"I little thought of subterfuges. I trusted you."
"Mrs. Kendal! hear me," he pa.s.sionately cried. "You knew not the misery you imposed. To live so near, and not a word, not a look! I bore it as long as I could; but when Sophy would not so much as take one message, human nature could not endure."
"Well, if you cannot restrain yourself like a rational creature, some means must be taken to free Miss Durant from a pursuit so injurious and disagreeable to her."
"Ay," he cried, "you have filled her with your own prejudices, and inspired her with such a dread of the hateful fences of society, that she does not dare to confess--"
"For shame, Gilbert, you are accusing her of acting a part."
"No!" he exclaimed, "all I say is, that she has been so thrust down and forced back, that she cannot venture to avow her feelings even to herself!"
"Oh!" said Albinia, "you conceited person!"
"Well!" cried the boy, so much nettled by her sarcasm that he did not know what he said, "I think--considering--considering our situations, I might be worth her consideration!"
"Who put that in your head?" asked Albinia. "You are too much a gentleman for it to have come there of its own accord."
He blushed excessively, and retracted. "No, no! I did not mean that! No, I only mean I have no fair play--she will not even think. Oh! if I had but been born in the same station of life!"
Gilbert making entrechats with a little fiddle! It had nearly overthrown her gravity, and she made no direct answer, only saying, "Well, Gilbert, these talks are useless. I only thought it right to give you notice that you have released me from my engagement not to make your father aware of your folly."
He went into an agony of entreaties, and proffers of promises, but no more treaties of secrecy could he obtain, she would only say that she should not speak immediately, she should wait and see how things turned out. By which she meant, how soon it might be hoped that he would be safe in the Calcutta bank, where she heartily wished him.
She sought a conference with Genevieve, and took her out walking in the meadows, for the poor child really needed change and exercise, the fear of Gilbert had made her imprison herself within the little garden, till she looked sallow and worn. She said that her grandmother and aunt had decided that she should go in a couple of days to the Convent at Hadminster, to remain there till Mr. Gilbert went to India--the superior was an old friend of her aunt, and Genevieve had often been there, and knew all the nuns.
Albinia was startled by this project. "My dear, I had much rather send you to stay at my brother"s, or--anywhere. Are you sure you are not running into temptation?"
"Not of that kind," said Genevieve. "The priest, Mr. O"Hara, is a good-natured old gentleman, not in the least disposed to trouble himself about my conversion."
"And the sisters?"
"Good old ladies, they have always been very kind to me, and petted me exceedingly when I was a little child, but for the rest--" still seeing Albinia"s anxious look--"Oh! they would not think of it; I don"t believe they could argue; they are not like the new-fashioned Roman Catholics of whom you are thinking, madame."
"And are there no enthusiastic young novices?"
"I should think no one would ever be a novice there," said Genevieve.
"You seem to be bent on destroying all the romance of convents, Genevieve!"
"I never thought of anything romantic connected with the reverend mothers," rejoined Genevieve, "and yet when I recollect how they came to Hadminster, I think you will be interested. You know the family at Hadminster Hall in the last century were Roman Catholics, and a daughter had professed at a convent in France. At the time of the revolution, her brother, the esquire, wrote to offer her an asylum at his house. The day of her arrival was fixed--behold! a stage-coach draws up to the door--black veils inside--black veils cl.u.s.tered on the roof--a black veil beside the coachman, on the box--eighteen nuns alight, and the poor old infirm abbess is lifted out. They had not even figured to themselves that the invitation could be to one without the whole sisterhood!"
"And what did the esquire do with the good ladies?"
"He took them as a gift from Providence, he raised a subscription among his friends, and they were lodged in the house at Hadminster, where something like a sisterhood had striven to exist ever since the days of James II."
"Are any of these sisters living still?"
"Only poor old Mother Therese, who was a little pensionnaire when they came, and now is blind, and never quits her bed. There are only seven sisters at present, and none of them are less than five-and-forty."
"And what shall you do there, Genevieve?"
"If they have any pupils from the town, perhaps I may help to teach them French. And I shall have plenty of time for my music. Oh! madame, would you lend me a little of your music to copy?"
"With all my heart. Any books?"
"Oh! that would be the greatest kindness of all! And if it were not presuming too much, if madame would let me take the pattern of that beautiful point lace that she sometimes wears in the evening, then I should make myself welcome!"
"And put out your eyes, my dear! But you may turn out my whole lace-drawer if you think anything there will be a pleasure to the old ladies."
"Ah! you do not guess the pleasure, madame. Needlework and embroidery is their excitement and delight. They will ask me closely about all I have seen and done for months past, and the history of the day at Fairmead will be a fete in itself."
"Well! my dear, it is very right of you; and I do feel very thankful to you for treating the matter thus. Pray tell your grandmamma and aunt to pardon the sad revolution we have made in their comfort, and that I hope it will soon be over!"
Genevieve took no leave. Albinia sent her a goodly parcel of books and work-patterns, and she returned an affectionate note; but did not attempt to see Lucy and Sophy.
The next Indian mail brought the expected letter, giving an exact account of the acquirements and habits that would be required of Gilbert, with a promise of a home where he would be treated as a son, and of admission to the firm after due probation. The letter was so sensible and affectionate, that Mr. Kendal congratulated his son upon such an advantageous outset in life.
Gilbert made slight reply, but the next morning Sophy sought Albinia out, and with some hesitation began to tell her that Gilbert was very anxious that she would intercede with papa not to send him to Calcutta.
"You now, Sophy!" cried Albinia. "You who used to think nothing equal to India!"
"I wish it were I," said Sophy, "but you know--"
"Well," said Albinia, coldly.
Sophy was too shy to begin on that tack, and dashed off on another.
"Oh, mamma, he is so wretched. He can"t bear to thwart papa, but he says it would break his heart to go so far away, and that he knows it would kill him to be confined to a desk in that climate."
"You know papa thinks that nothing would confirm his health so much as a few years without an English winter."
"One"s own instinct--" began Sophy; then breaking off, she added, "Mamma, you never were for the bank."
"I used not to see the expediency, and I did not like the parting; but now I understand your father"s wishes, and the sort of allegiance he feels towards India, so that Gilbert"s reluctance will be a great mortification to him."
"So it will," said Sophy, mournfully, "I am sure it is to me. I always looked forward to Gilbert"s going to Talloon, and seeing the dear old bearer, and taking all my presents there, but you see, of course, mamma, he cannot bear to go--"
"Sophy, dear," said Albinia, "you have been thinking me a very hard-hearted woman this last month. I have been longing to have it out."
"Not hard-hearted," said Sophy, looking down, "only I had always thought you different from other people."
"And you considered that I was worldly, and not romantic enough. Is that it, Sophy?"
"I thought you knew how to value her for herself, so good and so admirable--a lady in everything--with such perfect manners. I thought you would have been pleased and proud that Gilbert"s choice was so much n.o.bler than beauty, or rank, or fashion could make it," said Sophy, growing enthusiastic as she went on.
"Well, my dear, perhaps I am."
"But, mamma, you have done all you could to separate them: you have shut Genevieve up in a convent, and you want to banish him."