfully agitated that I cou=
ld
not venture to plead my own cause as I might otherwise have pleaded it. At =
the
first attempt I made to touch the personal question, she entreated me to sp=
are
her, and abruptly left the room. I am still ignorant whether I am to interp=
ret the
'family misfortunes' which have set up this barrier between us, as meaning =
the
misfortune for which her parents alone are to blame, or the misfortune of h=
er
having such a woman as Mrs. Noel Vanstone for her sister. In whichever of t=
hese
circumstances the obstacle lies, it is no obstacle in my estimation. Can
nothing remove it? Is there no hope? Forgive me for asking these questions.=
I
cannot bear up against my bitter disappointment. Neither she, nor you, nor =
any
one but myself, can know how I love her.
"Ever most truly yours,
"GEORGE BARTRAM.
"P. S.--I shall leave for England in a da=
y or
two, passing through London on my way to St. Crux. There are family reasons,
connected with the hateful subject of money, which make me look forward with
anything but pleasure to my next interview with my uncle. If you address yo=
ur letter
to Long's Hotel, it will be sure to reach me."
From Miss Garth to George Bartram.
"Westmoreland House, April 16th.
"DEAR MR. BARTRAM--You only did me justic=
e in
supposing that your letter would distress me. If you had supposed that it w=
ould
make me excessively angry as well, you would not have been far wrong. I hav=
e no
patience with the pride and perversity of the young women of the present da=
y.
"I have heard from Norah. It is a long
letter, stating the particulars in full detail. I am now going to put all t=
he
confidence in your honor and your discretion which I really feel. For your
sake, and for Norah's, I am going to let you know what the scruple really is
which has misled her into the pride and folly of refusing you. I am old eno=
ugh
to speak out; and I can tell you, if she had only been wise enough to let h=
er
own wishes guide her, she would have said Yes--and gladly, too.
"The original cause of all the mischief i=
s no
less a person than your worthy uncle--Admiral Bartram.
"It seems that the admiral took it into h=
is
head (I suppose during your absence) to go to London by himself and to sati=
sfy
some curiosity of his own about Norah by calling in Portland Place, under
pretense of renewing his old friendship with the Tyrrels. He came at
luncheon-time, and saw Norah; and, from all I can hear, was apparently bett=
er
pleased with her than he expected or wished to be when he came into the hou=
se.
"So far, this is mere guess-work; but it =
is
unluckily certain that he and Mrs. Tyrrel had some talk together alone when
luncheon was over. Your name was not mentioned; but when their conversation
fell on Norah, you were in both their minds, of course. The admiral (doing =
her
full justice personally) declared himself smitten with pity for her hard lo=
t in
life. The scandalous conduct of her sister must always stand (he feared) in=
the
way of her future advantage. Who could marry her, without first making it a=
condition
that she and her sister were to be absolute strangers to each other? And ev=
en
then, the objection would remain--the serious objection to the husband's
family--of being connected by marriage with such a woman as Mrs. Noel Vanst=
one.
It was very sad; it was not the poor girl's fault, but it was none the less
true that her sister was her rock ahead in life. So he ran on, with no real=
ill-feeling
toward Norah, but with an obstinate belief in his own prejudices which bore=
the
aspect of ill-feeling, and which people with more temper than judgment woul=
d be
but too readily disposed to resent accordingly.
"Unfortunately, Mrs. Tyrrel is one of tho=
se
people. She is an excellent, warm-hearted woman, with a quick temper and ve=
ry
little judgment; strongly attached to Norah, and heartily interested in Nor=
ah's
welfare. From all I can learn, she first resented the expression of the
admiral's opinion, in his presence, as worldly and selfish in the last degr=
ee; and
then interpreted it, behind his back, as a hint to discourage his nephew's
visits, which was a downright insult offered to a lady in her own house. Th=
is
was foolish enough so far; but worse folly was to come.
"As soon as your uncle was gone, Mrs. Tyr=
rel,
most unwisely and improperly, sent for Norah, and, repeating the conversati=
on
that had taken place, warned her of the reception she might expect from the=
man
who stood toward you in the position of a father, if she accepted an offer =
of
marriage on your part. When I tell you that Norah's faithful attachment to =
her
sister still remains unshaken, and that there lies hidden under her noble
submission to the unhappy circumstances of her life a proud susceptibility =
to
slights of all kinds, which is deeply seated in her nature--you will unders=
tand
the true motive of the refusal which has so naturally and so justly
disappointed you. They are all three equally to blame in this matter. Your
uncle was wrong to state his objections so roundly and inconsiderately as he
did. Mrs. Tyrrel was wrong to let her temper get the better of her, and to
suppose herself insulted where no insult was intended. And Norah was wrong =
to
place a scruple of pride, and a hopeless belief in her sister which no
strangers can be expected to share, above the higher claims of an attachment
which might have secured the happiness and the prosperity of her future lif=
e.
"But the mischief has been done. The next
question is, can the harm be remedied?
"I hope and believe it can. My advice is
this: Don't take No for an answer. Give her time enough to reflect on what =
she
has done, and to regret it (as I believe she will regret it) in secret; tru=
st
to my influence over her to plead your cause for you at every opportunity I=
can
find; wait patiently for the right moment, and ask her again. Men, being
accustomed to act on reflection themselves, are a great deal too apt to bel=
ieve
that women act on reflection, too. Women do nothing of the sort. They act on
impulse; and, in nine cases out of ten, they are heartily sorry for it
afterward.
"In the meanwhile, you must help your own
interests by inducing your uncle to alter his opinion, or at least to make =
the
concession of keeping his opinion to himself. Mrs. Tyrrel has rushed to the
conclusion that the harm he has done he did intentionally--which is as much=
as
to say, in so many words, that he had a prophetic conviction, when he came =
into
the house, of what she would do when he left it. My explanation of the matt=
er
is a much simpler one. I believe that the knowledge of your attachment
naturally aroused his curiosity to see the object of it, and that Mrs. Tyrr=
el's
injudicious praises of Norah irritated his objections into openly declaring
themselves. Anyway, your course lies equally plain before you. Use your
influence over your uncle to persuade him into setting matters right again;
trust my settled resolution to see Norah your wife before six months more a=
re
over our heads; and believe me, your friend and well-wisher,
"HARRIET GARTH."
From Mrs. Drake to George Bartram.
"St. Crux, April 17th.
"SIR--I direct these lines to the hotel y=
ou
usually stay at in London, hoping that you may return soon enough from fore=
ign
parts to receive my letter without delay.
"I am sorry to say that some unpleasant
events have taken place at St. Crux since you left it, and that my honored
master, the admiral, is far from enjoying his usual good health. On both th=
ese
accounts, I venture to write to you on my own responsibility, for I think y=
our
presence is needed in the house.
"Early in the month a most regrettable
circumstance took place. Our new parlor-maid was discovered by Mr. Mazey, a=
t a
late hour of the night (with her master' s basket of keys in her possession=
),
prying into the private documents kept in the east library. The girl removed
herself from the house the next morning before we were any of us astir, and=
she
has not been heard of since. This event has annoyed and alarmed my master v=
ery
seriously; and to make matters worse, on the day when the girl's treacherous
conduct was discovered, the admiral was seized with the first symptoms of a
severe inflammatory cold. He was not himself aware, nor was any one else, h=
ow
he had caught the chill. The doctor was sent for, and kept the inflammation
down until the day before yesterday, when it broke out again, under
circumstances which I am sure you will be sorry to hear, as I am truly sorr=
y to
write of them.
"On the date I have just mentioned--I mean
the fifteenth of the month--my master himself informed me that he had been
dreadfully disappointed by a letter received from you, which had come in th=
e morning
from foreign parts, and had brought him bad news. He did not tell me what t=
he
news was--but I have never, in all the years I have passed in the admiral's
service, seen him so distressingly upset, and so unlike himself, as he was =
on that
day. At night his uneasiness seemed to increase. He was in such a state of
irritation that he could not bear the sound of Mr. Mazey's hard breathing
outside his door, and he laid his positive orders on the old man to go into=
one
of the bedrooms for that night. Mr. Mazey, to his own great regret, was of
course obliged to obey.
"Our only means of preventing the admiral
from leaving his room in his sleep, if the fit unfortunately took him, being
now removed, Mr. Mazey and I agreed to keep watch by turns through the nigh=
t,
sitting, with the door ajar, in one of the empty rooms near our master's
bed-chamber. We could think of nothing better to do than this, knowing he w=
ould
not allow us to lock him in, and not having the door key in our possession,=
even
if we could have ventured to secure him in his room without his permission.=
I
kept watch for the first two hours, and then Mr. Mazey took my place. After
having been some little time in my own room, it occurred to me that the old=
man
was hard of hearing, and that if his eyes grew at all heavy in the night, h=
is
ears were not to be trusted to warn him if anything happened. I slipped on =
my
clothes again, and went back to Mr. Mazey. He was neither asleep nor awake-=
-he
was between the two. My mind misgave me, and I went on to the admiral's roo=
m.
The door was open, and the bed was empty.
"Mr. Mazey and I went downstairs instantl=
y.
We looked in all the north rooms, one after another, and found no traces of
him. I thought of the drawing-room next, and, being the more active of the =
two,
went first to examine it. The moment I turned the sharp corner of the passa=
ge,
I saw my master coming toward me through the open drawing-room door, asleep=
and
dreaming, with his keys in his hands. The sliding door behind him was open =
also;
and the fear came to me then, and has remained with me ever since, that his
dream had led him through the Banqueting-Hall into the east rooms. We absta=
ined
from waking him, and followed his steps until he returned of his own accord=
to
his bed-chamber. The next morning, I grieve to say, all the bad symptoms ca=
me
back; and none of the remedies employed have succeeded in getting the bette=
r of
them yet. By the doctor's advice, we refrained from telling the admiral what
had happened. He is still under the impression that he passed the night as =
usual
in his own room.
"I have been careful to enter into all the
particulars of this unfortunate accident, because neither Mr. Mazey nor mys=
elf
desire to screen ourselves from blame, if blame we have deserved. We both a=
cted
for the best, and we both beg and pray you will consider our responsible si=
tuation,
and come as soon as possible to St. Crux. Our honored master is very hard to
manage; and the doctor thinks, as we do, that your presence is wanted in the
house.
"I remain, sir, with Mr. Mazey's respects=
and
my own, your humble servant,
"SOPHIA DRAKE."
From George Bartram to Miss Garth.
"St. Crux, April 22d.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--Pray excuse my not than=
king
you sooner for your kind and consoling letter. We are in sad trouble at St.
Crux. Any little irritation I might have felt at my poor uncle's unlucky
interference in Portland Place is all forgotten in the misfortune of his
serious illness. He is suffering from internal inflammation, produced by co=
ld; and
symptoms have shown themselves which are dangerous at his age. A physician =
from
London is now in the house. You shall hear more in a few days. Meantime,
believe me, with sincere gratitude,
"Yours most truly,
"GEORGE BARTRAM."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn Fields, May 6th.
"DEAR MADAM--I have unexpectedly received
some information which is of the most vital importance to your interests. T=
he
news of Admiral Bartram's death has reached me this morning. He expired at =
his
own house, on the fourth of the present month.
"This event at once disposes of the
considerations which I had previously endeavored to impress on you, in rela=
tion
to your discovery at St. Crux. The wisest course we can now follow is to op=
en communications
at once with the executors of the deceased gentleman; addressing them throu=
gh
the medium of the admiral's legal adviser, in the first instance.
"I have dispatched a letter this day to t=
he
solicitor in question. It simply warns him that we have lately become aware=
of
the existence of a private Document, controlling the deceased gentleman in =
his
use of the legacy devised to him by Mr. Noel Vanstone's will. My letter ass=
umes
that the document will be easily found among the admiral's papers; and it
mentions that I am the solicitor appointed by Mrs. Noel Vanstone to receive
communications on her behalf. My object in taking this step is to cause a
search to be instituted for the Trust--in the very probable event of the
executors not having met with it yet-before the usual measures are adopted =
for
the administration of the admiral's estate. We will threaten legal proceedi=
ngs,
if we find that the object does not succeed. But I anticipate no such
necessity. Admiral Bartram's executors must be men of high standing and
position; and they will do justice to you and to themselves in this matter =
by
looking for the Trust.
"Under these circumstances, you will
naturally ask, 'What are our prospects when the document is found?' Our
prospects have a bright side and a dark side. Let us take the bright side to
begin with.
"What do we actually know?
"We know, first, that the Trust does real=
ly
exist. Secondly, that there is a provision in it relating to the marriage of
Mr. George Bartram in a given time. Thirdly, that the time (six months from=
the
date of your husband's death) expired on the third of this month. Fourthly,
that Mr. George Bartram (as I have found out by inquiry, in the absence of =
any positive
information on the subject possessed by yourself) is, at the present moment=
, a
single man. The conclusion naturally follows, that the object contemplated =
by
the Trust, in this case, is an object that has failed.
"If no other provisions have been inserte=
d in
the document--or if, being inserted, those other provisions should be
discovered to have failed also--I believe it to be impossible (especially if
evidence can be found that the admiral himself considered the Trust binding=
on
him) for the executors to deal with your husband's fortune as legally formi=
ng
part of Admiral Bartram's estate. The legacy is expressly declared to have =
been
left to him, on the understanding that he applies it to certain stated obje=
cts--and
those objects have failed. What is to be done with the money? It was not le=
ft
to the admiral himself, on the testator's own showing; and the purposes for
which it was left have not been, and cannot be, carried out. I believe (if =
the
case here supposed really happens) that the money must revert to the testat=
or's
estate. In that event the Law, dealing with it as a matter of necessity,
divides it into two equal portions. One half goes to Mr. Noel Vans tone's
childless widow, and the other half is divided among Mr. Noel Vanstone's ne=
xt
of kin.
"You will no doubt discover the obvious
objection to the case in our favor, as I have here put it. You will see tha=
t it
depends for its practical realization not on one contingency, but on a seri=
es
of contingencies, which must all happen exactly as we wish them to happen. I
admit the force of the objection; but I can tell you, at the same time, that
these said contingencies are by no means so improbable as they may look on =
the
face of them.
"We have every reason to believe that the
Trust, like the Will, was not drawn by a lawyer. That is one circumstance in
our favor that is enough of itself to cast a doubt on the soundness of all,=
or
any, of the remaining provisions which we may not be acquainted with. Anoth=
er chance
which we may count on is to be found, as I think, in that strange handwriti=
ng,
placed under the signature on the third page of the Letter, which you saw, =
but
which you, unhappily, omitted to read. All the probabilities point to those
lines as written by Admiral Bartram: and the position which they occupy is
certainly consistent with the theory that they touch the important subject =
of
his own sense of obligation under the Trust.
"I wish to raise no false hopes in your m=
ind.
I only desire to satisfy you that we have a case worth trying.
"As for the dark side of the prospect, I =
need
not enlarge on it. After what I have already written, you will understand t=
hat
the existence of a sound provision, unknown to us, in the Trust, which has =
been
properly carried out by the admiral--or which can be properly carried out by
his representatives--would be necessarily fatal to our hopes. The legacy wo=
uld
be, in this case, devoted to the purpose or purposes contemplated by your
husband--and, from that moment, you would have no claim.
"I have only to add, that as soon as I he=
ar
from the late admiral's man of business, you shall know the result.
"Believe me, dear madam, faithfully yours=
,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From George Bartram to Miss Garth.
"St. Crux, May 15th.
"DEAR MISS GARTH--I trouble you with anot=
her
letter: partly to thank you for your kind expression of sympathy with me, u=
nder
the loss that I have sustained; and partly to tell you of an extraordinary
application made to my uncle's executors, in which you and Miss Vanstone may
both feel interested, as Mrs. Noel Vanstone is directly concerned in it.
"Knowing my own ignorance of legal techni=
calities,
I inclose a copy of the application, instead of trying to describe it. You =
will
notice as suspicious, that no explanation is given of the manner in which t=
he alleged
discovery of one of my uncle's secrets was made, by persons who are total s=
trangers
to him.
"On being made acquainted with the
circumstances, the executors at once applied to me. I could give them no
positive information--for my uncle never consulted me on matters of busines=
s.
But I felt in honor bound to tell them, that during the last six months of =
his
life, the admiral had occasionally let fall expressions of impatience in my
hearing, which led to the conclusion that he was annoyed by a private
responsibility of some kind. I also mentioned that he had imposed a very
strange condition on me--a condition which, in spite of his own assurances =
to
the contrary, I was persuaded could not have emanated from himself--of marr=
ying
within a given time (which time has now expired), or of not receiving from =
him
a certain sum of money, which I believed to be the same in amount as the sum
bequeathed to him in my cousin's will. The executors agreed with me that th=
ese
circumstances gave a color of probability to an otherwise incredible story;=
and
they decided that a search should be instituted for the Secret Trust, nothi=
ng
in the slightest degree resembling this same Trust having been discovered, =
up to
that time, among the admiral's papers.
"The search (no trifle in such a house as
this) has now been in full progress for a week. It is superintended by both=
the
executors, and by my uncle's lawyer, who is personally, as well as
professionally, known to Mr. Loscombe (Mrs. Noel Vanstone's solicitor), and=
who
has been included in the proceedings at the express request of Mr. Loscombe=
himself.
Up to this time, nothing whatever has been found. Thousands and thousands of
letters have been examined, and not one of them bears the remotest resembla=
nce
to the letter we are looking for.
"Another week will bring the search to an
end. It is only at my express request that it will be persevered with so lo=
ng.
But as the admiral's generosity has made me sole heir to everything he
possessed, I feel bound to do the fullest justice to the interests of other=
s,
however hostile to myself those interests may be.
"With this view, I have not hesitated to
reveal to the lawyer a constitutional peculiarity of my poor uncle's, which=
was
always kept a secret among us at his own request--I mean his tendency to
somnambulism. I mentioned that he had been discovered (by the housekeeper a=
nd
his old servant) walking in his sleep, about three weeks before his death, =
and that
the part of the house in which he had been seen, and the basket of keys whi=
ch
he was carrying in his hand, suggested the inference that he had come from =
one
of the rooms in the east wing, and that he might have opened some of the pi=
eces
of furniture in one of them. I surprised the lawyer (who seemed to be quite
ignorant of the extraordinary actions constantly performed by somnambulists=
),
by informing him that my uncle could find his way about the house, lock and
unlock doors, and remove objects of all kinds from one place to another, as
easily in his sleep as in his waking hours. And I declared that, while I fe=
lt
the faintest doubt in my own mind whether he might not have been dreaming of
the Trust on the night in question, and putting the dream in action in his =
sleep,
I should not feel satisfied unless the rooms in the east wing were searched
again.
"It is only right to add that there is not
the least foundation in fact for this idea of mine. During the latter part =
of
his fatal illness, my poor uncle was quite incapable of speaking on any sub=
ject
whatever. From the time of my arrival at St. Crux, in the middle of last mo=
nth,
to the time of his death, not a word dropped from him which referred in the=
remotest
way to the Secret Trust.
"Here then, for the present, the matter
rests. If you think it right to communicate the contents of this letter to =
Miss
Vanstone, pray tell her that it will not be my fault if her sister's assert=
ion
(however preposterous it may seem to my uncle's executors) is not fairly pu=
t to
the proof.
"Believe me, dear Miss Garth, always truly
yours,
"GEORGE BARTRAM.
"P. S.--As soon as all business matters a=
re
settled, I am going abroad for some months, to try the relief of change of
scene. The house will be shut up, and left under the charge of Mrs. Drake. I
have not forgotten your once telling me that you should like to see St. Cru=
x,
if you ever found yourself in this neighborhood. If you are at all likely t=
o be
in Essex during the time when I am abroad, I have provided against the chan=
ce
of your being disappointed, by leaving instructions with Mrs. Drake to give
you, and any friends of yours, the freest admission to the house and
grounds."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Noel Vanstone.
"Lincoln's Inn Fields, May 24th.
"DEAR MADAM--After a whole fortnight's
search--conducted, I am bound to admit, with the most conscientious and
unrelaxing care--no such document as the Secret Trust has been found among =
the
papers left at St. Crux by the late Admiral Bartram.
"Under these circumstances, the executors
have decided on acting under the only recognizable authority which they hav=
e to
guide them--the admiral's own will. This document (executed some years sinc=
e)
bequeaths the whole of his estate, both real and personal (that is to say, =
all
the lands he possesses, and all the money he possesses, at the time of his =
death),
to his nephew. The will is plain, and the result is inevitable. Your husban=
d's
fortune is lost to you from this moment. Mr. Georg e Bartram legally inheri=
ts
it, as he legally inherits the house and estate of St. Crux.
"I make no comment upon this extraordinary
close to the proceedings. The Trust may have been destroyed, or the Trust m=
ay
be hidden in some place of concealment inaccessible to discovery. Either wa=
y,
it is, in my opinion, impossible to found any valid legal declaration on a
knowledge of the document so fragmentary and so incomplete as the knowledge
which you possess. If other lawyers differ from me on this point, by all me=
ans
consult them. I have devoted money enough and time enough to the unfortunate
attempt to assert your interests; and my connection with the matter must, f=
rom
this moment, be considered at an end.
"Your obedient servant,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
From Mrs. Ruddock (Lodging-house Keeper) to Mr.
Loscombe.
"Park Terrace, St. John's Wood, June 2d.<= o:p>
"SIR--Having, by Mrs. Noel Vanstone's
directions, taken letters for her to the post, addressed to you--and knowin=
g no
one else to apply to--I beg to inquire whether you are acquainted with any =
of
her friends; for I think it right that they should be stirred up to take so=
me
steps about her.
"Mrs. Vanstone first came to me in Novemb=
er
last, when she and her maid occupied my apartments. On that occasion, and a=
gain
on this, she has given me no cause to complain of her. She has behaved like=
a
lady, and paid me my due. I am writing, as a mother of a family, under a se=
nse
of responsibility--I am not writing with an interested motive.
"After proper warning given, Mrs. Vanstone
(who is now quite alone) leaves me to-morrow. She has not concealed from me
that her circumstances are fallen very low, and that she cannot afford to
remain in my house. This is all she has told me--I know nothing of where sh=
e is
going, or what she means to do next. But I have every reason to believe she
desires to destroy all traces by which she might be found, after leaving th=
is
place--for I discovered her in tears yesterday, burning letters which were =
doubtless
letters from her friends. In looks and conduct she has altered most shockin=
gly
in the last week. I believe there is some dreadful trouble on her mind; and=
I
am afraid, from what I see of her, that she is on the eve of a serious illn=
ess.
It is very sad to see such a young woman so utterly deserted and friendless=
as
she is now.
"Excuse my troubling you with this letter=
; it
is on my conscience to write it. If you know any of her relations, please w=
arn
them that time is not to be wasted. If they lose to-morrow, they may lose t=
he
last chance of finding her.
"Your humble servant,
"CATHERINE RUDDOCK."
From Mr. Loscombe to Mrs. Ruddock.
"Lincoln's Inn Fields, June 2d.
"MADAM--MY only connection with Mrs. Noel
Vanstone was a professional one, and that connection is now at an end. I am=
not
acquainted with any of her friends; and I cannot undertake to interfere
personally, either with her present or future proceedings.
"Regretting my inability to afford you any
assistance, I remain, your obedient servant,
"JOHN LOSCOMBE."
=
CHAPTER
I.
ON the seventh of June, the owners of the
merchantman Deliverance received news that the ship had touched at Plymouth=
to
land passengers, and had then continued her homeward voyage to the Port of
London. Five days later, the vessel was in the river, and was towed into the
East India Docks.
Having transacted the business on shore for wh=
ich
he was personally responsible, Captain Kirke made the necessary arrangement=
s,
by letter, for visiting his brother-in-law's parsonage in Suffolk, on the s=
eventeenth
of the month. As usual in such cases, he received a list of commissions to
execute for his sister on the day before he left London. One of these
commissions took him into the neighborhood of Camden Town. He drove to his
destination from the Docks; and then, dismissing the vehicle, set forth to =
walk
back southward, toward the New Road.
He was not well acquainted with the district; =
and
his attention wandered further and further away from the scene around him a=
s he
went on. His thoughts, roused by the prospect of seeing his sister again, h=
ad
led his memory back to the night when he had parted from her, leaving the h=
ouse
on foot. The spell so strangely laid on him, in that past time, had kept its
hold through all after-events. The face that had haunted him on the lonely =
road
had haunted him again on the lonely sea. The woman who had followed him, as=
in
a dream, to his sister's door, had followed him--thought of his thought, and
spirit of his spirit--to the deck of his ship. Through storm and calm on the
voyage out, through storm and calm on the voyage home, she had been with hi=
m.
In the ceaseless turmoil of the London streets, she was with him now. He kn=
ew
what the first question on his lips would be, when he had seen his sister a=
nd
her boys. "I shall try to talk of something else," he thought;
"but when Lizzie and I am alone, it will come out in spite of me."=
;
The necessity of waiting to let a string of ca=
rts
pass at a turning before he crossed awakened him to present things. He look=
ed
about in a momentary confusion. The street was strange to him; he had lost =
his
way.
The first foot passenger of whom he inquired
appeared to have no time to waste in giving information. Hurriedly directing
him to cross to the other side of the road, to turn down the first street he
came to on his right hand, and then to ask again, the stranger unceremoniou=
sly
hastened on without waiting to be thanked.
Kirke followed his directions and took the tur=
ning
on his right. The street was short and narrow, and the houses on either side
were of the poorer order. He looked up as he passed the corner to see what =
the
name of the place might be. It was called "Aaron's Buildings."
Low down on the side of the "Buildings&qu=
ot;
along which he was walking, a little crowd of idlers was assembled round two
cabs, both drawn up before the door of the same house. Kirke advanced to the
crowd, to ask his way of any civil stranger among them who might not be in a
hurry this time. On approaching the cabs, he found a woman disputing with t=
he drivers;
and heard enough to inform him that two vehicles had been sent for by mista=
ke,
where only one was wanted.
The house door was open; and when he turned th=
at
way next, he looked easily into the passage, over the heads of the people in
front of him.
The sight that met his eyes should have been
shielded in pity from the observation of the street. He saw a slatternly gi=
rl,
with a frightened face, standing by an old chair placed in the middle of the
passage, and holding a woman on the chair, too weak and helpless to support=
herself--a
woman apparently in the last stage of illness, who was about to be removed,
when the dispute outside was ended, in one of the cabs. Her head was droopi=
ng
when he first saw her, and an old shawl which covered it had fallen forward=
so
as to hide the upper part of her face.
Before he could look away again, the girl in
charge of her raised her head and restored the shawl to its place. The acti=
on
disclosed her face to view, for an instant only, before her head drooped on=
ce
more on her bosom. In that instant he saw the woman whose beauty was the
haunting remembrance of his life--whose image had been vivid in his mind not
five minutes since.
The shock of the double recognition--the recog=
nition,
at the same moment, of the face, and of the dreadful change in it--struck h=
im speechless
and helpless. The steady presence of mind in all emergencies which had beco=
me a
habit of his life, failed him for the first time. The poverty-stricken stre=
et,
the squalid mob round the door, swam before his eyes. He staggered back and
caught at the iron railings of the house behind him.
"Where are they taking her to?" he h=
eard
a woman ask, close at his side.
"To the hospital, if they will have
her," was the reply. "And to the work-house, if they won't."=
That horrible answer roused him. He pushed his=
way
through the crowd and entered the house.
The misunderstanding on the pavement had been =
set
right, and one of the cabs had driven off.
As he crossed the threshold of the door he
confronted the people of the house at the moment when they were moving her.=
The
cabman who had remained was on one side of the chair, and the woman who had
been disputing with the two drivers was on the other. They were just liftin=
g her,
when Kirke's tall figure darkened the door.
"What are you doing with that lady?"=
he
asked.
The cabman looked up with the insolence of his
reply visible in his eyes, before his lips could utter it. But the woman,
quicker than he, saw the suppressed agitation in Kirke's face, and dropped =
her
hold of the chair in an instant.
"Do you know her, sir?" asked the wo=
man,
eagerly. "Are you one of her friends?"
"Yes," said Kirke, without hesitatio=
n.
"It's not my fault, sir," pleaded the
woman, shirking under the look he fixed on her. "I would have waited
patiently till her friends found her--I would, indeed!"
Kirke made no reply. He turned, and spoke to t=
he
cabman.
"Go out," he said, "and close t=
he
door after you. I'll send you down your money directly. What room in the ho=
use
did you take her from, when you brought her here?" he resumed, address=
ing
himself to the woman again.
"The first floor back, sir."
"Show me the way to it."
He stooped, and lifted Magdalen in his arms. H=
er
head rested gently on the sailor's breast; her eyes looked up wonderingly i=
nto
the sailor's face. She smiled, and whispered to him vacantly. Her mind had
wandered back to old days at home; and her few broken words showed that she=
fancied
herself a child again in her father's arms. "Poor papa!" she said,
softly. "Why do you look so sorry? Poor papa!"
The woman led the way into the back room on the
first floor. It was very small; it was miserably furnished. But the little =
bed
was clean, and the few things in the room were neatly kept. Kirke laid her
tenderly on the bed. She caught one of his hands in her burning fingers.
"Don't distress mamma about me," she said. "Send for
Norah." Kirke tried gently to release his hand; but she only clasped it
the more eagerly. He sat down by the bedside to wait until it pleased her to
release him. The woman stood looking at them and crying, in a corner of the
room. Kirke observed her attentively. "Speak," he said, after an
interval, in low, quiet tones. "Speak in her presence; and tell me the
truth."
With many words, with many tears, the woman sp=
oke.
She had let her first floor to the lady a
fortnight since. The lady had paid a week's rent, and had given the name of
Gray. She had been out from morning till night, for the first three days, a=
nd
had come home again, on every occasion, with a wretchedly weary, disappoint=
ed
look. The woman of the house had suspected that she was in hiding from her =
friends,
under a false name; and that she had been vainly trying to raise money, or =
to
get some employment, on the three days when she was out for so long, and wh=
en
she looked so disappointed on coming home. However that might be, on the fo=
urth
day she had fallen ill, with shivering fits and hot fits, turn and turn abo=
ut.
On the fifth day she was worse; and on the sixth, she was too sleepy at one
time, and too light-headed at another, to be spoken to. The chemist (who did
the doctoring in those parts) had come and looked at her, and had said he t=
hought
it was a bad fever. He had left a "saline draught," which the wom=
an
of the house had paid for out of her own pocket, and had administered witho=
ut
effect. She had ventured on searching the only box which the lady had broug=
ht
with her; and had found nothing in it but a few necessary articles of linen=
--no
dresses, no ornaments, not so much as the fragment of a letter which might =
help
in discovering her friends. Between the risk of keeping her under these
circumstances, and the barbarity of turning a sick woman into the street, t=
he
landlady herself had not hesitated. She would willingly have kept her tenan=
t,
on the chance of the lady's recovery, and on the chance of her friends turn=
ing up.
But not half an hour since, her husband--who never came near the house, exc=
ept
to take her money--had come to rob her of her little earnings, as usual. She
had been obliged to tell him that no rent was in hand for the first floor, =
and
that none was likely to be in hand until the lady recovered, or her friends
found her. On hearing this, he had mercilessly insisted--well or ill--that =
the
lady should go. There was the hospital to take her to; and if the hospital =
shut
its doors, there was the workhouse to try next. If she was not out of the p=
lace
in an hour's time, he threatened to come back and take her out himself. His=
wife
knew but too well that he was brute enough to be as good as his word; and no
other choice had been left her but to do as she had done, for the sake of t=
he
lady herself.
The woman told her shocking story, with every
appearance of being honestly ashamed of it. Toward the end, Kirke felt the
clasp of the burning fingers slackening round his hand. He looked back at t=
he
bed again. Her weary eyes were closing; and, with her face still turned tow=
ard
the sailor, she was sinking into sleep.
"Is there any one in the front room?"
said Kirke, in a whisper. "Come in there; I have something to say to
you."
The woman followed him through the door of
communication between the rooms.
"How much does she owe you?" he aske=
d.
The landlady mentioned the sum. Kirke put it d=
own
before her on the table.
"Where is your husband?" was his next
question.
"Waiting at the public-house, sir, till t=
he
hour is up."
"You can take him the money or not, as you
think right," said Kirke, quietly. "I have only one thing to tell
you, as far as your husband is concerned. If you want to see every bone in =
his
skin broken, let him come to the house while I am in it. Stop! I have somet=
hing
more to say. Do you know of any doctor in the neighborhood who can be depen=
ded
on?"
"Not in our neighborhood, sir. But I know=
of
one within half an hour's walk of us."
"Take the cab at the door; and, if you fi=
nd
him at home, bring him back in it. Say I am waiting here for his opinion on=
a
very serious case. He shall be well paid, and you shall be well paid. Make
haste!"
The woman left the room.
Kirke sat down alone, to wait for her return. =
He
hid his face in his hands, and tried to realize the strange and touching
situation in which the accident of a moment had placed him.
Hidden in the squalid by-ways of London under a
false name; cast, friendless and helpless, on the mercy of strangers, by
illness which had struck her prostrate, mind and body alike--so he met her
again, the woman who had opened a new world of beauty to his mind; the woman
who had called Love to life in him by a look! What horrible misfortune had =
struck
her so cruelly, and struck her so low? What mysterious destiny had guided h=
im
to the last refuge of her poverty and despair, in the hour of her sorest ne=
ed?
"If it is ordered that I am to see her again, I shall see her." T=
hose
words came back to him now--the memorable words that he had spoken to his
sister at parting. With that thought in his heart, he had gone where his du=
ty
called him. Months and months had passed; thousands and thousands of miles,
protracting their desolate length on the unresting waters had rolled between
them. And through the lapse of time, and over the waste of oceans--day after
day, and night after night, as the winds of heaven blew, and the good ship
toiled on before them--he had advanced nearer and nearer to the end that was
waiting for him; he had journeyed blindfold to the meeting on the threshold=
of
that miserable door. "What has brought me here?" he said to himse=
lf
in a whisper. "The mercy of chance? No. The mercy of God."
He waited, unregardful of the place, unconscio=
us
of the time, until the sound of footsteps on the stairs came suddenly betwe=
en
him and his thoughts. The door opened, and the doctor was shown into the ro=
om.
"Dr. Merrick," said the landlady,
placing a chair for him.
"Mr. Merrick," said the visitor, smi=
ling
quietly as he took the chair. "I am not a physician--I am a surgeon in
general practice."
Physician or surgeon, there was something in h=
is
face and manner which told Kirke at a glance that he was a man to be relied=
on.
After a few preliminary words on either side, =
Mr.
Merrick sent the landlady into the bedroom to see if his patient was awake =
or
asleep. The woman returned, and said she was "betwixt the two, light in
the head again, and burning hot." The doctor went at once into the
bedroom, telling the landlady to follow him, and to close the door behind h=
er.
A weary time passed before he came back into t=
he
front room. When he re-appeared, his face spoke for him, before any question
could be asked.
"Is it a serious illness?" said Kirke
his voice sinking low, his eyes anxiously fixed on the doctor's face.
"It is a dangerous illness," said Mr.
Merrick, with an emphasis on the word.
He drew his chair nearer to Kirke and looked at
him attentively.
"May I ask you some questions which are n=
ot
strictly medical?" he inquired.
Kirke bowed.
"Can you tell me what her life has been
before she came into this house, and before she fell ill?"
"I have no means of knowing. I have just
returned to England after a long absence."
"Did you know of her coming here?"
"I only discovered it by accident."<= o:p>
"Has she no female relations? No mother? =
no
sister? no one to take care of her but yourself?"
"No one--unless I can succeed in tracing =
her
relations. No one but myself."
Mr. Merrick was silent. He looked at Kirke more
attentively than ever. "Strange!" thought the doctor. "He is
here, in sole charge of her--and is this all he knows?"
Kirke saw the doubt in his face; and addressed
himself straight to that doubt, before another word passed between them,
"I see my position here surprises you,&qu=
ot;
he said, simply. "Will you consider it the position of a relation--the
position of her brother or her father--until her friends can be found?"
His voice faltered, and he laid his hand earnestly on the doctor's arm. &qu=
ot;I
have taken this trust on myself," he said; "and as God shall judge
me, I will not be unworthy of it!"
The poor weary head lay on his breast again, t=
he
poor fevered fingers clasped his hand once more, as he spoke those words.
"I believe you," said the doctor,
warmly. "I believe you are an honest man.--Pardon me if I have seemed =
to
intrude myself on your confidence. I respect your reserve--from this moment=
it
is sacred to me. In justice to both of us, let me say that the questions I =
have
asked were not prompted by mere curiosity. No common cause will account for=
the
illness which has laid my patient on that bed. She has suffered some
long-continued mental trial, some wearing and terrible suspense--and she has
broken down under it. It might have helped me if I could have known what th=
e nature
of the trial was, and how long or how short a time elapsed before she sank
under it. In that hope I spoke."
"When you told me she was dangerously
ill," said Kirke, "did you mean danger to her reason or to her
life?"
"To both," replied Mr. Merrick.
"Her whole nervous system has given way; all the ordinary functions of=
her
brain are in a state of collapse. I can give you no plainer explanation than
that of the nature of the malady. The fever which frightens the people of t=
he
house is merely the effect. The cause is what I have told you. She may lie =
on
that bed for weeks to come; passing alternately, without a gleam of
consciousness, from a state of delirium to a state of repose. You must not =
be
alarmed if you find her sleep lasting far beyond the natural time. That sle=
ep is
a better remedy than any I can give, and nothing must disturb it. All our a=
rt
can accomplish is to watch her, to help her with stimulants from time to ti=
me,
and to wait for what Nature will do."
"Must she remain here? Is there no hope of
our being able to remove her to a better place?"
"No hope whatever, for the present. She h=
as
already been disturbed, as I understand, and she is seriously the worse for=
it.
Even if she gets better, even if she comes to herself again, it would still=
be
a dangerous experiment to move her too soon--the least excitement or alarm =
would
be fatal to her. You must make the best of this place as it is. The landlady
has my directions; and I will send a good nurse to help her. There is nothi=
ng
more to be done. So far as her life can be said to be in any human hands, i=
t is
as much in your hands now as in mine. Everything depends on the care that is
taken of her, under your direction, in this house." With those farewell
words he rose and quitted the room.
Left by himself, Kirke walked to the door of
communication, and, knocking at it softly, told the landlady he wished to s=
peak
with her.
He was far more composed, far more like his own
resolute self, after his interview with the doctor, than he had been before=
it.
A man living in the artificial social atmosphere which this man had never
breathed would have felt painfully the worldly side of the situation--its
novelty and strangeness; the serious present difficulty in which it placed =
him;
the numberless misinterpretations in the future to which it might lead. Kir=
ke
never gave the situation a thought. He saw nothing but the duty it claimed =
from
him--a duty which the doctor's farewell words had put plainly before his mi=
nd.
Everything depended on the care taken of her, under his direction, in that
house. There was his responsibility, and he unconsciously acted under it,
exactly as he would have acted in a case of emergency with women and childr=
en
on board his own ship. He questioned the landlady in short, sharp sentences;
the only change in him was in the lowered tone of his voice, and in the anx=
ious
looks which he cast, from time to time, at the room where she lay.
"Do you understand what the doctor has to=
ld
you?"
"Yes, sir."
"The house must be kept quiet. Who lives =
in
the house?"
"Only me and my daughter, sir; we live in=
the
parlors. Times have gone badly with us since Lady Day. Both the rooms above
this are to let."
"I will take them both, and the two rooms
down here as well. Do you know of any active trustworthy man who can run on
errands for me?"
"Yes, sir. Shall I go--?"
"No; let your daughter go. You must not l=
eave
the house until the nurse comes. Don't send the messenger up here. Men of t=
hat
sort tread heavily. I'll go down, and speak to him at the door."
He went down when the messenger came, and sent=
him
first to purchase pen, ink, and paper. The man's next errand dispatched him=
to
make inquiries for a person who could provide for deadening the sound of pa=
ssing
wheels in the street by laying down tan before the house in the usual way. =
This
object accomplished, the messenger received two letters to post. The first =
was
addressed to Kirke's brother-in-law. It told him, in few and plain words, w=
hat
had happened; and left him to break the news to his wife as he thought best.
The second letter was directed to the landlord of the Aldborough Hotel.
Magdalen's assumed name at North Shingles was the only name by which Kirke =
knew
her; and the one chance of tracing her relatives that he could discern was =
the
chance of discovering her reputed uncle and aunt by means of inquiries star=
ting
from Aldborough.
Toward the close of the afternoon a decent
middle-aged woman came to the house, with a letter from Mr. Merrick. She wa=
s well
known to the doctor as a trustworthy and careful person, who had nursed his=
own
wife; and she would be assisted, from time to time, by a lady who was a mem=
ber
of a religious Sisterhood in the district, and whose compassionate interest=
had
been warmly aroused in the case. Toward eight o'clock that evening the doct=
or
himself would call and see that his patient wanted for nothing.
The arrival of the nurse, and the relief of
knowing that she was to be trusted, left Kirke free to think of himself. His
luggage was ready packed for his contemplated journey to Suffolk the next d=
ay.
It was merely necessary to transport it from the hotel to the house in Aaro=
n's Buildings.
He stopped once only on his way to the hotel to
look at a toyshop in one of the great thoroughfares. The miniature ships in=
the
window reminded him of his nephew. "My little name-sake will be sadly
disappointed at not seeing me to-morrow," he thought. "I must mak=
e it
up to the boy by sending him something from his uncle." He went into t=
he
shop and bought one of the ships. It was secured in a box, and packed and
directed in his presence. He put a ca rd on the deck of the miniature vessel
before the cover of the box was nailed on, bearing this inscription: "A
ship for the little sailor, with the big sailor's love."--"Childr=
en
like to be written to, ma'am," he said, apologetically, to the woman
behind the counter. "Send the box as soon as you can--I am anxious the=
boy
should get it to-morrow."
Toward the dusk of the evening he returned with
his luggage to Aaron's Buildings. He took off his boots in the passage and
carried his trunk upstairs himself; stopping, as he passed the first floor,=
to
make his inquiries. Mr. Merrick was present to answer them.
"She was awake and wandering," said =
the
doctor, "a few minutes since. But we have succeeded in composing her, =
and
she is sleeping now."
"Have no words escaped her, sir, which mi=
ght
help us to find her friends?"
Mr. Merrick shook his head.
"Weeks and weeks may pass yet," he s=
aid,
"and that poor girl's story may still be a sealed secret to all of us.=
We
can only wait."
So the day ended--the first of many days that =
were
to come.
THE warm sunlight of July shining softly throu= gh a green blind; an open window with fresh flowers set on the sill; a strange b= ed, in a strange room; a giant figure of the female sex (like a dream of Mrs. Wragge) towering aloft on one side of the bed, and trying to clap its hands= ; another woman (quickly) stopping the hands before they could make any noise; a mild= expostulating voice (like a dream of Mrs. Wragge again) breaking the silence in these wor= ds, "She knows me, ma'am, she knows me; if I mustn't be happy, it will be = the death of me!"--such were the first sights, such were the first sounds,= to which, after six weeks of oblivion, Magdalen suddenly and strangely awoke.<= o:p>
After a little, the sights grew dim again, and=
the
sounds sank into silence. Sleep, the merciful, took her once more, and hush=
ed
her back to repose.
Another day--and the sights were clearer, the =
sounds
were louder. Another--and she heard a man's voice, through the door, asking=
for
news from the sick-room. The voice was strange to her; it was always cautio=
usly
lowered to the same quiet tone. It inquired after her, in the morning, when=
she
woke--at noon, when she took her refreshment--in the evening, before she
dropped asleep again. "Who is so anxious about me?" That was the
first thought her mind was strong enough to form--"Who is so anxious a=
bout
me?"
More days--and she could speak to the nurse at=
her
bedside; she could answer the questions of an elderly man, who knew far more
about her than she knew about herself, and who told her he was Mr. Merrick,=
the
doctor; she could sit up in bed, supported by pillows, wondering what had h=
appened
to her, and where she was; she could feel a growing curiosity about that qu=
iet
voice, which still asked after her, morning, noon, and night, on the other =
side
of the door.
Another day's delay--and Mr. Merrick asked her=
if
she was strong enough to see an old friend. A meek voice, behind him,
articulating high in the air, said, "It's only me." The voice was
followed by the prodigious bodily apparition of Mrs. Wragge, with her cap a=
ll
awry, and one of her shoes in the next room. "Oh, look at her! look at
her!" cried Mrs. Wragge, in an ecstasy, dropping on her knees at
Magdalen's bedside, with a thump that shook the house. "Bless her hear=
t,
she's well enough to laugh at me already. 'Cheer, boys, cheer--!' I beg your
pardon, doctor, my conduct isn't ladylike, I know. It's my head, sir; it is=
n't
me. I must give vent somehow, or my head will burst!" No coherent
sentence, in answer to any sort of question put to her, could be extracted =
that
morning from Mrs. Wragge. She rose from one climax of verbal confusion to
another--and finished her visit under the bed, groping inscrutably for the
second shoe.
The morrow came--and Mr. Merrick promised that= she should see another old friend on the next day. In the evening, when the inquiring voice asked after her, as usual, and when the door was opened a f= ew inches to give the reply, she answered faintly for herself: "I am bett= er, thank you." There was a moment of silence--and then, just as the door = was shut again, the voice sank to a whisper, and said, fervently, "Thank God!&q= uot; Who was he? She had asked them all, and no one would tell her. Who was he?<= o:p>
The next day came; and she heard her door open=
ed
softly. Brisk footsteps tripped into the room; a lithe little figure advanc=
ed
to the bed-side. Was it a dream again? No! There he was in his own evergreen
reality, with the copious flow of language pouring smoothly from his lips; =
with
the lambent dash of humor twinkling in his party-colored eyes--there he was,
more audacious, more persuasive, more respectable than ever, in a suit of
glossy black, with a speckless white cravat, and a rampant shirt frill--the
unblushing, the invincible, unchangeable Wragge!
"Not a word, my dear girl!" said the
captain, seating himself comfortably at the bedside, in his old confidential
way. "I am to do all the talking; and, I think you will own, a more
competent man for the purpose could not possibly have been found. I am real=
ly delighted--honestly
delighted, if I may use such an apparently inappropriate word--to see you
again, and to see you getting well. I have often thought of you; I have oft=
en
missed you; I have often said to myself--never mind what! Clear the stage, =
and
drop the curtain on the past. Dum vivimus, vivamus! Pardon the pedantry of a
Latin quotation, my dear, and tell me how I look. Am I, or am I not, the
picture of a prosperous man?"
Magdalen attempted to answer him. The captain's
deluge of words flowed over her again in a moment.
"Don't exert yourself," he said.
"I'll put all your questions for you. What have I been about? Why do I
look so remarkably well off? And how in the world did I find my way to this
house? My dear girl, I have been occupied, since we last saw each other, in
slightly modifying my old professional habits. I have shifted from Moral
Agriculture to Medical Agriculture. Formerly I preyed on the public sympath=
y,
now I prey on the public stomach. Stomach and sympathy, sympathy and
stomach--look them both fairly in the face when you reach the wrong side of
fifty, and you will agree with me that they come to much the same thing.
However that may be, here I am--incredible as it may appear--a man with an
income, at last. The founders of my fortune are three in number. Their names
are Aloes, Scammony, and Gamboge. In plainer words, I am now living--on a P=
ill.
I made a little money (if you remember) by my friendly connection with you.=
I
made a little more by the happy decease (Requiescat in Pace!) of that female
relative of Mrs. Wragge's from whom, as I told you, my wife had expectation=
s.
Very good. What do you think I did? I invested the whole of my capital, at =
one
fell swoop, in advertisements, and purchased my drugs and my pill-boxes on
credit. The result is now before you. Here I am, a Grand Financial Fact. He=
re I
am, with my clothes positively paid for; with a balance at my banker's; wit=
h my
servant in livery, and my gig at the door; solvent, flourishing, popular--a=
nd
all on a Pill."
Magdalen smiled. The captain's face assumed an
expression of mock gravity; he looked as if there was a serious side to the
question, and as if he meant to put it next.
"It's no laughing matter to the public, my
dear," he said. "They can't get rid of me and my Pill; they must =
take
us. There is not a single form of appeal in the whole range of human
advertisement which I am not making to the unfortunate public at this momen=
t.
Hire the last new novel, there I am, inside the boards of the book. Send for
the last new Song--the instant you open the leaves, I drop out of it. Take =
a cab--I
fly in at the window in red. Buy a box of tooth-powder at the chemist's--I =
wrap
it up for you in blue. Show yourself at the theater--I flutter down on you =
in
yellow. The mere titles of my advertisements are quite irresistible. Le t me
quote a few from last week's issue. Proverbial Title: 'A Pill in time saves
Nine.' Familiar Title: 'Excuse me, how is your Stomach?' Patriotic Title: '=
What
are the three characteristics of a true-born Englishman? His Hearth, his Ho=
me,
and his Pill.' Title in the form of a nursery dialogue: 'Mamma, I am not we=
ll.'
'What is the matter, my pet?' 'I want a little Pill.' Title in the form of a
Historical Anecdote: 'New Discovery in the Mine of English History. When the
Princes were smothered in the Tower, their faithful attendant collected all
their little possessions left behind them. Among the touching trifles dear =
to
the poor boys, he found a tiny Box. It contained the Pill of the Period. Is=
it
necessary to say how inferior that Pill was to its Successor, which prince =
and
peasant alike may now obtain?'--Et cetera, et cetera. The place in which my
Pill is made is an advertisement in itself. I have got one of the largest s=
hops
in London. Behind one counter (visible to the public through the lucid medi=
um
of plate-glass) are four-and-twenty young men, in white aprons, making the =
Pill.
Behind another counter are four-and-twenty young men, in white cravats, mak=
ing
the boxes. At the bottom of the shop are three elderly accountants, posting=
the
vast financial transactions accruing from the Pill in three enormous ledger=
s.
Over the door are my name, portrait, and autograph, expanded to colossal
proportions, and surrounded in flowing letters, by the motto of the
establishment, 'Down with the Doctors!' Even Mrs. Wragge contributes her qu=
ota
to this prodigious enterprise. She is the celebrated woman whom I have cure=
d of
indescribable agonies from every complaint under the sun. Her portrait is
engraved on all the wrappers, with the following inscription beneath it:
'Before she took the Pill you might have blown this patient away with a
feather. Look at her now!!!' Last, not least, my dear girl, the Pill is the
cause of my finding my way to this house. My department in the prodigious
Enterprise already mentioned is to scour the United Kingdom in a gig,
establishing Agencies everywhere. While founding one of those Agencies, I h=
eard
of a certain friend of mine, who had lately landed in England, after a long=
sea-voyage.
I got his address in London--he was a lodger in this house. I called on him
forthwith, and was stunned by the news of your illness. Such, in brief, is =
the
history of my existing connection with British Medicine; and so it happens =
that
you see me at the present moment sitting in the present chair, now as ever,
yours truly, Horatio Wragge." In these terms the captain brought his
personal statement to a close. He looked more and more attentively at Magda=
len,
the nearer he got to the conclusion. Was there some latent importance attac=
hing
to his last words which did not appear on the face of them? There was. His
visit to the sick-room had a serious object, and that object he had now
approached.
=
In
describing the circumstances under which he had become acquainted with
Magdalen's present position, Captain Wragge had skirted, with his customary
dexterity, round the remote boundaries of truth. Emboldened by the absence =
of
any public scandal in connection with Noel Vanstone's marriage, or with the
event of his death as announced in the newspaper obituary, the captain, roa=
ming
the eastern circuit, had ventured back to Aldborough a fortnight since, to
establish an agency there for the sale of his wonderful Pill. No one had
recognized him but the landlady of the hotel, who at once insisted on his
entering the house and reading Kirke's letter to her husband. The same night
Captain Wragge was in London, and was closeted with the sailor in the
second-floor room at Aaron's Buildings.
The serious nature of the situation, the
indisputable certainty that Kirke must fail in tracing Magdalen's friends
unless he first knew who she really was, had decided the captain on disclos=
ing
part, at least, of the truth. Declining to enter into any particulars--for
family reasons, which Magdalen might explain on her recovery, if she
pleased--he astounded Kirke by telling him that the friendless woman whom h=
e had
rescued, and whom he had only known up to that moment as Miss Bygrave--was =
no
other than the youngest daughter of Andrew Vanstone. The disclosure, on Kir=
ke's
side, of his father's connection with the young officer in Canada, had foll=
owed
naturally on the revelation of Magdalen's real name. Captain Wragge had
expressed his surprise, but had made no further remark at the time. A fortn=
ight
later, however, when the patient's recovery forced the serious difficulty on
the doctor of meeting the questions which Magdalen was sure to ask, the
captain's ingenuity had come, as usual, to the rescue.
"You can't tell her the truth," he s=
aid,
"without awakening painful recollections of her stay at Aldborough, in=
to
which I am not at liberty to enter. Don't acknowledge just yet that Mr. Kir=
ke
only knew her as Miss Bygrave of North Shingles when he found her in this
house. Tell her boldly that he knew who she was, and that he felt (what she
must feel) that he had a hereditary right to help and protect her as his
father's son. I am, as I have already told you," continued the captain,
sticking fast to his old assertion, "a distant relative of the Combe-R=
aven
family; and, if there is nobody else at hand to help you through this diffi=
culty,
my services are freely at your disposal."
No one else was at hand, and the emergency was=
a
serious one. Strangers undertaking the responsibility might ignorantly jar =
on
past recollections, which it would, perhaps, be the death of her to revive =
too
soon. Near relatives might, by their premature appearance at the bedside,
produce the same deplorable result. The alternative lay between irritating =
and
alarming her by leaving her inquiries unanswered, or trusting Captain Wragg=
e.
In the doctor's opinion, the second risk was the least serious risk of the
two--and the captain was now seated at Magdalen's bedside in discharge of t=
he
trust confided to him.
Would she ask the question which it had been t=
he
private object of all Captain Wragge's preliminary talk lightly and pleasan=
tly
to provoke? Yes; as soon as his silence gave her the opportunity, she asked=
it:
"Who was that friend of his living in the house?"
"You ought by rights to know him as well =
as I
do," said the captain. "He is the son of one of your father's old
military friends, when your father was quartered with his regiment in Canad=
a.
Your cheeks mustn't flush up! If they do, I shall go away."
She was astonished, but not agitated. Captain
Wragge had begun by interesting her in the remote past, which she only knew=
by
hearsay, before he ventured on the delicate ground of her own experience.
In a moment more she advanced to her next
question: "What was his name?"
"Kirke," proceeded the captain.
"Did you never hear of his father, Major Kirke, commanding officer of =
the
regiment in Canada? Did you never hear that the major helped your father th=
rough
a great difficulty, like the best of good fellows and good friends?"
Yes; she faintly fancied she had heard somethi=
ng
about her father and an officer who had once been very good to him when he =
was
a young man. But she could not look back so long. "Was Mr. Kirke
poor?" Even Captain Wragge's penetration was puzzled by that question.=
He
gave the true answer at hazard. "No," he said, "not poor.&qu=
ot;
Her next inquiry showed what she had been thin=
king
of. "If Mr. Kirke was not poor, why did he come to live in that
house?"
"She has caught me!" thought the
captain. "There is only one way out of it--I must administer another d=
ose
of truth. Mr. Kirke discovered you here by chance," he proceeded, alou=
d,
"very ill, and not nicely attended to. Somebody was wanted to take car=
e of
you while you were not able to take care of yourself. Why not Mr. Kirke? He=
was
the son of your father's old friend--which is the next thing to being your =
old
friend. Who had a better claim to send for the right doctor, and get the ri=
ght nurse,
when I was not here to cure you with my wonderful Pill? Gently! gently! you
mustn't take hold of my superfine black coat-sleeve in that unceremonious
manner."
He put her hand back on the bed, but she was n=
ot
to be checked in that way. She persisted in asking another question.--How c=
ame
Mr. Kirke to know her? She had never seen him; she had never heard of him in
her life.
"Very likely," said Captain Wragge.
"But your never having seen him is no reason why he should not have se=
en
you."
"When did he see me?"
The captain corked up his doses of truth on the
spot without a moment's hesitation. "Some time ago, my dear. I can't
exactly say when."
"Only once?"
Captain Wragge suddenly saw his way to the
administration of another dose. "Yes," he said, "only once.&=
quot;
She reflected a little. The next question invo=
lved
the simultaneous expression of two ideas, and the next question cost her an
effort.
"He only saw me once," she said,
"and he only saw me some time ago. How came he to remember me when he
found me here?"
"Aha!" said the captain. "Now y=
ou
have hit the right nail on the head at last. You can't possibly be more
surprised at his remembering you than I am. A word of advice, my dear. When=
you
are well enough to get up and see Mr. Kirke, try how that sharp question of
yours sounds in his ears, and insist on his answering it himself."
Slipping out of the dilemma in that characteristically adroit manner, Capta=
in
Wragge got briskly on his legs again and took up his hat.
"Wait!" she pleaded. "I want to=
ask
you--"
"Not another word," said the captain.
"I have given you quite enough to think of for one day. My time is up,=
and
my gig is waiting for me. I am off, to scour the country as usual. I am off=
, to
cultivate the field of public indigestion with the triple plowshare of aloe=
s,
scammony and gamboge." He stopped and turned round at the door.
"By-the-by, a message from my unfortunate wife. If you will allow her =
to
come and see you again, Mrs. Wragge solemnly promises not to lose her shoe =
next
time. I don't believe her. What do you say? May she come?"
"Yes; whenever she likes," said
Magdalen. "If I ever get well again, may poor Mrs. Wragge come and stay
with me?"
"Certainly, my dear. If you have no
objection, I will provide her beforehand with a few thousand impressions in
red, blue, and yellow of her own portrait ('You might have blown this patie=
nt
away with a feather before she took the Pill. Look at her now!'). She is su=
re
to drop herself about perpetually wherever she goes, and the most gratifyin=
g results,
in an advertising point of view, must inevitably follow. Don't think me
mercenary--I merely understand the age I live in." He stopped on his w=
ay
out, for the second time, and turned round once more at the door. "You
have been a remarkably good girl," he said, "and you deserve to be
rewarded for it. I'll give you a last piece of information before I go. Have
you heard anybody inquiring after you, for the last day or two, outside your
door? Ah! I see you have. A word in your ear, my dear. That's Mr. Kirke.&qu=
ot;
He tripped away from the bedside as briskly as ever. Magdalen heard him
advertising himself to the nurse before he closed the door. "If you are
ever asked about it," he said, in a confidential whisper, "the na=
me
is Wragge, and the Pill is to be had in neat boxes, price thirteen pence
half-penny, government stamp included. Take a few copies of the portrait of=
a
female patient, whom you might have blown away with a feather before she to=
ok
the Pill, and whom you are simply requested to contemplate now. Many thanks.
Good-morning."
=
The
door closed and Magdalen was alone again. She felt no sense of solitude;
Captain Wragge had left her with something new to think of. Hour after hour=
her
mind dwelt wonderingly on Mr. Kirke, until the evening came, and she heard =
his
voice again through the half-opened door.
"I am very grateful," she said to hi=
m,
before the nurse could answer his inquiries--"very, very grateful for =
all
your goodness to me."
"Try to get well," he replied, kindl=
y.
"You will more than reward me, if you try to get well."
The next morning Mr. Merrick found her impatie=
nt
to leave her bed, and be moved to the sofa in the front room. The doctor sa=
id
he supposed she wanted a change. "Yes," she replied; "I want=
to
see Mr. Kirke." The doctor consented to move her on the next day, but =
he
positively forbade the additional excitement of seeing anybody until the day
after. She attempted a remonstrance--Mr. Merrick was impenetrable. She trie=
d,
when he was gone, to win the nurse by persuasion--the nurse was impenetrabl=
e, too.
On the next day they wrapped her in shawls, and
carried her in to the sofa, and made her a little bed on it. On the table n=
ear
at hand were some flowers and a number of an illustrated paper. She immedia=
tely
asked who had put them there. The nurse (failing to notice a warning look f=
rom the
doctor) said Mr. Kirke had thought that she might like the flowers, and that
the pictures in the paper might amuse her. After that reply, her anxiety to=
see
Mr. Kirke became too ungovernable to be trifled with. The doctor left the r=
oom
at once to fetch him.
She looked eagerly at the opening door. Her fi=
rst
glance at him as he came in raised a doubt in her mind whether she now saw =
that
tall figure and that open sun-burned face for the first time. But she was t=
oo weak
and too agitated to follow her recollections as far back as Aldborough. She
resigned the attempt, and only looked at him. He stopped at the foot of the
sofa and said a few cheering words. She beckoned to him to come nearer, and
offered him her wasted hand. He tenderly took it in his, and sat down by he=
r.
They were both silent. His face told her of the sorrow and the sympathy whi=
ch
his silence would fain have concealed. She still held his hand--consciously
now--as persistently as she had held it on the day when he found her. Her e=
yes
closed, after a vain effort to speak to him, and the tears rolled slowly ov=
er
her wan white cheeks.
The doctor signed to Kirke to wait and give her
time. She recovered a little and looked at him. "How kind you have bee=
n to
me!" she murmured. "And how little I have deserved it!"
"Hush! hush!" he said. "You don=
't
know what a happiness it was to me to help you."
The sound of his voice seemed to strengthen he=
r,
and to give her courage. She lay looking at him with an eager interest, wit=
h a
gratitude which artlessly ignored all the conventional restraints that
interpose between a woman and a man. "Where did you see me," she
said, suddenly, "before you found me here?"
Kirke hesitated. Mr. Merrick came to his
assistance.
"I forbid you to say a word about the pas=
t to
Mr. Kirke," interposed the doctor; "and I forbid Mr. Kirke to say=
a
word about it to you. You are beginning a new life to-day, and the only
recollections I sanction are recollections five minutes old."
She looked at the doctor and smiled. "I m=
ust
ask him one question," she said, and turned back again to Kirke. "=
;Is
it true that you had only seen me once before you came to this house?"=
"Quite true!" He made the reply with=
a
sudden change of color which she instantly detected. Her brightening eyes
looked at him more earnestly than ever, as she put her next question.
"How came you to remember me after only
seeing me once?"
His hand unconsciously closed on hers, and pre=
ssed
it for the first time. He attempted to answer, and hesitated at the first w=
ord.
"I have a good memory," he said at last; and suddenly looked away
from her with a confusion so strangely unlike his customary self-possession=
of
manner that the doctor and the nurse both noticed it.
Every nerve in her body felt that momentary
pressure of his hand, with the exquisite susceptibility which accompanies t=
he
first faltering advance on the way to health. She looked at his changing co=
lor,
she listened to his hesitating words, with every sensitive perception of he=
r sex
and age quickened to seize intuitively on the truth. In the moment when he
looked away from her, she gently took her hand from him, and turned her head
aside on the pillow. "Can it be?" she thought, with a flutter of
delicious fear at her heart, with a glow of delicious confusion burning on =
her
cheeks. "Can it be?"
The doctor made another sign to Kirke. He
understood it, and rose immediately. The momentary discomposure in his face=
and
manner had both disappeared. He was satisfied in his own mind that he had
successfully kept his secret, and in the relief of feeling that conviction =
he
had become himself again.
"Good-by till to-morrow," he said, a=
s he
left the room.
"Good-by," she answered, softly, wit=
hout
looking at him.
Mr. Merrick took the chair which Kirke had
resigned, and laid his hand on her pulse. "Just what I feared,"
remarked the doctor; "too quick by half."
She petulantly snatched away her wrist.
"Don't!" she said, shrinking from him. "Pray don't touch
me!"
Mr. Merrick good-humoredly gave up his place to
the nurse. "I'll return in half an hour," he whispered, "and
carry her back to bed. Don't let her talk. Show her the pictures in the
newspaper, and keep her quiet in that way."
When the doctor returned, the nurse reported t=
hat
the newspaper had not been wanted. The patient's conduct had been exemplary.
She had not been at all restless, and she had never spoken a word.
=
The
days passed, and the time grew longer and longer which the doctor allowed h=
er
to spend in the front room. She was soon able to dispense with the bed on t=
he
sofa--she could be dressed, and could sit up, supported by pillows, in an
arm-chair. Her hours of emancipation from the bedroom represented the great
daily event of her life. They were the hours she passed in Kirke's society.=
She had a double interest in him now--her inte=
rest
in the man whose protecting care had saved her reason and her life; her
interest in the man whose heart's deepest secret she had surprised. Little =
by
little they grew as easy and familiar with each other as old friends; littl=
e by
little she presumed on all her privileges, and wound her way unsuspected in=
to
the most intimate knowledge of his nature.
Her questions were endless. Everything that he
could tell her of himself and his life she drew from him delicately and
insensibly: he, the least self-conscious of mankind, became an egotist in h=
er
dexterous hands. She found out his pride in his ship, and practiced on it
without remorse. She drew him into talking of the fine qualities of the ves=
sel,
of the great things the vessel had done in emergencies, as he had never in =
his life
talked yet to any living creature on shore. She found him out in private
seafaring anxieties and unutterable seafaring exultations which he had kept=
a
secret from his own mate. She watched his kindling face with a delicious se=
nse
of triumph in adding fuel to the fire; she trapped him into forgetting all
considerations of time and place, and striking as hearty a stroke on the
rickety little lodging-house table, in the fervor of his talk, as if his ha=
nd
had descended on the solid bulwark of his ship. His confusion at the discov=
ery
of his own forgetfulness secretly delighted her; she could have cried with
pleasure when he penitently wondered what he could possibly have been think=
ing of.
At other times she drew him from dwelling on t=
he
pleasures of his life, and led him into talking of its perils--the perils of
that jealous mistress the sea, which had absorbed so much of his existence,
which had kept him so strangely innocent and ignorant of the world on shore.
Twice he had been shipwrecked. Times innumerable he and all with him had be=
en threatened
with death, and had escaped their doom by the narrowness of a hair-breadth.=
He
was always unwilling at the outset to speak of this dark and dreadful side =
of
his life: it was only by adroitly tempting him, by laying little snares for=
him
in his talk, that she lured him into telling her of the terrors of the great
deep. She sat listening to him with a breathless interest, looking at him w=
ith
a breathless wonder, as those fearful stories--made doubly vivid by the sim=
ple
language in which he told them--fell, one by one, from his lips. His noble =
unconsciousness
of his own heroism--the artless modesty with which he described his own act=
s of
dauntless endurance and devoted courage, without an idea that they were
anything more than plain acts of duty to which he was bound by the vocation
that he followed--raised him to a place in her estimation so hopelessly high
above her that she became uneasy and impatient until she had pulled down the
idol again which she herself had set up. It was on these occasions that she
most rigidly exacted from him all those little familiar attentions so preci=
ous
to women in their intercourse with men. "This hand," she thought,
with an exquisite delight in secretly following the idea while he was close=
to her--"this
hand that has rescued the drowning from death is shifting my pillows so
tenderly that I hardly know when they are moved. This hand that has seized =
men
mad with mutiny, and driven them back to their duty by main force, is mixin=
g my
lemonade and peeling my fruit more delicately and more neatly than I could =
do
it for myself. Oh, if I could be a man, how I should like to be such a man =
as
this!"
She never allowed her thoughts, while she was =
in
his presence, to lead her beyond that point. It was only when the night had
separated them that she ventured to let her mind dwell on the self-sacrific=
ing
devotion which had so mercifully rescued her. Kirke little knew how she tho=
ught
of him, in the secrecy of her own chamber, during the quiet hours that elap=
sed
before she sank to sleep. No suspicion crossed his mind of the influence wh=
ich
he was exerting over her--of the new spirit which he was breathing into that
new life, so sensitively open to impression in the first freshness of its
recovered sense. "She has nobody else to amuse her, poor thing," =
he
used to think, sadly, sitting alone in his small second-floor room. "I=
f a
rough fellow like me can beguile the weary hours till her friends come here,
she is heartily welcome to all that I can tell her."
He was out of spirits and restless now wheneve=
r he
was by himself. Little by little he fell into a habit of taking long, lonely
walks at night, when Magdalen thought he was sleeping upstairs. Once he went
away abruptly in the day-time--on business, as he said. Something had passe=
d between
Magdalen and himself the evening before which had led her into telling him =
her
age. "Twenty last birthday," he thought. "Take twenty from
forty-one. An easy sum in subtraction--as easy a sum as my little nephew co=
uld
wish for." He walked to the Docks, and looked bitterly at the shipping.
"I mustn't forget how a ship is made," he said. "It won't be
long before I am back at the old work again." On leaving the Docks he =
paid
a visit to a brother sailor--a married man. In the course of conversation he
asked how much older his friend might be than his friend's wife. There was =
six
years' difference between them. "I suppose that's difference enough?&q=
uot;
said Kirke. "Yes," said his friend; "quite enough. Are you
looking out for a wife at last? Try a seasoned woman of thirty-five--that's
your mark, Kirke, as near as I can calculate."
=
The
time passed smoothly and quickly--the present time, in which she was recove=
ring
so happily--the present time, which he was beginning to distrust already.
Early one morning Mr. Merrick surprised Kirke =
by a
visit in his little room on the second floor.
"I came to the conclusion yesterday,"
said the doctor, entering abruptly on his business, "that our patient =
was
strong enough to justify us at last in running all risks, and communicating
with her friends; and I have accordingly followed the clew which that queer
fellow, Captain Wragge, put into our hands. You remember he advised us to a=
pply
to Mr. Pendril, the lawyer? I saw Mr. Pendril two days ago, and was referre=
d by
him--not overwillingly, as I thought--to a lady named Miss Garth. I heard
enough from her to satisfy me that we have exercised a wise caution in acti=
ng
as we have done. It is a very, very sad story; and I am bound to say that I,
for one, make great allowances for the poor girl downstairs. Her only relat=
ion
in the world is her elder sister. I have suggested that the sister shall wr=
ite
to her in the first instance, and then, if the letter does her no harm, fol=
low
it personally in a d ay or two. I have not given the address, by way of
preventing any visits from being paid here without my permission. All I have
done is to undertake to forward the letter, and I shall probably find it at=
my
house when I get back. Can you stop at home until I send my man with it? Th=
ere
is not the least hope of my being able to bring it myself. All you need do =
is to
watch for an opportunity when she is not in the front room, and to put the
letter where she can see it when she comes in. The handwriting on the addre=
ss
will break the news before she opens the letter. Say nothing to her about
it--take care that the landlady is within call--and leave her to herself. I
know I can trust you to follow my directions, and that is why I ask you to =
do
us this service. You look out of spirits this morning. Natural enough. You'=
re
used to plenty of fresh air, captain, and you're beginning to pine in this
close place."
"May I ask a question, doctor? Is she pin=
ing
in this close place, too? When her sister comes, will her sister take her
away?"
"Decidedly, if my advice is followed. She
will be well enough to be moved in a week or less. Good-day. You are certai=
nly
out of spirits, and your hand feels feverish. Pining for the blue water,
captain--pining for the blue water!" With that expression of opinion, =
the
doctor cheerfully went out.
In an hour the letter arrived. Kirke took it f=
rom
the landlady reluctantly, and almost roughly, without looking at it. Having=
ascertained
that Magdalen was still engaged at her toilet, and having explained to the
landlady the necessity of remaining within call, he went downstairs
immediately, and put the letter on the table in the front room. Magdalen he=
ard
the sound of the familiar step on the floor. "I shall soon be ready,&q=
uot;
she called to him, through the door.
He made no reply; he took his hat and went out.
After a momentary hesitation, he turned his face eastward, and called on the
ship-owners who employed him, at their office in Cornhill.
MAGDALEN'S first glance round the empty room
showed her the letter on the table. The address, as the doctor had predicte=
d,
broke the news the moment she looked at it.
Not a word escaped her. She sat down by the ta=
ble,
pale and silent, with the letter in her lap. Twice she attempted to open it,
and twice she put it back again. The bygone time was not alone in her mind =
as
she looked at her sister's handwriting: the fear of Kirke was there with it.
"My past life!" she thought. "What will he think of me when =
he
knows my past life?"
She made another effort, and broke the seal. A
second letter dropped out of the inclosure, addressed to her in a handwriti=
ng
with which she was not familiar. She put the second letter aside and read t=
he
lines which Norah had written:
=
"Ventnor,
Isle of Wight, August 24th.
"MY DEAREST MAGDALEN--When you read this
letter, try to think we have only been parted since yesterday; and dismiss =
from
your mind (as I have dismissed from mine) the past and all that belongs to =
it.
"I am strictly forbidden to agitate you, =
or
to weary you by writing a long letter. Is it wrong to tell you that I am the
happiest woman living? I hope not, for I can't keep the secret to myself.
"My darling, prepare yourself for the
greatest surprise I have ever caused you. I am married. It is only a week
to-day since I parted with my old name--it is only a week since I have been=
the
happy wife of George Bartram, of St. Crux.
"There were difficulties at first in the =
way
of our marriage, some of them, I am afraid, of my making. Happily for me, my
husband knew from the beginning that I really loved him: he gave me a second
chance of telling him so, after I had lost the first, and, as you see, I was
wise enough to take it. You ought to be especially interested, my love, in =
this
marriage, for you are the cause of it. If I had not gone to Aldborough to
search for the lost trace of you--if George had not been brought there at t=
he
same time by circumstances in which you were concerned, my husband and I mi=
ght
never have met. When we look back to our first impressions of each other, we
look back to you.
"I must keep my promise not to weary you;=
I
must bring this letter (sorely against my will) to an end. Patience! patien=
ce!
I shall see you soon. George and I are both coming to London to take you ba=
ck
with us to Ventnor. This is my husband's invitation, mind, as well as mine.
Don't suppose I married him, Magdalen, until I had taught him to think of y=
ou as
I think--to wish with my wishes, and to hope with my hopes. I could say so =
much
more about this, so much more about George, if I might only give my thoughts
and my pen their own way; but I must leave Miss Garth (at her own special
request) a blank space to fill up on the last page of this letter; and I mu=
st only
add one word more before I say good-by--a word to warn you that I have anot=
her
surprise in store, which I am keeping in reserve until we meet. Don't attem=
pt
to guess what it is. You might guess for ages, and be no nearer than you are
now to the discovery of the truth. Your affectionate sister,
"NORAH BARTRAM."
(Added by Miss Garth.)
"MY DEAR CHILD--If I had ever lost my old
loving recollection of you, I should feel it in my heart again now, when I =
know
that it has pleased God to restore you to us from the brink of the grave. I=
add
these lines to your sister's letter because I am not sure that you are quit=
e so
fit yet, as she thinks you, to accept her proposal. She has not said a word=
of
her husband or herself which is not true. But Mr. Bartram is a stranger to =
you;
and if you think you can recover more easily and more pleasantly to yourself
under the wing of your old governess than under the protection of your new
brother-in-law, come to me first, and trust to my reconciling Norah to the
change of plans. I have secured the refusal of a little cottage at Shanklin,
near enough to your sister to allow of your seeing each other whenever you
like, and far enough away, at the same time, to secure you the privilege, w=
hen
you wish it, of being alone. Send me one line before we meet to say Yes or =
No,
and I will write to Shanklin by the next post.
"Always yours affectionately,
"HARRIET GARTH"
=
The
letter dropped from Magdalen's hand. Thoughts which had never risen in her =
mind
yet rose in it now.
Norah, whose courage under undeserved calamity=
had
been the courage of resignation--Norah, who had patiently accepted her hard
lot; who from first to last had meditated no vengeance and stooped to no
deceit--Norah had reached the end which all her sister's ingenuity, all her
sister's resolution, and all her sister's daring had failed to achieve. Ope=
nly and
honorably, with love on one side and love on the other, Norah had married t=
he
man who possessed the Combe-Raven money--and Magdalen's own scheme to recov=
er
it had opened the way to the event which had brought husband and wife toget=
her.
As the light of that overwhelming discovery br=
oke
on her mind, the old strife was renewed; and Good and Evil struggled once m=
ore
which should win her--but with added forces this time; with the new spirit =
that
had been breathed into her new life; with the nobler sense that had grown w=
ith
the growth of her gratitude to the man who had saved her, fighting on the
better side. All the higher impulses of her nature, which had never, from f=
irst
to last, let her err with impunity--which had tortured her, before her marr=
iage
and after it, with the remorse that no woman inherently heartless and
inherently wicked can feel--all the nobler elements in her character, gathe=
red
their forces for the crowning struggle and strengthened her to meet, with no
unworthy shrinking, the revelation that had opened on her view. Clearer and
clearer, in the light of its own immortal life, the truth rose before her f=
rom
the ashes of her dead passions, from the grave of her buried hopes. When sh=
e looked
at the letter again--when she read the words once more which told her that =
the
recovery of the lost fortune was her sister's triumph, not hers, she had
victoriously trampled down all little jealousies and all mean regrets; she
could say in he r hearts of hearts, "Norah has deserved it!"
The day wore on. She sat absorbed in her own
thoughts, and heedless of the second letter which she had not opened yet, u=
ntil
Kirke's return.
He stopped on the landing outside, and, openin=
g the
door a little way only, asked, without entering the room, if she wanted
anything that he could send her. She begged him to come in. His face was wo=
rn
and weary; he looked older than she had seen him look yet. "Did you pu=
t my
letter on the table for me?" she asked.
"Yes. I put it there at the doctor's
request."
"I suppose the doctor told you it was fro=
m my
sister? She is coming to see me, and Miss Garth is coming to see me. They w=
ill
thank you for all your goodness to me better than I can."
"I have no claim on their thanks," he
answered, sternly. "What I have done was not done for them, but for
you." He waited a little, and looked at her. His face would have betra=
yed
him in that look, his voice would have betrayed him in the next words he sp=
oke,
if she had not guessed the truth already. "When your friends come
here," he resumed, "they will take you away, I suppose, to some
better place than this."
"They can take me to no place," she
said, gently, "which I shall think of as I think of the place where you
found me. They can take me to no dearer friend than the friend who saved my
life."
There was a moment's silence between them.
"We have been very happy here," he w=
ent
on, in lower and lower tones. "You won't forget me when we have said
good-by?"
She turned pale as the words passed his lips, =
and,
leaving her chair, knelt down at the table, so as to look up into his face,=
and
to force him to look into hers.
"Why do you talk of it?" she asked.
"We are not going to say good-by, at least not yet."
"I thought--" he began.
"Yes?"
"I thought your friends were coming
here--"
She eagerly interrupted him. "Do you thin=
k I
would go away with anybody," she said, "even with the dearest
relation I have in the world, and leave you here, not knowing and not carin=
g whether
I ever saw you again? Oh, you don't think that of me!" she exclaimed, =
with
the passionate tears springing into her eyes-"I'm sure you don't think
that of me!"
"No," he said; "I never have
thought, I never can think, unjustly or unworthily of you."
Before he could add another word she left the
table as suddenly as she had approached it, and returned to her chair. He h=
ad
unconsciously replied in terms that reminded her of the hard necessity which
still remained unfulfilled--the necessity of telling him the story of the p=
ast.
Not an idea of concealing that story from his knowledge crossed her mind.
"Will he love me, when he knows the truth, as he loves me now?" T=
hat
was her only thought as she tried to approach the subject in his presence
without shrinking from it.
"Let us put my own feelings out of the
question," she said. "There is a reason for my not going away, un=
less
I first have the assurance of seeing you again. You have a claim--the stron=
gest
claim of any one--to know how I came here, unknown to my friends, and how it
was that you found me fallen so low."
"I make no claim," he said, hastily.
"I wish to know nothing which distresses you to tell me."
"You have always done your duty," she
rejoined, with a faint smile. "Let me take example from you, if I can,=
and
try to do mine."
"I am old enough to be your father,"=
he
said, bitterly. "Duty is more easily done at my age than it is at
yours."
His age was so constantly in his mind now that=
he
fancied it must be in her mind too. She had never given it a thought. The
reference he had just made to it did not divert her for a moment from the
subject on which she was speaking to him.
"You don't know how I value your good opi=
nion
of me," she said, struggling resolutely to sustain her sinking courage.
"How can I deserve your kindness, how can I feel that I am worthy of y=
our
regard, until I have opened my heart to you? Oh, don't encourage me in my o=
wn
miserable weakness! Help me to tell the truth--force me to tell it, for my =
own sake
if not for yours!"
He was deeply moved by the fervent sincerity of
that appeal.
"You shall tell it," he said. "=
You
are right--and I was wrong." He waited a little, and considered.
"Would it be easier to you," he asked, with delicate consideration
for her, "to write it than to tell it?"
She caught gratefully at the suggestion. "=
;Far
easier," she replied. "I can be sure of myself--I can be sure of
hiding nothing from you, if I write it. Don't write to me on your side!&quo=
t;
she added, suddenly, seeing with a woman's instinctive quickness of penetra=
tion
the danger of totally renouncing her personal influence over him. "Wait
till we meet, and tell me with your own lips what you think."
"Where shall I tell it?"
"Here!" she said eagerly. "Here,
where you found me helpless--here, where you have brought me back to life, =
and
where I have first learned to know you. I can bear the hardest words you sa=
y to
me if you will only say them in this room. It is impossible I can be away
longer than a month; a month will be enough and more than enough. If I come
back--" She stopped confusedly. "I am thinking of myself," s=
he
said, "when I ought to be thinking of you. You have your own occupatio=
ns
and your own friends. Will you decide for us? Will you say how it shall
be?"
"It shall be as you wish. If you come bac=
k in
a month, you will find me here."
"Will it cause you no sacrifice of your o=
wn
comfort and your own plans?"
"It will cause me nothing," he repli=
ed,
"but a journey back to the City." He rose and took his hat. "=
;I
must go there at once," he added, "or I shall not be in time.&quo=
t;
"It is a promise between us?" she sa=
id,
and held out her hand.
"Yes," he answered, a little sadly;
"it is a promise."
Slight as it was, the shade of melancholy in h=
is
manner pained her. Forgetting all other anxieties in the anxiety to cheer h=
im,
she gently pressed the hand he gave her. "If that won't tell him the
truth," she thought, "nothing will."
It failed to tell him the truth; but it forced=
a
question on his mind which he had not ventured to ask himself before. "=
;Is
it her gratitude, or her love; that is speaking to me?" he wondered.
"If I was only a younger man, I might almost hope it was her love.&quo=
t;
That terrible sum in subtraction which had first presented itself on the day
when she told him her age began to trouble him again as he left the house. =
He took
twenty from forty-one, at intervals, all the way back to the ship-owners'
office in Cornhill.
=
Left
by herself, Magdalen approached the table to write the line of answer which
Miss Garth requested, and gratefully to accept the proposal that had been m=
ade
to her.
The second letter which she had laid aside and
forgotten was the first object that caught her eye on changing her place. S=
he
opened it immediately, and, not recognizing the handwriting, looked at the =
signature.
To her unutterable astonishment, her correspondent proved to be no less a
person than--old Mr. Clare!
The philosopher's letter dispensed with all the
ordinary forms of address, and entered on the subject without prefatory phr=
ases
of any kind, in these uncompromising terms:
=
"I
have more news for you of that contemptible cur, my son. Here it is in the
fewest possible words.
"I always told you, if you remember, that
Frank was a Sneak. The very first trace recovered of him, after his running
away from his employers in China, presents him in that character. Where do =
you
think he turns up next? He turns up, hidden behind a couple of flour barrel=
s,
on board an English vessel bound homeward from Hong-Kong to London.
"The name of the ship was the Deliverance,
and the commander was one Captain Kirke. Instead of acting like a sensible =
man,
and throwing Frank overboard, Captain Kirke was fool enough to listen to his
story. He made the most of his misfortunes, you may be sure. He was half
starved; he was an Englishman lost in a strange country, without a friend to
help him; his only chance of getting home was to sneak into the hold of an =
English
vessel--and he had sneaked in, accordingly, at Hong-Kong, two days since. T=
hat
was his story. Any other l out in Frank's situation would have been rope's
ended by any other captain. Deserving no pity from anybody, Frank was, as a
matter of course, coddle d and compassionated on the spot. The captain took=
him
by the hand, the crew pitied him, and the passengers patted him on the back=
. He
was fed, clothed, and presented with his passage home. Luck enough so far, =
you
will say. Nothing of the sort; nothing like luck enough for my despicable s=
on.
"The ship touched at the Cape of Good Hop=
e.
Among his other acts of folly Captain Kirke took a woman passenger on board=
at
that place--not a young woman by any means--the elderly widow of a rich
colonist. Is it necessary to say that she forthwith became deeply intereste=
d in
Frank and his misfortunes? Is it necessary to tell you what followed? Look =
back
at my son's career, and you will see that what followed was all of a piece =
with
what went before. He didn't deserve your poor father's interest in him--and=
he
got it. He didn't deserve your attachment--and he got it. He didn't deserve=
the
best place in one of the best offices in London; he didn't deserve an equal=
ly
good chance in one of the best mercantile houses in China; he didn't deserve
food, clothing, pity, and a free passage home--and he got them all. Last, n=
ot
least, he didn't even deserve to marry a woman old enough to be his
grandmother--and he has done it! Not five minutes since I sent his
wedding-cards out to the dust-hole, and tossed the letter that came with th=
em
into the fire. The last piece of information which that letter contains is =
that
he and his wife are looking out for a house and estate to suit them. Mark my
words! Frank will get one of the best estates in England; a seat in the Hou=
se of
Commons will follow as a matter of course; and one of the legislators of th=
is
Ass-ridden country will be--MY LOUT!
"If you are the sensible girl I have alwa=
ys
taken you for, you have long since learned to rate Frank at his true value,=
and
the news I send you will only confirm your contempt for him. I wish your po=
or
father could but have lived to see this day! Often as I have missed my old
gossip, I don't know that I ever felt the loss of him so keenly as I felt i=
t when
Frank's wedding-cards and Frank's letter came to this house. Your friend, if
you ever want one,
"FRANCIS CLARE, Sen."
=
With
one momentary disturbance of her composure, produced by the appearance of
Kirke's name in Mr. Clare's singular narrative, Magdalen read the letter
steadily through from beginning to end. The time when it could have distres=
sed
her was gone by; the scales had long since fallen from her eyes. Mr. Clare
himself would have been satisfied if he had seen the quiet contempt on her =
face
as she laid aside his letter. The only serious thought it cost her was a
thought in which Kirke was concerned. The careless manner in which he had
referred in her presence to the passengers on board his ship, without
mentioning any of them by their names, showed her that Frank must have kept
silence on the subject of the engagement once existing between them. The
confession of that vanished delusion was left for her to make, as part of t=
he
story of the past which she had pledged herself unreservedly to reveal.
She wrote to Miss Garth, and sent the letter to
the post immediately.
The next morning brought a line of rejoinder. =
Miss
Garth had written to secure the cottage at Shanklin, and Mr. Merrick had
consented to Magdalen's removal on the following day. Norah would be the fi=
rst
to arrive at the house; and Miss Garth would follow, with a comfortable car=
riage
to take the invalid to the railway. Every needful arrangement had been made=
for
her; the effort of moving was the one effort she would have to make.
Magdalen read the letter thankfully, but her
thoughts wandered from it, and followed Kirke on his return to the City. Wh=
at
was the business which had once already taken him there in the morning? And=
why
had the promise exchanged between them obliged him to go to the City again,=
for
the second time in one day?
Was it by any chance business relating to the =
sea?
Were his employers tempting him to go back to his ship?
=
THE first agitation of the meeting between the
sisters was over; the first vivid impressions, half pleasurable, half painf=
ul,
had softened a little, and Norah and Magdalen sat together hand in hand, ea=
ch
rapt in the silent fullness of her own joy. Magdalen was the first to speak=
.
"You have something to tell me, Norah?&qu=
ot;
"I have a thousand things to tell you, my
love; and you have ten thousand things to tell me.--Do you mean that second
surprise which I told you of in my letter?"
"Yes. I suppose it must concern me very
nearly, or you would hardly have thought of mentioning it in your first
letter?"
"It does concern you very nearly. You have
heard of George's house in Essex? You must be familiar, at least, with the =
name
of St. Crux?--What is there to start at, my dear? I am afraid you are hardly
strong enough for any more surprises just yet?"
"Quite strong enough, Norah. I have somet=
hing
to say to you about St. Crux--I have a surprise, on my side, for you."=
"Will you tell it me now?"
"Not now. You shall know it when we are at
the seaside; you shall know it before I accept the kindness which has invit=
ed
me to your husband's house."
"What can it be? Why not tell me at
once?"
"You used often to set me the example of
patience, Norah, in old times; will you set me the example now?"
"With all my heart. Shall I return to my =
own
story as well? Yes? Then we will go back to it at once. I was telling you t=
hat
St. Crux is George's house, in Essex, the house he inherited from his uncle.
Knowing that Miss Garth had a curiosity to see the place, he left word (whe=
n he
went abroad after the admiral's death) that she and any friends who came wi=
th
her were to be admitted, if she happened to find herself in the neighborhoo=
d during
his absence. Miss Garth and I, and a large party of Mr. Tyrrel's friends, f=
ound
ourselves in the neighborhood not long after George's departure. We had all
been invited to see the launch of Mr. Tyrrel's new yacht from the builder's
yard at Wivenhoe, in Essex. When the launch was over, the rest of the compa=
ny
returned to Colchester to dine. Miss Garth and I contrived to get into the =
same
carriage together, with nobody but my two little pupils for our companions.=
We
gave the coachman his orders, and drove round by St. Crux. The moment Miss
Garth mentioned her name we were let in, and shown all over the house. I do=
n't know
how to describe it to you. It is the most bewildering place I ever saw in my
life--"
"Don't attempt to describe it, Norah. Go =
on
with your story instead."
"Very well. My story takes me straight in=
to
one of the rooms at St. Crux--a room about as long as your street here--so
dreary, so dirty, and so dreadfully cold that I shiver at the bare recollec=
tion
of it. Miss Garth was for getting out of it again as speedily as possible, =
and
so was I. But the housekeeper declined to let us off without first looking =
at a
singular piece of furniture, the only piece of furniture in the comfortless
place. She called it a tripod, I think. (There is nothing to be alarmed at,
Magdalen; I assure you there is nothing to be alarmed at!) At any rate, it =
was
a strange, three-legged thing, which supported a great panful of charcoal a=
shes
at the top. It was considered by all good judges (the housekeeper told us) =
a wonderful
piece of chasing in metal; and she especially pointed out the beauty of some
scroll-work running round the inside of the pan, with Latin mottoes on it, =
signifying--I
forget what. I felt not the slightest interest in the thing myself, but I
looked close at the scroll-work to satisfy the housekeeper. To confess the
truth, she was rather tiresome with her mechanically learned lecture on fine
metal work; and, while she was talking, I found myself idly stirring the so=
ft
feathery white ashes backward and forward with my hand, pretending to liste=
n,
with my mind a hundred miles away from her. I don't know how long or how sh=
ort
a time I had been playing with the ashes, when my fingers suddenly encounte=
red a
piece of crumpled paper hidden deep among them. When I brought it to the
surface, it proved to be a letter--a long letter full of cramped, close
writing.--You have anticipated my story, Magdalen, before I can end it! You
know as well as I do that the letter which my idle fingers found was the Se=
cret
Trust. Hold out your hand, my dear. I have got George's permission to show =
it
to you, and there it is!"
She put the Trust into her sister's hand. Magd=
alen
took it from her mechanically. "You!" she said, looking at her si=
ster
with the remembrance of all that she had vainly ventured, of all that she h=
ad vainly
suffered, at St. Crux--"you have found it!"
"Yes," said Norah, gayly; "the
Trust has proved no exception to the general perversity of all lost things.
Look for them, and they remain invisible. Leave them alone, and they reveal
themselves! You and your lawyer, Magdalen, were both justified in supposing
that your interest in this discovery was an interest of no common kind. I s=
pare
you all our consultations after I had produced the crumpled paper from the =
ashes.
It ended in George's lawyer being written to, and in George himself being r=
ecalled
from the Continent. Miss Garth and I both saw him immediately on his return=
. He
did what neither of us could do--he solved the mystery of the Trust being
hidden in the charcoal ashes. Admiral Bartram, you must know, was all his l=
ife
subject to fits of somnambulism. He had been found walking in his sleep not
long before his death--just at the time, too, when he was sadly troubled in=
his
mind on the subject of that very letter in your hand. George's idea is that=
he
must have fancied he was doing in his sleep what he would have died rather =
than
do in his waking moments--destroying the Trust. The fire had been lighted in
the pan not long before, and he no doubt saw it still burning in his dream.
This was George's explanation of the strange position of the letter when I
discovered it. The question of what was to be done with the letter itself c=
ame
next, and was no easy question for a woman to understand. But I determined =
to
master it, and I did master it, because it related to you."
"Let me try to master it, in my turn,&quo=
t;
said Magdalen. "I have a particular reason for wishing to know as much
about this letter as you know yourself. What has it done for others, and wh=
at
is it to do for me?"
"My dear Magdalen, how strangely you look=
at
it! how strangely you talk of it! Worthless as it may appear, that morsel of
paper gives you a fortune."
"Is my only claim to the fortune the claim
which this letter gives me?"
"Yes; the letter is your only claim. Shal=
l I
try if I can explain it in two words? Taken by itself, the letter might, in=
the
lawyer's opinion, have been made a matter for dispute, though I am sure Geo=
rge
would have sanctioned no proceeding of that sort. Taken, however, with the =
postscript
which Admiral Bartram attached to it (you will see the lines if you look un=
der
the signature on the third page), it becomes legally binding, as well as
morally binding, on the admiral's representatives. I have exhausted my small
stock of legal words, and must go on in my own language instead of in the
lawyer's. The end of the thing was simply this. All the money went back to =
Mr.
Noel Vanstone's estate (another legal word! my vocabulary is richer than I
thought), for one plain reason--that it had not been employed as Mr. Noel
Vanstone directed. If Mrs. Girdlestone had lived, or if George had married =
me a
few months earlier, results would have been just the other way. As it is, h=
alf
the money has been already divided between Mr. Noel Vanstone's next of kin;=
which
means, translated into plain English, my husband, and his poor bedridden
sister--who took the money formally, one day, to satisfy the lawyer, and who
gave it back again generously, the next, to satisfy herself. So much for one
half of this legacy. The other half, my dear, is all yours. How strangely
events happen, Magdalen! It is only two years since you and I were left
disinherited orphans--and we are sharing our poor father's fortune between =
us,
after all!"
"Wait a little, Norah. Our shares come to=
us
in very different ways."
"Do they? Mine comes to me by my husband.
Yours comes to you--" She stopped confusedly, and changed color.
"Forgive me, my own love!" she said, putting Magdalen's hand to h=
er
lips. "I have forgotten what I ought to have remembered. I have
thoughtlessly distressed you!"
"No!" said Magdalen; "you have
encouraged me."
"Encouraged you?"
"You shall see."
With those words, she rose quietly from the so=
fa,
and walked to the open window. Before Norah could follow her, she had torn =
the
Trust to pieces, and had cast the fragments into the street.
She came back to the sofa and laid her head, w=
ith
a deep sigh of relief, on Norah's bosom. "I will owe nothing to my past
life," she said. "I have parted with it as I have parted with tho=
se
torn morsels of paper. All the thoughts and all the hopes belonging to it a=
re
put away from me forever!"
"Magdalen, my husband will never allow yo=
u! I
will never allow you myself--"
"Hush! hush! What your husband thinks rig=
ht,
Norah, you and I will think right too. I will take from you what I would ne=
ver
have taken if that letter had given it to me. The end I dreamed of has come.
Nothing is changed but the position I once thought we might hold toward each
other. Better as it is, my love--far, far better as it is!"
So she made the last sacrifice of the old
perversity and the old pride. So she entered on the new and nobler life.
* * * * * *
A month had passed. The autumn sunshine was br=
ight
even in the murky streets, and the clocks in the neighborhood were just
striking two, as Magdalen returned alone to the house in Aaron's Buildings.=
"Is he waiting for me?" she asked,
anxiously, when the landlady let her in.
He was waiting in the front room. Magdalen sto=
le
up the stairs and knocked at the door. He called to her carelessly and abse=
ntly
to come in, plainly thinking that it was only the servant who applied for p=
ermission
to enter the room.
"You hardly expected me so soon?" she
said speaking on the threshold, and pausing there to enjoy his surprise as =
he
started to his feet and looked at her.
The only traces of illness still visible in her
face left a delicacy in its outline which added refinement to her beauty. S=
he
was simply dressed in muslin. Her plain straw bonnet had no other ornament =
than
the white ribbon with which it was sparingly trimmed. She had never looked =
lovelier
in her best days than she looked now, as she advanced to the table at which=
he
had been sitting, with a little basket of flowers that she had brought with=
her
from the country, and offered him her hand.
He looked anxious and careworn when she saw him
closer. She interrupted his first inquiries and congratulations to ask if he
had remained in London since they had parted--if he had not even gone away,=
for
a few days only, to see his friends in Suffolk? No; he had been in London e=
ver
since. He never told her that the pretty parsonage house in Suffolk wanted =
all
those associations with herself in which the poor four walls at Aaron's
Buildings were so rich. He only said he had been in London ever since.
"I wonder," she asked, looking him
attentively in the face, "if you are as happy to see me again as I am =
to
see you?"
"Perhaps I am even happier, in my differe=
nt
way," he answered, with a smile.
She took off her bonnet and scarf, and seated
herself once more in her own arm-chair. "I suppose this street is very
ugly," she said; "and I am sure nobody can deny that the house is
very small. And yet--and yet it feels like coming home again. Sit there whe=
re
you used to sit; tell me about yourself. I want to know all that you have d=
one,
all that you have thought even, while I have been away." She tried to
resume the endless succession of questions by means of which she was accust=
omed
to lure him into speaking of himself. But she put them far less spontaneous=
ly,
far less adroitly, than usual. Her one all-absorbing anxiety in entering th=
at
room was not an anxiety to be trifled with. After a quarter of an hour wast=
ed
in constrained inquiries on one side, in reluctant replies on the other, she
ventured near the dangerous subject at last.
"Have you received the letters I wrote to=
you
from the seaside?" she asked, suddenly looking away from him for the f=
irst
time.
"Yes," he said; "all."
"Have you read them?"
"Every one of them--many times over."=
;
Her heart beat as if it would suffocate her. S=
he
had kept her promise bravely. The whole story of her life, from the time of=
the
home-wreck at Combe-Raven to the time when she had destroyed the Secret Tru=
st
in her sister's presence, had been all laid before him. Nothing that she ha=
d done,
nothing even that she had thought, had been concealed from his knowledge. A=
s he
would have kept a pledged engagement with her, so she had kept her pledged
engagement with him. She had not faltered in the resolution to do this; and=
now
she faltered over the one decisive question which she had come there to ask.
Strong as the desire in her was to know if she had lost or won him, the fea=
r of
knowing was at that moment stronger still. She waited and trembled; she wai=
ted,
and said no more.
"May I speak to you about your letters?&q=
uot;
he asked. "May I tell you--?"
If she had looked at him as he said those few
words, she would have seen what he thought of her in his face. She would ha=
ve
seen, innocent as he was in this world's knowledge, that he knew the pricel=
ess
value, the all-ennobling virtue, of a woman who speaks the truth. But she h=
ad
no courage to look at him--no courage to raise her eyes from her lap.
"Not just yet," she said, faintly.
"Not quite so soon after we have met again."
She rose hurriedly from her chair, and walked =
to
the window, turned back again into the room, and approached the table, clos=
e to
where he was sitting. The writing materials scattered near him offered her a
pretext for changing the subject, and she seized on it directly. "Were=
you
writing a letter," she asked, "when I came in?"
"I was thinking about it," he replie=
d.
"It was not a letter to be written without thinking first." He ro=
se
as he answered her to gather the writing materials together and put them aw=
ay.
"Why should I interrupt you?" she sa=
id.
"Why not let me try whether I can't help you instead? Is it a
secret?"
"No, not a secret."
He hesitated as he answered her. She instantly
guessed the truth.
"Is it about your ship?"
He little knew how she had been thinking in her absence from him of the business which he believed that he had concealed fr= om her. He little knew that she had learned already to be jealous of his ship. "Do they want you to return to your old life?" she went on. "= ;Do they want you to go back to the sea? Must you say Yes or No at once?"<= o:p>
"At once."
"If I had not come in when I did would you
have said Yes?"
She unconsciously laid her hand on his arm,
forgetting all inferior considerations in her breathless anxiety to hear his
next words. The confession of his love was within a hair-breadth of escaping
him; but he checked the utterance of it even yet. "I don't care for
myself," he thought; "but how can I be certain of not distressing
her?"
"Would you have said Yes?" she repea=
ted.
"I was doubting," he answered--"=
;I
was doubting between Yes and No."
Her hand tightened on his arm; a sudden trembl=
ing
seized her in every limb, she could bear it no longer. All her heart went o=
ut
to him in her next words:
"Were you doubting for my sake?"
"Yes," he said. "Take my confes=
sion
in return for yours--I was doubting for your sake."
She said no more; she only looked at him. In t=
hat
look the truth reached him at last. The next instant she was folded in his
arms, and was shedding delicious tears of joy, with her face hidden on his
bosom.
"Do I deserve my happiness?" she
murmured, asking the one question at last. "Oh, I know how the poor na=
rrow
people who have never felt and never suffered would answer me if I asked th=
em
what I ask you. If they knew my story, they would forget all the provocatio=
n,
and only remember the offense; they would fasten on my sin, and pass all my
suffering by. But you are not one of them! Tell me if you have any shadow o=
f a misgiving!
Tell me if you doubt that the one dear object of all my life to come is to =
live
worthy of you! I asked you to wait and see me; I asked you, if there was any
hard truth to be told, to tell it me here with your own lips. Tell it, my l=
ove,
my husband!--tell it me now!"
She looked up, still clinging to him as she cl=
ung
to the hope of her better life to come.
"Tell me the truth!" she repeated.
"With my own lips?"
"Yes!" she answered, eagerly. "=
Say
what you think of me with your own lips."
He stooped and kissed her.