Utterly disconcerted, Juliet, expressively bowing to the Baronet, lifted up the lid of the band-box, and, encircling her head in his bonnet, begged his permission to re-seat herself in the chaise.
Charmed with the prospect of another tete a tete, Sir Jaspar, with alacrity, accompanied her to the carriage; leaving Riley to enjoy, at his leisure, the cynical satisfaction, of having worried a timid deer from the field.
Still, however, Juliet, while uncertain whether the embarkation might not be eluded, desired to adhere to her plan of privacy and obscurity; and the Baronet would not struggle against a resolution from which he hoped to reap the fruit of lengthened intercourse. Pleased and willingly, therefore, he told his postilion to drive across the plain to ----, whence they proceeded post to Blandford.
Great was the relief afforded to the feelings of Juliet, by a removal so expeditious from the immediate vicinity of the scene of her sufferings; but she considered it, at the same time, to be a circ.u.mstance to obviate all necessity, and, consequently, all propriety of further attendance from the Baronet: here, therefore, to his utter dismay, with firmness, though with the gentlest acknowledgements, she begged that they might separate.
Cruelly disappointed, Sir Jaspar warmly remonstrated against the danger of her being left alone; but the possible hazards which might be annexed to acting right, could not deter her from the certain evil of acting wrong. Her greatest repugnance was that of being again forced to accept pecuniary aid; yet that, which, however disagreeable, might be refunded, was at least preferable to the increase and continuance of obligations, which, besides their perilous tendency, could never be repaid. Already, upon opening the band-box, she had seen a well furnished purse; and though her first movement had prompted its rejection, the decision of necessity was that of acceptance.
When Sir Jaspar found it utterly impossible to prevail with his fair companion still to bear that t.i.tle, he expostulated against leaving her, at least, in a public town; and she was not sorry to accept his offer of conveying her to some neighbouring village.
It was still day-light, when they arrived within the picturesque view of a villa, which Juliet, upon enquiry, heard was Milton-abbey. She soon discovered, that the scheme of the Baronet, to lengthen their sojourn with each other, was to carry her to see the house: but this she absolutely refused; and her seriousness compelled him to drive to a neighbouring cottage; where she had the good fortune to meet with a clean elderly woman, who was able to accommodate her with a small chamber.
Here, not without sincere concern, she saw the reluctance, even to sadness, with which her old admirer felt himself forced to leave his too lovely young friend: and what she owed to him was so important, so momentous, that she parted from him, herself, with real regret, and with expressions of the most lively esteem and regard.
CHAPTER Lx.x.xIV
Restless, again, was the night of Juliet; bewildered with varying visions of hope, of despair, of bliss, of horrour; now presenting a fair prospect that opened sweetly to her best affections; now shewing every blossom blighted, by a dark, overwhelming storm.
To engage the good will of her new hostess, she bestowed upon her nearly every thing that she had worn upon entering the cottage. What she had been seen and discovered in, could no longer serve any purpose of concealment; and all disguise was disgusting to her, if not induced by the most imperious necessity. She clothed herself, therefore, from the fairy stores of her munificent old sylph; with whom her debts were so multiplied and so considerable, that she meant, at all events, to call upon her family for their disburs.e.m.e.nt.
The quietness of this residence, induced her to propose remaining here: and her new hostess, who was one of the many who, where interest preaches pa.s.siveness, make it a point not to be troublesome, consented, without objection or enquiry.
Hence, again, she wrote to Gabriella, from whom she languished for intelligence.
In this perfect retirement, she pa.s.sed her time in deep rumination; her thoughts for ever hovering around the Bishop, upon whose fate her own invariably depended.
Her little apartment was close and hot; unshaded by blinds, unsheltered by shutters; she went forth, therefore, early every morning, to enjoy fresh air in the cool of a neighbouring wood, which, once having entered, she knew not how to quit. Solitude there, had not the character of seclusion; it bore not, as in her room, the air of banishment, if not of imprisonment; and the beautiful prospects around her, though her sole, were a never-failing source of recreation.
She permitted not, however, her love of the country to beguile her into danger by the love of variety; she wandered not far from her new habitation, in the vicinity of Milton-abbey; of which she never lost sight from distance, though frequently from intervening hills and trees.
But no answer arrived from Gabriella; and, in a few days, her own letter was returned, with a line written by the post-man upon the cover, to say, No. -- Frith-street, Soho, was empty.
New sorrow, now, and fearful distress a.s.sailed every feeling of Juliet: What could have occasioned this sudden measure? Whither was Gabriella gone? Might it be happiness?--or was it some new evil that had caused this change of abode? The letter sent to Salisbury had never been claimed; nor did Juliet dare demand it: but Gabriella might, perhaps, have written her new plan by the address sent from the farm-house.
It was now that she blessed the munificent Sir Jaspar, to whose purse she had immediate recourse for sending a man and horse to the cottage; with written instructions to enquire for a letter, concerning which she had left directions with the good old cottager.
While, to wear away the hours devoted to anxious waiting, she wandered, as usual, in the view of Milton-abbey, from a rich valley, bounded by rising hills, whose circling slopes bore the form of undulating waves, she perceived, from a small distance, a horseman gallopping towards her cottage.
It could not already be her messenger. She felt uneasy, and, gliding to the brow of an eminence, sat down upon the turf, as much as possible out of sight.
In a short time, she heard the quick pacing step of a man in haste. She tried to place herself still more obscurely; but, by moving, caught the eye of the object she meant to avoid. He approached her rapidly, but when near enough to distinguish her, abruptly stopt, as if to recollect himself; and Juliet, at the same moment that she was herself discerned, recognized Harleigh.
With difficulty restraining an exclamation, from surprize and painful emotion, she looked round to discover if it would be possible to elude him; but she could only walk towards Milton-abbey, in full view herself from that n.o.ble seat; or immediately face him by returning to her home.
She stood still, therefore, though bending her eye to the ground; hurt and offended that, at such a juncture, Harleigh could break into her retreat; and grieved yet more deeply, that Harleigh could excite in her even transitory displeasure.
Harleigh stept forward, but his voice, husky and nervous, so inarticulately p.r.o.nounced something relative to a packet and a work-bag, that Juliet, losing her displeasure in a sudden hope of hearing some news of her property, raised her head, with a look that demanded an explanation.
Still he strove in vain for sufficient calmness to speak distinctly; yet his answer gave Juliet to understand, that he had conveyed her packet and work-bag to the cottage which he had been told she inhabited.
"And where, Sir," cried Juliet, surprized into vivacity and pleasure at this unexpected hearing, "how, and where have they been recovered?"
Harleigh now blushed himself, at the blushes which he knew he must raise in her cheeks, as he replied, that the packet and the work-bag which he had brought, had been dropt in his room at the inn.
Crimson is pale to the depth of red with which shame and confusion dyed her face; while Harleigh, recovering his voice, sought to relieve her embarra.s.sment, by more rapidly continuing his discourse.
"I should sooner have endeavoured to deliver these articles, but that I knew not, till yesterday, that they had fallen to my care. I had left the inn, to follow, and seek Sir Jaspar Herrington; but having various papers and letters in my room, that I had not had time to collect, I obtained leave to take away the key with me, of the landlady, to whom I was well known,--for there, or in that neighbourhood, an irresistible interest has kept me, from the time that, through my groom, I had heard ... who had been seen ... at Bagshot ... entering the Salisbury stage!--Yesterday, when I returned, to the inn, I first perceived these parcels."--
He stopt; but Juliet could not speak, could not look up; could p.r.o.nounce no apology, nor enter into any explanation.
"Sir Jaspar Herrington," he continued, "whom I have just left, is still at Salisbury; but setting out for town. From him I learnt your immediate direction; but not knowing what might be the value of the packets, nor,--" He hesitated a moment, and then, with a sigh, added, "nor how to direct them! I determined upon venturing to deliver them myself."
The tingling cheeks of Juliet, at the inference of the words "nor how to direct them," seemed on fire; but she was totally silent.
"I have carefully sealed them," he resumed, "and I have delivered them to the woman of the cottage, for the young lady who at present sleeps there; and, hearing that that young lady was walking in the neighbourhood, I ventured to follow, with this intelligence."
"You are very good, Sir," Juliet strove to answer; but her lips were parched, and no words could find their way.
This excess of timidity brought back the courage of Harleigh, who, advancing a step or two, said, "You will not be angry that Sir Jaspar, moved by my uncontrollable urgency, has had the charity to reveal to me some particulars...."
"Oh! make way for me to pa.s.s, Mr Harleigh!" now interrupted Juliet, forcing her voice, and striving to force a pa.s.sage.
"Did you wish, then," said Harleigh, in a tone the most melancholy, "could you wish that I should still languish in harrowing suspense? or burst with ignorance?"
"Oh no!" cried she, raising her eyes, which glistened with tears, "no!
If the mystery that so long has hung about me, by occupying your ..."
She sought a word, and then continued: "your imagination ... impedes the oblivion that ought to bury me and my misfortunes from further thought,--then, indeed, I ought to be thankful to Sir Jaspar,--and I am thankful that he has let you know, ... that he has informed you...."
She could not finish the sentence.
"Yes!" cried Harleigh with energy, "I have heard the dreadful history of your wrongs! of the violences by which you have suffered, of the inhuman attempts upon your liberty, your safety, your honour!--But since you have thus happily--"
"Mr Harleigh," cried Juliet, struggling to recover her presence of mind, "I need no longer, I trust, now, beg your absence! All I can have to say you must, now, understand ... antic.i.p.ate ... acknowledge ... since you are aware...."
"Ah!" cried Harleigh, in a tone not quite free from reproach;--"had you but, from the beginning, condescended to inform me of your situation! a situation so impossible to divine! so replete with horrour, with injury, with unheard of suffering,--had you, from the first, instead of avoiding, flying me, deigned to treat me with some trust--"
"Mr Harleigh," said Juliet, with eagerness, "whatever may be your surprize that such should be my situation, ... my fate, ... you can, at least, require, now, no explanation why I have fled you!"
The word why, vibrated instantly to the heart of Harleigh, where it condolingly said: It was duty, then, not averseness, not indifference, that urged that flight! she had not fled, had she not deemed herself engaged!--Juliet, who had hastily uttered the why in the solicitude of self-vindication, shewed, by a change of complexion, the moment that it had pa.s.sed her lips, that she felt the possible inference of which it was susceptible, and dropt her eyes; fearful to risk discovering the consciousness that they might indicate.
Harleigh, however, now brightened, glowed with revived sensations: "Ah!
be not," he cried, "be not the victim of your scruples! let not your too delicate fears of doing wrong by others, urge you to inflict wrong, irreparable wrong, upon yourself! Your real dangers are past; none now remain but from a fancied,--pardon, pardon me!--a fancied refinement, unfounded in reason, or in right! Suffer, therefore--"
"Hold, Sir, hold!--we must not even talk upon this subject:--nor, at this moment, upon any other!--"