The Countess turned to her mildly.
"You are certainly thinking of Peter Smithers," Mrs. Fiske continued, bracing her shoulders. "Surely, you remember poor Peter, Louisa? An old flame of your own! He was going to kill himself, but married a Devonshire woman, and they had disagreeables, and SHE died, and he was undressing, and saw her there in the bed, and wouldn"t get into it, and had the mattress, and the curtains, and the counterpanes, and everything burnt. He told us it himself. You must remember it, Louisa?"
The Countess remembered nothing of the sort. No doubt could exist of its having been the Portuguese Marquis de Col, because he had confided to her the whole affair, and indeed come to her, as his habit was, to ask her what he could possibly do, under the circ.u.mstances. If Mrs. Fiske"s friend, who married the Devonshire person, had seen the same thing, the coincidence was yet more extraordinary than the case. Mrs. Fiske said it a.s.suredly was, and glanced at her aunt, who, as the Countess now rose, declaring she must speak to Evan, chid Mrs. Fiske, and wished her and Peter Smithers at the bottom of the sea.
"No, no, Mama," said the Countess, laughing, "that would hardly be proper," and before Mrs. Fiske could reply, escaped to complain to Evan of the vulgarity of those women.
She was not prepared for the burst of wrath with which Evan met her.
"Louisa," said he, taking her wrist sternly, "you have done a thing I can"t forgive. I find it hard to bear disgrace myself: I will not consent to bring it upon others. Why did you dare to couple Miss Jocelyn"s name with mine?"
The Countess gave him out her arm"s length. "Speak on, Van," she said, admiring him with a bright gaze.
"Answer me, Louisa; and don"t take me for a fool any more," he pursued.
"You have coupled Miss Jocelyn"s name with mine, in company, and I insist now upon your giving me your promise to abstain from doing it anywhere, before anybody."
"If she saw you at this instant, Van," returned the incorrigible Countess, "would she desire it, think you? Oh! I must make you angry before her, I see that! You have your father"s frown. You surpa.s.s him, for your delivery is more correct, and equally fluent. And if a woman is momentarily melted by softness in a man, she is for ever subdued by boldness and bravery of mien."
Evan dropped her hand. "Miss Jocelyn has done me the honour to call me her friend. That was in other days." His lip quivered. "I shall not see Miss Jocelyn again. Yes; I would lay down my life for her; but that"s idle talk. No such chance will ever come to me. But I can save her from being spoken of in alliance with me, and what I am, and I tell you, Louisa, I will not have it." Saying which, and while he looked harshly at her, wounded pride bled through his eyes.
She was touched. "Sit down, dear; I must explain to you, and make you happy against your will," she said, in another voice, and an English accent. "The mischief is done, Van. If you do not want Rose Jocelyn to love you, you must undo it in your own way. I am not easily deceived. On the morning I went to her house in town, she took me aside, and spoke to me. Not a confession in words. The blood in her cheeks, when I mentioned you, did that for her. Everything about you she must know--how you bore your grief, and all. And not in her usual free manner, but timidly, as if she feared a surprise, or feared to be wakened to the secret in her bosom she half suspects--"Tell him!" she said, "I hope he will not forget me.""
The Countess was interrupted by a great sob; for the picture of frank Rose Jocelyn changed, and soft, and, as it were, shadowed under a veil of bashful regard for him, so filled the young man with sorrowful tenderness, that he trembled, and was as a child.
Marking the impression she had produced on him, and having worn off that which he had produced on her, the Countess resumed the art in her style of speech, easier to her than nature.
"So the sweetest of Roses may be yours, dear Van; and you have her in a gold setting, to wear on your heart. Are you not enviable? I will not--no, I will not tell you she is perfect. I must fashion the sweet young creature. Though I am very ready to admit that she is much improved by this--shall I call it, desired consummation?"
Evan could listen no more. Such a struggle was rising in his breast: the effort to quench what the Countess had so shrewdly kindled; pa.s.sionate desire to look on Rose but for one lightning flash: desire to look on her, and m.u.f.fled sense of shame twin-born with it: wild love and leaden misery mixed: dead hopelessness and vivid hope. Up to the neck in Purgatory, but his soul saturated with visions of Bliss! The fair orb of Love was all that was wanted to complete his planetary state, and aloft it sprang, showing many faint, fair tracts to him, and piling huge darknesses.
As if in search of something, he suddenly went from the room.
"I have intoxicated the poor boy," said the Countess, and consulted an att.i.tude by the evening light in a mirror. Approving the result, she rang for her mother, and sat with her till dark; telling her she could not and would not leave her dear Mama that night. At the supper-table Evan did not appear, and Mr. Goren, after taking counsel of Mrs. Mel, dispersed the news that Evan was off to London. On the road again, with a purse just as ill-furnished, and in his breast the light that sometimes leads gentlemen, as well as ladies, astray.
CHAPTER X. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN
Near a milestone, under the moonlight, crouched the figure of a woman, huddled with her head against her knees, and careless hair falling to the summer"s dust. Evan came upon this sight within a few miles of Fallowfield. At first he was rather startled, for he had inherited superst.i.tious emotions from his mother, and the road was lone, the moon full. He went up to her and spoke a gentle word, which provoked no reply. He ventured to put his hand on her shoulder, continuing softly to address her. She was flesh and blood. Evan stooped his head to catch a whisper from her mouth, but nothing save a heavier fall of the breath she took, as of one painfully waking, was heard.
A misery beyond our own is a wholesome picture for youth, and though we may not for the moment compare the deep with the lower deep, we, if we have a heart for outer sorrows, can forget ourselves in it. Evan had just been accusing the heavens of conspiracy to disgrace him. Those patient heavens had listened, as is their wont. They had viewed and had not been disordered by his mental frenzies. It is certainly hard that they do not come down to us, and condescend to tell us what they mean, and be dumb-foundered by the perspicuity of our arguments the argument, for instance, that they have not fashioned us for the science of the shears, and do yet impel us to wield them. Nevertheless, they to whom mortal life has ceased to be a long matter perceive that our appeals for conviction are answered, now and then very closely upon the call. When we have cast off the scales of hope and fancy, and surrender our claims on mad chance, it is given us to see that some plan is working out: that the heavens, icy as they are to the pangs of our blood, have been throughout speaking to our souls; and, according to the strength there existing, we learn to comprehend them. But their language is an element of Time, whom primarily we have to know.
Evan Harrington was young. He wished not to clothe the generation. What was to the remainder of the exiled sons of Adam simply the brand of expulsion from Paradise, was to him h.e.l.l. In his agony, anything less than an angel, soft-voiced in his path, would not have satisfied the poor boy, and here was this wretched outcast, and instead of being relieved, he was to act the reliever!
Striving to rouse the desolate creature, he shook her slightly. She now raised her head with a slow, gradual motion, like that of a wax-work, showing a white young face, tearless,-dreadfully drawn at the lips.
After gazing at him, she turned her head mechanically to her shoulder, as to ask him why he touched her. He withdrew his hand, saying:
"Why are you here? Pardon me; I want, if possible, to help you."
A light sprang in her eyes. She jumped from the stone, and ran forward a step or two, with a gasp:
"Oh, my G.o.d! I want to go and drown myself."
Evan lingered behind her till he saw her body sway, and in a fit of trembling she half fell on his outstretched arm. He led her to the stone, not knowing what on earth to do with her. There was no sign of a house near; they were quite solitary; to all his questions she gave an unintelligible moan. He had not the heart to leave her, so, taking a sharp seat on a heap of flints, thus possibly furnishing future occupation for one of his craftsmen, he waited, and amused himself by marking out diagrams with his stick in the thick dust.
His thoughts were far away, when he heard, faintly uttered:
"Why do you stop here?"
"To help you."
"Please don"t. Let me be. I can"t be helped."
"My good creature," said Evan, "it "s quite impossible that I should leave you in this state. Tell me where you were going when your illness seized you?"
"I was going," she commenced vacantly, "to the sea--the water," she added, with a shivering lip.
The foolish youth asked her if she could be cold on such a night.
"No, I"m not cold," she replied, drawing closer over her lap the ends of a shawl which would in that period have been thought rather gaudy for her station.
"You were going to Lymport?"
"Yes,--Lymport"s nearest, I think."
"And why were you out travelling at this hour?"
She dropped her head, and began rocking to right and left.
While they talked the noise of waggon-wheels was heard approaching. Evan went into the middle of the road, and beheld a covered waggon, and a fellow whom he advanced to meet, plodding a little to the rear of the horses. He proved kindly. He was a farmer"s man, he said, and was at that moment employed in removing the furniture of the farmer"s son, who had failed as a corn-chandler in Lymport, to Hillford, which he expected to reach about morn. He answered Evan"s request that he would afford the young woman conveyance as far as Fallowfield:
"Tak" her in? That I will.
"She won"t hurt the ha.r.s.es," he pursued, pointing his whip at the vehicle: "there"s my mate, Gearge Stoakes, he"s in there, snorin" his turn. Can"t you hear "n asnorin" thraugh the wheels? I can; I"ve been laughin"! He do snore that loud-Gearge do!"
Proceeding to inform Evan how George Stokes had snored in that characteristic manner from boyhood, ever since he and George had slept in a hayloft together; and how he, kept wakeful and driven to distraction by George Stokes" nose, had been occasionally compelled, in sheer self-defence, madly to start up and hold that pertinacious alarum in tight compression between thumb and forefinger; and how George Stokes, thus severely handled, had burst his hold with a tremendous snort, as big as a bull, and had invariably uttered the exclamation, "Hulloa!--same to you, my lad!" and rolled over to snore as fresh as ever;--all this with singular rustic comparisons, racy of the soil, and in raw Hampshire dialect, the waggoner came to a halt opposite the stone, and, while Evan strode to a.s.sist the girl, addressed himself to the great task of arousing the st.u.r.dy sleeper and quieting his trumpet, heard by all ears now that the accompaniment of the wheels was at an end.
George, violently awakened, complained that it was before his time, to which he was true; and was for going off again with exalted contentment, though his heels had been tugged, and were dangling some length out of the machine; but his comrade, with a determined blow of the lungs, gave another valiant pull, and George Stokes was on his legs, marvelling at the world and man. Evan had less difficulty with the girl. She rose to meet him, put up her arms for him to clasp her waist, whispering sharply in an inward breath: "What are you going to do with me?" and indifferent to his verbal response, trustingly yielded her limbs to his guidance.
He could see blood on her bitten underlip; as, with the help of the waggoner, he lifted her on the mattress, backed by a portly bundle, which the sagacity of Mr. Stokes had selected for his couch.
The waggoner cracked his whip, laughing at George Stokes, who yawned and settled into a composed ploughswing, without asking questions; apparently resolved to finish his nap on his legs.
"Warn"t he like that Myzepper chap, I see at the circus, bound athert gray mare!" chuckled the waggoner. "So he "d "a gone on, had ye "a let "n. No wulves waddn"t wake Gearge till he "d slept it out. Then he "d say, "marnin"!" to "m. Are ye "wake now, Gearge?"
The admirable sleeper preferred to be a quiet b.u.t.t, and the waggoner leisurely exhausted the fun that was to be had out of him; returning to it with a persistency that evinced more concentration than variety in his mind. At last Evan said: "Your pace is rather slow. They"ll be shut up in Fallowfield. I "ll go on ahead. You"ll find me at one of the inns-the Green Dragon."
In return for this speech, the waggoner favoured him with a stare, followed by the exclamation: