But the man alive, if but an inch alive, can so take his life in his clutch, that he does alter, cleanse, recast his deeds:--it is known; priests proclaim it, philosophers admit it.
Can he lay his clutch on another"s life, and wring out the tears shed, the stains of the bruises, recollection of the wrongs?
Contemplate the wounded creature as a woman. Then, what sort of woman is she? She was once under a fascination--ludicrously, painfully, intensely like a sort of tipsy poor puss, the trapped hare tossed to her serpent; and thoroughly rea.s.sured for a few caresses, quite at home, caged and at home; and all abloom with pretty ways, modest pranks, innocent fondlings. Gobbled, my dear!
It is the doom of the innocents, a natural fate. Smother the creature with kindness again, show we are a point in the scale above that old coiler snake--which broke no bones, bit not so very deep;--she will be, she ought to be, the woman she was. That is, if she was then sincere, a dose of kindness should operate happily to restore the honeymoony fancies, hopes, trusts, dreams, all back, as before the honeymoon showed the silver crook and shadowy hag"s back of a decaying crescent. And true enough, the poor girl"s young crescent of a honeymoon went down sickly-yellow rather early. It can be renewed. She really was at that time rather romantic. She became absurd. Romance is in her, nevertheless. She is a woman of mettle: she is probably expecting to be wooed. One makes a hash of yesterday"s left dish, but she may know no better. "Add a pickle," as Chummy Potts used to say. The dish is rendered savoury by a slight expenditure of attentions, just a dab of intimated soft stuff.
"Pleasant to see you established here, if you find the place agreeable,"
he said.
She was kissing her hand to her brother, all her eyes for him--or for the couple; and they were hidden by the park lodge before she replied: "It is an admired, beautiful place."
"I came," said he, "to have your a.s.surance that it suits you."
"I thank you, my lord."
""My lord" would like a short rest, Carinthia."
She seemed placidly acquiescing. "You have seen the boy?"
"Twice to-day. We were having a conversation just now."
"We think him very intelligent."
"Lady Arpington tells me you do the honours here excellently."
"She is good to me."
"Praises the mother"s management of the young one. John Edward: Edward for call-name. Madge boasts his power for sleeping."
"He gives little trouble."
"And babes repay us! We learn from small things. Out of the mouth of babes wisdom? Well, their habits show the wisdom of the mother. A good mother! There"s no higher t.i.tle. A lady of my acquaintance bids fair to win it, they say."
Carinthia looked in simplicity, saw herself, and said "If a mother may rear her boy till he must go to school, she is rewarded for all she does."
"Ah," said he, nodding over her mania of the perpetual suspicion.
"Leddings, Queeney, the servants here, run smoothly?"
"They do: they are happy in serving."
"You see, we English are not such bad fellows when we"re known. The climate to-day, for example, is rather trying."
"I miss colours most in England," said Carinthia. "I like the winds. Now and then we have a day to remember."
"We "re to be "the artist of the day," Gower Woodseer says, and we get an attachment to the dreariest; we are to study "small variations of the commonplace"--dear me! But he may be right. The "sky of lead and sc.r.a.ped lead" over those lines, he points out; and it"s not a bad trick for reconciling us to gloomy English weather. You take lessons from him?"
"I can always learn from him," said Carinthia.
Fleetwood depicted his plodding Gower at the tussle with account-books.
She was earnest in sympathy; not awake to the comical; dull as the clouds, dull as the discourse. Yet he throbbed for being near her took impression of her figure, the play of her features, the carriage of her body.
He was shut from her eyes. The clear brown eyes gave exchange of looks; less of admission than her honest maid"s.
Madge and the miracle infant awaited them on the terrace. For so foreign did the mother make herself to him, that the appearance of the child, their own child, here between them, was next to miraculous; and the mother, who might well have been the most astonished, had transparently not an idea beyond the verified palpable lump of young life she lifted in her arms out of the arms of Madge, maternally at home with its presence on earth.
Demonstrably a fine specimen, a promising youngster. The father was allowed to inspect him. This was his heir: a little fellow of smiles, features, puckered brows of inquiry; seeming a thing made already, and active on his own account.
"Do people see likenesses?" he asked.
"Some do," said the mother.
"You?"
She was constrained to give answer. "There is a likeness to my father, I have thought."
There"s a dotage of idolatrous daughters, he could have retorted; and his gaze was a polite offer to humdrum reconcilement, if it pleased her.
She sent the child up the steps.
"Do you come in, my lord?"
"The house is yours, my lady."
"I cannot feel it mine."
"You are the mistress to invite or exclude."
"I am ready to go in a few hours for a small income of money, for my child and me."
"--Our child."
"Yes."
"It is our child."
"It is."
"Any sum you choose to name. But where would you live?"
"Near my brother I would live."
"Three thousand a year for pin-money, or more, are at your disposal.
Stay here, I beg. You have only to notify your wants. And we"ll talk familiarly now, as we"re together. Can I be of aid to your brother? Tell me, pray. I am disposed in every way to subscribe to your wishes. Pray, speak, speak out."
So the earl said. He had to force his familiar tone against the rebuke of her grandeur of stature; and he was for inducing her to deliver her mind, that the mountain girl"s feebleness in speech might reinstate him.
She rejoined unhesitatingly: "My brother would not accept aid from you, my lord. I will take no money more than for my needs."
"You spoke of certain sums down in Wales."