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diff --git a/3044-h/3044-h.htm b/3044-h/3044-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..35deac6 --- /dev/null +++ b/3044-h/3044-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20762 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Desperate Remedies, by Thomas Hardy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Desperate Remedies, by Thomas Hardy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Desperate Remedies + +Author: Thomas Hardy + +Release Date: May 25, 2009 [EBook #3044] +Last Updated: October 14, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPERATE REMEDIES *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + DESPERATE REMEDIES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Thomas Hardy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> PREFATORY NOTE </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. </a> THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II. </a> THE EVENTS OF A + FORTNIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. </a> THE + EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. </a> THE + EVENTS OF ONE DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. </a> THE + EVENTS OF ONE DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. </a> THE + EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. </a> THE + EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. </a> THE + EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. </a> THE + EVENTS OF FIVE DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF TEN MONTHS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF ONE DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV. </a> THE + EVENTS OF FIVE WEEKS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV. </a> THE + EVENTS OF THREE WEEKS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. </a> THE + EVENTS OF ONE WEEK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF ONE DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII. </a> THE + EVENTS OF THREE DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX. </a> THE + EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX. </a> THE + EVENTS OF THREE HOURS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI. </a> THE + EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS <br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> + SEQUEL </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFATORY NOTE + </h2> + <p> + The following story, the first published by the author, was written + nineteen years ago, at a time when he was feeling his way to a method. The + principles observed in its composition are, no doubt, too exclusively + those in which mystery, entanglement, surprise, and moral obliquity are + depended on for exciting interest; but some of the scenes, and at least + one of the characters, have been deemed not unworthy of a little longer + preservation; and as they could hardly be reproduced in a fragmentary form + the novel is reissued complete—the more readily that it has for some + considerable time been reprinted and widely circulated in America. January + 1889. + </p> + <p> + To the foregoing note I have only to add that, in the present edition of + ‘Desperate Remedies,’ some Wessex towns and other places that are common + to the scenes of several of these stories have been called for the first + time by the names under which they appear elsewhere, for the satisfaction + of any reader who may care for consistency in such matters. + </p> + <p> + This is the only material change; for, as it happened that certain + characteristics which provoked most discussion in my latest story were + present in this my first—published in 1871, when there was no French + name for them it has seemed best to let them stand unaltered. + </p> + <p> + T.H. February 1896. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. DECEMBER AND JANUARY, 1835-36 + </h3> + <p> + In the long and intricately inwrought chain of circumstance which renders + worthy of record some experiences of Cytherea Graye, Edward Springrove, + and others, the first event directly influencing the issue was a Christmas + visit. + </p> + <p> + In the above-mentioned year, 1835, Ambrose Graye, a young architect who + had just begun the practice of his profession in the midland town of + Hocbridge, to the north of Christminster, went to London to spend the + Christmas holidays with a friend who lived in Bloomsbury. They had gone up + to Cambridge in the same year, and, after graduating together, Huntway, + the friend, had taken orders. + </p> + <p> + Graye was handsome, frank, and gentle. He had a quality of thought which, + exercised on homeliness, was humour; on nature, picturesqueness; on + abstractions, poetry. Being, as a rule, broadcast, it was all three. + </p> + <p> + Of the wickedness of the world he was too forgetful. To discover evil in a + new friend is to most people only an additional experience: to him it was + ever a surprise. + </p> + <p> + While in London he became acquainted with a retired officer in the Navy + named Bradleigh, who, with his wife and their daughter, lived in a street + not far from Russell Square. Though they were in no more than comfortable + circumstances, the captain’s wife came of an ancient family whose + genealogical tree was interlaced with some of the most illustrious and + well-known in the kingdom. + </p> + <p> + The young lady, their daughter, seemed to Graye by far the most beautiful + and queenly being he had ever beheld. She was about nineteen or twenty, + and her name was Cytherea. In truth she was not so very unlike country + girls of that type of beauty, except in one respect. She was perfect in + her manner and bearing, and they were not. A mere distinguishing + peculiarity, by catching the eye, is often read as the pervading + characteristic, and she appeared to him no less than perfection throughout—transcending + her rural rivals in very nature. Graye did a thing the blissfulness of + which was only eclipsed by its hazardousness. He loved her at first sight. + </p> + <p> + His introductions had led him into contact with Cytherea and her parents + two or three times on the first week of his arrival in London, and + accident and a lover’s contrivance brought them together as frequently the + week following. The parents liked young Graye, and having few friends (for + their equals in blood were their superiors in position), he was received + on very generous terms. His passion for Cytherea grew not only strong, but + ineffably exalted: she, without positively encouraging him, tacitly + assented to his schemes for being near her. Her father and mother seemed + to have lost all confidence in nobility of birth, without money to give + effect to its presence, and looked upon the budding consequence of the + young people’s reciprocal glances with placidity, if not actual favour. + </p> + <p> + Graye’s whole impassioned dream terminated in a sad and unaccountable + episode. After passing through three weeks of sweet experience, he had + arrived at the last stage—a kind of moral Gaza—before plunging + into an emotional desert. The second week in January had come round, and + it was necessary for the young architect to leave town. + </p> + <p> + Throughout his acquaintanceship with the lady of his heart there had been + this marked peculiarity in her love: she had delighted in his presence as + a sweetheart should do, yet from first to last she had repressed all + recognition of the true nature of the thread which drew them together, + blinding herself to its meaning and only natural tendency, and appearing + to dread his announcement of them. The present seemed enough for her + without cumulative hope: usually, even if love is in itself an end, it + must be regarded as a beginning to be enjoyed. + </p> + <p> + In spite of evasions as an obstacle, and in consequence of them as a spur, + he would put the matter off no longer. It was evening. He took her into a + little conservatory on the landing, and there among the evergreens, by the + light of a few tiny lamps, infinitely enhancing the freshness and beauty + of the leaves, he made the declaration of a love as fresh and beautiful as + they. + </p> + <p> + ‘My love—my darling, be my wife!’ + </p> + <p> + She seemed like one just awakened. ‘Ah—we must part now!’ she + faltered, in a voice of anguish. ‘I will write to you.’ She loosened her + hand and rushed away. + </p> + <p> + In a wild fever Graye went home and watched for the next morning. Who + shall express his misery and wonder when a note containing these words was + put into his hand? + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye; good-bye for ever. As recognized lovers something divides us + eternally. Forgive me—I should have told you before; but your love + was sweet! Never mention me.’ + </p> + <p> + That very day, and as it seemed, to put an end to a painful condition of + things, daughter and parents left London to pay off a promised visit to a + relative in a western county. No message or letter of entreaty could wring + from her any explanation. She begged him not to follow her, and the most + bewildering point was that her father and mother appeared, from the tone + of a letter Graye received from them, as vexed and sad as he at this + sudden renunciation. One thing was plain: without admitting her reason as + valid, they knew what that reason was, and did not intend to reveal it. + </p> + <p> + A week from that day Ambrose Graye left his friend Huntway’s house and saw + no more of the Love he mourned. From time to time his friend answered any + inquiry Graye made by letter respecting her. But very poor food to a lover + is intelligence of a mistress filtered through a friend. Huntway could + tell nothing definitely. He said he believed there had been some prior + flirtation between Cytherea and her cousin, an officer of the line, two or + three years before Graye met her, which had suddenly been terminated by + the cousin’s departure for India, and the young lady’s travelling on the + Continent with her parents the whole of the ensuing summer, on account of + delicate health. Eventually Huntway said that circumstances had rendered + Graye’s attachment more hopeless still. Cytherea’s mother had unexpectedly + inherited a large fortune and estates in the west of England by the rapid + fall of some intervening lives. This had caused their removal from the + small house in Bloomsbury, and, as it appeared, a renunciation of their + old friends in that quarter. + </p> + <p> + Young Graye concluded that his Cytherea had forgotten him and his love. + But he could not forget her. + </p> + <p> + 2. FROM 1843 TO 1861 + </p> + <p> + Eight years later, feeling lonely and depressed—a man without + relatives, with many acquaintances but no friends—Ambrose Graye met + a young lady of a different kind, fairly endowed with money and good + gifts. As to caring very deeply for another woman after the loss of + Cytherea, it was an absolute impossibility with him. With all, the + beautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit; but + with some natures utter elusion is the one special event which will make a + passing love permanent for ever. + </p> + <p> + This second young lady and Graye were married. That he did not, first or + last, love his wife as he should have done, was known to all; but few knew + that his unmanageable heart could never be weaned from useless repining at + the loss of its first idol. + </p> + <p> + His character to some extent deteriorated, as emotional constitutions will + under the long sense of disappointment at having missed their imagined + destiny. And thus, though naturally of a gentle and pleasant disposition, + he grew to be not so tenderly regarded by his acquaintances as it is the + lot of some of those persons to be. The winning and sanguine receptivity + of his early life developed by degrees a moody nervousness, and when not + picturing prospects drawn from baseless hope he was the victim of + indescribable depression. The practical issue of such a condition was + improvidence, originally almost an unconscious improvidence, for every + debt incurred had been mentally paid off with a religious exactness from + the treasures of expectation before mentioned. But as years revolved, the + same course was continued from the lack of spirit sufficient for shifting + out of an old groove when it has been found to lead to disaster. + </p> + <p> + In the year 1861 his wife died, leaving him a widower with two children. + The elder, a son named Owen, now just turned seventeen, was taken from + school, and initiated as pupil to the profession of architect in his + father’s office. The remaining child was a daughter, and Owen’s junior by + a year. + </p> + <p> + Her christian name was Cytherea, and it is easy to guess why. + </p> + <p> + 3. OCTOBER THE TWELFTH, 1863 + </p> + <p> + We pass over two years in order to reach the next cardinal event of these + persons’ lives. The scene is still the Grayes’ native town of Hocbridge, + but as it appeared on a Monday afternoon in the month of October. + </p> + <p> + The weather was sunny and dry, but the ancient borough was to be seen + wearing one of its least attractive aspects. First on account of the time. + It was that stagnant hour of the twenty-four when the practical garishness + of Day, having escaped from the fresh long shadows and enlivening newness + of the morning, has not yet made any perceptible advance towards acquiring + those mellow and soothing tones which grace its decline. Next, it was that + stage in the progress of the week when business—which, carried on + under the gables of an old country place, is not devoid of a romantic + sparkle—was well-nigh extinguished. Lastly, the town was + intentionally bent upon being attractive by exhibiting to an influx of + visitors the local talent for dramatic recitation, and provincial towns + trying to be lively are the dullest of dull things. + </p> + <p> + Little towns are like little children in this respect, that they interest + most when they are enacting native peculiarities unconscious of beholders. + Discovering themselves to be watched they attempt to be entertaining by + putting on an antic, and produce disagreeable caricatures which spoil + them. + </p> + <p> + The weather-stained clock-face in the low church tower standing at the + intersection of the three chief streets was expressing half-past two to + the Town Hall opposite, where the much talked-of reading from Shakespeare + was about to begin. The doors were open, and those persons who had already + assembled within the building were noticing the entrance of the new-comers—silently + criticizing their dress—questioning the genuineness of their teeth + and hair—estimating their private means. + </p> + <p> + Among these later ones came an exceptional young maiden who glowed amid + the dulness like a single bright-red poppy in a field of brown stubble. + She wore an elegant dark jacket, lavender dress, hat with grey strings and + trimmings, and gloves of a colour to harmonize. She lightly walked up the + side passage of the room, cast a slight glance around, and entered the + seat pointed out to her. + </p> + <p> + The young girl was Cytherea Graye; her age was now about eighteen. During + her entry, and at various times whilst sitting in her seat and listening + to the reader on the platform, her personal appearance formed an + interesting subject of study for several neighbouring eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her face was exceedingly attractive, though artistically less perfect than + her figure, which approached unusually near to the standard of + faultlessness. But even this feature of hers yielded the palm to the + gracefulness of her movement, which was fascinating and delightful to an + extreme degree. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, motion was her speciality, whether shown on its most extended + scale of bodily progression, or minutely, as in the uplifting of her + eyelids, the bending of her fingers, the pouting of her lip. The carriage + of her head—motion within motion—a glide upon a glide—was + as delicate as that of a magnetic needle. And this flexibility and + elasticity had never been taught her by rule, nor even been acquired by + observation, but, nullo cultu, had naturally developed itself with her + years. In childhood, a stone or stalk in the way, which had been the + inevitable occasion of a fall to her playmates, had usually left her safe + and upright on her feet after the narrowest escape by oscillations and + whirls for the preservation of her balance. At mixed Christmas parties, + when she numbered but twelve or thirteen years, and was heartily despised + on that account by lads who deemed themselves men, her apt lightness in + the dance covered this incompleteness in her womanhood, and compelled the + self-same youths in spite of resolutions to seize upon her childish figure + as a partner whom they could not afford to contemn. And in later years, + when the instincts of her sex had shown her this point as the best and + rarest feature in her external self, she was not found wanting in + attention to the cultivation of finish in its details. + </p> + <p> + Her hair rested gaily upon her shoulders in curls and was of a shining + corn yellow in the high lights, deepening to a definite nut-brown as each + curl wound round into the shade. She had eyes of a sapphire hue, though + rather darker than the gem ordinarily appears; they possessed the + affectionate and liquid sparkle of loyalty and good faith as + distinguishable from that harder brightness which seems to express + faithfulness only to the object confronting them. + </p> + <p> + But to attempt to gain a view of her—or indeed of any fascinating + woman—from a measured category, is as difficult as to appreciate the + effect of a landscape by exploring it at night with a lantern—or of + a full chord of music by piping the notes in succession. Nevertheless it + may readily be believed from the description here ventured, that among the + many winning phases of her aspect, these were particularly striking:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + During pleasant doubt, when her eyes brightened stealthily and + smiled (as eyes will smile) as distinctly as her lips, and in the + space of a single instant expressed clearly the whole round of + degrees of expectancy which lie over the wide expanse between Yea + and Nay. + + During the telling of a secret, which was involuntarily + accompanied by a sudden minute start, and ecstatic pressure of + the listener’s arm, side, or neck, as the position and degree + of intimacy dictated. + + When anxiously regarding one who possessed her affections. +</pre> + <p> + She suddenly assumed the last-mentioned bearing in the progress of the + present entertainment. Her glance was directed out of the window. + </p> + <p> + Why the particulars of a young lady’s presence at a very mediocre + performance were prevented from dropping into the oblivion which their + intrinsic insignificance would naturally have involved—why they were + remembered and individualized by herself and others through after years—was + simply that she unknowingly stood, as it were, upon the extreme posterior + edge of a tract in her life, in which the real meaning of Taking Thought + had never been known. It was the last hour of experience she ever enjoyed + with a mind entirely free from a knowledge of that labyrinth into which + she stepped immediately afterwards—to continue a perplexed course + along its mazes for the greater portion of twenty-nine subsequent months. + </p> + <p> + The Town Hall, in which Cytherea sat, was a building of brown stone, and + through one of the windows could be seen from the interior of the room the + housetops and chimneys of the adjacent street, and also the upper part of + a neighbouring church spire, now in course of completion under the + superintendence of Miss Graye’s father, the architect to the work. + </p> + <p> + That the top of this spire should be visible from her position in the room + was a fact which Cytherea’s idling eyes had discovered with some interest, + and she was now engaged in watching the scene that was being enacted about + its airy summit. Round the conical stonework rose a cage of scaffolding + against the blue sky, and upon this stood five men—four in clothes + as white as the new erection close beneath their hands, the fifth in the + ordinary dark suit of a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + The four working-men in white were three masons and a mason’s labourer. + The fifth man was the architect, Mr. Graye. He had been giving directions + as it seemed, and retiring as far as the narrow footway allowed, stood + perfectly still. + </p> + <p> + The picture thus presented to a spectator in the Town Hall was curious and + striking. It was an illuminated miniature, framed in by the dark margin of + the window, the keen-edged shadiness of which emphasized by contrast the + softness of the objects enclosed. + </p> + <p> + The height of the spire was about one hundred and twenty feet, and the + five men engaged thereon seemed entirely removed from the sphere and + experiences of ordinary human beings. They appeared little larger than + pigeons, and made their tiny movements with a soft, spirit-like + silentness. One idea above all others was conveyed to the mind of a person + on the ground by their aspect, namely, concentration of purpose: that they + were indifferent to—even unconscious of—the distracted world + beneath them, and all that moved upon it. They never looked off the + scaffolding. + </p> + <p> + Then one of them turned; it was Mr. Graye. Again he stood motionless, with + attention to the operations of the others. He appeared to be lost in + reflection, and had directed his face towards a new stone they were + lifting. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why does he stand like that?’ the young lady thought at length—up + to that moment as listless and careless as one of the ancient Tarentines, + who, on such an afternoon as this, watched from the Theatre the entry into + their Harbour of a power that overturned the State. + </p> + <p> + She moved herself uneasily. ‘I wish he would come down,’ she whispered, + still gazing at the skybacked picture. ‘It is so dangerous to be + absent-minded up there.’ + </p> + <p> + When she had done murmuring the words her father indecisively laid hold of + one of the scaffold-poles, as if to test its strength, then let it go and + stepped back. In stepping, his foot slipped. An instant of doubling + forward and sideways, and he reeled off into the air, immediately + disappearing downwards. + </p> + <p> + His agonized daughter rose to her feet by a convulsive movement. Her lips + parted, and she gasped for breath. She could utter no sound. One by one + the people about her, unconscious of what had happened, turned their + heads, and inquiry and alarm became visible upon their faces at the sight + of the poor child. A moment longer, and she fell to the floor. + </p> + <p> + The next impression of which Cytherea had any consciousness was of being + carried from a strange vehicle across the pavement to the steps of her own + house by her brother and an older man. Recollection of what had passed + evolved itself an instant later, and just as they entered the door—through + which another and sadder burden had been carried but a few instants before—her + eyes caught sight of the south-western sky, and, without heeding, saw + white sunlight shining in shaft-like lines from a rift in a slaty cloud. + Emotions will attach themselves to scenes that are simultaneous—however + foreign in essence these scenes may be—as chemical waters will + crystallize on twigs and wires. Even after that time any mental agony + brought less vividly to Cytherea’s mind the scene from the Town Hall + windows than sunlight streaming in shaft-like lines. + </p> + <p> + 4. OCTOBER THE NINETEENTH + </p> + <p> + When death enters a house, an element of sadness and an element of horror + accompany it. Sadness, from the death itself: horror, from the clouds of + blackness we designedly labour to introduce. + </p> + <p> + The funeral had taken place. Depressed, yet resolved in his demeanour, + Owen Graye sat before his father’s private escritoire, engaged in turning + out and unfolding a heterogeneous collection of papers—forbidding + and inharmonious to the eye at all times—most of all to one under + the influence of a great grief. Laminae of white paper tied with twine + were indiscriminately intermixed with other white papers bounded by black + edges—these with blue foolscap wrapped round with crude red tape. + </p> + <p> + The bulk of these letters, bills, and other documents were submitted to a + careful examination, by which the appended particulars were ascertained:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + First, that their father’s income from professional sources had + been very small, amounting to not more than half their expenditure; + and that his own and his wife’s property, upon which he had relied + for the balance, had been sunk and lost in unwise loans to + unscrupulous men, who had traded upon their father’s too + open-hearted trustfulness. + + Second, that finding his mistake, he had endeavoured to regain + his standing by the illusory path of speculation. The most notable + instance of this was the following. He had been induced, when at + Plymouth in the autumn of the previous year, to venture all his + spare capital on the bottomry security of an Italian brig which + had put into the harbour in distress. The profit was to be + considerable, so was the risk. There turned out to be no security + whatever. The circumstances of the case tendered it the most + unfortunate speculation that a man like himself—ignorant of all + such matters—could possibly engage in. The vessel went down, and + all Mr. Graye’s money with it. + + Third, that these failures had left him burdened with debts he + knew not how to meet; so that at the time of his death even the few + pounds lying to his account at the bank were his only in name. + + Fourth, that the loss of his wife two years earlier had + awakened him to a keen sense of his blindness, and of his duty by + his children. He had then resolved to reinstate by unflagging zeal + in the pursuit of his profession, and by no speculation, at least a + portion of the little fortune he had let go. +</pre> + <p> + Cytherea was frequently at her brother’s elbow during these examinations. + She often remarked sadly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor papa failed to fulfil his good intention for want of time, didn’t + he, Owen? And there was an excuse for his past, though he never would + claim it. I never forget that original disheartening blow, and how that + from it sprang all the ills of his life—everything connected with + his gloom, and the lassitude in business we used so often to see about + him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I remember what he said once,’ returned the brother, ‘when I sat up late + with him. He said, “Owen, don’t love too blindly: blindly you will love if + you love at all, but a little care is still possible to a well-disciplined + heart. May that heart be yours as it was not mine,” father said. + “Cultivate the art of renunciation.” And I am going to, Cytherea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And once mamma said that an excellent woman was papa’s ruin, because he + did not know the way to give her up when he had lost her. I wonder where + she is now, Owen? We were told not to try to find out anything about her. + Papa never told us her name, did he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That was by her own request, I believe. But never mind her; she was not + our mother.’ + </p> + <p> + The love affair which had been Ambrose Graye’s disheartening blow was + precisely of that nature which lads take little account of, but girls + ponder in their hearts. + </p> + <p> + 5. FROM OCTOBER THE NINETEENTH TO JULY THE NINTH + </p> + <p> + Thus Ambrose Graye’s good intentions with regard to the reintegration of + his property had scarcely taken tangible form when his sudden death put + them for ever out of his power. + </p> + <p> + Heavy bills, showing the extent of his obligations, tumbled in immediately + upon the heels of the funeral from quarters previously unheard and + unthought of. Thus pressed, a bill was filed in Chancery to have the + assets, such as they were, administered by the Court. + </p> + <p> + ‘What will become of us now?’ thought Owen continually. + </p> + <p> + There is in us an unquenchable expectation, which at the gloomiest time + persists in inferring that because we are <i>ourselves</i>, there must be + a special future in store for us, though our nature and antecedents to the + remotest particular have been common to thousands. Thus to Cytherea and + Owen Graye the question how their lives would end seemed the deepest of + possible enigmas. To others who knew their position equally well with + themselves the question was the easiest that could be asked—‘Like + those of other people similarly circumstanced.’ + </p> + <p> + Then Owen held a consultation with his sister to come to some decision on + their future course, and a month was passed in waiting for answers to + letters, and in the examination of schemes more or less futile. Sudden + hopes that were rainbows to the sight proved but mists to the touch. In + the meantime, unpleasant remarks, disguise them as some well-meaning + people might, were floating around them every day. The undoubted truth, + that they were the children of a dreamer who let slip away every farthing + of his money and ran into debt with his neighbours—that the daughter + had been brought up to no profession—that the son who had, had made + no progress in it, and might come to the dogs—could not from the + nature of things be wrapped up in silence in order that it might not hurt + their feelings; and as a matter of fact, it greeted their ears in some + form or other wherever they went. Their few acquaintances passed them + hurriedly. Ancient pot-wallopers, and thriving shopkeepers, in their + intervals of leisure, stood at their shop-doors—their toes hanging + over the edge of the step, and their obese waists hanging over their toes—and + in discourses with friends on the pavement, formulated the course of the + improvident, and reduced the children’s prospects to a shadow-like + attenuation. The sons of these men (who wore breastpins of a sarcastic + kind, and smoked humorous pipes) stared at Cytherea with a stare + unmitigated by any of the respect that had formerly softened it. + </p> + <p> + Now it is a noticeable fact that we do not much mind what men think of us, + or what humiliating secret they discover of our means, parentage, or + object, provided that each thinks and acts thereupon in isolation. It is + the exchange of ideas about us that we dread most; and the possession by a + hundred acquaintances, severally insulated, of the knowledge of our + skeleton-closet’s whereabouts, is not so distressing to the nerves as a + chat over it by a party of half-a-dozen—exclusive depositaries + though these may be. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, though Hocbridge watched and whispered, its animus would have + been little more than a trifle to persons in thriving circumstances. But + unfortunately, poverty, whilst it is new, and before the skin has had time + to thicken, makes people susceptible inversely to their opportunities for + shielding themselves. In Owen was found, in place of his father’s + impressibility, a larger share of his father’s pride, and a squareness of + idea which, if coupled with a little more blindness, would have amounted + to positive prejudice. To him humanity, so far as he had thought of it at + all, was rather divided into distinct classes than blended from extreme to + extreme. Hence by a sequence of ideas which might be traced if it were + worth while, he either detested or respected opinion, and instinctively + sought to escape a cold shade that mere sensitiveness would have endured. + He could have submitted to separation, sickness, exile, drudgery, hunger + and thirst, with stoical indifference, but superciliousness was too + incisive. + </p> + <p> + After living on for nine months in attempts to make an income as his + father’s successor in the profession—attempts which were utterly + fruitless by reason of his inexperience—Graye came to a simple and + sweeping resolution. They would privately leave that part of England, drop + from the sight of acquaintances, gossips, harsh critics, and bitter + creditors of whose misfortune he was not the cause, and escape the + position which galled him by the only road their great poverty left open + to them—that of his obtaining some employment in a distant place by + following his profession as a humble under-draughtsman. + </p> + <p> + He thought over his capabilities with the sensations of a soldier grinding + his sword at the opening of a campaign. What with lack of employment, + owing to the decrease of his late father’s practice, and the absence of + direct and uncompromising pressure towards monetary results from a pupil’s + labour (which seems to be always the case when a professional man’s pupil + is also his son), Owen’s progress in the art and science of architecture + had been very insignificant indeed. Though anything but an idle young man, + he had hardly reached the age at which industrious men who lack an + external whip to send them on in the world, are induced by their own + common sense to whip on themselves. Hence his knowledge of plans, + elevations, sections, and specifications, was not greater at the end of + two years of probation than might easily have been acquired in six months + by a youth of average ability—himself, for instance—amid a + bustling London practice. + </p> + <p> + But at any rate he could make himself handy to one of the profession—some + man in a remote town—and there fulfil his indentures. A tangible + inducement lay in this direction of survey. He had a slight conception of + such a man—a Mr. Gradfield—who was in practice in Budmouth + Regis, a seaport town and watering-place in the south of England. + </p> + <p> + After some doubts, Graye ventured to write to this gentleman, asking the + necessary question, shortly alluding to his father’s death, and stating + that his term of apprenticeship had only half expired. He would be glad to + complete his articles at a very low salary for the whole remaining two + years, provided payment could begin at once. + </p> + <p> + The answer from Mr. Gradfield stated that he was not in want of a pupil + who would serve the remainder of his time on the terms Mr. Graye + mentioned. But he would just add one remark. He chanced to be in want of + some young man in his office—for a short time only, probably about + two months—to trace drawings, and attend to other subsidiary work of + the kind. If Mr. Graye did not object to occupy such an inferior position + as these duties would entail, and to accept weekly wages which to one with + his expectations would be considered merely nominal, the post would give + him an opportunity for learning a few more details of the profession. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a beginning, and, above all, an abiding-place, away from the shadow + of the cloud which hangs over us here—I will go,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s plan for her future, an intensely simple one, owing to the even + greater narrowness of her resources, was already marked out. One advantage + had accrued to her through her mother’s possession of a fair share of + personal property, and perhaps only one. She had been carefully educated. + Upon this consideration her plan was based. She was to take up her abode + in her brother’s lodging at Budmouth, when she would immediately advertise + for a situation as governess, having obtained the consent of a lawyer at + Aldbrickham who was winding up her father’s affairs, and who knew the + history of her position, to allow himself to be referred to in the matter + of her past life and respectability. + </p> + <p> + Early one morning they departed from their native town, leaving behind + them scarcely a trace of their footsteps. + </p> + <p> + Then the town pitied their want of wisdom in taking such a step. + ‘Rashness; they would have made a better income in Hocbridge, where they + are known! There is no doubt that they would.’ + </p> + <p> + But what is Wisdom really? A steady handling of any means to bring about + any end necessary to happiness. + </p> + <p> + Yet whether one’s end be the usual end—a wealthy position in life—or + no, the name of wisdom is seldom applied but to the means to that usual + end. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + 1. THE NINTH OF JULY + </h3> + <p> + The day of their departure was one of the most glowing that the climax of + a long series of summer heats could evolve. The wide expanse of landscape + quivered up and down like the flame of a taper, as they steamed along + through the midst of it. Placid flocks of sheep reclining under trees a + little way off appeared of a pale blue colour. Clover fields were livid + with the brightness of the sun upon their deep red flowers. All waggons + and carts were moved to the shade by their careful owners, rain-water + butts fell to pieces; well-buckets were lowered inside the covers of the + well-hole, to preserve them from the fate of the butts, and generally, + water seemed scarcer in the country than the beer and cider of the + peasantry who toiled or idled there. + </p> + <p> + To see persons looking with children’s eyes at any ordinary scenery, is a + proof that they possess the charming faculty of drawing new sensations + from an old experience—a healthy sign, rare in these feverish days—the + mark of an imperishable brightness of nature. + </p> + <p> + Both brother and sister could do this; Cytherea more noticeably. They + watched the undulating corn-lands, monotonous to all their companions; the + stony and clayey prospect succeeding those, with its angular and abrupt + hills. Boggy moors came next, now withered and dry—the spots upon + which pools usually spread their waters showing themselves as circles of + smooth bare soil, over-run by a net-work of innumerable little fissures. + Then arose plantations of firs, abruptly terminating beside meadows + cleanly mown, in which high-hipped, rich-coloured cows, with backs + horizontal and straight as the ridge of a house, stood motionless or + lazily fed. Glimpses of the sea now interested them, which became more and + more frequent till the train finally drew up beside the platform at + Budmouth. + </p> + <p> + ‘The whole town is looking out for us,’ had been Graye’s impression + throughout the day. He called upon Mr. Gradfield—the only man who + had been directly informed of his coming—and found that Mr. + Gradfield had forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + However, arrangements were made with this gentleman—a stout, active, + grey-bearded burgher of sixty—by which Owen was to commence work in + his office the following week. + </p> + <p> + The same day Cytherea drew up and sent off the advertisement appended:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘A YOUNG LADY is desirous of meeting with an <i>engagement</i> as + <i>governess</i> or <i>companion</i>. She is competent to teach English, + French, and Music. Satisfactory references—Address, C. G., + Post-Office, Budmouth.’ +</pre> + <p> + It seemed a more material existence than her own that she saw thus + delineated on the paper. ‘That can’t be myself; how odd I look!’ she said, + and smiled. + </p> + <p> + 2. JULY THE ELEVENTH + </p> + <p> + On the Monday subsequent to their arrival in Budmouth, Owen Graye attended + at Mr. Gradfield’s office to enter upon his duties, and his sister was + left in their lodgings alone for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Despite the sad occurrences of the preceding autumn, an unwonted + cheerfulness pervaded her spirit throughout the day. Change of scene—and + that to untravelled eyes—conjoined with the sensation of freedom + from supervision, revived the sparkle of a warm young nature ready enough + to take advantage of any adventitious restoratives. Point-blank grief + tends rather to seal up happiness for a time than to produce that + attrition which results from griefs of anticipation that move onward with + the days: these may be said to furrow away the capacity for pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Her expectations from the advertisement began to be extravagant. A + thriving family, who had always sadly needed her, was already definitely + pictured in her fancy, which, in its exuberance, led her on to picturing + its individual members, their possible peculiarities, virtues, and vices, + and obliterated for a time the recollection that she would be separated + from her brother. + </p> + <p> + Thus musing, as she waited for his return in the evening, her eyes fell on + her left hand. The contemplation of her own left fourth finger by + symbol-loving girlhood of this age is, it seems, very frequently, if not + always, followed by a peculiar train of romantic ideas. Cytherea’s + thoughts, still playing about her future, became directed into this + romantic groove. She leant back in her chair, and taking hold of the + fourth finger, which had attracted her attention, she lifted it with the + tips of the others, and looked at the smooth and tapering member for a + long time. + </p> + <p> + She whispered idly, ‘I wonder who and what he will be? + </p> + <p> + ‘If he’s a gentleman of fashion, he will take my finger so, just with the + tips of his own, and with some fluttering of the heart, and the least + trembling of his lip, slip the ring so lightly on that I shall hardly know + it is there—looking delightfully into my eyes all the time. + </p> + <p> + ‘If he’s a bold, dashing soldier, I expect he will proudly turn round, + take the ring as if it equalled her Majesty’s crown in value, and + desperately set it on my finger thus. He will fix his eyes unflinchingly + upon what he is doing—just as if he stood in battle before the enemy + (though, in reality, very fond of me, of course), and blush as much as I + shall. + </p> + <p> + ‘If he’s a sailor, he will take my finger and the ring in this way, and + deck it out with a housewifely touch and a tenderness of expression about + his mouth, as sailors do: kiss it, perhaps, with a simple air, as if we + were children playing an idle game, and not at the very height of + observation and envy by a great crowd saying, “Ah! they are happy now!” + </p> + <p> + ‘If he should be rather a poor man—noble-minded and affectionate, + but still poor—’ + </p> + <p> + Owen’s footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, interrupted this fancy-free + meditation. Reproaching herself, even angry with herself for allowing her + mind to stray upon such subjects in the face of their present desperate + condition, she rose to meet him, and make tea. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s interest to know how her brother had been received at Mr. + Gradfield’s broke forth into words at once. Almost before they had sat + down to table, she began cross-examining him in the regular sisterly way. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, Owen, how has it been with you to-day? What is the place like—do + you think you will like Mr. Gradfield?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes. But he has not been there to-day; I have only had the head + draughtsman with me.’ + </p> + <p> + Young women have a habit, not noticeable in men, of putting on at a + moment’s notice the drama of whosoever’s life they choose. Cytherea’s + interest was transferred from Mr. Gradfield to his representative. + </p> + <p> + ‘What sort of a man is he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He seems a very nice fellow indeed; though of course I can hardly tell to + a certainty as yet. But I think he’s a very worthy fellow; there’s no + nonsense in him, and though he is not a public school man he has read + widely, and has a sharp appreciation of what’s good in books and art. In + fact, his knowledge isn’t nearly so exclusive as most professional men’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a great deal to say of an architect, for of all professional men + they are, as a rule, the most professional.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; perhaps they are. This man is rather of a melancholy turn of mind, I + think.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has the managing clerk any family?’ she mildly asked, after a while, + pouring out some more tea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Family; no!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, dear Owen, how should I know?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, of course he isn’t married. But there happened to be a conversation + about women going on in the office, and I heard him say what he should + wish his wife to be like.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What would he wish his wife to be like?’ she said, with great apparent + lack of interest. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, he says she must be girlish and artless: yet he would be loth to do + without a dash of womanly subtlety, ‘tis so piquant. Yes, he said, that + must be in her; she must have womanly cleverness. “And yet I should like + her to blush if only a cock-sparrow were to look at her hard,” he said, + “which brings me back to the girl again: and so I flit backwards and + forwards. I must have what comes, I suppose,” he said, “and whatever she + may be, thank God she’s no worse. However, if he might give a final hint + to Providence,” he said, “a child among pleasures, and a woman among pains + was the rough outline of his requirement.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did he say that? What a musing creature he must be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He did, indeed.’ + </p> + <p> + 3. FROM THE TWELFTH TO THE FIFTEENTH OF JULY + </p> + <p> + As is well known, ideas are so elastic in a human brain, that they have no + constant measure which may be called their actual bulk. Any important idea + may be compressed to a molecule by an unwonted crowding of others; and any + small idea will expand to whatever length and breadth of vacuum the mind + may be able to make over to it. Cytherea’s world was tolerably vacant at + this time, and the young architectural designer’s image became very + pervasive. The next evening this subject was again renewed. + </p> + <p> + ‘His name is Springrove,’ said Owen, in reply to her. ‘He is a thorough + artist, but a man of rather humble origin, it seems, who has made himself + so far. I think he is the son of a farmer, or something of the kind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, he’s none the worse for that, I suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘None the worse. As we come down the hill, we shall be continually meeting + people going up.’ But Owen had felt that Springrove was a little the worse + nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course he’s rather old by this time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no. He’s about six-and-twenty—not more.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, I see.... What is he like, Owen?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t exactly tell you his appearance: ‘tis always such a difficult + thing to do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A man you would describe as short? Most men are those we should describe + as short, I fancy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should call him, I think, of the middle height; but as I only see him + sitting in the office, of course I am not certain about his form and + figure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you were, then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps you do. But I am not, you see.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course not, you are always so provoking. Owen, I saw a man in the + street to-day whom I fancied was he—and yet, I don’t see how it + could be, either. He had light brown hair, a snub nose, very round face, + and a peculiar habit of reducing his eyes to straight lines when he looked + narrowly at anything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no. That was not he, Cytherea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a bit like him in all probability.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a bit. He has dark hair—almost a Grecian nose, regular teeth, + and an intellectual face, as nearly as I can recall to mind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, there now, Owen, you <i>have</i> described him! But I suppose he’s + not generally called pleasing, or—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Handsome?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I scarcely meant that. But since you have said it, is he handsome?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Rather.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘His tout ensemble is striking?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—O no, no—I forgot: it is not. He is rather untidy in his + waistcoat, and neck-ties, and hair.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How vexing!... it must be to himself, poor thing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s a thorough bookworm—despises the pap-and-daisy school of verse—knows + Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot-notes. Indeed, he’s a poet + himself in a small way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How delicious!’ she said. ‘I have never known a poet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you don’t know him,’ said Owen dryly. + </p> + <p> + She reddened. ‘Of course I don’t. I know that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you received any answer to your advertisement?’ he inquired. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—no!’ she said, and the forgotten disappointment which had showed + itself in her face at different times during the day, became visible + again. + </p> + <p> + Another day passed away. On Thursday, without inquiry, she learnt more of + the head draughtsman. He and Graye had become very friendly, and he had + been tempted to show her brother a copy of some poems of his—some + serious and sad—some humorous—which had appeared in the poets’ + corner of a magazine from time to time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, + who instantly began to read them carefully and to think them very + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—Springrove’s no fool,’ said Owen sententiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘No fool!—I should think he isn’t, indeed,’ said Cytherea, looking + up from the paper in quite an excitement: ‘to write such verses as these!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What logic are you chopping, Cytherea? Well, I don’t mean on account of + the verses, because I haven’t read them; but for what he said when the + fellows were talking about falling in love.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Which you will tell me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He says that your true lover breathlessly finds himself engaged to a + sweetheart, like a man who has caught something in the dark. He doesn’t + know whether it is a bat or a bird, and takes it to the light when he is + cool to learn what it is. He looks to see if she is the right age, but + right age or wrong age, he must consider her a prize. Sometime later he + ponders whether she is the right kind of prize for him. Right kind or + wrong kind—he has called her his, and must abide by it. After a time + he asks himself, “Has she the temper, hair, and eyes I meant to have, and + was firmly resolved not to do without?” He finds it is all wrong, and then + comes the tussle—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do they marry and live happily?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who? O, the supposed pair. I think he said—well, I really forget + what he said.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That <i>is</i> stupid of you!’ said the young lady with dismay. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But he’s a satirist—I don’t think I care about him now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There you are just wrong. He is not. He is, as I believe, an impulsive + fellow who has been made to pay the penalty of his rashness in some love + affair.’ + </p> + <p> + Thus ended the dialogue of Thursday, but Cytherea read the verses again in + private. On Friday her brother remarked that Springrove had informed him + he was going to leave Mr. Gradfield’s in a fortnight to push his fortunes + in London. + </p> + <p> + An indescribable feeling of sadness shot through Cytherea’s heart. Why + should she be sad at such an announcement as that, she thought, concerning + a man she had never seen, when her spirits were elastic enough to rebound + after hard blows from deep and real troubles as if she had scarcely known + them? Though she could not answer this question, she knew one thing, she + was saddened by Owen’s news. + </p> + <p> + 4. JULY THE TWENTY-FIRST + </p> + <p> + A very popular local excursion by steamboat to Lulstead Cove was announced + through the streets of Budmouth one Thursday morning by the weak-voiced + town-crier, to start at six o’clock the same day. The weather was lovely, + and the opportunity being the first of the kind offered to them, Owen and + Cytherea went with the rest. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the Cove, and had walked landward for nearly an hour over + the hill which rose beside the strand, when Graye recollected that two or + three miles yet further inland from this spot was an interesting mediaeval + ruin. He was already familiar with its characteristics through the medium + of an archaeological work, and now finding himself so close to the + reality, felt inclined to verify some theory he had formed respecting it. + Concluding that there would be just sufficient time for him to go there + and return before the boat had left the shore, he parted from Cytherea on + the hill, struck downwards, and then up a heathery valley. + </p> + <p> + She remained on the summit where he had left her till the time of his + expected return, scanning the details of the prospect around. Placidly + spread out before her on the south was the open Channel, reflecting a blue + intenser by many shades than that of the sky overhead, and dotted in the + foreground by half-a-dozen small craft of contrasting rig, their sails + graduating in hue from extreme whiteness to reddish brown, the varying + actual colours varied again in a double degree by the rays of the + declining sun. + </p> + <p> + Presently the distant bell from the boat was heard, warning the passengers + to embark. This was followed by a lively air from the harps and violins on + board, their tones, as they arose, becoming intermingled with, though not + marred by, the brush of the waves when their crests rolled over—at + the point where the check of the shallows was first felt—and then + thinned away up the slope of pebbles and sand. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face landward and strained her eyes to discern, if + possible, some sign of Owen’s return. Nothing was visible save the + strikingly brilliant, still landscape. The wide concave which lay at the + back of the hill in this direction was blazing with the western light, + adding an orange tint to the vivid purple of the heather, now at the very + climax of bloom, and free from the slightest touch of the invidious brown + that so soon creeps into its shades. The light so intensified the colours + that they seemed to stand above the surface of the earth and float in + mid-air like an exhalation of red. In the minor valleys, between the + hillocks and ridges which diversified the contour of the basin, but did + not disturb its general sweep, she marked brakes of tall, heavy-stemmed + ferns, five or six feet high, in a brilliant light-green dress—a + broad riband of them with the path in their midst winding like a stream + along the little ravine that reached to the foot of the hill, and + delivered up the path to its grassy area. Among the ferns grew holly + bushes deeper in tint than any shadow about them, whilst the whole surface + of the scene was dimpled with small conical pits, and here and there were + round ponds, now dry, and half overgrown with rushes. + </p> + <p> + The last bell of the steamer rang. Cytherea had forgotten herself, and + what she was looking for. In a fever of distress lest Owen should be left + behind, she gathered up in her hand the corners of her handkerchief, + containing specimens of the shells, plants, and fossils which the locality + produced, started off to the sands, and mingled with the knots of visitors + there congregated from other interesting points around; from the inn, the + cottages, and hired conveyances that had returned from short drives + inland. They all went aboard by the primitive plan of a narrow plank on + two wheels—the women being assisted by a rope. Cytherea lingered + till the very last, reluctant to follow, and looking alternately at the + boat and the valley behind. Her delay provoked a remark from Captain + Jacobs, a thickset man of hybrid stains, resulting from the mixed effects + of fire and water, peculiar to sailors where engines are the propelling + power. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now then, missy, if you please. I am sorry to tell ‘ee our time’s up. Who + are you looking for, miss?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My brother—he has walked a short distance inland; he must be here + directly. Could you wait for him—just a minute?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Really, I am afraid not, m’m.’ Cytherea looked at the stout, round-faced + man, and at the vessel, with a light in her eyes so expressive of her own + opinion being the same, on reflection, as his, and with such resignation, + too, that, from an instinctive feeling of pride at being able to prove + himself more humane than he was thought to be—works of + supererogation are the only sacrifices that entice in this way—and + that at a very small cost, he delayed the boat till some among the + passengers began to murmur. + </p> + <p> + ‘There, never mind,’ said Cytherea decisively. ‘Go on without me—I + shall wait for him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, ‘tis a very awkward thing to leave you here all alone,’ said the + captain. ‘I certainly advise you not to wait.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s gone across to the railway station, for certain,’ said another + passenger. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—here he is!’ Cytherea said, regarding, as she spoke, the half + hidden figure of a man who was seen advancing at a headlong pace down the + ravine which lay between the heath and the shore. + </p> + <p> + ‘He can’t get here in less than five minutes,’ a passenger said. ‘People + should know what they are about, and keep time. Really, if—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You see, sir,’ said the captain, in an apologetic undertone, ‘since ‘tis + her brother, and she’s all alone, ‘tis only nater to wait a minute, now + he’s in sight. Suppose, now, you were a young woman, as might be, and had + a brother, like this one, and you stood of an evening upon this here wild + lonely shore, like her, why you’d want us to wait, too, wouldn’t you, sir? + I think you would.’ + </p> + <p> + The person so hastily approaching had been lost to view during this remark + by reason of a hollow in the ground, and the projecting cliff immediately + at hand covered the path in its rise. His footsteps were now heard + striking sharply upon the flinty road at a distance of about twenty or + thirty yards, but still behind the escarpment. To save time, Cytherea + prepared to ascend the plank. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me give you my hand, miss,’ said Captain Jacobs. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—please don’t touch me,’ said she, ascending cautiously by + sliding one foot forward two or three inches, bringing up the other behind + it, and so on alternately—her lips compressed by concentration on + the feat, her eyes glued to the plank, her hand to the rope, and her + immediate thought to the fact of the distressing narrowness of her + footing. Steps now shook the lower end of the board, and in an instant + were up to her heels with a bound. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, Owen, I am so glad you are come!’ she said without turning. ‘Don’t, + don’t shake the plank or touch me, whatever you do.... There, I am up. + Where have you been so long?’ she continued, in a lower tone, turning + round to him as she reached the top. + </p> + <p> + Raising her eyes from her feet, which, standing on the firm deck, demanded + her attention no longer, she acquired perceptions of the new-comer in the + following order: unknown trousers; unknown waistcoat; unknown face. The + man was not her brother, but a total stranger. + </p> + <p> + Off went the plank; the paddles started, stopped, backed, pattered in + confusion, then revolved decisively, and the boat passed out into deep + water. + </p> + <p> + One or two persons had said, ‘How d’ye do, Mr. Springrove?’ and looked at + Cytherea, to see how she bore her disappointment. Her ears had but just + caught the name of the head draughtsman, when she saw him advancing + directly to address her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Graye, I believe?’ he said, lifting his hat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cytherea, colouring, and trying not to look guilty of a + surreptitious knowledge of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Mr. Springrove. I passed Corvsgate Castle about an hour ago, and + soon afterwards met your brother going that way. He had been deceived in + the distance, and was about to turn without seeing the ruin, on account of + a lameness that had come on in his leg or foot. I proposed that he should + go on, since he had got so near; and afterwards, instead of walking back + to the boat, get across to Anglebury Station—a shorter walk for him—where + he could catch the late train, and go directly home. I could let you know + what he had done, and allay any uneasiness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is the lameness serious, do you know?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no; simply from over-walking himself. Still, it was just as well to + ride home.’ + </p> + <p> + Relieved from her apprehensions on Owen’s score, she was able slightly to + examine the appearance of her informant—Edward Springrove—who + now removed his hat for a while, to cool himself. He was rather above her + brother’s height. Although the upper part of his face and head was + handsomely formed, and bounded by lines of sufficiently masculine + regularity, his brows were somewhat too softly arched, and finely + pencilled for one of his sex; without prejudice, however, to the belief + which the sum total of his features inspired—that though they did + not prove that the man who thought inside them would do much in the world, + men who had done most of all had had no better ones. Across his forehead, + otherwise perfectly smooth, ran one thin line, the healthy freshness of + his remaining features expressing that it had come there prematurely. + </p> + <p> + Though some years short of the age at which the clear spirit bids good-bye + to the last infirmity of noble mind, and takes to house-hunting and + investments, he had reached the period in a young man’s life when episodic + periods, with a hopeful birth and a disappointing death, have begun to + accumulate, and to bear a fruit of generalities; his glance sometimes + seeming to state, ‘I have already thought out the issue of such conditions + as these we are experiencing.’ At other times he wore an abstracted look: + ‘I seem to have lived through this moment before.’ + </p> + <p> + He was carelessly dressed in dark grey, wearing a rolled-up black kerchief + as a neck-cloth; the knot of which was disarranged, and stood obliquely—a + deposit of white dust having lodged in the creases. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry for your disappointment,’ he continued, glancing into her + face. Their eyes having met, became, as it were, mutually locked together, + and the single instant only which good breeding allows as the length of + such a look, became trebled: a clear penetrating ray of intelligence had + shot from each into each, giving birth to one of those unaccountable + sensations which carry home to the heart before the hand has been touched + or the merest compliment passed, by something stronger than mathematical + proof, the conviction, ‘A tie has begun to unite us.’ + </p> + <p> + Both faces also unconsciously stated that their owners had been much in + each other’s thoughts of late. Owen had talked to the young architect of + his sister as freely as to Cytherea of the young architect. + </p> + <p> + A conversation began, which was none the less interesting to the parties + engaged because it consisted only of the most trivial and commonplace + remarks. Then the band of harps and violins struck up a lively melody, and + the deck was cleared for dancing; the sun dipping beneath the horizon + during the proceeding, and the moon showing herself at their stern. The + sea was so calm, that the soft hiss produced by the bursting of the + innumerable bubbles of foam behind the paddles could be distinctly heard. + The passengers who did not dance, including Cytherea and Springrove, + lapsed into silence, leaning against the paddle-boxes, or standing aloof—noticing + the trembling of the deck to the steps of the dance—watching the + waves from the paddles as they slid thinly and easily under each other’s + edges. + </p> + <p> + Night had quite closed in by the time they reached Budmouth harbour, + sparkling with its white, red, and green lights in opposition to the + shimmering path of the moon’s reflection on the other side, which reached + away to the horizon till the flecked ripples reduced themselves to + sparkles as fine as gold dust. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will walk to the station and find out the exact time the train + arrives,’ said Springrove, rather eagerly, when they had landed. + </p> + <p> + She thanked him much. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps we might walk together,’ he suggested hesitatingly. She looked as + if she did not quite know, and he settled the question by showing the way. + </p> + <p> + They found, on arriving there, that on the first day of that month the + particular train selected for Graye’s return had ceased to stop at + Anglebury station. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am very sorry I misled him,’ said Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, I am not alarmed at all,’ replied Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it’s sure to be all right—he will sleep there, and come by + the first in the morning. But what will you do, alone?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am quite easy on that point; the landlady is very friendly. I must go + indoors now. Good-night, Mr. Springrove.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me go round to your door with you?’ he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thank you; we live close by.’ + </p> + <p> + He looked at her as a waiter looks at the change he brings back. But she + was inexorable. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t—forget me,’ he murmured. She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me see you sometimes,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps you never will again—I am going away,’ she replied in + lingering tones; and turning into Cross Street, ran indoors and upstairs. + </p> + <p> + The sudden withdrawal of what was superfluous at first, is often felt as + an essential loss. It was felt now with regard to the maiden. More, too, + after a meeting so pleasant and so enkindling, she had seemed to imply + that they would never come together again. + </p> + <p> + The young man softly followed her, stood opposite the house and watched + her come into the upper room with the light. Presently his gaze was cut + short by her approaching the window and pulling down the blind—Edward + dwelling upon her vanishing figure with a hopeless sense of loss akin to + that which Adam is said by logicians to have felt when he first saw the + sun set, and thought, in his inexperience, that it would return no more. + </p> + <p> + He waited till her shadow had twice crossed the window, when, finding the + charming outline was not to be expected again, he left the street, crossed + the harbour-bridge, and entered his own solitary chamber on the other + side, vaguely thinking as he went (for undefined reasons), + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘One hope is too like despair + For prudence to smother.’ +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. FROM THE TWENTY-SECOND TO THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF JULY + </h3> + <p> + But things are not what they seem. A responsive love for Edward Springrove + had made its appearance in Cytherea’s bosom with all the fascinating + attributes of a first experience, not succeeding to or displacing other + emotions, as in older hearts, but taking up entirely new ground; as when + gazing just after sunset at the pale blue sky we see a star come into + existence where nothing was before. + </p> + <p> + His parting words, ‘Don’t forget me,’ she repeated to herself a hundred + times, and though she thought their import was probably commonplace, she + could not help toying with them,—looking at them from all points, + and investing them with meanings of love and faithfulness,—ostensibly + entertaining such meanings only as fables wherewith to pass the time, yet + in her heart admitting, for detached instants, a possibility of their + deeper truth. And thus, for hours after he had left her, her reason + flirted with her fancy as a kitten will sport with a dove, pleasantly and + smoothly through easy attitudes, but disclosing its cruel and unyielding + nature at crises. + </p> + <p> + To turn now to the more material media through which this story moves, it + so happened that the very next morning brought round a circumstance which, + slight in itself, took up a relevant and important position between the + past and the future of the persons herein concerned. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast time, just as Cytherea had again seen the postman pass + without bringing her an answer to the advertisement, as she had fully + expected he would do, Owen entered the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ he said, kissing her, ‘you have not been alarmed, of course. + Springrove told you what I had done, and you found there was no train?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, it was all clear. But what is the lameness owing to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know—nothing. It has quite gone off now... Cytherea, I hope + you like Springrove. Springrove’s a nice fellow, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. I think he is, except that—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It happened just to the purpose that I should meet him there, didn’t it? + And when I reached the station and learnt that I could not get on by train + my foot seemed better. I started off to walk home, and went about five + miles along a path beside the railway. It then struck me that I might not + be fit for anything to-day if I walked and aggravated the bothering foot, + so I looked for a place to sleep at. There was no available village or + inn, and I eventually got the keeper of a gate-house, where a lane crossed + the line, to take me in.’ + </p> + <p> + They proceeded with their breakfast. Owen yawned. + </p> + <p> + ‘You didn’t get much sleep at the gate-house last night, I’m afraid, + Owen,’ said his sister. + </p> + <p> + ‘To tell the truth, I didn’t. I was in such very close and narrow + quarters. Those gate-houses are such small places, and the man had only + his own bed to offer me. Ah, by-the-bye, Cythie, I have such an + extraordinary thing to tell you in connection with this man!—by + Jove, I had nearly forgotten it! But I’ll go straight on. As I was saying, + he had only his own bed to offer me, but I could not afford to be + fastidious, and as he had a hearty manner, though a very queer one, I + agreed to accept it, and he made a rough pallet for himself on the floor + close beside me. Well, I could not sleep for my life, and I wished I had + not stayed there, though I was so tired. For one thing, there were the + luggage trains rattling by at my elbow the early part of the night. But + worse than this, he talked continually in his sleep, and occasionally + struck out with his limbs at something or another, knocking against the + post of the bedstead and making it tremble. My condition was altogether so + unsatisfactory that at last I awoke him, and asked him what he had been + dreaming about for the previous hour, for I could get no sleep at all. He + begged my pardon for disturbing me, but a name I had casually let fall + that evening had led him to think of another stranger he had once had + visit him, who had also accidentally mentioned the same name, and some + very strange incidents connected with that meeting. The affair had + occurred years and years ago; but what I had said had made him think and + dream about it as if it were but yesterday. What was the word? I said. + “Cytherea,” he said. What was the story? I asked then. He then told me + that when he was a young man in London he borrowed a few pounds to add to + a few he had saved up, and opened a little inn at Hammersmith. One + evening, after the inn had been open about a couple of months, every idler + in the neighbourhood ran off to Westminster. The Houses of Parliament were + on fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a soul remained in his parlour besides himself, and he began picking + up the pipes and glasses his customers had hastily relinquished. At length + a young lady about seventeen or eighteen came in. She asked if a woman was + there waiting for herself—Miss Jane Taylor. He said no; asked the + young lady if she would wait, and showed her into the small inner room. + There was a glass-pane in the partition dividing this room from the bar to + enable the landlord to see if his visitors, who sat there, wanted + anything. A curious awkwardness and melancholy about the behaviour of the + girl who called, caused my informant to look frequently at her through the + partition. She seemed weary of her life, and sat with her face buried in + her hands, evidently quite out of her element in such a house. Then a + woman much older came in and greeted Miss Taylor by name. The man + distinctly heard the following words pass between them:— + </p> + <p> + ‘“Why have you not brought him?” + </p> + <p> + ‘“He is ill; he is not likely to live through the night.” + </p> + <p> + ‘At this announcement from the elderly woman, the young lady fell to the + floor in a swoon, apparently overcome by the news. The landlord ran in and + lifted her up. Well, do what they would they could not for a long time + bring her back to consciousness, and began to be much alarmed. “Who is + she?” the innkeeper said to the other woman. “I know her,” the other said, + with deep meaning in her tone. The elderly and young woman seemed allied, + and yet strangers. + </p> + <p> + ‘She now showed signs of life, and it struck him (he was plainly of an + inquisitive turn), that in her half-bewildered state he might get some + information from her. He stooped over her, put his mouth to her ear, and + said sharply, “What’s your name?” “To catch a woman napping is difficult, + even when she’s half dead; but I did it,” says the gatekeeper. When he + asked her her name, she said immediately— + </p> + <p> + ‘“Cytherea”—and stopped suddenly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My own name!’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—your name. Well, the gateman thought at the time it might be + equally with Jane a name she had invented for the occasion, that they + might not trace her; but I think it was truth unconsciously uttered, for + she added directly afterwards: “O, what have I said!” and was quite + overcome again—this time with fright. Her vexation that the woman + now doubted the genuineness of her other name was very much greater than + that the innkeeper did, and it is evident that to blind the woman was her + main object. He also learnt from words the elderly woman casually dropped, + that meetings of the same kind had been held before, and that the + falseness of the soi-disant Miss Jane Taylor’s name had never been + suspected by this dependent or confederate till then. + </p> + <p> + ‘She recovered, rested there for an hour, and first sending off her + companion peremptorily (which was another odd thing), she left the house, + offering the landlord all the money she had to say nothing about the + circumstance. He has never seen her since, according to his own account. I + said to him again and again, “Did you find any more particulars + afterwards?” “Not a syllable,” he said. O, he should never hear any more + of that! too many years had passed since it happened. “At any rate, you + found out her surname?” I said. “Well, well, that’s my secret,” he went + on. “Perhaps I should never have been in this part of the world if it + hadn’t been for that. I failed as a publican, you know.” I imagine the + situation of gateman was given him and his debts paid off as a bribe to + silence; but I can’t say. “Ah, yes!” he said, with a long breath. “I have + never heard that name mentioned since that time till to-night, and then + there instantly rose to my eyes the vision of that young lady lying in a + fainting fit.” He then stopped talking and fell asleep. Telling the story + must have relieved him as it did the Ancient Mariner, for he did not move + a muscle or make another sound for the remainder of the night. Now isn’t + that an odd story?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is indeed,’ Cytherea murmured. ‘Very, very strange.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why should she have said your most uncommon name?’ continued Owen. ‘The + man was evidently truthful, for there was not motive sufficient for his + invention of such a tale, and he could not have done it either.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea looked long at her brother. ‘Don’t you recognize anything else in + connection with the story?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember what poor papa once let drop—that Cytherea was the + name of his first sweetheart in Bloomsbury, who so mysteriously renounced + him? A sort of intuition tells me that this was the same woman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no—not likely,’ said her brother sceptically. + </p> + <p> + ‘How not likely, Owen? There’s not another woman of the name in England. + In what year used papa to say the event took place?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eighteen hundred and thirty-five.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And when were the Houses of Parliament burnt?—stop, I can tell + you.’ She searched their little stock of books for a list of dates, and + found one in an old school history. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Houses of Parliament were burnt down in the evening of the sixteenth + of October, eighteen hundred and thirty-four.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nearly a year and a quarter before she met father,’ remarked Owen. + </p> + <p> + They were silent. ‘If papa had been alive, what a wonderful absorbing + interest this story would have had for him,’ said Cytherea by-and-by. ‘And + how strangely knowledge comes to us. We might have searched for a clue to + her secret half the world over, and never found one. If we had really had + any motive for trying to discover more of the sad history than papa told + us, we should have gone to Bloomsbury; but not caring to do so, we go two + hundred miles in the opposite direction, and there find information + waiting to be told us. What could have been the secret, Owen?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Heaven knows. But our having heard a little more of her in this way (if + she is the same woman) is a mere coincidence after all—a family + story to tell our friends if we ever have any. But we shall never know any + more of the episode now—trust our fates for that.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea sat silently thinking. + </p> + <p> + ‘There was no answer this morning to your advertisement, Cytherea?’ he + continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘None.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I could see that by your looks when I came in.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Fancy not getting a single one,’ she said sadly. ‘Surely there must be + people somewhere who want governesses?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; but those who want them, and can afford to have them, get them + mostly by friends’ recommendations; whilst those who want them, and can’t + afford to have them, make use of their poor relations.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What shall I do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind it. Go on living with me. Don’t let the difficulty trouble + your mind so; you think about it all day. I can keep you, Cythie, in a + plain way of living. Twenty-five shillings a week do not amount to much + truly; but then many mechanics have no more, and we live quite as + sparingly as journeymen mechanics... It is a meagre narrow life we are + drifting into,’ he added gloomily, ‘but it is a degree more tolerable than + the worrying sensation of all the world being ashamed of you, which we + experienced at Hocbridge.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I couldn’t go back there again,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor I. O, I don’t regret our course for a moment. We did quite right in + dropping out of the world.’ The sneering tones of the remark were almost + too laboured to be real. ‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘something better for me + is sure to turn up soon. I wish my engagement here was a permanent one + instead of for only two months. It may, certainly, be for a longer time, + but all is uncertain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish I could get something to do; and I must too,’ she said firmly. + ‘Suppose, as is very probable, you are not wanted after the beginning of + October—the time Mr. Gradfield mentioned—what should we do if + I were dependent on you only throughout the winter?’ + </p> + <p> + They pondered on numerous schemes by which a young lady might be supposed + to earn a decent livelihood—more or less convenient and feasible in + imagination, but relinquished them all until advertising had been once + more tried, this time taking lower ground. Cytherea was vexed at her + temerity in having represented to the world that so inexperienced a being + as herself was a qualified governess; and had a fancy that this + presumption of hers might be one reason why no ladies applied. The new and + humbler attempt appeared in the following form:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘NURSERY GOVERNESS OR USEFUL COMPANION. A young person wishes to + hear of a situation in either of the above capacities. Salary very + moderate. She is a good needle-woman—Address G., 3 Cross Street, + Budmouth.’ +</pre> + <p> + In the evening they went to post the letter, and then walked up and down + the Parade for a while. Soon they met Springrove, said a few words to him, + and passed on. Owen noticed that his sister’s face had become crimson. + Rather oddly they met Springrove again in a few minutes. This time the + three walked a little way together, Edward ostensibly talking to Owen, + though with a single thought to the reception of his words by the maiden + at the farther side, upon whom his gaze was mostly resting, and who was + attentively listening—looking fixedly upon the pavement the while. + It has been said that men love with their eyes; women with their ears. + </p> + <p> + As Owen and himself were little more than acquaintances as yet, and as + Springrove was wanting in the assurance of many men of his age, it now + became necessary to wish his friends good-evening, or to find a reason for + continuing near Cytherea by saying some nice new thing. He thought of a + new thing; he proposed a pull across the bay. This was assented to. They + went to the pier; stepped into one of the gaily painted boats moored + alongside and sheered off. Cytherea sat in the stern steering. + </p> + <p> + They rowed that evening; the next came, and with it the necessity of + rowing again. Then the next, and the next, Cytherea always sitting in the + stern with the tiller ropes in her hand. The curves of her figure welded + with those of the fragile boat in perfect continuation, as she girlishly + yielded herself to its heaving and sinking, seeming to form with it an + organic whole. + </p> + <p> + Then Owen was inclined to test his skill in paddling a canoe. Edward did + not like canoes, and the issue was, that, having seen Owen on board, + Springrove proposed to pull off after him with a pair of sculls; but not + considering himself sufficiently accomplished to do finished rowing before + a parade full of promenaders when there was a little swell on, and with + the rudder unshipped in addition, he begged that Cytherea might come with + him and steer as before. She stepped in, and they floated along in the + wake of her brother. Thus passed the fifth evening on the water. + </p> + <p> + But the sympathetic pair were thrown into still closer companionship, and + much more exclusive connection. + </p> + <p> + 2. JULY THE TWENTY-NINTH + </p> + <p> + It was a sad time for Cytherea—the last day of Springrove’s + management at Gradfield’s, and the last evening before his return from + Budmouth to his father’s house, previous to his departure for London. + </p> + <p> + Graye had been requested by the architect to survey a plot of land nearly + twenty miles off, which, with the journey to and fro, would occupy him the + whole day, and prevent his returning till late in the evening. Cytherea + made a companion of her landlady to the extent of sharing meals and + sitting with her during the morning of her brother’s absence. Mid-day + found her restless and miserable under this arrangement. All the afternoon + she sat alone, looking out of the window for she scarcely knew whom, and + hoping she scarcely knew what. Half-past five o’clock came—the end + of Springrove’s official day. Two minutes later Springrove walked by. + </p> + <p> + She endured her solitude for another half-hour, and then could endure no + longer. She had hoped—while affecting to fear—that Edward + would have found some reason or other for calling, but it seemed that he + had not. Hastily dressing herself she went out, when the farce of an + accidental meeting was repeated. Edward came upon her in the street at the + first turning, and, like the Great Duke Ferdinand in ‘The Statue and the + Bust’— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He looked at her as a lover can; + She looked at him as one who awakes— + The past was a sleep, and her life began.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Shall we have a boat?’ he said impulsively. + </p> + <p> + How blissful it all is at first. Perhaps, indeed, the only bliss in the + course of love which can truly be called Eden-like is that which prevails + immediately after doubt has ended and before reflection has set in—at + the dawn of the emotion, when it is not recognized by name, and before the + consideration of what this love is, has given birth to the consideration + of what difficulties it tends to create; when on the man’s part, the + mistress appears to the mind’s eye in picturesque, hazy, and fresh morning + lights, and soft morning shadows; when, as yet, she is known only as the + wearer of one dress, which shares her own personality; as the stander in + one special position, the giver of one bright particular glance, and the + speaker of one tender sentence; when, on her part, she is timidly careful + over what she says and does, lest she should be misconstrued or + under-rated to the breadth of a shadow of a hair. + </p> + <p> + ‘Shall we have a boat?’ he said again, more softly, seeing that to his + first question she had not answered, but looked uncertainly at the ground, + then almost, but not quite, in his face, blushed a series of minute + blushes, left off in the midst of them, and showed the usual signs of + perplexity in a matter of the emotions. + </p> + <p> + Owen had always been with her before, but there was now a force of habit + in the proceeding, and with Arcadian innocence she assumed that a row on + the water was, under any circumstances, a natural thing. Without another + word being spoken on either side, they went down the steps. He carefully + handed her in, took his seat, slid noiselessly off the sand, and away from + the shore. + </p> + <p> + They thus sat facing each other in the graceful yellow cockle-shell, and + his eyes frequently found a resting-place in the depths of hers. The boat + was so small that at each return of the sculls, when his hands came + forward to begin the pull, they approached so near to her that her vivid + imagination began to thrill her with a fancy that he was going to clasp + his arms round her. The sensation grew so strong that she could not run + the risk of again meeting his eyes at those critical moments, and turned + aside to inspect the distant horizon; then she grew weary of looking + sideways, and was driven to return to her natural position again. At this + instant he again leant forward to begin, and met her glance by an ardent + fixed gaze. An involuntary impulse of girlish embarrassment caused her to + give a vehement pull at the tiller-rope, which brought the boat’s head + round till they stood directly for shore. + </p> + <p> + His eyes, which had dwelt upon her form during the whole time of her look + askance, now left her; he perceived the direction in which they were + going. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, you have completely turned the boat, Miss Graye?’ he said, looking + over his shoulder. ‘Look at our track on the water—a great + semicircle, preceded by a series of zigzags as far as we can see.’ + </p> + <p> + She looked attentively. ‘Is it my fault or yours?’ she inquired. ‘Mine, I + suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t help saying that it is yours.’ + </p> + <p> + She dropped the ropes decisively, feeling the slightest twinge of vexation + at the answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you let go?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I do it so badly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no; you turned about for shore in a masterly way. Do you wish to + return?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, if you please.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course, then, I will at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I fear what the people will think of us—going in such absurd + directions, and all through my wretched steering.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind what the people think.’ A pause. ‘You surely are not so weak + as to mind what the people think on such a matter as that?’ + </p> + <p> + Those words might almost be called too firm and hard to be given by him to + her; but never mind. For almost the first time in her life she felt the + charming sensation, although on such an insignificant subject, of being + compelled into an opinion by a man she loved. Owen, though less yielding + physically, and more practical, would not have had the intellectual + independence to answer a woman thus. She replied quietly and honestly—as + honestly as when she had stated the contrary fact a minute earlier— + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll unship the tiller that you may have nothing to do going back but to + hold your parasol,’ he continued, and arose to perform the operation, + necessarily leaning closely against her, to guard against the risk of + capsizing the boat as he reached his hands astern. His warm breath touched + and crept round her face like a caress; but he was apparently only + concerned with his task. She looked guilty of something when he seated + himself. He read in her face what that something was—she had + experienced a pleasure from his touch. But he flung a practical glance + over his shoulder, seized the oars, and they sped in a straight line + towards the shore. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea saw that he noted in her face what had passed in her heart, and + that noting it, he continued as decided as before. She was inwardly + distressed. She had not meant him to translate her words about returning + home so literally at the first; she had not intended him to learn her + secret; but more than all she was not able to endure the perception of his + learning it and continuing unmoved. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing but misery to come now. They would step ashore; he would + say good-night, go to London to-morrow, and the miserable She would lose + him for ever. She did not quite suppose what was the fact, that a parallel + thought was simultaneously passing through his mind. + </p> + <p> + They were now within ten yards, now within five; he was only now waiting + for a ‘smooth’ to bring the boat in. Sweet, sweet Love must not be slain + thus, was the fair maid’s reasoning. She was equal to the occasion—ladies + are—and delivered the god— + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you want very much to land, Mr. Springrove?’ she said, letting her + young violet eyes pine at him a very, very little. + </p> + <p> + ‘I? Not at all,’ said he, looking an astonishment at her inquiry which a + slight twinkle of his eye half belied. ‘But you do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think that now we have come out, and it is such a pleasant evening,’ + she said gently and sweetly, ‘I should like a little longer row if you + don’t mind? I’ll try to steer better than before if it makes it easier for + you. I’ll try very hard.’ + </p> + <p> + It was the turn of his face to tell a tale now. He looked, ‘We understand + each other—ah, we do, darling!’ turned the boat, and pulled back + into the Bay once more. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now steer wherever you will,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Never mind the + directness of the course—wherever you will.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shall it be Creston Shore?’ she said, pointing to a stretch of beach + northward from Budmouth Esplanade. + </p> + <p> + ‘Creston Shore certainly,’ he responded, grasping the sculls. She took the + strings daintily, and they wound away to the left. + </p> + <p> + For a long time nothing was audible in the boat but the regular dip of the + oars, and their movement in the rowlocks. Springrove at length spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must go away to-morrow,’ he said tentatively. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she replied faintly. + </p> + <p> + ‘To endeavour to advance a little in my profession in London.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said again, with the same preoccupied softness. + </p> + <p> + ‘But I shan’t advance.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not? Architecture is a bewitching profession. They say that an + architect’s work is another man’s play.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. But worldly advantage from an art doesn’t depend upon mastering it. + I used to think it did; but it doesn’t. Those who get rich need have no + skill at all as artists.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What need they have?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A certain kind of energy which men with any fondness for art possess very + seldom indeed—an earnestness in making acquaintances, and a love for + using them. They give their whole attention to the art of dining out, + after mastering a few rudimentary facts to serve up in conversation. Now + after saying that, do I seem a man likely to make a name?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You seem a man likely to make a mistake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To give too much room to the latent feeling which is rather common in + these days among the unappreciated, that because some remarkably + successful men are fools, all remarkably unsuccessful men are geniuses.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pretty subtle for a young lady,’ he said slowly. ‘From that remark I + should fancy you had bought experience.’ + </p> + <p> + She passed over the idea. ‘Do try to succeed,’ she said, with wistful + thoughtfulness, leaving her eyes on him. + </p> + <p> + Springrove flushed a little at the earnestness of her words, and mused. + ‘Then, like Cato the Censor, I shall do what I despise, to be in the + fashion,’ he said at last... ‘Well, when I found all this out that I was + speaking of, what ever do you think I did? From having already loved verse + passionately, I went on to read it continually; then I went rhyming + myself. If anything on earth ruins a man for useful occupation, and for + content with reasonable success in a profession or trade, it is the habit + of writing verses on emotional subjects, which had much better be left to + die from want of nourishment.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you write poems now?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘None. Poetical days are getting past with me, according to the usual + rule. Writing rhymes is a stage people of my sort pass through, as they + pass through the stage of shaving for a beard, or thinking they are + ill-used, or saying there’s nothing in the world worth living for.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then the difference between a common man and a recognized poet is, that + one has been deluded, and cured of his delusion, and the other continues + deluded all his days.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, there’s just enough truth in what you say, to make the remark + unbearable. However, it doesn’t matter to me now that I “meditate the + thankless Muse” no longer, but....’ He paused, as if endeavouring to think + what better thing he did. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s mind ran on to the succeeding lines of the poem, and their + startling harmony with the present situation suggested the fancy that he + was ‘sporting’ with her, and brought an awkward contemplativeness to her + face. + </p> + <p> + Springrove guessed her thoughts, and in answer to them simply said ‘Yes.’ + Then they were silent again. + </p> + <p> + ‘If I had known an Amaryllis was coming here, I should not have made + arrangements for leaving,’ he resumed. + </p> + <p> + Such levity, superimposed on the notion of ‘sport’, was intolerable to + Cytherea; for a woman seems never to see any but the serious side of her + attachment, though the most devoted lover has all the time a vague and dim + perception that he is losing his old dignity and frittering away his time. + </p> + <p> + ‘But will you not try again to get on in your profession? Try once more; + do try once more,’ she murmured. ‘I am going to try again. I have + advertised for something to do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course I will,’ he said, with an eager gesture and smile. ‘But we must + remember that the fame of Christopher Wren himself depended upon the + accident of a fire in Pudding Lane. My successes seem to come very slowly. + I often think, that before I am ready to live, it will be time for me to + die. However, I am trying—not for fame now, but for an easy life of + reasonable comfort.’ + </p> + <p> + It is a melancholy truth for the middle classes, that in proportion as + they develop, by the study of poetry and art, their capacity for conjugal + love of the highest and purest kind, they limit the possibility of their + being able to exercise it—the very act putting out of their power + the attainment of means sufficient for marriage. The man who works up a + good income has had no time to learn love to its solemn extreme; the man + who has learnt that has had no time to get rich. + </p> + <p> + ‘And if you should fail—utterly fail to get that reasonable wealth,’ + she said earnestly, ‘don’t be perturbed. The truly great stand upon no + middle ledge; they are either famous or unknown.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Unknown,’ he said, ‘if their ideas have been allowed to flow with a + sympathetic breadth. Famous only if they have been convergent and + exclusive.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; and I am afraid from that, that my remark was but discouragement, + wearing the dress of comfort. Perhaps I was not quite right in—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It depends entirely upon what is meant by being truly great. But the long + and the short of the matter is, that men must stick to a thing if they + want to succeed in it—not giving way to over-much admiration for the + flowers they see growing in other people’s borders; which I am afraid has + been my case.’ He looked into the far distance and paused. + </p> + <p> + Adherence to a course with persistence sufficient to ensure success is + possible to widely appreciative minds only when there is also found in + them a power—commonplace in its nature, but rare in such combination—the + power of assuming to conviction that in the outlying paths which appear so + much more brilliant than their own, there are bitternesses equally great—unperceived + simply on account of their remoteness. + </p> + <p> + They were opposite Ringsworth Shore. The cliffs here were formed of strata + completely contrasting with those of the further side of the Bay, whilst + in and beneath the water hard boulders had taken the place of sand and + shingle, between which, however, the sea glided noiselessly, without + breaking the crest of a single wave, so strikingly calm was the air. The + breeze had entirely died away, leaving the water of that rare glassy + smoothness which is unmarked even by the small dimples of the least aerial + movement. Purples and blues of divers shades were reflected from this + mirror accordingly as each undulation sloped east or west. They could see + the rocky bottom some twenty feet beneath them, luxuriant with weeds of + various growths, and dotted with pulpy creatures reflecting a silvery and + spangled radiance upwards to their eyes. + </p> + <p> + At length she looked at him to learn the effect of her words of + encouragement. He had let the oars drift alongside, and the boat had come + to a standstill. Everything on earth seemed taking a contemplative rest, + as if waiting to hear the avowal of something from his lips. At that + instant he appeared to break a resolution hitherto zealously kept. Leaving + his seat amidships he came and gently edged himself down beside her upon + the narrow seat at the stern. + </p> + <p> + She breathed more quickly and warmly: he took her right hand in his own + right: it was not withdrawn. He put his left hand behind her neck till it + came round upon her left cheek: it was not thrust away. Lightly pressing + her, he brought her face and mouth towards his own; when, at this the very + brink, some unaccountable thought or spell within him suddenly made him + halt—even now, and as it seemed as much to himself as to her, he + timidly whispered ‘May I?’ + </p> + <p> + Her endeavour was to say No, so denuded of its flesh and sinews that its + nature would hardly be recognized, or in other words a No from so near the + affirmative frontier as to be affected with the Yes accent. It was thus a + whispered No, drawn out to nearly a quarter of a minute’s length, the O + making itself audible as a sound like the spring coo of a pigeon on + unusually friendly terms with its mate. Though conscious of her success in + producing the kind of word she had wished to produce, she at the same time + trembled in suspense as to how it would be taken. But the time available + for doubt was so short as to admit of scarcely more than half a pulsation: + pressing closer he kissed her. Then he kissed her again with a longer + kiss. + </p> + <p> + It was the supremely happy moment of their experience. The ‘bloom’ and the + ‘purple light’ were strong on the lineaments of both. Their hearts could + hardly believe the evidence of their lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘I love you, and you love me, Cytherea!’ he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She did not deny it; and all seemed well. The gentle sounds around them + from the hills, the plains, the distant town, the adjacent shore, the + water heaving at their side, the kiss, and the long kiss, were all ‘many a + voice of one delight,’ and in unison with each other. + </p> + <p> + But his mind flew back to the same unpleasant thought which had been + connected with the resolution he had broken a minute or two earlier. ‘I + could be a slave at my profession to win you, Cytherea; I would work at + the meanest, honest trade to be near you—much less claim you as + mine; I would—anything. But I have not told you all; it is not this; + you don’t know what there is yet to tell. Could you forgive as you can + love?’ She was alarmed to see that he had become pale with the question. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—do not speak,’ he said. ‘I have kept something from you, which + has now become the cause of a great uneasiness. I had no right—to + love you; but I did it. Something forbade—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Something forbade me—till the kiss—yes, till the kiss came; + and now nothing shall forbid it! We’ll hope in spite of all... I must, + however, speak of this love of ours to your brother. Dearest, you had + better go indoors whilst I meet him at the station, and explain + everything.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s short-lived bliss was dead and gone. O, if she had known of + this sequel would she have allowed him to break down the barrier of mere + acquaintanceship—never, never! + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you not explain to me?’ she faintly urged. Doubt—indefinite, + carking doubt had taken possession of her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not now. You alarm yourself unnecessarily,’ he said tenderly. ‘My only + reason for keeping silence is that with my present knowledge I may tell an + untrue story. It may be that there is nothing to tell. I am to blame for + haste in alluding to any such thing. Forgive me, sweet—forgive me.’ + Her heart was ready to burst, and she could not answer him. He returned to + his place and took to the oars. + </p> + <p> + They again made for the distant Esplanade, now, with its line of houses, + lying like a dark grey band against the light western sky. The sun had + set, and a star or two began to peep out. They drew nearer their + destination, Edward as he pulled tracing listlessly with his eyes the red + stripes upon her scarf, which grew to appear as black ones in the + increasing dusk of evening. She surveyed the long line of lamps on the + sea-wall of the town, now looking small and yellow, and seeming to send + long tap-roots of fire quivering down deep into the sea. By-and-by they + reached the landing-steps. He took her hand as before, and found it as + cold as the water about them. It was not relinquished till he reached her + door. His assurance had not removed the constraint of her manner: he saw + that she blamed him mutely and with her eyes, like a captured sparrow. + Left alone, he went and seated himself in a chair on the Esplanade. + </p> + <p> + Neither could she go indoors to her solitary room, feeling as she did in + such a state of desperate heaviness. When Springrove was out of sight she + turned back, and arrived at the corner just in time to see him sit down. + Then she glided pensively along the pavement behind him, forgetting + herself to marble like Melancholy herself as she mused in his + neighbourhood unseen. She heard, without heeding, the notes of pianos and + singing voices from the fashionable houses at her back, from the open + windows of which the lamp-light streamed to join that of the orange-hued + full moon, newly risen over the Bay in front. Then Edward began to pace up + and down, and Cytherea, fearing that he would notice her, hastened + homeward, flinging him a last look as she passed out of sight. No promise + from him to write: no request that she herself would do so—nothing + but an indefinite expression of hope in the face of some fear unknown to + her. Alas, alas! + </p> + <p> + When Owen returned he found she was not in the small sitting-room, and + creeping upstairs into her bedroom with a light, he discovered her there + lying asleep upon the coverlet of the bed, still with her hat and jacket + on. She had flung herself down on entering, and succumbed to the unwonted + oppressiveness that ever attends full-blown love. The wet traces of tears + were yet visible upon her long drooping lashes. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Love is a sowre delight, and sugred griefe, + A living death, and ever-dying life.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ he whispered, kissing her. She awoke with a start, and vented + an exclamation before recovering her judgment. ‘He’s gone!’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘He has told me all,’ said Graye soothingly. ‘He is going off early + to-morrow morning. ‘Twas a shame of him to win you away from me, and cruel + of you to keep the growth of this attachment a secret.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We couldn’t help it,’ she said, and then jumping up—‘Owen, has he + told you <i>all</i>?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All of your love from beginning to end,’ he said simply. + </p> + <p> + Edward then had not told more—as he ought to have done: yet she + could not convict him. But she would struggle against his fetters. She + tingled to the very soles of her feet at the very possibility that he + might be deluding her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen,’ she continued, with dignity, ‘what is he to me? Nothing. I must + dismiss such weakness as this—believe me, I will. Something far more + pressing must drive it away. I have been looking my position steadily in + the face, and I must get a living somehow. I mean to advertise once more.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Advertising is no use.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This one will be.’ He looked surprised at the sanguine tone of her + answer, till she took a piece of paper from the table and showed it him. + ‘See what I am going to do,’ she said sadly, almost bitterly. This was her + third effort:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘LADY’S-MAID. Inexperienced. Age eighteen.—G., 3 Cross Street, + Budmouth.’ +</pre> + <p> + Owen—Owen the respectable—looked blank astonishment. He + repeated in a nameless, varying tone, the two words— + </p> + <p> + ‘Lady’s-maid!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; lady’s-maid. ‘Tis an honest profession,’ said Cytherea bravely. + </p> + <p> + ‘But <i>you</i>, Cytherea?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I—who am I?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will never be a lady’s-maid—never, I am quite sure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall try to be, at any rate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Such a disgrace—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense! I maintain that it is no disgrace!’ she said, rather warmly. + ‘You know very well—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, since you will, you must,’ he interrupted. ‘Why do you put + “inexperienced?”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind that—scratch out “inexperienced.” We are poor, Cytherea, + aren’t we?’ he murmured, after a silence, ‘and it seems that the two + months will close my engagement here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We can put up with being poor,’ she said, ‘if they only give us work to + do.... Yes, we desire as a blessing what was given us as a curse, and even + that is denied. However, be cheerful, Owen, and never mind!’ + </p> + <p> + In justice to desponding men, it is as well to remember that the brighter + endurance of women at these epochs—invaluable, sweet, angelic, as it + is—owes more of its origin to a narrower vision that shuts out many + of the leaden-eyed despairs in the van, than to a hopefulness intense + enough to quell them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY + </h2> + <h3> + 1. AUGUST THE FOURTH. TILL FOUR O’CLOCK + </h3> + <p> + The early part of the next week brought an answer to Cytherea’s last note + of hope in the way of advertisement—not from a distance of hundreds + of miles, London, Scotland, Ireland, the Continent—as Cytherea + seemed to think it must, to be in keeping with the means adopted for + obtaining it, but from a place in the neighbourhood of that in which she + was living—a country mansion not twenty miles off. The reply ran + thus:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + KNAPWATER HOUSE, + August 3, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe is in want of a young person as lady’s-maid. The duties of + the place are light. Miss Aldclyffe will be in Budmouth on Thursday, when + (should G. still not have heard of a place) she would like to see her at + the Belvedere Hotel, Esplanade, at four o’clock. No answer need be + returned to this note.’ + </p> + <p> + A little earlier than the time named, Cytherea, clothed in a modest + bonnet, and a black silk jacket, turned down to the hotel. Expectation, + the fresh air from the water, the bright, far-extending outlook, raised + the most delicate of pink colours to her cheeks, and restored to her tread + a portion of that elasticity which her past troubles, and thoughts of + Edward, had well-nigh taken away. + </p> + <p> + She entered the vestibule, and went to the window of the bar. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is Miss Aldclyffe here?’ she said to a nicely-dressed barmaid in the + foreground, who was talking to a landlady covered with chains, knobs, and + clamps of gold, in the background. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, she isn’t,’ said the barmaid, not very civilly. Cytherea looked a + shade too pretty for a plain dresser. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe is expected here,’ the landlady said to a third person, + out of sight, in the tone of one who had known for several days the fact + newly discovered from Cytherea. ‘Get ready her room—be quick.’ From + the alacrity with which the order was given and taken, it seemed to + Cytherea that Miss Aldclyffe must be a woman of considerable importance. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are to have an interview with Miss Aldclyffe here?’ the landlady + inquired. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The young person had better wait,’ continued the landlady. With a + money-taker’s intuition she had rightly divined that Cytherea would bring + no profit to the house. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was shown into a nondescript chamber, on the shady side of the + building, which appeared to be either bedroom or dayroom, as occasion + necessitated, and was one of a suite at the end of the first-floor + corridor. The prevailing colour of the walls, curtains, carpet, and + coverings of furniture, was more or less blue, to which the cold light + coming from the north easterly sky, and falling on a wide roof of new + slates—the only object the small window commanded—imparted a + more striking paleness. But underneath the door, communicating with the + next room of the suite, gleamed an infinitesimally small, yet very + powerful, fraction of contrast—a very thin line of ruddy light, + showing that the sun beamed strongly into this room adjoining. The line of + radiance was the only cheering thing visible in the place. + </p> + <p> + People give way to very infantine thoughts and actions when they wait; the + battle-field of life is temporarily fenced off by a hard and fast line—the + interview. Cytherea fixed her eyes idly upon the streak, and began + picturing a wonderful paradise on the other side as the source of such a + beam—reminding her of the well-known good deed in a naughty world. + </p> + <p> + Whilst she watched the particles of dust floating before the brilliant + chink she heard a carriage and horses stop opposite the front of the + house. Afterwards came the rustle of a lady’s skirts down the corridor, + and into the room communicating with the one Cytherea occupied. + </p> + <p> + The golden line vanished in parts like the phosphorescent streak caused by + the striking of a match; there was the fall of a light footstep on the + floor just behind it: then a pause. Then the foot tapped impatiently, and + ‘There’s no one here!’ was spoken imperiously by a lady’s tongue. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, madam; in the next room. I am going to fetch her,’ said the + attendant. + </p> + <p> + ‘That will do—or you needn’t go in; I will call her.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea had risen, and she advanced to the middle door with the chink + under it as the servant retired. She had just laid her hand on the knob, + when it slipped round within her fingers, and the door was pulled open + from the other side. + </p> + <p> + 2. FOUR O’CLOCK + </p> + <p> + The direct blaze of the afternoon sun, partly refracted through the + crimson curtains of the window, and heightened by reflections from the + crimson-flock paper which covered the walls, and a carpet on the floor of + the same tint, shone with a burning glow round the form of a lady standing + close to Cytherea’s front with the door in her hand. The stranger appeared + to the maiden’s eyes—fresh from the blue gloom, and assisted by an + imagination fresh from nature—like a tall black figure standing in + the midst of fire. It was the figure of a finely-built woman, of spare + though not angular proportions. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea involuntarily shaded her eyes with her hand, retreated a step or + two, and then she could for the first time see Miss Aldclyffe’s face in + addition to her outline, lit up by the secondary and softer light that was + reflected from the varnished panels of the door. She was not a very young + woman, but could boast of much beauty of the majestic autumnal phase. + </p> + <p> + ‘O,’ said the lady, ‘come this way.’ Cytherea followed her to the + embrasure of the window. + </p> + <p> + Both the women showed off themselves to advantage as they walked forward + in the orange light; and each showed too in her face that she had been + struck with her companion’s appearance. The warm tint added to Cytherea’s + face a voluptuousness which youth and a simple life had not yet allowed to + express itself there ordinarily; whilst in the elder lady’s face it + reduced the customary expression, which might have been called sternness, + if not harshness, to grandeur, and warmed her decaying complexion with + much of the youthful richness it plainly had once possessed. + </p> + <p> + She appeared now no more than five-and-thirty, though she might easily + have been ten or a dozen years older. She had clear steady eyes, a Roman + nose in its purest form, and also the round prominent chin with which the + Caesars are represented in ancient marbles; a mouth expressing a + capability for and tendency to strong emotion, habitually controlled by + pride. There was a severity about the lower outlines of the face which + gave a masculine cast to this portion of her countenance. Womanly weakness + was nowhere visible save in one part—the curve of her forehead and + brows—there it was clear and emphatic. She wore a lace shawl over a + brown silk dress, and a net bonnet set with a few blue cornflowers. + </p> + <p> + ‘You inserted the advertisement for a situation as lady’s-maid giving the + address, G., Cross Street?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, madam. Graye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. I have heard your name—Mrs. Morris, my housekeeper, mentioned + you, and pointed out your advertisement.’ + </p> + <p> + This was puzzling intelligence, but there was not time enough to consider + it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where did you live last?’ continued Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never been a servant before. I lived at home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never been out? I thought too at sight of you that you were too + girlish-looking to have done much. But why did you advertise with such + assurance? It misleads people.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am very sorry: I put “inexperienced” at first, but my brother said it + is absurd to trumpet your own weakness to the world, and would not let it + remain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But your mother knew what was right, I suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have no mother, madam.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your father, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have no father.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, more softly, ‘your sisters, aunts, or cousins.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They didn’t think anything about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You didn’t ask them, I suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You should have done so, then. Why didn’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I haven’t any of them, either.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe showed her surprise. ‘You deserve forgiveness then at any + rate, child,’ she said, in a sort of drily-kind tone. ‘However, I am + afraid you do not suit me, as I am looking for an elderly person. You see, + I want an experienced maid who knows all the usual duties of the office.’ + She was going to add, ‘Though I like your appearance,’ but the words + seemed offensive to apply to the ladylike girl before her, and she + modified them to, ‘though I like you much.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry I misled you, madam,’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe stood in a reverie, without replying. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good afternoon,’ continued Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye, Miss Graye—I hope you will succeed.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea turned away towards the door. The movement chanced to be one of + her masterpieces. It was precise: it had as much beauty as was compatible + with precision, and as little coquettishness as was compatible with + beauty. + </p> + <p> + And she had in turning looked over her shoulder at the other lady with a + faint accent of reproach in her face. Those who remember Greuze’s ‘Head of + a Girl,’ have an idea of Cytherea’s look askance at the turning. It is not + for a man to tell fishers of men how to set out their fascinations so as + to bring about the highest possible average of takes within the year: but + the action that tugs the hardest of all at an emotional beholder is this + sweet method of turning which steals the bosom away and leaves the eyes + behind. + </p> + <p> + Now Miss Aldclyffe herself was no tyro at wheeling. When Cytherea had + closed the door upon her, she remained for some time in her motionless + attitude, listening to the gradually dying sound of the maiden’s + retreating footsteps. She murmured to herself, ‘It is almost worth while + to be bored with instructing her in order to have a creature who could + glide round my luxurious indolent body in that manner, and look at me in + that way—I warrant how light her fingers are upon one’s head and + neck.... What a silly modest young thing she is, to go away so suddenly as + that!’ She rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask the young lady who has just left me to step back again,’ she said to + the attendant. ‘Quick! or she will be gone.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was now in the vestibule, thinking that if she had told her + history, Miss Aldclyffe might perhaps have taken her into the household; + yet her history she particularly wished to conceal from a stranger. When + she was recalled she turned back without feeling much surprise. Something, + she knew not what, told her she had not seen the last of Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have somebody to refer me to, of course,’ the lady said, when + Cytherea had re-entered the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes: Mr. Thorn, a solicitor at Aldbrickham.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And are you a clever needlewoman?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am considered to be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I think that at any rate I will write to Mr. Thorn,’ said Miss + Aldclyffe, with a little smile. ‘It is true, the whole proceeding is very + irregular; but my present maid leaves next Monday, and neither of the five + I have already seen seem to do for me.... Well, I will write to Mr. Thorn, + and if his reply is satisfactory, you shall hear from me. It will be as + well to set yourself in readiness to come on Monday.’ + </p> + <p> + When Cytherea had again been watched out of the room, Miss Aldclyffe asked + for writing materials, that she might at once communicate with Mr. Thorn. + She indecisively played with the pen. ‘Suppose Mr. Thorn’s reply to be in + any way disheartening—and even if so from his own imperfect + acquaintance with the young creature more than from circumstantial + knowledge—I shall feel obliged to give her up. Then I shall regret + that I did not give her one trial in spite of other people’s prejudices. + All her account of herself is reliable enough—yes, I can see that by + her face. I like that face of hers.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe put down the pen and left the hotel without writing to Mr. + Thorn. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY + </h2> + <h3> + 1. AUGUST THE EIGHTH. MORNING AND AFTERNOON + </h3> + <p> + At post-time on that following Monday morning, Cytherea watched so + anxiously for the postman, that as the time which must bring him narrowed + less and less her vivid expectation had only a degree less tangibility + than his presence itself. In another second his form came into view. He + brought two letters for Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + One from Miss Aldclyffe, simply stating that she wished Cytherea to come + on trial: that she would require her to be at Knapwater House by Monday + evening. + </p> + <p> + The other was from Edward Springrove. He told her that she was the bright + spot of his life: that her existence was far dearer to him than his own: + that he had never known what it was to love till he had met her. True, he + had felt passing attachments to other faces from time to time; but they + all had been weak inclinations towards those faces as they then appeared. + He loved her past and future, as well as her present. He pictured her as a + child: he loved her. He pictured her of sage years: he loved her. He + pictured her in trouble; he loved her. Homely friendship entered into his + love for her, without which all love was evanescent. + </p> + <p> + He would make one depressing statement. Uncontrollable circumstances (a + long history, with which it was impossible to acquaint her at present) + operated to a certain extent as a drag upon his wishes. He had felt this + more strongly at the time of their parting than he did now—and it + was the cause of his abrupt behaviour, for which he begged her to forgive + him. He saw now an honourable way of freeing himself, and the perception + had prompted him to write. In the meantime might he indulge in the hope of + possessing her on some bright future day, when by hard labour generated + from her own encouraging words, he had placed himself in a position she + would think worthy to be shared with him? + </p> + <p> + Dear little letter; she huddled it up. So much more important a + love-letter seems to a girl than to a man. Springrove was unconsciously + clever in his letters, and a man with a talent of that kind may write + himself up to a hero in the mind of a young woman who loves him without + knowing much about him. Springrove already stood a cubit higher in her + imagination than he did in his shoes. + </p> + <p> + During the day she flitted about the room in an ecstasy of pleasure, + packing the things and thinking of an answer which should be worthy of the + tender tone of the question, her love bubbling from her involuntarily, + like prophesyings from a prophet. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon Owen went with her to the railway-station, and put her in + the train for Carriford Road, the station nearest to Knapwater House. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later she stepped out upon the platform, and found nobody + there to receive her—though a pony-carriage was waiting outside. In + two minutes she saw a melancholy man in cheerful livery running towards + her from a public-house close adjoining, who proved to be the servant sent + to fetch her. There are two ways of getting rid of sorrows: one by living + them down, the other by drowning them. The coachman drowned his. + </p> + <p> + He informed her that her luggage would be fetched by a spring-waggon in + about half-an-hour; then helped her into the chaise and drove off. + </p> + <p> + Her lover’s letter, lying close against her neck, fortified her against + the restless timidity she had previously felt concerning this new + undertaking, and completely furnished her with the confident ease of mind + which is required for the critical observation of surrounding objects. It + was just that stage in the slow decline of the summer days, when the deep, + dark, and vacuous hot-weather shadows are beginning to be replaced by blue + ones that have a surface and substance to the eye. They trotted along the + turnpike road for a distance of about a mile, which brought them just + outside the village of Carriford, and then turned through large + lodge-gates, on the heavy stone piers of which stood a pair of bitterns + cast in bronze. They then entered the park and wound along a drive shaded + by old and drooping lime-trees, not arranged in the form of an avenue, but + standing irregularly, sometimes leaving the track completely exposed to + the sky, at other times casting a shade over it, which almost approached + gloom—the under surface of the lowest boughs hanging at a uniform + level of six feet above the grass—the extreme height to which the + nibbling mouths of the cattle could reach. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that the house?’ said Cytherea expectantly, catching sight of a grey + gable between the trees, and losing it again. + </p> + <p> + ‘No; that’s the old manor-house—or rather all that’s left of it. The + Aldycliffes used to let it sometimes, but it was oftener empty. ‘Tis now + divided into three cottages. Respectable people didn’t care to live + there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why didn’t they?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, ‘tis so awkward and unhandy. You see so much of it has been pulled + down, and the rooms that are left won’t do very well for a small + residence. ‘Tis so dismal, too, and like most old houses stands too low + down in the hollow to be healthy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do they tell any horrid stories about it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, not a single one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, that’s a pity.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, that’s what I say. ‘Tis jest the house for a nice ghastly + hair-on-end story, that would make the parish religious. Perhaps it will + have one some day to make it complete; but there’s not a word of the kind + now. There, I wouldn’t live there for all that. In fact, I couldn’t. O no, + I couldn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why couldn’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The sounds.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What are they?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One is the waterfall, which stands so close by that you can hear that + there waterfall in every room of the house, night or day, ill or well. + ‘Tis enough to drive anybody mad: now hark.’ + </p> + <p> + He stopped the horse. Above the slight common sounds in the air came the + unvarying steady rush of falling water from some spot unseen on account of + the thick foliage of the grove. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s something awful in the timing o’ that sound, ain’t there, miss?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When you say there is, there really seems to be. You said there were two—what + is the other horrid sound?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The pumping-engine. That’s close by the Old House, and sends water up the + hill and all over the Great House. We shall hear that directly.... There, + now hark again.’ + </p> + <p> + From the same direction down the dell they could now hear the whistling + creak of cranks, repeated at intervals of half-a-minute, with a sousing + noise between each: a creak, a souse, then another creak, and so on + continually. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now if anybody could make shift to live through the other sounds, these + would finish him off, don’t you think so, miss? That machine goes on night + and day, summer and winter, and is hardly ever greased or visited. Ah, it + tries the nerves at night, especially if you are not very well; though we + don’t often hear it at the Great House.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That sound is certainly very dismal. They might have the wheel greased. + Does Miss Aldclyffe take any interest in these things?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, scarcely; you see her father doesn’t attend to that sort of thing + as he used to. The engine was once quite his hobby. But now he’s getten + old and very seldom goes there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How many are there in family?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only her father and herself. He’s a’ old man of seventy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I had thought that Miss Aldclyffe was sole mistress of the property, and + lived here alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, m—’ The coachman was continually checking himself thus, being + about to style her miss involuntarily, and then recollecting that he was + only speaking to the new lady’s-maid. + </p> + <p> + ‘She will soon be mistress, however, I am afraid,’ he continued, as if + speaking by a spirit of prophecy denied to ordinary humanity. ‘The poor + old gentleman has decayed very fast lately.’ The man then drew a long + breath. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why did you breathe sadly like that?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!... When he’s dead peace will be all over with us old servants. I + expect to see the old house turned inside out.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She will marry, do you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Marry—not she! I wish she would. No, in her soul she’s as solitary + as Robinson Crusoe, though she has acquaintances in plenty, if not + relations. There’s the rector, Mr. Raunham—he’s a relation by + marriage—yet she’s quite distant towards him. And people say that if + she keeps single there will be hardly a life between Mr. Raunham and the + heirship of the estate. Dang it, she don’t care. She’s an extraordinary + picture of womankind—very extraordinary.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In what way besides?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll know soon enough, miss. She has had seven lady’s-maids this last + twelvemonth. I assure you ‘tis one body’s work to fetch ‘em from the + station and take ‘em back again. The Lord must be a neglectful party at + heart, or he’d never permit such overbearen goings on!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Does she dismiss them directly they come!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all—she never dismisses them—they go theirselves. Ye + see ‘tis like this. She’s got a very quick temper; she flees in a passion + with them for nothing at all; next mornen they come up and say they are + going; she’s sorry for it and wishes they’d stay, but she’s as proud as a + lucifer, and her pride won’t let her say, “Stay,” and away they go. ‘Tis + like this in fact. If you say to her about anybody, “Ah, poor thing!” she + says, “Pooh! indeed!” If you say, “Pooh, indeed!” “Ah, poor thing!” she + says directly. She hangs the chief baker, as mid be, and restores the + chief butler, as mid be, though the devil but Pharaoh herself can see the + difference between ‘em.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was silent. She feared she might be again a burden to her + brother. + </p> + <p> + ‘However, you stand a very good chance,’ the man went on, ‘for I think she + likes you more than common. I have never known her send the pony-carriage + to meet one before; ‘tis always the trap, but this time she said, in a + very particular ladylike tone, “Roobert, gaow with the pony-kerriage.”... + There, ‘tis true, pony and carriage too are getten rather shabby now,’ he + added, looking round upon the vehicle as if to keep Cytherea’s pride + within reasonable limits. + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis to be hoped you’ll please in dressen her to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why to-night?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s a dinner-party of seventeen; ‘tis her father’s birthday, and + she’s very particular about her looks at such times. Now see; this is the + house. Livelier up here, isn’t it, miss?’ + </p> + <p> + They were now on rising ground, and had just emerged from a clump of + trees. Still a little higher than where they stood was situated the + mansion, called Knapwater House, the offices gradually losing themselves + among the trees behind. + </p> + <p> + 2. EVENING + </p> + <p> + The house was regularly and substantially built of clean grey freestone + throughout, in that plainer fashion of Greek classicism which prevailed at + the latter end of the last century, when the copyists called designers had + grown weary of fantastic variations in the Roman orders. The main block + approximated to a square on the ground plan, having a projection in the + centre of each side, surmounted by a pediment. From each angle of the + inferior side ran a line of buildings lower than the rest, turning inwards + again at their further end, and forming within them a spacious open court, + within which resounded an echo of astonishing clearness. These erections + were in their turn backed by ivy-covered ice-houses, laundries, and + stables, the whole mass of subsidiary buildings being half buried beneath + close-set shrubs and trees. + </p> + <p> + There was opening sufficient through the foliage on the right hand to + enable her on nearer approach to form an idea of the arrangement of the + remoter or lawn front also. The natural features and contour of this + quarter of the site had evidently dictated the position of the house + primarily, and were of the ordinary, and upon the whole, most satisfactory + kind, namely, a broad, graceful slope running from the terrace beneath the + walls to the margin of a placid lake lying below, upon the surface of + which a dozen swans and a green punt floated at leisure. An irregular + wooded island stood in the midst of the lake; beyond this and the further + margin of the water were plantations and greensward of varied outlines, + the trees heightening, by half veiling, the softness of the exquisite + landscape stretching behind. + </p> + <p> + The glimpses she had obtained of this portion were now checked by the + angle of the building. In a minute or two they reached the side door, at + which Cytherea alighted. She was welcomed by an elderly woman of lengthy + smiles and general pleasantness, who announced herself to be Mrs. Morris, + the housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Graye, I believe?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not—O yes, yes, we are all mistresses,’ said Cytherea, + smiling, but forcedly. The title accorded her seemed disagreeably like the + first slight scar of a brand, and she thought of Owen’s prophecy. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morris led her into a comfortable parlour called The Room. Here tea + was made ready, and Cytherea sat down, looking, whenever occasion allowed, + at Mrs. Morris with great interest and curiosity, to discover, if + possible, something in her which should give a clue to the secret of her + knowledge of herself, and the recommendation based upon it. But nothing + was to be learnt, at any rate just then. Mrs. Morris was perpetually + getting up, feeling in her pockets, going to cupboards, leaving the room + two or three minutes, and trotting back again. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll excuse me, Mrs. Graye,’ she said, ‘but ‘tis the old gentleman’s + birthday, and they always have a lot of people to dinner on that day, + though he’s getting up in years now. However, none of them are sleepers—she + generally keeps the house pretty clear of lodgers (being a lady with no + intimate friends, though many acquaintances), which, though it gives us + less to do, makes it all the duller for the younger maids in the house.’ + Mrs. Morris then proceeded to give in fragmentary speeches an outline of + the constitution and government of the estate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, are you sure you have quite done tea? Not a bit or drop more? Why, + you’ve eaten nothing, I’m sure.... Well, now, it is rather inconvenient + that the other maid is not here to show you the ways of the house a + little, but she left last Saturday, and Miss Aldclyffe has been making + shift with poor old clumsy me for a maid all yesterday and this morning. + She is not come in yet. I expect she will ask for you, Mrs. Graye, the + first thing.... I was going to say that if you have really done tea, I + will take you upstairs, and show you through the wardrobes—Miss + Aldclyffe’s things are not laid out for to-night yet.’ + </p> + <p> + She preceded Cytherea upstairs, pointed out her own room, and then took + her into Miss Aldclyffe’s dressing-room, on the first-floor; where, after + explaining the whereabouts of various articles of apparel, the housekeeper + left her, telling her that she had an hour yet upon her hands before + dressing-time. Cytherea laid out upon the bed in the next room all that + she had been told would be required that evening, and then went again to + the little room which had been appropriated to herself. + </p> + <p> + Here she sat down by the open window, leant out upon the sill like another + Blessed Damozel, and listlessly looked down upon the brilliant pattern of + colours formed by the flower-beds on the lawn—now richly crowded + with late summer blossom. But the vivacity of spirit which had hitherto + enlivened her, was fast ebbing under the pressure of prosaic realities, + and the warm scarlet of the geraniums, glowing most conspicuously, and + mingling with the vivid cold red and green of the verbenas, the rich depth + of the dahlia, and the ripe mellowness of the calceolaria, backed by the + pale hue of a flock of meek sheep feeding in the open park, close to the + other side of the fence, were, to a great extent, lost upon her eyes. She + was thinking that nothing seemed worth while; that it was possible she + might die in a workhouse; and what did it matter? The petty, vulgar + details of servitude that she had just passed through, her dependence upon + the whims of a strange woman, the necessity of quenching all individuality + of character in herself, and relinquishing her own peculiar tastes to help + on the wheel of this alien establishment, made her sick and sad, and she + almost longed to pursue some free, out-of-doors employment, sleep under + trees or a hut, and know no enemy but winter and cold weather, like + shepherds and cowkeepers, and birds and animals—ay, like the sheep + she saw there under her window. She looked sympathizingly at them for + several minutes, imagining their enjoyment of the rich grass. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—like those sheep,’ she said aloud; and her face reddened with + surprise at a discovery she made that very instant. + </p> + <p> + The flock consisted of some ninety or a hundred young stock ewes: the + surface of their fleece was as rounded and even as a cushion, and white as + milk. Now she had just observed that on the left buttock of every one of + them were marked in distinct red letters the initials ‘E. S.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘E. S.’ could bring to Cytherea’s mind only one thought; but that + immediately and for ever—the name of her lover, Edward Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, if it should be—!’ She interrupted her words by a resolve. Miss + Aldclyffe’s carriage at the same moment made its appearance in the drive; + but Miss Aldclyffe was not her object now. It was to ascertain to whom the + sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at rest one way or the other. She + flew downstairs to Mrs. Morris. + </p> + <p> + ‘Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. Morris?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Farmer Springrove’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What Farmer Springrove is that?’ she said quickly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, surely you know? Your friend, Farmer Springrove, the cider-maker, + and who keeps the Three Tranters Inn; who recommended you to me when he + came in to see me the other day?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s mother-wit suddenly warned her in the midst of her excitement + that it was necessary not to betray the secret of her love. ‘O yes,’ she + said, ‘of course.’ Her thoughts had run as follows in that short interval:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Farmer Springrove is Edward’s father, and his name is Edward too. + </p> + <p> + ‘Edward knew I was going to advertise for a situation of some kind. + </p> + <p> + ‘He watched the Times, and saw it, my address being attached. + </p> + <p> + ‘He thought it would be excellent for me to be here that we might meet + whenever he came home. + </p> + <p> + ‘He told his father that I might be recommended as a lady’s-maid; and he + knew my brother and myself. + </p> + <p> + ‘His father told Mrs. Morris; Mrs. Morris told Miss Aldclyffe.’ + </p> + <p> + The whole chain of incidents that drew her there was plain, and there was + no such thing as chance in the matter. It was all Edward’s doing. + </p> + <p> + The sound of a bell was heard. Cytherea did not heed it, and still + continued in her reverie. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s Miss Aldclyffe’s bell,’ said Mrs. Morris. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose it is,’ said the young woman placidly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it means that you must go up to her,’ the matron continued, in a + tone of surprise. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea felt a burning heat come over her, mingled with a sudden + irritation at Mrs. Morris’s hint. But the good sense which had recognized + stern necessity prevailed over rebellious independence; the flush passed, + and she said hastily— + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes; of course, I must go to her when she pulls the bell—whether + I want to or no.’ + </p> + <p> + However, in spite of this painful reminder of her new position in life, + Cytherea left the apartment in a mood far different from the gloomy + sadness of ten minutes previous. The place felt like home to her now; she + did not mind the pettiness of her occupation, because Edward evidently did + not mind it; and this was Edward’s own spot. She found time on her way to + Miss Aldclyffe’s dressing-room to hurriedly glide out by a side door, and + look for a moment at the unconscious sheep bearing the friendly initials. + She went up to them to try to touch one of the flock, and felt vexed that + they all stared sceptically at her kind advances, and then ran pell-mell + down the hill. Then, fearing any one should discover her childish + movements, she slipped indoors again, and ascended the staircase, catching + glimpses, as she passed, of silver-buttoned footmen, who flashed about the + passages like lightning. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe’s dressing-room was an apartment which, on a casual survey, + conveyed an impression that it was available for almost any purpose save + the adornment of the feminine person. In its hours of perfect order + nothing pertaining to the toilet was visible; even the inevitable mirrors + with their accessories were arranged in a roomy recess not noticeable from + the door, lighted by a window of its own, called the dressing-window. + </p> + <p> + The washing-stand figured as a vast oak chest, carved with grotesque + Renaissance ornament. The dressing table was in appearance something + between a high altar and a cabinet piano, the surface being richly worked + in the same style of semi-classic decoration, but the extraordinary + outline having been arrived at by an ingenious joiner and decorator from + the neighbouring town, after months of painful toil in cutting and + fitting, under Miss Aldclyffe’s immediate eye; the materials being the + remains of two or three old cabinets the lady had found in the + lumber-room. About two-thirds of the floor was carpeted, the remaining + portion being laid with parquetry of light and dark woods. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was standing at the larger window, away from the + dressing-niche. She bowed, and said pleasantly, ‘I am glad you have come. + We shall get on capitally, I dare say.’ + </p> + <p> + Her bonnet was off. Cytherea did not think her so handsome as on the + earlier day; the queenliness of her beauty was harder and less warm. But a + worse discovery than this was that Miss Aldclyffe, with the usual + obliviousness of rich people to their dependents’ specialities, seemed to + have quite forgotten Cytherea’s inexperience, and mechanically delivered + up her body to her handmaid without a thought of details, and with a mild + yawn. + </p> + <p> + Everything went well at first. The dress was removed, stockings and black + boots were taken off, and silk stockings and white shoes were put on. Miss + Aldclyffe then retired to bathe her hands and face, and Cytherea drew + breath. If she could get through this first evening, all would be right. + She felt that it was unfortunate that such a crucial test for her powers + as a birthday dinner should have been applied on the threshold of her + arrival; but set to again. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was now arrayed in a white dressing-gown, and dropped + languidly into an easy-chair, pushed up before the glass. The instincts of + her sex and her own practice told Cytherea the next movement. She let Miss + Aldclyffe’s hair fall about her shoulders, and began to arrange it. It + proved to be all real; a satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was musingly looking on the floor, and the operation went + on for some minutes in silence. At length her thoughts seemed to turn to + the present, and she lifted her eyes to the glass. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, what on earth are you doing with my head?’ she exclaimed, with + widely opened eyes. At the words she felt the back of Cytherea’s little + hand tremble against her neck. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps you prefer it done the other fashion, madam?’ said the maiden. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no; that’s the fashion right enough, but you must make more show of + my hair than that, or I shall have to buy some, which God forbid!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is how I do my own,’ said Cytherea naively, and with a sweetness of + tone that would have pleased the most acrimonious under favourable + circumstances; but tyranny was in the ascendant with Miss Aldclyffe at + this moment, and she was assured of palatable food for her vice by having + felt the trembling of Cytherea’s hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yours, indeed! <i>Your</i> hair! Come, go on.’ Considering that Cytherea + possessed at least five times as much of that valuable auxiliary to + woman’s beauty as the lady before her, there was at the same time some + excuse for Miss Aldclyffe’s outburst. She remembered herself, however, and + said more quietly, ‘Now then, Graye—By-the-bye, what do they call + you downstairs?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Graye,’ said the handmaid. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then tell them not to do any such absurd thing—not but that it is + quite according to usage; but you are too young yet.’ + </p> + <p> + This dialogue tided Cytherea safely onward through the hairdressing till + the flowers and diamonds were to be placed upon the lady’s brow. Cytherea + began arranging them tastefully, and to the very best of her judgment. + </p> + <p> + ‘That won’t do,’ said Miss Aldclyffe harshly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I look too young—an old dressed doll.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will that, madam?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I look a fright—a perfect fright!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This way, perhaps?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Heavens! Don’t worry me so.’ She shut her lips like a trap. + </p> + <p> + Having once worked herself up to the belief that her head-dress was to be + a failure that evening, no cleverness of Cytherea’s in arranging it could + please her. She continued in a smouldering passion during the remainder of + the performance, keeping her lips firmly closed, and the muscles of her + body rigid. Finally, snatching up her gloves, and taking her handkerchief + and fan in her hand, she silently sailed out of the room, without + betraying the least consciousness of another woman’s presence behind her. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s fears that at the undressing this suppressed anger would find a + vent, kept her on thorns throughout the evening. She tried to read; she + could not. She tried to sew; she could not. She tried to muse; she could + not do that connectedly. ‘If this is the beginning, what will the end be!’ + she said in a whisper, and felt many misgivings as to the policy of being + overhasty in establishing an independence at the expense of congruity with + a cherished past. + </p> + <p> + 3. MIDNIGHT + </p> + <p> + The clock struck twelve. The Aldclyffe state dinner was over. The company + had all gone, and Miss Aldclyffe’s bell rang loudly and jerkingly. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea started to her feet at the sound, which broke in upon a fitful + sleep that had overtaken her. She had been sitting drearily in her chair + waiting minute after minute for the signal, her brain in that state of + intentness which takes cognizance of the passage of Time as a real motion—motion + without matter—the instants throbbing past in the company of a + feverish pulse. She hastened to the room, to find the lady sitting before + the dressing shrine, illuminated on both sides, and looking so queenly in + her attitude of absolute repose, that the younger woman felt the awfullest + sense of responsibility at her Vandalism in having undertaken to demolish + so imposing a pile. + </p> + <p> + The lady’s jewelled ornaments were taken off in silence—some by her + own listless hands, some by Cytherea’s. Then followed the outer stratum of + clothing. The dress being removed, Cytherea took it in her hand and went + with it into the bedroom adjoining, intending to hang it in the wardrobe. + But on second thoughts, in order that she might not keep Miss Aldclyffe + waiting a moment longer than necessary, she flung it down on the first + resting-place that came to hand, which happened to be the bed, and + re-entered the dressing-room with the noiseless footfall of a kitten. She + paused in the middle of the room. + </p> + <p> + She was unnoticed, and her sudden return had plainly not been expected. + During the short time of Cytherea’s absence, Miss Aldclyffe had pulled off + a kind of chemisette of Brussels net, drawn high above the throat, which + she had worn with her evening dress as a semi-opaque covering to her + shoulders, and in its place had put her night-gown round her. Her right + hand was lifted to her neck, as if engaged in fastening her night-gown. + </p> + <p> + But on a second glance Miss Aldclyffe’s proceeding was clearer to + Cytherea. She was not fastening her night-gown; it had been carelessly + thrown round her, and Miss Aldclyffe was really occupied in holding up to + her eyes some small object that she was keenly scrutinizing. And now on + suddenly discovering the presence of Cytherea at the back of the + apartment, instead of naturally continuing or concluding her inspection, + she desisted hurriedly; the tiny snap of a spring was heard, her hand was + removed, and she began adjusting her robes. + </p> + <p> + Modesty might have directed her hasty action of enwrapping her shoulders, + but it was scarcely likely, considering Miss Aldclyffe’s temperament, that + she had all her life been used to a maid, Cytherea’s youth, and the elder + lady’s marked treatment of her as if she were a mere child or plaything. + The matter was too slight to reason about, and yet upon the whole it + seemed that Miss Aldclyffe must have a practical reason for concealing her + neck. + </p> + <p> + With a timid sense of being an intruder Cytherea was about to step back + and out of the room; but at the same moment Miss Aldclyffe turned, saw the + impulse, and told her companion to stay, looking into her eyes as if she + had half an intention to explain something. Cytherea felt certain it was + the little mystery of her late movements. The other withdrew her eyes; + Cytherea went to fetch the dressing-gown, and wheeled round again to bring + it up to Miss Aldclyffe, who had now partly removed her night-dress to put + it on the proper way, and still sat with her back towards Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + Her neck was again quite open and uncovered, and though hidden from the + direct line of Cytherea’s vision, she saw it reflected in the glass—the + fair white surface, and the inimitable combination of curves between + throat and bosom which artists adore, being brightly lit up by the light + burning on either side. + </p> + <p> + And the lady’s prior proceedings were now explained in the simplest + manner. In the midst of her breast, like an island in a sea of pearl, + reclined an exquisite little gold locket, embellished with arabesque work + of blue, red, and white enamel. That was undoubtedly what Miss Aldclyffe + had been contemplating; and, moreover, not having been put off with her + other ornaments, it was to be retained during the night—a slight + departure from the custom of ladies which Miss Aldclyffe had at first not + cared to exhibit to her new assistant, though now, on further thought, she + seemed to have become indifferent on the matter. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dressing-gown,’ she said, quietly fastening her night-dress as she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea came forward with it. Miss Aldclyffe did not turn her head, but + looked inquiringly at her maid in the glass. + </p> + <p> + ‘You saw what I wear on my neck, I suppose?’ she said to Cytherea’s + reflected face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, madam, I did,’ said Cytherea to Miss Aldclyffe’s reflected face. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe again looked at Cytherea’s reflection as if she were on the + point of explaining. Again she checked her resolve, and said lightly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Few of my maids discover that I wear it always. I generally keep it a + secret—not that it matters much. But I was careless with you, and + seemed to want to tell you. You win me to make confidences that....’ + </p> + <p> + She ceased, took Cytherea’s hand in her own, lifted the locket with the + other, touched the spring and disclosed a miniature. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a handsome face, is it not?’ she whispered mournfully, and even + timidly. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is.’ + </p> + <p> + But the sight had gone through Cytherea like an electric shock, and there + was an instantaneous awakening of perception in her, so thrilling in its + presence as to be well-nigh insupportable. The face in the miniature was + the face of her own father—younger and fresher than she had ever + known him—but her father! + </p> + <p> + Was this the woman of his wild and unquenchable early love? And was this + the woman who had figured in the gate-man’s story as answering the name of + Cytherea before her judgment was awake? Surely it was. And if so, here was + the tangible outcrop of a romantic and hidden stratum of the past hitherto + seen only in her imagination; but as far as her scope allowed, clearly + defined therein by reason of its strangeness. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe’s eyes and thoughts were so intent upon the miniature that + she had not been conscious of Cytherea’s start of surprise. She went on + speaking in a low and abstracted tone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I lost him.’ She interrupted her words by a short meditation, and + went on again. ‘I lost him by excess of honesty as regarded my past. But + it was best that it should be so.... I was led to think rather more than + usual of the circumstances to-night because of your name. It is pronounced + the same way, though differently spelt.’ + </p> + <p> + The only means by which Cytherea’s surname could have been spelt to Miss + Aldclyffe must have been by Mrs. Morris or Farmer Springrove. She fancied + Farmer Springrove would have spelt it properly if Edward was his + informant, which made Miss Aldclyffe’s remark obscure. + </p> + <p> + Women make confidences and then regret them. The impulsive rush of feeling + which had led Miss Aldclyffe to indulge in this revelation, trifling as it + was, died out immediately her words were beyond recall; and the turmoil, + occasioned in her by dwelling upon that chapter of her life, found vent in + another kind of emotion—the result of a trivial accident. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea, after letting down Miss Aldclyffe’s hair, adopted some plan with + it to which the lady had not been accustomed. A rapid revulsion to + irritation ensued. The maiden’s mere touch seemed to discharge the pent-up + regret of the lady as if she had been a jar of electricity. + </p> + <p> + ‘How strangely you treat my hair!’ she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + A silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have told you what I never tell my maids as a rule; of course <i>nothing</i> + that I say in this room is to be mentioned outside it.’ She spoke crossly + no less than emphatically. + </p> + <p> + ‘It shall not be, madam,’ said Cytherea, agitated and vexed that the woman + of her romantic wonderings should be so disagreeable to her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why on earth did I tell you of my past?’ she went on. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea made no answer. + </p> + <p> + The lady’s vexation with herself, and the accident which had led to the + disclosure swelled little by little till it knew no bounds. But what was + done could not be undone, and though Cytherea had shown a most winning + responsiveness, quarrel Miss Aldclyffe must. She recurred to the subject + of Cytherea’s want of expertness, like a bitter reviewer, who finding the + sentiments of a poet unimpeachable, quarrels with his rhymes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never, never before did I serve myself such a trick as this in engaging a + maid!’ She waited for an expostulation: none came. Miss Aldclyffe tried + again. + </p> + <p> + ‘The idea of my taking a girl without asking her more than three + questions, or having a single reference, all because of her good l—, + the shape of her face and body! It <i>was</i> a fool’s trick. There, I am + served right, quite right—by being deceived in such a way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t deceive you,’ said Cytherea. The speech was an unfortunate one, + and was the very ‘fuel to maintain its fires’ that the other’s petulance + desired. + </p> + <p> + ‘You did,’ she said hotly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I told you I couldn’t promise to be acquainted with every detail of + routine just at first.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you contradict me in this way! You are telling untruths, I say.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s lip quivered. ‘I would answer the remark if—if—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If what?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If it were a lady’s!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You girl of impudence—what do you say? Leave the room this instant, + I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I tell you that a person who speaks to a lady as you do to me, is no + lady herself!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To a lady? A lady’s-maid speaks in this way. The idea!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t “lady’s-maid” me: nobody is my mistress I won’t have it!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good Heavens!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wouldn’t have come—no—I wouldn’t! if I had known!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That you were such an ill-tempered, unjust woman!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Possest beyond the Muse’s painting,’ Miss Aldclyffe exclaimed— + </p> + <p> + ‘A Woman, am I! I’ll teach you if I am a Woman!’ and lifted her hand as if + she would have liked to strike her companion. This stung the maiden into + absolute defiance. + </p> + <p> + ‘I dare you to touch me!’ she cried. ‘Strike me if you dare, madam! I am + not afraid of you—what do you mean by such an action as that?’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was disconcerted at this unexpected show of spirit, and + ashamed of her unladylike impulse now it was put into words. She sank back + in the chair. ‘I was not going to strike you—go to your room—I + beg you to go to your room!’ she repeated in a husky whisper. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea, red and panting, took up her candlestick and advanced to the + table to get a light. As she stood close to them the rays from the candles + struck sharply on her face. She usually bore a much stronger likeness to + her mother than to her father, but now, looking with a grave, reckless, + and angered expression of countenance at the kindling wick as she held it + slanting into the other flame, her father’s features were distinct in her. + It was the first time Miss Aldclyffe had seen her in a passionate mood, + and wearing that expression which was invariably its concomitant. It was + Miss Aldclyffe’s turn to start now; and the remark she made was an + instance of that sudden change of tone from high-flown invective to the + pettiness of curiosity which so often makes women’s quarrels ridiculous. + Even Miss Aldclyffe’s dignity had not sufficient power to postpone the + absorbing desire she now felt to settle the strange suspicion that had + entered her head. + </p> + <p> + ‘You spell your name the common way, G, R, E, Y, don’t you?’ she said, + with assumed indifference. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Cytherea, poised on the side of her foot, and still looking + into the flame. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, surely? The name was spelt that way on your boxes: I looked and saw + it myself.’ + </p> + <p> + The enigma of Miss Aldclyffe’s mistake was solved. ‘O, was it?’ said + Cytherea. ‘Ah, I remember Mrs. Jackson, the lodging-house keeper at + Budmouth, labelled them. We spell our name G, R, A, Y, E.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What was your father’s trade?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea thought it would be useless to attempt to conceal facts any + longer. ‘His was not a trade,’ she said. ‘He was an architect.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The idea of your being an architect’s daughter!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s nothing to offend you in that, I hope?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why did you say “the idea”?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Leave that alone. Did he ever visit in Gower Street, Bloomsbury, one + Christmas, many years ago?—but you would not know that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have heard him say that Mr. Huntway, a curate somewhere in that part of + London, and who died there, was an old college friend of his.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is your Christian name?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No! And is it really? And you knew that face I showed you? Yes, I see you + did.’ Miss Aldclyffe stopped, and closed her lips impassibly. She was a + little agitated. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you want me any longer?’ said Cytherea, standing candle in hand and + looking quietly in Miss Aldclyffe’s face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—no: no longer,’ said the other lingeringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘With your permission, I will leave the house to morrow morning, madam.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah.’ Miss Aldclyffe had no notion of what she was saying. + </p> + <p> + ‘And I know you will be so good as not to intrude upon me during the short + remainder of my stay?’ + </p> + <p> + Saying this Cytherea left the room before her companion had answered. Miss + Aldclyffe, then, had recognized her at last, and had been curious about + her name from the beginning. + </p> + <p> + The other members of the household had retired to rest. As Cytherea went + along the passage leading to her room her skirts rustled against the + partition. A door on her left opened, and Mrs. Morris looked out. + </p> + <p> + ‘I waited out of bed till you came up,’ she said, ‘it being your first + night, in case you should be at a loss for anything. How have you got on + with Miss Aldclyffe?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pretty well—though not so well as I could have wished.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has she been scolding?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A little.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She’s a very odd lady—‘tis all one way or the other with her. She’s + not bad at heart, but unbearable in close quarters. Those of us who don’t + have much to do with her personally, stay on for years and years.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has Miss Aldclyffe’s family always been rich?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘O no. The property, with the name, came from her mother’s uncle. Her + family is a branch of the old Aldclyffe family on the maternal side. Her + mother married a Bradleigh—a mere nobody at that time—and was + on that account cut by her relations. But very singularly the other branch + of the family died out one by one—three of them, and Miss + Aldclyffe’s great-uncle then left all his property, including this estate, + to Captain Bradleigh and his wife—Miss Aldclyffe’s father and mother—on + condition that they took the old family name as well. There’s all about it + in the “Landed Gentry.” ‘Tis a thing very often done.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, I see. Thank you. Well, now I am going. Good-night.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. AUGUST THE NINTH. ONE TO TWO O’CLOCK A.M. + </h3> + <p> + Cytherea entered her bedroom, and flung herself on the bed, bewildered by + a whirl of thought. Only one subject was clear in her mind, and it was + that, in spite of family discoveries, that day was to be the first and + last of her experience as a lady’s-maid. Starvation itself should not + compel her to hold such a humiliating post for another instant. ‘Ah,’ she + thought, with a sigh, at the martyrdom of her last little fragment of + self-conceit, ‘Owen knows everything better than I.’ + </p> + <p> + She jumped up and began making ready for her departure in the morning, the + tears streaming down when she grieved and wondered what practical matter + on earth she could turn her hand to next. All these preparations + completed, she began to undress, her mind unconsciously drifting away to + the contemplation of her late surprises. To look in the glass for an + instant at the reflection of her own magnificent resources in face and + bosom, and to mark their attractiveness unadorned, was perhaps but the + natural action of a young woman who had so lately been chidden whilst + passing through the harassing experience of decorating an older beauty of + Miss Aldclyffe’s temper. + </p> + <p> + But she directly checked her weakness by sympathizing reflections on the + hidden troubles which must have thronged the past years of the solitary + lady, to keep her, though so rich and courted, in a mood so repellent and + gloomy as that in which Cytherea found her; and then the young girl + marvelled again and again, as she had marvelled before, at the strange + confluence of circumstances which had brought herself into contact with + the one woman in the world whose history was so romantically intertwined + with her own. She almost began to wish she were not obliged to go away and + leave the lonely being to loneliness still. + </p> + <p> + In bed and in the dark, Miss Aldclyffe haunted her mind more persistently + than ever. Instead of sleeping, she called up staring visions of the + possible past of this queenly lady, her mother’s rival. Up the long vista + of bygone years she saw, behind all, the young girl’s flirtation, little + or much, with the cousin, that seemed to have been nipped in the bud, or + to have terminated hastily in some way. Then the secret meetings between + Miss Aldclyffe and the other woman at the little inn at Hammersmith and + other places: the commonplace name she adopted: her swoon at some painful + news, and the very slight knowledge the elder female had of her partner in + mystery. Then, more than a year afterwards, the acquaintanceship of her + own father with this his first love; the awakening of the passion, his + acts of devotion, the unreasoning heat of his rapture, her tacit + acceptance of it, and yet her uneasiness under the delight. Then his + declaration amid the evergreens: the utter change produced in her manner + thereby, seemingly the result of a rigid determination: and the total + concealment of her reason by herself and her parents, whatever it was. + Then the lady’s course dropped into darkness, and nothing more was visible + till she was discovered here at Knapwater, nearly fifty years old, still + unmarried and still beautiful, but lonely, embittered, and haughty. + Cytherea imagined that her father’s image was still warmly cherished in + Miss Aldclyffe’s heart, and was thankful that she herself had not been + betrayed into announcing that she knew many particulars of this page of + her father’s history, and the chief one, the lady’s unaccountable + renunciation of him. It would have made her bearing towards the mistress + of the mansion more awkward, and would have been no benefit to either. + </p> + <p> + Thus conjuring up the past, and theorizing on the present, she lay + restless, changing her posture from one side to the other and back again. + Finally, when courting sleep with all her art, she heard a clock strike + two. A minute later, and she fancied she could distinguish a soft rustle + in the passage outside her room. + </p> + <p> + To bury her head in the sheets was her first impulse; then to uncover it, + raise herself on her elbow, and stretch her eyes wide open in the + darkness; her lips being parted with the intentness of her listening. + Whatever the noise was, it had ceased for the time. + </p> + <p> + It began again and came close to her door, lightly touching the panels. + Then there was another stillness; Cytherea made a movement which caused a + faint rustling of the bed-clothes. + </p> + <p> + Before she had time to think another thought a light tap was given. + Cytherea breathed: the person outside was evidently bent upon finding her + awake, and the rustle she had made had encouraged the hope. The maiden’s + physical condition shifted from one pole to its opposite. The cold sweat + of terror forsook her, and modesty took the alarm. She became hot and red; + her door was not locked. + </p> + <p> + A distinct woman’s whisper came to her through the keyhole: ‘Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + Only one being in the house knew her Christian name, and that was Miss + Aldclyffe. Cytherea stepped out of bed, went to the door, and whispered + back, ‘Yes?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me come in, darling.’ + </p> + <p> + The young woman paused in a conflict between judgment and emotion. It was + now mistress and maid no longer; woman and woman only. Yes; she must let + her come in, poor thing. + </p> + <p> + She got a light in an instant, opened the door, and raising her eyes and + the candle, saw Miss Aldclyffe standing outside in her dressing-gown. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now you see that it is really myself; put out the light,’ said the + visitor. ‘I want to stay here with you, Cythie. I came to ask you to come + down into my bed, but it is snugger here. But remember that you are + mistress in this room, and that I have no business here, and that you may + send me away if you choose. Shall I go?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no; you shan’t indeed if you don’t want to,’ said Cythie generously. + </p> + <p> + The instant they were in bed Miss Aldclyffe freed herself from the last + remnant of restraint. She flung her arms round the young girl, and pressed + her gently to her heart. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now kiss me,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea, upon the whole, was rather discomposed at this change of + treatment; and, discomposed or no, her passions were not so impetuous as + Miss Aldclyffe’s. She could not bring her soul to her lips for a moment, + try how she would. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, kiss me,’ repeated Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea gave her a very small one, as soft in touch and in sound as the + bursting of a bubble. + </p> + <p> + ‘More earnestly than that—come.’ + </p> + <p> + She gave another, a little but not much more expressively. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t deserve a more feeling one, I suppose,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, with + an emphasis of sad bitterness in her tone. ‘I am an ill-tempered woman, + you think; half out of my mind. Well, perhaps I am; but I have had grief + more than you can think or dream of. But I can’t help loving you—your + name is the same as mine—isn’t it strange?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was inclined to say no, but remained silent. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, don’t you think I must love you?’ continued the other. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cytherea absently. She was still thinking whether duty to Owen + and her father, which asked for silence on her knowledge of her father’s + unfortunate love, or duty to the woman embracing her, which seemed to ask + for confidence, ought to predominate. Here was a solution. She would wait + till Miss Aldclyffe referred to her acquaintanceship and attachment to + Cytherea’s father in past times: then she would tell her all she knew: + that would be honour. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why can’t you kiss me as I can kiss you? Why can’t you!’ She impressed + upon Cytherea’s lips a warm motherly salute, given as if in the outburst + of strong feeling, long checked, and yearning for something to love and be + loved by in return. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you think badly of me for my behaviour this evening, child? I don’t + know why I am so foolish as to speak to you in this way. I am a very fool, + I believe. Yes. How old are you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eighteen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eighteen!... Well, why don’t you ask me how old I am?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I don’t want to know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind if you don’t. I am forty-six; and it gives me greater pleasure + to tell you this than it does to you to listen. I have not told my age + truly for the last twenty years till now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why haven’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have met deceit by deceit, till I am weary of it—weary, weary—and + I long to be what I shall never be again—artless and innocent, like + you. But I suppose that you, too, will, prove to be not worth a thought, + as every new friend does on more intimate knowledge. Come, why don’t you + talk to me, child? Have you said your prayers?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—no! I forgot them to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose you say them every night as a rule?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you do that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I have always done so, and it would seem strange if I were not + to. Do you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I? A wicked old sinner like me! No, I never do. I have thought all such + matters humbug for years—thought so so long that I should be glad to + think otherwise from very weariness; and yet, such is the code of the + polite world, that I subscribe regularly to Missionary Societies and + others of the sort.... Well, say your prayers, dear—you won’t omit + them now you recollect it. I should like to hear you very much. Will you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It seems hardly—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It would seem so like old times to me—when I was young, and nearer—far + nearer Heaven than I am now. Do, sweet one,’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was embarrassed, and her embarrassment arose from the following + conjuncture of affairs. Since she had loved Edward Springrove, she had + linked his name with her brother Owen’s in her nightly supplications to + the Almighty. She wished to keep her love for him a secret, and, above + all, a secret from a woman like Miss Aldclyffe; yet her conscience and the + honesty of her love would not for an instant allow her to think of + omitting his dear name, and so endanger the efficacy of all her previous + prayers for his success by an unworthy shame now: it would be wicked of + her, she thought, and a grievous wrong to him. Under any worldly + circumstances she might have thought the position justified a little + finesse, and have skipped him for once; but prayer was too solemn a thing + for such trifling. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would rather not say them,’ she murmured first. It struck her then that + this declining altogether was the same cowardice in another dress, and was + delivering her poor Edward over to Satan just as unceremoniously as + before. ‘Yes; I will say my prayers, and you shall hear me,’ she added + firmly. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face to the pillow and repeated in low soft tones the + simple words she had used from childhood on such occasions. Owen’s name + was mentioned without faltering, but in the other case, maidenly shyness + was too strong even for religion, and that when supported by excellent + intentions. At the name of Edward she stammered, and her voice sank to the + faintest whisper in spite of her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you, dearest,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘I have prayed too, I verily + believe. You are a good girl, I think.’ Then the expected question came. + </p> + <p> + ‘“Bless Owen,” and whom, did you say?’ + </p> + <p> + There was no help for it now, and out it came. ‘Owen and Edward,’ said + Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who are Owen and Edward?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen is my brother, madam,’ faltered the maid. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, I remember. Who is Edward?’ + </p> + <p> + A silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your brother, too?’ continued Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe reflected a moment. ‘Don’t you want to tell me who Edward + is?’ she said at last, in a tone of meaning. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind telling; only....’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You would rather not, I suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe shifted her ground. ‘Were you ever in love?’ she inquired + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was surprised to hear how quickly the voice had altered from + tenderness to harshness, vexation, and disappointment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—I think I was—once,’ she murmured. + </p> + <p> + ‘Aha! And were you ever kissed by a man?’ + </p> + <p> + A pause. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, were you?’ said Miss Aldclyffe, rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t press me to tell—I can’t—indeed, I won’t, madam!’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe removed her arms from Cytherea’s neck. ‘’Tis now with you + as it is always with all girls,’ she said, in jealous and gloomy accents. + ‘You are not, after all, the innocent I took you for. No, no.’ She then + changed her tone with fitful rapidity. ‘Cytherea, try to love me more than + you love him—do. I love you more sincerely than any man can. Do, + Cythie: don’t let any man stand between us. O, I can’t bear that!’ She + clasped Cytherea’s neck again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must love him now I have begun,’ replied the other. + </p> + <p> + ‘Must—yes—must,’ said the elder lady reproachfully. ‘Yes, + women are all alike. I thought I had at last found an artless woman who + had not been sullied by a man’s lips, and who had not practised or been + practised upon by the arts which ruin all the truth and sweetness and + goodness in us. Find a girl, if you can, whose mouth and ears have not + been made a regular highway of by some man or another! Leave the + admittedly notorious spots—the drawing-rooms of society—and + look in the villages—leave the villages and search in the schools—and + you can hardly find a girl whose heart has not been <i>had</i>—is + not an old thing half worn out by some He or another! If men only knew the + staleness of the freshest of us! that nine times out of ten the “first + love” they think they are winning from a woman is but the hulk of an old + wrecked affection, fitted with new sails and re-used. O Cytherea, can it + be that you, too, are like the rest?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, no,’ urged Cytherea, awed by the storm she had raised in the + impetuous woman’s mind. ‘He only kissed me once—twice I mean.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He might have done it a thousand times if he had cared to, there’s no + doubt about that, whoever his lordship is. You are as bad as I—we + are all alike; and I—an old fool—have been sipping at your + mouth as if it were honey, because I fancied no wasting lover knew the + spot. But a minute ago, and you seemed to me like a fresh spring meadow—now + you seem a dusty highway.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, no!’ Cytherea was not weak enough to shed tears except on + extraordinary occasions, but she was fain to begin sobbing now. She wished + Miss Aldclyffe would go to her own room, and leave her and her treasured + dreams alone. This vehement imperious affection was in one sense soothing, + but yet it was not of the kind that Cytherea’s instincts desired. Though + it was generous, it seemed somewhat too rank and capricious for endurance. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the lady in continuation, ‘who is he?’ + </p> + <p> + Her companion was desperately determined not to tell his name: she too + much feared a taunt when Miss Aldclyffe’s fiery mood again ruled her + tongue. + </p> + <p> + ‘Won’t you tell me? not tell me after all the affection I have shown?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will, perhaps, another day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you wear a hat and white feather in Budmouth for the week or two + previous to your coming here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I have seen you and your lover at a distance! He rowed you round the + bay with your brother.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And without your brother—fie! There, there, don’t let that little + heart beat itself to death: throb, throb: it shakes the bed, you silly + thing. I didn’t mean that there was any harm in going alone with him. I + only saw you from the Esplanade, in common with the rest of the people. I + often run down to Budmouth. He was a very good figure: now who was he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I—I won’t tell, madam—I cannot indeed!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Won’t tell—very well, don’t. You are very foolish to treasure up + his name and image as you do. Why, he has had loves before you, trust him + for that, whoever he is, and you are but a temporary link in a long chain + of others like you: who only have your little day as they have had + theirs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tisn’t true! ‘tisn’t true! ‘tisn’t true!’ cried Cytherea in an agony of + torture. ‘He has never loved anybody else, I know—I am sure he + hasn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was as jealous as any man could have been. She continued— + </p> + <p> + ‘He sees a beautiful face and thinks he will never forget it, but in a few + weeks the feeling passes off, and he wonders how he could have cared for + anybody so absurdly much.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, he doesn’t—What does he do when he has thought that—Come, + tell me—tell me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are as hot as fire, and the throbbing of your heart makes me nervous. + I can’t tell you if you get in that flustered state.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do, do tell—O, it makes me so miserable! but tell—come tell + me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—the tables are turned now, dear!’ she continued, in a tone which + mingled pity with derision— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Love’s passions shall rock thee + As the storm rocks the ravens on high, + Bright reason will mock thee + Like the sun from a wintry sky.” + </pre> + <p> + ‘What does he do next?—Why, this is what he does next: ruminate on + what he has heard of women’s romantic impulses, and how easily men torture + them when they have given way to those feelings, and have resigned + everything for their hero. It may be that though he loves you heartily now—that + is, as heartily as a man can—and you love him in return, your loves + may be impracticable and hopeless, and you may be separated for ever. You, + as the weary, weary years pass by will fade and fade—bright eyes <i>will</i> + fade—and you will perhaps then die early—true to him to your + latest breath, and believing him to be true to the latest breath also; + whilst he, in some gay and busy spot far away from your last quiet nook, + will have married some dashing lady, and not purely oblivious of you, will + long have ceased to regret you—will chat about you, as you were in + long past years—will say, “Ah, little Cytherea used to tie her hair + like that—poor innocent trusting thing; it was a pleasant useless + idle dream—that dream of mine for the maid with the bright eyes and + simple, silly heart; but I was a foolish lad at that time.” Then he will + tell the tale of all your little Wills and Wont’s and particular ways, and + as he speaks, turn to his wife with a placid smile.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is not true! He can’t, he c-can’t be s-so cruel—and you are + cruel to me—you are, you are!’ She was at last driven to + desperation: her natural common sense and shrewdness had seen all through + the piece how imaginary her emotions were—she felt herself to be + weak and foolish in permitting them to rise; but even then she could not + control them: be agonized she must. She was only eighteen, and the long + day’s labour, her weariness, her excitement, had completely unnerved her, + and worn her out: she was bent hither and thither by this tyrannical + working upon her imagination, as a young rush in the wind. She wept + bitterly. ‘And now think how much I like you,’ resumed Miss Aldclyffe, + when Cytherea grew calmer. ‘I shall never forget you for anybody else, as + men do—never. I will be exactly as a mother to you. Now will you + promise to live with me always, and always be taken care of, and never + deserted?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot. I will not be anybody’s maid for another day on any + consideration.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, no. You shan’t be a lady’s-maid. You shall be my companion. I + will get another maid.’ + </p> + <p> + Companion—that was a new idea. Cytherea could not resist the + evidently heartfelt desire of the strange-tempered woman for her presence. + But she could not trust to the moment’s impulse. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will stay, I think. But do not ask for a final answer to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind now, then. Put your hair round your mamma’s neck, and give me + one good long kiss, and I won’t talk any more in that way about your + lover. After all, some young men are not so fickle as others; but even if + he’s the ficklest, there is consolation. The love of an inconstant man is + ten times more ardent than that of a faithful man—that is, while it + lasts.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea did as she was told, to escape the punishment of further talk; + flung the twining tresses of her long, rich hair over Miss Aldclyffe’s + shoulders as directed, and the two ceased conversing, making themselves up + for sleep. Miss Aldclyffe seemed to give herself over to a luxurious sense + of content and quiet, as if the maiden at her side afforded her a + protection against dangers which had menaced her for years; she was soon + sleeping calmly. + </p> + <p> + 2. TWO TO FIVE A.M. + </p> + <p> + With Cytherea it was otherwise. Unused to the place and circumstances, she + continued wakeful, ill at ease, and mentally distressed. She withdrew + herself from her companion’s embrace, turned to the other side, and + endeavoured to relieve her busy brain by looking at the window-blind, and + noticing the light of the rising moon—now in her last quarter—creep + round upon it: it was the light of an old waning moon which had but a few + days longer to live. + </p> + <p> + The sight led her to think again of what had happened under the rays of + the same month’s moon, a little before its full, the ecstatic evening + scene with Edward: the kiss, and the shortness of those happy moments—maiden + imagination bringing about the apotheosis of a status quo which had had + several unpleasantnesses in its earthly reality. + </p> + <p> + But sounds were in the ascendant that night. Her ears became aware of a + strange and gloomy murmur. + </p> + <p> + She recognized it: it was the gushing of the waterfall, faint and low, + brought from its source to the unwonted distance of the House by a faint + breeze which made it distinct and recognizable by reason of the utter + absence of all disturbing sounds. The groom’s melancholy representation + lent to the sound a more dismal effect than it would have had of its own + nature. She began to fancy what the waterfall must be like at that hour, + under the trees in the ghostly moonlight. Black at the head, and over the + surface of the deep cold hole into which it fell; white and frothy at the + fall; black and white, like a pall and its border; sad everywhere. + </p> + <p> + She was in the mood for sounds of every kind now, and strained her ears to + catch the faintest, in wayward enmity to her quiet of mind. Another soon + came. + </p> + <p> + The second was quite different from the first—a kind of intermittent + whistle it seemed primarily: no, a creak, a metallic creak, ever and anon, + like a plough, or a rusty wheelbarrow, or at least a wheel of some kind. + Yes, it was, a wheel—the water-wheel in the shrubbery by the old + manor-house, which the coachman had said would drive him mad. + </p> + <p> + She determined not to think any more of these gloomy things; but now that + she had once noticed the sound there was no sealing her ears to it. She + could not help timing its creaks, and putting on a dread expectancy just + before the end of each half-minute that brought them. To imagine the + inside of the engine-house, whence these noises proceeded, was now a + necessity. No window, but crevices in the door, through which, probably, + the moonbeams streamed in the most attenuated and skeleton-like rays, + striking sharply upon portions of wet rusty cranks and chains; a + glistening wheel, turning incessantly, labouring in the dark like a + captive starving in a dungeon; and instead of a floor below, gurgling + water, which on account of the darkness could only be heard; water which + laboured up dark pipes almost to where she lay. + </p> + <p> + She shivered. Now she was determined to go to sleep; there could be + nothing else left to be heard or to imagine—it was horrid that her + imagination should be so restless. Yet just for an instant before going to + sleep she would think this—suppose another sound <i>should</i> come—just + suppose it should! Before the thought had well passed through her brain, a + third sound came. + </p> + <p> + The third was a very soft gurgle or rattle—of a strange and abnormal + kind—yet a sound she had heard before at some past period of her + life—when, she could not recollect. To make it the more disturbing, + it seemed to be almost close to her—either close outside the window, + close under the floor, or close above the ceiling. The accidental fact of + its coming so immediately upon the heels of her supposition, told so + powerfully upon her excited nerves that she jumped up in the bed. The same + instant, a little dog in some room near, having probably heard the same + noise, set up a low whine. The watch-dog in the yard, hearing the moan of + his associate, began to howl loudly and distinctly. His melancholy notes + were taken up directly afterwards by the dogs in the kennel a long way + off, in every variety of wail. + </p> + <p> + One logical thought alone was able to enter her flurried brain. The little + dog that began the whining must have heard the other two sounds even + better than herself. He had taken no notice of them, but he had taken + notice of the third. The third, then, was an unusual sound. + </p> + <p> + It was not like water, it was not like wind; it was not the night-jar, it + was not a clock, nor a rat, nor a person snoring. + </p> + <p> + She crept under the clothes, and flung her arms tightly round Miss + Aldclyffe, as if for protection. Cytherea perceived that the lady’s late + peaceful warmth had given place to a sweat. At the maiden’s touch, Miss + Aldclyffe awoke with a low scream. + </p> + <p> + She remembered her position instantly. ‘O such a terrible dream!’ she + cried, in a hurried whisper, holding to Cytherea in her turn; ‘and your + touch was the end of it. It was dreadful. Time, with his wings, + hour-glass, and scythe, coming nearer and nearer to me—grinning and + mocking: then he seized me, took a piece of me only... But I can’t tell + you. I can’t bear to think of it. How those dogs howl! People say it means + death.’ + </p> + <p> + The return of Miss Aldclyffe to consciousness was sufficient to dispel the + wild fancies which the loneliness of the night had woven in Cytherea’s + mind. She dismissed the third noise as something which in all likelihood + could easily be explained, if trouble were taken to inquire into it: large + houses had all kinds of strange sounds floating about them. She was + ashamed to tell Miss Aldclyffe her terrors. + </p> + <p> + A silence of five minutes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you asleep?’ said Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Cytherea, in a long-drawn whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘How those dogs howl, don’t they?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. A little dog in the house began it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, yes: that was Totsy. He sleeps on the mat outside my father’s bedroom + door. A nervous creature.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a silent interval of nearly half-an-hour. A clock on the landing + struck three. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you asleep, Miss Aldclyffe?’ whispered Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘How wretched it is not to be able to sleep, + isn’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ replied Cytherea, like a docile child. + </p> + <p> + Another hour passed, and the clock struck four. Miss Aldclyffe was still + awake. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ she said, very softly. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea made no answer. She was sleeping soundly. + </p> + <p> + The first glimmer of dawn was now visible. Miss Aldclyffe arose, put on + her dressing-gown, and went softly downstairs to her own room. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not told her who I am after all, or found out the particulars of + Ambrose’s history,’ she murmured. ‘But her being in love alters + everything.’ + </p> + <p> + 3. HALF-PAST SEVEN TO TEN O’CLOCK A.M. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea awoke, quiet in mind and refreshed. A conclusion to remain at + Knapwater was already in possession of her. + </p> + <p> + Finding Miss Aldclyffe gone, she dressed herself and sat down at the + window to write an answer to Edward’s letter, and an account of her + arrival at Knapwater to Owen. The dismal and heart-breaking pictures that + Miss Aldclyffe had placed before her the preceding evening, the later + terrors of the night, were now but as shadows of shadows, and she smiled + in derision at her own excitability. + </p> + <p> + But writing Edward’s letter was the great consoler, the effect of each + word upon him being enacted in her own face as she wrote it. She felt how + much she would like to share his trouble—how well she could endure + poverty with him—and wondered what his trouble was. But all would be + explained at last, she knew. + </p> + <p> + At the appointed time she went to Miss Aldclyffe’s room, intending, with + the contradictoriness common in people, to perform with pleasure, as a + work of supererogation, what as a duty was simply intolerable. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was already out of bed. The bright penetrating light of + morning made a vast difference in the elder lady’s behaviour to her + dependent; the day, which had restored Cytherea’s judgment, had effected + the same for Miss Aldclyffe. Though practical reasons forbade her + regretting that she had secured such a companionable creature to read, + talk, or play to her whenever her whim required, she was inwardly vexed at + the extent to which she had indulged in the womanly luxury of making + confidences and giving way to emotions. Few would have supposed that the + calm lady sitting aristocratically at the toilet table, seeming scarcely + conscious of Cytherea’s presence in the room, even when greeting her, was + the passionate creature who had asked for kisses a few hours before. + </p> + <p> + It is both painful and satisfactory to think how often these antitheses + are to be observed in the individual most open to our observation—ourselves. + We pass the evening with faces lit up by some flaring illumination or + other: we get up the next morning—the fiery jets have all gone out, + and nothing confronts us but a few crinkled pipes and sooty wirework, + hardly even recalling the outline of the blazing picture that arrested our + eyes before bedtime. + </p> + <p> + Emotions would be half starved if there were no candle-light. Probably + nine-tenths of the gushing letters of indiscreet confession are written + after nine or ten o’clock in the evening, and sent off before day returns + to leer invidiously upon them. Few that remain open to catch our glance as + we rise in the morning, survive the frigid criticism of dressing-time. + </p> + <p> + The subjects uppermost in the minds of the two women who had thus cooled + from their fires, were not the visionary ones of the later hours, but the + hard facts of their earlier conversation. After a remark that Cytherea + need not assist her in dressing unless she wished to, Miss Aldclyffe said + abruptly— + </p> + <p> + ‘I can tell that young man’s name.’ She looked keenly at Cytherea. ‘It is + Edward Springrove, my tenant’s son.’ + </p> + <p> + The inundation of colour upon the younger lady at hearing a name which to + her was a world, handled as if it were only an atom, told Miss Aldclyffe + that she had divined the truth at last. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—it is he, is it?’ she continued. ‘Well, I wanted to know for + practical reasons. His example shows that I was not so far wrong in my + estimate of men after all, though I only generalized, and had no thought + of him.’ This was perfectly true. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean?’ said Cytherea, visibly alarmed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mean? Why that all the world knows him to be engaged to be married, and + that the wedding is soon to take place.’ She made the remark bluntly and + superciliously, as if to obtain absolution at the hands of her family + pride for the weak confidences of the night. + </p> + <p> + But even the frigidity of Miss Aldclyffe’s morning mood was overcome by + the look of sick and blank despair which the carelessly uttered words had + produced upon Cytherea’s face. She sank back into a chair, and buried her + face in her hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be so foolish,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘Come, make the best of it. I + cannot upset the fact I have told you of, unfortunately. But I believe the + match can be broken off.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, no.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense. I liked him much as a youth, and I like him now. I’ll help you + to captivate and chain him down. I have got over my absurd feeling of last + night in not wanting you ever to go away from me—of course, I could + not expect such a thing as that. There, now I have said I’ll help you, and + that’s enough. He’s tired of his first choice now that he’s been away from + home for a while. The love that no outer attack can frighten away quails + before its idol’s own homely ways; it is always so.... Come, finish what + you are doing if you are going to, and don’t be a little goose about such + a trumpery affair as that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who—is he engaged to?’ Cytherea inquired by a movement of her lips + but no sound of her voice. But Miss Aldclyffe did not answer. It mattered + not, Cytherea thought. Another woman—that was enough for her: + curiosity was stunned. + </p> + <p> + She applied herself to the work of dressing, scarcely knowing how. Miss + Aldclyffe went on:— + </p> + <p> + ‘You were too easily won. I’d have made him or anybody else speak out + before he should have kissed my face for his pleasure. But you are one of + those precipitantly fond things who are yearning to throw away their + hearts upon the first worthless fellow who says good-morning. In the first + place, you shouldn’t have loved him so quickly: in the next, if you must + have loved him off-hand, you should have concealed it. It tickled his + vanity: “By Jove, that girl’s in love with me already!” he thought.’ + </p> + <p> + To hasten away at the end of the toilet, to tell Mrs. Morris—who + stood waiting in a little room prepared for her, with tea poured out, + bread-and-butter cut into diaphanous slices, and eggs arranged—that + she wanted no breakfast: then to shut herself alone in her bedroom, was + her only thought. She was followed thither by the well-intentioned matron + with a cup of tea and one piece of bread-and-butter on a tray, cheerfully + insisting that she should eat it. + </p> + <p> + To those who grieve, innocent cheerfulness seems heartless levity. ‘No, + thank you, Mrs. Morris,’ she said, keeping the door closed. Despite the + incivility of the action, Cytherea could not bear to let a pleasant person + see her face then. + </p> + <p> + Immediate revocation—even if revocation would be more effective by + postponement—is the impulse of young wounded natures. Cytherea went + to her blotting-book, took out the long letter so carefully written, so + full of gushing remarks and tender hints, and sealed up so neatly with a + little seal bearing ‘Good Faith’ as its motto, tore the missive into fifty + pieces, and threw them into the grate. It was then the bitterest of + anguishes to look upon some of the words she had so lovingly written, and + see them existing only in mutilated forms without meaning—to feel + that his eye would never read them, nobody ever know how ardently she had + penned them. + </p> + <p> + Pity for one’s self for being wasted is mostly present in these moods of + abnegation. + </p> + <p> + The meaning of all his allusions, his abruptness in telling her of his + love, his constraint at first, then his desperate manner of speaking, was + clear. They must have been the last flickerings of a conscience not quite + dead to all sense of perfidiousness and fickleness. Now he had gone to + London: she would be dismissed from his memory, in the same way as Miss + Aldclyffe had said. And here she was in Edward’s own parish, reminded + continually of him by what she saw and heard. The landscape, yesterday so + much and so bright to her, was now but as the banquet-hall deserted—all + gone but herself. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe had wormed her secret out of her, and would now be + continually mocking her for her trusting simplicity in believing him. It + was altogether unbearable: she would not stay there. + </p> + <p> + She went downstairs and found Miss Aldclyffe had gone into the + breakfast-room, but that Captain Aldclyffe, who rose later with increasing + infirmities, had not yet made his appearance. Cytherea entered. Miss + Aldclyffe was looking out of the window, watching a trail of white smoke + along the distant landscape—signifying a passing train. At + Cytherea’s entry she turned and looked inquiry. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must tell you now,’ began Cytherea, in a tremulous voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, what?’ Miss Aldclyffe said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not going to stay with you. I must go away—a very long way. I + am very sorry, but indeed I can’t remain!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh—what shall we hear next?’ Miss Aldclyffe surveyed Cytherea’s + face with leisurely criticism. ‘You are breaking your heart again about + that worthless young Springrove. I knew how it would be. It is as Hallam + says of Juliet—what little reason you may have possessed originally + has all been whirled away by this love. I shan’t take this notice, mind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do let me go!’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe took her new pet’s hand, and said with severity, ‘As to + hindering you, if you are determined to go, of course that’s absurd. But + you are not now in a state of mind fit for deciding upon any such + proceeding, and I shall not listen to what you have to say. Now, Cythie, + come with me; we’ll let this volcano burst and spend itself, and after + that we’ll see what had better be done.’ She took Cytherea into her + workroom, opened a drawer, and drew forth a roll of linen. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is some embroidery I began one day, and now I should like it + finished.’ + </p> + <p> + She then preceded the maiden upstairs to Cytherea’s own room. ‘There,’ she + said, ‘now sit down here, go on with this work, and remember one thing—that + you are not to leave the room on any pretext whatever for two hours unless + I send for you—I insist kindly, dear. Whilst you stitch—you + are to stitch, recollect, and not go mooning out of the window—think + over the whole matter, and get cooled; don’t let the foolish love-affair + prevent your thinking as a woman of the world. If at the end of that time + you still say you must leave me, you may. I will have no more to say in + the matter. Come, sit down, and promise to sit here the time I name.’ + </p> + <p> + To hearts in a despairing mood, compulsion seems a relief; and docility + was at all times natural to Cytherea. She promised, and sat down. Miss + Aldclyffe shut the door upon her and retreated. + </p> + <p> + She sewed, stopped to think, shed a tear or two, recollected the articles + of the treaty, and sewed again; and at length fell into a reverie which + took no account whatever of the lapse of time. + </p> + <p> + 4. TEN TO TWELVE O’CLOCK A.M. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour might have passed when her thoughts became attracted + from the past to the present by unwonted movements downstairs. She opened + the door and listened. + </p> + <p> + There were hurryings along passages, opening and shutting of doors, + trampling in the stable-yard. She went across into another bedroom, from + which a view of the stable-yard could be obtained, and arrived there just + in time to see the figure of the man who had driven her from the station + vanishing down the coach-road on a black horse—galloping at the top + of the animal’s speed. + </p> + <p> + Another man went off in the direction of the village. + </p> + <p> + Whatever had occurred, it did not seem to be her duty to inquire or meddle + with it, stranger and dependent as she was, unless she were requested to, + especially after Miss Aldclyffe’s strict charge to her. She sat down + again, determined to let no idle curiosity influence her movements. + </p> + <p> + Her window commanded the front of the house; and the next thing she saw + was a clergyman walk up and enter the door. + </p> + <p> + All was silent again till, a long time after the first man had left, he + returned again on the same horse, now matted with sweat and trotting + behind a carriage in which sat an elderly gentleman driven by a lad in + livery. These came to the house, entered, and all was again the same as + before. + </p> + <p> + The whole household—master, mistress, and servants—appeared to + have forgotten the very existence of such a being as Cytherea. She almost + wished she had not vowed to have no idle curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later, the carriage drove off with the elderly gentleman, and + two or three messengers left the house, speeding in various directions. + Rustics in smock-frocks began to hang about the road opposite the house, + or lean against trees, looking idly at the windows and chimneys. + </p> + <p> + A tap came to Cytherea’s door. She opened it to a young maid-servant. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe wishes to see you, ma’am.’ Cytherea hastened down. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe was standing on the hearthrug, her elbow on the mantel, her + hand to her temples, her eyes on the ground; perfectly calm, but very + pale. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ she said in a whisper, ‘come here.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea went close. + </p> + <p> + ‘Something very serious has taken place,’ she said again, and then paused, + with a tremulous movement of her mouth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘My father. He was found dead in his bed this morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dead!’ echoed the younger woman. It seemed impossible that the + announcement could be true; that knowledge of so great a fact could be + contained in a statement so small. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, dead,’ murmured Miss Aldclyffe solemnly. ‘He died alone, though + within a few feet of me. The room we slept in is exactly over his own.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea said hurriedly, ‘Do they know at what hour?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The doctor says it must have been between two and three o’clock this + morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I heard him!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Heard him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Heard him die!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You heard him die? What did you hear?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A sound I heard once before in my life—at the deathbed of my + mother. I could not identify it—though I recognized it. Then the dog + howled: you remarked it. I did not think it worth while to tell you what I + had heard a little earlier.’ She looked agonized. + </p> + <p> + ‘It would have been useless,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘All was over by that + time.’ She addressed herself as much as Cytherea when she continued, ‘Is + it a Providence who sent you here at this juncture that I might not be + left entirely alone?’ + </p> + <p> + Till this instant Miss Aldclyffe had forgotten the reason of Cytherea’s + seclusion in her own room. So had Cytherea herself. The fact now recurred + to both in one moment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you still wish to go?’ said Miss Aldclyffe anxiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want to go now,’ Cytherea had remarked simultaneously with the + other’s question. She was pondering on the strange likeness which Miss + Aldclyffe’s bereavement bore to her own; it had the appearance of being + still another call to her not to forsake this woman so linked to her life, + for the sake of any trivial vexation. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe held her almost as a lover would have held her, and said + musingly— + </p> + <p> + ‘We get more and more into one groove. I now am left fatherless and + motherless as you were.’ Other ties lay behind in her thoughts, but she + did not mention them. + </p> + <p> + ‘You loved your father, Cytherea, and wept for him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I did. Poor papa!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was always at variance with mine, and can’t weep for him now! But you + must stay here always, and make a better woman of me.’ + </p> + <p> + The compact was thus sealed, and Cytherea, in spite of the failure of her + advertisements, was installed as a veritable Companion. And, once more in + the history of human endeavour, a position which it was impossible to + reach by any direct attempt, was come to by the seeker’s swerving from the + path, and regarding the original object as one of secondary importance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. AUGUST THE SEVENTEENTH + </h3> + <p> + The time of day was four o’clock in the afternoon. The place was the + lady’s study or boudoir, Knapwater House. The person was Miss Aldclyffe + sitting there alone, clothed in deep mourning. + </p> + <p> + The funeral of the old Captain had taken place, and his will had been + read. It was very concise, and had been executed about five years previous + to his death. It was attested by his solicitors, Messrs. Nyttleton and + Tayling, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The whole of his estate, real and + personal, was bequeathed to his daughter Cytherea, for her sole and + absolute use, subject only to the payment of a legacy to the rector, their + relative, and a few small amounts to the servants. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe had not chosen the easiest chair of her boudoir to sit in, + or even a chair of ordinary comfort, but an uncomfortable, high, + narrow-backed, oak framed and seated chair, which was allowed to remain in + the room only on the ground of being a companion in artistic quaintness to + an old coffer beside it, and was never used except to stand in to reach + for a book from the highest row of shelves. But she had sat erect in this + chair for more than an hour, for the reason that she was utterly + unconscious of what her actions and bodily feelings were. The chair had + stood nearest her path on entering the room, and she had gone to it in a + dream. + </p> + <p> + She sat in the attitude which denotes unflagging, intense, concentrated + thought—as if she were cast in bronze. Her feet were together, her + body bent a little forward, and quite unsupported by the back of the + chair; her hands on her knees, her eyes fixed intently on the corner of a + footstool. + </p> + <p> + At last she moved and tapped her fingers upon the table at her side. Her + pent-up ideas had finally found some channel to advance in. Motions became + more and more frequent as she laboured to carry further and further the + problem which occupied her brain. She sat back and drew a long breath: she + sat sideways and leant her forehead upon her hand. Later still she arose, + walked up and down the room—at first abstractedly, with her features + as firmly set as ever; but by degrees her brow relaxed, her footsteps + became lighter and more leisurely; her head rode gracefully and was no + longer bowed. She plumed herself like a swan after exertion. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said aloud. ‘To get <i>him</i> here without letting him know + that I have any other object than that of getting a useful man—that’s + the difficulty—and that I think I can master.’ + </p> + <p> + She rang for the new maid, a placid woman of forty with a few grey hairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask Miss Graye if she can come to me.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was not far off, and came in. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know anything about architects and surveyors?’ said Miss Aldclyffe + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Know anything?’ replied Cytherea, poising herself on her toe to consider + the compass of the question. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—know anything,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen is an architect and surveyor’s draughtsman,’ the maiden said, and + thought of somebody else who was likewise. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes! that’s why I asked you. What are the different kinds of work + comprised in an architect’s practice? They lay out estates, and + superintend the various works done upon them, I should think, among other + things?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Those are, more properly, a land or building steward’s duties—at + least I have always imagined so. Country architects include those things + in their practice; city architects don’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know that, child. But a steward’s is an indefinite fast and loose + profession, it seems to me. Shouldn’t you think that a man who had been + brought up as an architect would do for a steward?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea had doubts whether an architect pure would do. + </p> + <p> + The chief pleasure connected with asking an opinion lies in not adopting + it. Miss Aldclyffe replied decisively— + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense; of course he would. Your brother Owen makes plans for country + buildings—such as cottages, stables, homesteads, and so on?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; he does.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And superintends the building of them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; he will soon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And he surveys land?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And he knows about hedges and ditches—how wide they ought to be, + boundaries, levelling, planting trees to keep away the winds, measuring + timber, houses for ninety-nine years, and such things?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never heard him say that; but I think Mr. Gradfield does those + things. Owen, I am afraid, is inexperienced as yet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; your brother is not old enough for such a post yet, of course. And + then there are rent-days, the audit and winding up of tradesmen’s + accounts. I am afraid, Cytherea, you don’t know much more about the matter + than I do myself.... I am going out just now,’ she continued. ‘I shall not + want you to walk with me to-day. Run away till dinner-time.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe went out of doors, and down the steps to the lawn: then + turning to the left, through a shrubbery, she opened a wicket and passed + into a neglected and leafy carriage-drive, leading down the hill. This she + followed till she reached the point of its greatest depression, which was + also the lowest ground in the whole grove. + </p> + <p> + The trees here were so interlaced, and hung their branches so near the + ground, that a whole summer’s day was scarcely long enough to change the + air pervading the spot from its normal state of coolness to even a + temporary warmth. The unvarying freshness was helped by the nearness of + the ground to the level of the springs, and by the presence of a deep, + sluggish stream close by, equally well shaded by bushes and a high wall. + Following the road, which now ran along at the margin of the stream, she + came to an opening in the wall, on the other side of the water, revealing + a large rectangular nook from which the stream proceeded, covered with + froth, and accompanied by a dull roar. Two more steps, and she was + opposite the nook, in full view of the cascade forming its further + boundary. Over the top could be seen the bright outer sky in the form of a + crescent, caused by the curve of a bridge across the rapids, and the trees + above. + </p> + <p> + Beautiful as was the scene she did not look in that direction. The same + standing-ground afforded another prospect, straight in the front, less + sombre than the water on the right or the trees all around. The avenue and + grove which flanked it abruptly terminated a few yards ahead, where the + ground began to rise, and on the remote edge of the greensward thus laid + open, stood all that remained of the original manor-house, to which the + dark margin-line of the trees in the avenue formed an adequate and + well-fitting frame. It was the picture thus presented that was now + interesting Miss Aldclyffe—not artistically or historically, but + practically—as regarded its fitness for adaptation to modern + requirements. + </p> + <p> + In front, detached from everything else, rose the most ancient portion of + the structure—an old arched gateway, flanked by the bases of two + small towers, and nearly covered with creepers, which had clambered over + the eaves of the sinking roof, and up the gable to the crest of the + Aldclyffe family perched on the apex. Behind this, at a distance of ten or + twenty yards, came the only portion of the main building that still + existed—an Elizabethan fragment, consisting of as much as could be + contained under three gables and a cross roof behind. Against the wall + could be seen ragged lines indicating the form of other destroyed gables + which had once joined it there. The mullioned and transomed windows, + containing five or six lights, were mostly bricked up to the extent of two + or three, and the remaining portion fitted with cottage window-frames + carelessly inserted, to suit the purpose to which the old place was now + applied, it being partitioned out into small rooms downstairs to form + cottages for two labourers and their families; the upper portion was + arranged as a storehouse for divers kinds of roots and fruit. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the picturesque spot, after her survey from this point, went + up to the walls and walked into the old court, where the paving-stones + were pushed sideways and upwards by the thrust of the grasses between + them. Two or three little children, with their fingers in their mouths, + came out to look at her, and then ran in to tell their mothers in loud + tones of secrecy that Miss Aldclyffe was coming. Miss Aldclyffe, however, + did not come in. She concluded her survey of the exterior by making a + complete circuit of the building; then turned into a nook a short distance + off where round and square timber, a saw-pit, planks, grindstones, heaps + of building stone and brick, explained that the spot was the centre of + operations for the building work done on the estate. + </p> + <p> + She paused, and looked around. A man who had seen her from the window of + the workshops behind, came out and respectfully lifted his hat to her. It + was the first time she had been seen walking outside the house since her + father’s death. + </p> + <p> + ‘Strooden, could the Old House be made a decent residence of, without much + trouble?’ she inquired. + </p> + <p> + The mechanic considered, and spoke as each consideration completed itself. + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t forget, ma’am, that two-thirds of the place is already pulled + down, or gone to ruin?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And that what’s left may almost as well be, ma’am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why may it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Twas so cut up inside when they made it into cottages, that the whole + carcase is full of cracks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Still by pulling down the inserted partitions, and adding a little + outside, it could be made to answer the purpose of an ordinary six or + eight-roomed house?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ma’am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘About what would it cost?’ was the question which had invariably come + next in every communication of this kind to which the superintending + workman had been a party during his whole experience. To his surprise, + Miss Aldclyffe did not put it. The man thought her object in altering an + old house must have been an unusually absorbing one not to prompt what was + so instinctive in owners as hardly to require any prompting at all. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you: that’s sufficient, Strooden,’ she said. ‘You will understand + that it is not unlikely some alteration may be made here in a short time, + with reference to the management of the affairs.’ + </p> + <p> + Strooden said ‘Yes,’ in a complex voice, and looked uneasy. + </p> + <p> + ‘During the life of Captain Aldclyffe, with you as the foreman of works, + and he himself as his own steward, everything worked well. But now it may + be necessary to have a steward, whose management will encroach further + upon things which have hitherto been left in your hands than did your late + master’s. What I mean is, that he will directly and in detail superintend + all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then—I shall not be wanted, ma’am?’ he faltered. + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes; if you like to stay on as foreman in the yard and workshops only. + I should be sorry to lose you. However, you had better consider. I will + send for you in a few days.’ + </p> + <p> + Leaving him to suspense, and all the ills that came in its train—distracted + application to his duties, and an undefined number of sleepless nights and + untasted dinners, Miss Aldclyffe looked at her watch and returned to the + House. She was about to keep an appointment with her solicitor, Mr. + Nyttleton, who had been to Budmouth, and was coming to Knapwater on his + way back to London. + </p> + <p> + 2. AUGUST THE TWENTIETH + </p> + <p> + On the Saturday subsequent to Mr. Nyttleton’s visit to Knapwater House, + the subjoined advertisement appeared in the Field and the Builder + newspapers:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘LAND STEWARD. +</pre> + <p> + ‘A gentleman of integrity and professional skill is required immediately + for the MANAGEMENT of an ESTATE, containing about 1000 acres, upon which + agricultural improvements and the erection of buildings are contemplated. + He must be a man of superior education, unmarried, and not more than + thirty years of age. Considerable preference will be shown for one who + possesses an artistic as well as a practical knowledge of planning and + laying out. The remuneration will consist of a salary of 220 pounds, with + the old manor-house as a residence—Address Messrs. Nyttleton and + Tayling, solicitors, Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’ + </p> + <p> + A copy of each paper was sent to Miss Aldclyffe on the day of publication. + The same evening she told Cytherea that she was advertising for a steward, + who would live at the old manor-house, showing her the papers containing + the announcement. + </p> + <p> + What was the drift of that remark? thought the maiden; or was it merely + made to her in confidential intercourse, as other arrangements were told + her daily. Yet it seemed to have more meaning than common. She remembered + the conversation about architects and surveyors, and her brother Owen. + Miss Aldclyffe knew that his situation was precarious, that he was well + educated and practical, and was applying himself heart and soul to the + details of the profession and all connected with it. Miss Aldclyffe might + be ready to take him if he could compete successfully with others who + would reply. She hazarded a question: + </p> + <p> + ‘Would it be desirable for Owen to answer it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all,’ said Miss Aldclyffe peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + A flat answer of this kind had ceased to alarm Cytherea. Miss Aldclyffe’s + blunt mood was not her worst. Cytherea thought of another man, whose name, + in spite of resolves, tears, renunciations and injured pride, lingered in + her ears like an old familiar strain. That man was qualified for a + stewardship under a king. + </p> + <p> + ‘Would it be of any use if Edward Springrove were to answer it?’ she said, + resolutely enunciating the name. + </p> + <p> + ‘None whatever,’ replied Miss Aldclyffe, again in the same decided tone. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are very unkind to speak in that way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now don’t pout like a goosie, as you are. I don’t want men like either of + them, for, of course, I must look to the good of the estate rather than to + that of any individual. The man I want must have been more specially + educated. I have told you that we are going to London next week; it is + mostly on this account.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea found that she had mistaken the drift of Miss Aldclyffe’s + peculiar explicitness on the subject of advertising, and wrote to tell her + brother that if he saw the notice it would be useless to reply. + </p> + <p> + 3. AUGUST THE TWENTY-FIFTH + </p> + <p> + Five days after the above-mentioned dialogue took place they went to + London, and, with scarcely a minute’s pause, to the solicitors’ offices in + Lincoln’s Inn Fields. + </p> + <p> + They alighted opposite one of the characteristic entrances about the place—a + gate which was never, and could never be, closed, flanked by + lamp-standards carrying no lamp. Rust was the only active agent to be seen + there at this time of the day and year. The palings along the front were + rusted away at their base to the thinness of wires, and the successive + coats of paint, with which they were overlaid in bygone days, had been + completely undermined by the same insidious canker, which lifted off the + paint in flakes, leaving the raw surface of the iron on palings, + standards, and gate hinges, of a staring blood-red. + </p> + <p> + But once inside the railings the picture changed. The court and offices + were a complete contrast to the grand ruin of the outwork which enclosed + them. Well-painted respectability extended over, within, and around the + doorstep; and in the carefully swept yard not a particle of dust was + visible. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton, who had just come up from Margate, where he was staying + with his family, was standing at the top of his own staircase as the pair + ascended. He politely took them inside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is there a comfortable room in which this young lady can sit during our + interview?’ said Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + It was rather a favourite habit of hers to make much of Cytherea when they + were out, and snub her for it afterwards when they got home. + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly—Mr. Tayling’s.’ Cytherea was shown into an inner room. + </p> + <p> + Social definitions are all made relatively: an absolute datum is only + imagined. The small gentry about Knapwater seemed unpractised to Miss + Aldclyffe, Miss Aldclyffe herself seemed unpractised to Mr. Nyttleton’s + experienced old eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now then,’ the lady said, when she was alone with the lawyer; ‘what is + the result of our advertisement?’ + </p> + <p> + It was late summer; the estate-agency, building, engineering, and + surveying worlds were dull. There were forty-five replies to the + advertisement. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton spread them one by one before Miss Aldclyffe. ‘You will + probably like to read some of them yourself, madam?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, certainly,’ said she. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not trouble you with those which are from persons manifestly unfit + at first sight,’ he continued; and began selecting from the heap twos and + threes which he had marked, collecting others into his hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘The man we want lies among these, if my judgment doesn’t deceive me, and + from them it would be advisable to select a certain number to be + communicated with.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should like to see every one—only just to glance them over—exactly + as they came,’ she said suasively. + </p> + <p> + He looked as if he thought this a waste of his time, but dismissing his + sentiment unfolded each singly and laid it before her. As he laid them + out, it struck him that she studied them quite as rapidly as he could + spread them. He slyly glanced up from the outer corner of his eye to hers, + and noticed that all she did was look at the name at the bottom of the + letter, and then put the enclosure aside without further ceremony. He + thought this an odd way of inquiring into the merits of forty-five men who + at considerable trouble gave in detail reasons why they believed + themselves well qualified for a certain post. She came to the final one, + and put it down with the rest. + </p> + <p> + Then the lady said that in her opinion it would be best to get as many + replies as they possibly could before selecting—‘to give us a wider + choice. What do you think, Mr. Nyttleton?’ + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him, he said, that a greater number than those they already + had would scarcely be necessary, and if they waited for more, there would + be this disadvantage attending it, that some of those they now could + command would possibly not be available. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind, we will run that risk,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘Let the + advertisement be inserted once more, and then we will certainly settle the + matter.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton bowed, and seemed to think Miss Aldclyffe, for a single + woman, and one who till so very recently had never concerned herself with + business of any kind, a very meddlesome client. But she was rich, and + handsome still. ‘She’s a new broom in estate-management as yet,’ he + thought. ‘She will soon get tired of this,’ and he parted from her without + a sentiment which could mar his habitual blandness. + </p> + <p> + The two ladies then proceeded westward. Dismissing the cab in Waterloo + Place, they went along Pall Mall on foot, where in place of the usual + well-dressed clubbists—rubicund with alcohol—were to be seen, + in linen pinafores, flocks of house-painters pallid from white lead. When + they had reached the Green Park, Cytherea proposed that they should sit + down awhile under the young elms at the brow of the hill. This they did—the + growl of Piccadilly on their left hand—the monastic seclusion of the + Palace on their right: before them, the clock tower of the Houses of + Parliament, standing forth with a metallic lustre against a livid Lambeth + sky. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe still carried in her hand a copy of the newspaper, and + while Cytherea had been interesting herself in the picture around, glanced + again at the advertisement. + </p> + <p> + She heaved a slight sigh, and began to fold it up again. In the action her + eye caught sight of two consecutive advertisements on the cover, one + relating to some lecture on Art, and addressed to members of the Institute + of Architects. The other emanated from the same source, but was addressed + to the public, and stated that the exhibition of drawings at the + Institute’s rooms would close at the end of that week. + </p> + <p> + Her eye lighted up. She sent Cytherea back to the hotel in a cab, then + turned round by Piccadilly into Bond Street, and proceeded to the rooms of + the Institute. The secretary was sitting in the lobby. After making her + payment, and looking at a few of the drawings on the walls, in the company + of three gentlemen, the only other visitors to the exhibition, she turned + back and asked if she might be allowed to see a list of the members. She + was a little connected with the architectural world, she said, with a + smile, and was interested in some of the names. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here it is, madam,’ he replied, politely handing her a pamphlet + containing the names. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe turned the leaves till she came to the letter M. The name + she hoped to find there was there, with the address appended, as was the + case with all the rest. + </p> + <p> + The address was at some chambers in a street not far from Charing Cross. + ‘Chambers,’ as a residence, had always been assumed by the lady to imply + the condition of a bachelor. She murmured two words, ‘There still.’ + </p> + <p> + Another request had yet to be made, but it was of a more noticeable kind + than the first, and might compromise the secrecy with which she wished to + act throughout this episode. Her object was to get one of the envelopes + lying on the secretary’s table, stamped with the die of the Institute; and + in order to get it she was about to ask if she might write a note. + </p> + <p> + But the secretary’s back chanced to be turned, and he now went towards one + of the men at the other end of the room, who had called him to ask some + question relating to an etching on the wall. Quick as thought, Miss + Aldclyffe stood before the table, slipped her hand behind her, took one of + the envelopes and put it in her pocket. + </p> + <p> + She sauntered round the rooms for two or three minutes longer, then + withdrew and returned to her hotel. + </p> + <p> + Here she cut the Knapwater advertisement from the paper, put it into the + envelope she had stolen, embossed with the society’s stamp, and directed + it in a round clerkly hand to the address she had seen in the list of + members’ names submitted to her:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AENEAS MANSTON, ESQ., + WYKEHAM CHAMBERS, + SPRING GARDENS. +</pre> + <p> + This ended her first day’s work in London. + </p> + <p> + 4. FROM AUGUST THE TWENTY-SIXTH TO SEPTEMBER THE FIRST + </p> + <p> + The two Cythereas continued at the Westminster Hotel, Miss Aldclyffe + informing her companion that business would detain them in London another + week. The days passed as slowly and quietly as days can pass in a city at + that time of the year, the shuttered windows about the squares and + terraces confronting their eyes like the white and sightless orbs of blind + men. On Thursday Mr. Nyttleton called, bringing the whole number of + replies to the advertisement. Cytherea was present at the interview, by + Miss Aldclyffe’s request—either from whim or design. + </p> + <p> + Ten additional letters were the result of the second week’s insertion, + making fifty-five in all. Miss Aldclyffe looked them over as before. One + was signed— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +AENEAS MANSTON, 133, TURNGATE STREET, + LIVERPOOL. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Now, then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a selection, and I will add one + or two,’ Miss Aldclyffe said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of letters, testimonials, and + references, sorting them into two heaps. Manston’s missive, after a mere + glance, was thrown amongst the summarily rejected ones. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe read, or pretended to read after the lawyer. When he had + finished, five lay in the group he had selected. ‘Would you like to add to + the number?’ he said, turning to the lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said carelessly. ‘Well, two or three additional ones rather took + my fancy,’ she added, searching for some in the larger collection. + </p> + <p> + She drew out three. One was Manston’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘These eight, then, shall be communicated with,’ said the lawyer, taking + up the eight letters and placing them by themselves. + </p> + <p> + They stood up. ‘If I myself, Miss Aldclyffe, were only concerned + personally,’ he said, in an off-hand way, and holding up a letter singly, + ‘I should choose this man unhesitatingly. He writes honestly, is not + afraid to name what he does not consider himself well acquainted with—a + rare thing to find in answers to advertisements; he is well recommended, + and possesses some qualities rarely found in combination. Oddly enough, he + is not really a steward. He was bred a farmer, studied building affairs, + served on an estate for some time, then went with an architect, and is now + well qualified as architect, estate agent, and surveyor. That man is sure + to have a fine head for a manor like yours.’ He tapped the letter as he + spoke. ‘Yes, I should choose him without hesitation—speaking + personally.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I think,’ she said artificially, ‘I should choose this one as a + matter of mere personal whim, which, of course, can’t be given way to when + practical questions have to be considered.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea, after looking out of the window, and then at the newspapers, had + become interested in the proceedings between the clever Miss Aldclyffe and + the keen old lawyer, which reminded her of a game at cards. She looked + inquiringly at the two letters—one in Miss Aldclyffe’s hand, the + other in Mr. Nyttleton’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is the name of your man?’ said Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘His name—’ said the lawyer, looking down the page; ‘what is his + name?—it is Edward Springrove.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe glanced towards Cytherea, who was getting red and pale by + turns. She looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘The name of my man,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, looking at her letter in turn; + ‘is, I think—yes—AEneas Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + 5. SEPTEMBER THE THIRD + </p> + <p> + The next morning but one was appointed for the interviews, which were to + be at the lawyer’s offices. Mr. Nyttleton and Mr. Tayling were both in + town for the day, and the candidates were admitted one by one into a + private room. In the window recess was seated Miss Aldclyffe, wearing her + veil down. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer had, in his letters to the selected number, timed each + candidate at an interval of ten or fifteen minutes from those preceding + and following. They were shown in as they arrived, and had short + conversations with Mr. Nyttleton—terse, and to the point. Miss + Aldclyffe neither moved nor spoke during this proceeding; it might have + been supposed that she was quite unmindful of it, had it not been for what + was revealed by a keen penetration of the veil covering her countenance—the + rays from two bright black eyes, directed towards the lawyer and his + interlocutor. + </p> + <p> + Springrove came fifth; Manston seventh. When the examination of all was + ended, and the last man had retired, Nyttleton, again as at the former + time, blandly asked his client which of the eight she personally + preferred. ‘I still think the fifth we spoke to, Springrove, the man whose + letter I pounced upon at first, to be by far the best qualified, in short, + most suitable generally.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry to say that I differ from you; I lean to my first notion still—that + Mr.—Mr. Manston is most desirable in tone and bearing, and even + specifically; I think he would suit me best in the long-run.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton looked out of the window at the whitened wall of the court. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course, madam, your opinion may be perfectly sound and reliable; a + sort of instinct, I know, often leads ladies by a short cut to conclusions + truer than those come to by men after laborious round-about calculations, + based on long experience. I must say I shouldn’t recommend him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, pray?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, let us look first at his letter of answer to the advertisement. He + didn’t reply till the last insertion; that’s one thing. His letter is bold + and frank in tone, so bold and frank that the second thought after reading + it is that not honesty, but unscrupulousness of conscience dictated it. It + is written in an indifferent mood, as if he felt that he was humbugging us + in his statement that he was the right man for such an office, that he + tried hard to get it only as a matter of form which required that he + should neglect no opportunity that came in his way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You may be right, Mr. Nyttleton, but I don’t quite see the grounds of + your reasoning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He has been, as you perceive, almost entirely used to the office duties + of a city architect, the experience we don’t want. You want a man whose + acquaintance with rural landed properties is more practical and closer—somebody + who, if he has not filled exactly such an office before, has lived a + country life, knows the ins and outs of country tenancies, building, + farming, and so on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s by far the most intellectual looking of them all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; he may be—your opinion, Miss Aldclyffe, is worth more than + mine in that matter. And more than you say, he is a man of parts—his + brain power would soon enable him to master details and fit him for the + post, I don’t much doubt that. But to speak clearly’ (here his words + started off at a jog-trot) ‘I wouldn’t run the risk of placing the + management of an estate of mine in his hands on any account whatever. + There, that’s flat and plain, madam.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, definitely,’ she said, with a show of impatience, ‘what is your + reason?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He is a voluptuary with activity; which is a very bad form of man—as + bad as it is rare.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh. Thank you for your explicit statement, Mr. Nyttleton,’ said Miss + Aldclyffe, starting a little and flushing with displeasure. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nyttleton nodded slightly, as a sort of neutral motion, simply + signifying a receipt of the information, good or bad. + </p> + <p> + ‘And I really think it is hardly worth while to trouble you further in + this,’ continued the lady. ‘He’s quite good enough for a little + insignificant place like mine at Knapwater; and I know that I could not + get on with one of the others for a single month. We’ll try him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly, Miss Aldclyffe,’ said the lawyer. And Mr. Manston was written + to, to the effect that he was the successful competitor. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you see how unmistakably her temper was getting the better of her, + that minute you were in the room?’ said Nyttleton to Tayling, when their + client had left the house. Nyttleton was a man who surveyed everybody’s + character in a sunless and shadowless northern light. A culpable slyness, + which marked him as a boy, had been moulded by Time, the Improver, into + honourable circumspection. + </p> + <p> + We frequently find that the quality which, conjoined with the simplicity + of the child, is vice, is virtue when it pervades the knowledge of the + man. + </p> + <p> + ‘She was as near as damn-it to boiling over when I added up her man,’ + continued Nyttleton. ‘His handsome face is his qualification in her eyes. + They have met before; I saw that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He didn’t seem conscious of it,’ said the junior. + </p> + <p> + ‘He didn’t. That was rather puzzling to me. But still, if ever a woman’s + face spoke out plainly that she was in love with a man, hers did that she + was with him. Poor old maid, she’s almost old enough to be his mother. If + that Manston’s a schemer he’ll marry her, as sure as I am Nyttleton. Let’s + hope he’s honest, however.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think she’s in love with him,’ said Tayling. He had seen but + little of the pair, and yet he could not reconcile what he had noticed in + Miss Aldclyffe’s behaviour with the idea that it was the bearing of a + woman towards her lover. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, your experience of the fiery phenomenon is more recent than mine,’ + rejoined Nyttleton carelessly. ‘And you may remember the nature of it + best.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. FROM THE THIRD TO THE NINETEENTH OF SEPTEMBER + </h3> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe’s tenderness towards Cytherea, between the hours of her + irascibility, increased till it became no less than doting fondness. Like + Nature in the tropics, with her hurricanes and the subsequent luxuriant + vegetation effacing their ravages, Miss Aldclyffe compensated for her + outbursts by excess of generosity afterwards. She seemed to be completely + won out of herself by close contact with a young woman whose modesty was + absolutely unimpaired, and whose artlessness was as perfect as was + compatible with the complexity necessary to produce the due charm of + womanhood. Cytherea, on her part, perceived with honest satisfaction that + her influence for good over Miss Aldclyffe was considerable. Ideas and + habits peculiar to the younger, which the elder lady had originally + imitated as a mere whim, she grew in course of time to take a positive + delight in. Among others were evening and morning prayers, dreaming over + out-door scenes, learning a verse from some poem whilst dressing. + </p> + <p> + Yet try to force her sympathies as much as she would, Cytherea could feel + no more than thankful for this, even if she always felt as much as + thankful. The mysterious cloud hanging over the past life of her + companion, of which the uncertain light already thrown upon it only seemed + to render still darker the unpenetrated remainder, nourished in her a + feeling which was scarcely too slight to be called dread. She would have + infinitely preferred to be treated distantly, as the mere dependent, by + such a changeable nature—like a fountain, always herself, yet always + another. That a crime of any deep dye had ever been perpetrated or + participated in by her namesake, she would not believe; but the reckless + adventuring of the lady’s youth seemed connected with deeds of darkness + rather than of light. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Miss Aldclyffe appeared to be on the point of making some + absorbing confidence, but reflection invariably restrained her. Cytherea + hoped that such a confidence would come with time, and that she might thus + be a means of soothing a mind which had obviously known extreme suffering. + </p> + <p> + But Miss Aldclyffe’s reticence concerning her past was not imitated by + Cytherea. Though she never disclosed the one fact of her knowledge that + the love-suit between Miss Aldclyffe and her father terminated abnormally, + the maiden’s natural ingenuousness on subjects not set down for special + guard had enabled Miss Aldclyffe to worm from her, fragment by fragment, + every detail of her father’s history. Cytherea saw how deeply Miss + Aldclyffe sympathized—and it compensated her, to some extent, for + the hasty resentments of other times. + </p> + <p> + Thus uncertainly she lived on. It was perceived by the servants of the + House that some secret bond of connection existed between Miss Aldclyffe + and her companion. But they were woman and woman, not woman and man, the + facts were ethereal and refined, and so they could not be worked up into a + taking story. Whether, as old critics disputed, a supernatural machinery + be necessary to an epic or no, an ungodly machinery is decidedly necessary + to a scandal. + </p> + <p> + Another letter had come to her from Edward—very short, but full of + entreaty, asking why she would not write just one line—just one line + of cold friendship at least? She then allowed herself to think, little by + little, whether she had not perhaps been too harsh with him; and at last + wondered if he were really much to blame for being engaged to another + woman. ‘Ah, Brain, there is one in me stronger than you!’ she said. The + young maid now continually pulled out his letter, read it and re-read it, + almost crying with pity the while, to think what wretched suspense he must + be enduring at her silence, till her heart chid her for her cruelty. She + felt that she must send him a line—one little line—just a wee + line to keep him alive, poor thing; sighing like Donna Clara— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Ah, were he now before me, + In spite of injured pride, + I fear my eyes would pardon + Before my tongue could chide.’ +</pre> + <p> + 2. SEPTEMBER THE TWENTIETH. THREE TO FOUR P.M. + </p> + <p> + It was the third week in September, about five weeks after Cytherea’s + arrival, when Miss Aldclyffe requested her one day to go through the + village of Carriford and assist herself in collecting the subscriptions + made by some of the inhabitants of the parish to a religious society she + patronized. Miss Aldclyffe formed one of what was called a Ladies’ + Association, each member of which collected tributary streams of shillings + from her inferiors, to add to her own pound at the end. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe took particular interest in Cytherea’s appearance that + afternoon, and the object of her attention was, indeed, gratifying to look + at. The sight of the lithe girl, set off by an airy dress, coquettish + jacket, flexible hat, a ray of starlight in each eye and a war of lilies + and roses in each cheek, was a palpable pleasure to the mistress of the + mansion, yet a pleasure which appeared to partake less of the nature of + affectionate satisfaction than of mental gratification. + </p> + <p> + Eight names were printed in the report as belonging to Miss Aldclyffe’s + list, with the amount of subscription-money attached to each. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will collect the first four, whilst you do the same with the last + four,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + The names of two tradespeople stood first in Cytherea’s share: then came a + Miss Hinton: last of all in the printed list was Mr. Springrove the elder. + Underneath his name was pencilled, in Miss Aldclyffe’s handwriting, ‘Mr. + Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston had arrived on the estate, in the capacity of steward, three or + four days previously, and occupied the old manor-house, which had been + altered and repaired for his reception. + </p> + <p> + ‘Call on Mr. Manston,’ said the lady impressively, looking at the name + written under Cytherea’s portion of the list. + </p> + <p> + ‘But he does not subscribe yet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know it; but call and leave him a report. Don’t forget it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Say you would be pleased if he would subscribe?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—say I should be pleased if he would,’ repeated Miss Aldclyffe, + smiling. ‘Good-bye. Don’t hurry in your walk. If you can’t get easily + through your task to-day put off some of it till to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + Each then started on her rounds: Cytherea going in the first place to the + old manor-house. Mr. Manston was not indoors, which was a relief to her. + She called then on the two gentleman-farmers’ wives, who soon transacted + their business with her, frigidly indifferent to her personality. A person + who socially is nothing is thought less of by people who are not much than + by those who are a great deal. + </p> + <p> + She then turned towards Peakhill Cottage, the residence of Miss Hinton, + who lived there happily enough, with an elderly servant and a house-dog as + companions. Her father, and last remaining parent, had retired thither + four years before this time, after having filled the post of editor to the + Casterbridge Chronicle for eighteen or twenty years. There he died soon + after, and though comparatively a poor man, he left his daughter + sufficiently well provided for as a modest fundholder and claimant of + sundry small sums in dividends to maintain herself as mistress at + Peakhill. + </p> + <p> + At Cytherea’s knock an inner door was heard to open and close, and + footsteps crossed the passage hesitatingly. The next minute Cytherea stood + face to face with the lady herself. + </p> + <p> + Adelaide Hinton was about nine-and-twenty years of age. Her hair was + plentiful, like Cytherea’s own; her teeth equalled Cytherea’s in + regularity and whiteness. But she was much paler, and had features too + transparent to be in place among household surroundings. Her mouth + expressed love less forcibly than Cytherea’s, and, as a natural result of + her greater maturity, her tread was less elastic, and she was more + self-possessed. + </p> + <p> + She had been a girl of that kind which mothers praise as not forward, by + way of contrast, when disparaging those warmer ones with whom loving is an + end and not a means. Men of forty, too, said of her, ‘a good sensible wife + for any man, if she cares to marry,’ the caring to marry being thrown in + as the vaguest hypothesis, because she was so practical. Yet it would be + singular if, in such cases, the important subject of marriage should be + excluded from manipulation by hands that are ready for practical + performance in every domestic concern besides. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was an acquisition, and the greeting was hearty. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good afternoon! O yes—Miss Graye, from Miss Aldclyffe’s. I have + seen you at church, and I am so glad you have called! Come in. I wonder if + I have change enough to pay my subscription.’ She spoke girlishly. + </p> + <p> + Adelaide, when in the company of a younger woman, always levelled herself + down to that younger woman’s age from a sense of justice to herself—as + if, though not her own age at common law, it was in equity. + </p> + <p> + ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll come again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, do at any time; not only on this errand. But you must step in for a + minute. Do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have been wanting to come for several weeks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s right. Now you must see my house—lonely, isn’t it, for a + single person? People said it was odd for a young woman like me to keep on + a house; but what did I care? If you knew the pleasure of locking up your + own door, with the sensation that you reigned supreme inside it, you would + say it was worth the risk of being called odd. Mr. Springrove attends to + my gardening, the dog attends to robbers, and whenever there is a snake or + toad to kill, Jane does it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How nice! It is better than living in a town.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Far better. A town makes a cynic of me.’ + </p> + <p> + The remark recalled, somewhat startlingly, to Cytherea’s mind, that Edward + had used those very words to herself one evening at Budmouth. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hinton opened an interior door and led her visitor into a small + drawing-room commanding a view of the country for miles. + </p> + <p> + The missionary business was soon settled; but the chat continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘How lonely it must be here at night!’ said Cytherea. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘At first I was, slightly. But I got used to the solitude. And you know a + sort of commonsense will creep even into timidity. I say to myself + sometimes at night, “If I were anybody but a harmless woman, not worth the + trouble of a worm’s ghost to appear to me, I should think that every sound + I hear was a spirit.” But you must see all over my house.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was highly interested in seeing. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say you <i>must</i> do this, and you <i>must</i> do that, as if you + were a child,’ remarked Adelaide. ‘A privileged friend of mine tells me + this use of the imperative comes of being so constantly in nobody’s + society but my own.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, yes. I suppose she is right.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea called the friend ‘she’ by a rule of ladylike practice; for a + woman’s ‘friend’ is delicately assumed by another friend to be of their + own sex in the absence of knowledge to the contrary; just as cats are + called she’s until they prove themselves he’s. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hinton laughed mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + ‘I get a humorous reproof for it now and then, I assure you,’ she + continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘“Humorous reproof:” that’s not from a woman: who can reprove humorously + but a man?’ was the groove of Cytherea’s thought at the remark. ‘Your + brother reproves you, I expect,’ said that innocent young lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Miss Hinton, with a candid air. ‘’Tis only a professional man I + am acquainted with.’ She looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + Women are persistently imitative. No sooner did a thought flash through + Cytherea’s mind that the man was a lover than she became a Miss Aldclyffe + in a mild form. + </p> + <p> + ‘I imagine he’s a lover,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hinton smiled a smile of experience in that line. + </p> + <p> + Few women, if taxed with having an admirer, are so free from vanity as to + deny the impeachment, even if it is utterly untrue. When it does happen to + be true, they look pityingly away from the person who is so benighted as + to have got no further than suspecting it. + </p> + <p> + ‘There now—Miss Hinton; you are engaged to be married!’ said + Cytherea accusingly. + </p> + <p> + Adelaide nodded her head practically. ‘Well, yes, I am,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + The word ‘engaged’ had no sooner passed Cytherea’s lips than the sound of + it—the mere sound of her own lips—carried her mind to the time + and circumstances under which Miss Aldclyffe had used it towards herself. + A sickening thought followed—based but on a mere surmise; yet its + presence took every other idea away from Cytherea’s mind. Miss Hinton had + used Edward’s words about towns; she mentioned Mr. Springrove as attending + to her garden. It could not be that Edward was the man! that Miss + Aldclyffe had planned to reveal her rival thus! + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you going to be married soon?’ she inquired, with a steadiness the + result of a sort of fascination, but apparently of indifference. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not very soon—still, soon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah-ha! In less than three months?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Two.’ + </p> + <p> + Now that the subject was well in hand, Adelaide wanted no more prompting. + ‘You won’t tell anybody if I show you something?’ she said, with eager + mystery. + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, nobody. But does he live in this parish?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + Nothing proved yet. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s his name?’ said Cytherea flatly. Her breath and heart had begun + their old tricks, and came and went hotly. Miss Hinton could not see her + face. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you think?’ said Miss Hinton. + </p> + <p> + ‘George?’ said Cytherea, with deceitful agony. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Adelaide. ‘But now, you shall see him first; come here;’ and + she led the way upstairs into her bedroom. There, standing on the dressing + table in a little frame, was the unconscious portrait of Edward + Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘There he is,’ Miss Hinton said, and a silence ensued. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you very fond of him?’ continued the miserable Cytherea at length. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, of course I am,’ her companion replied, but in the tone of one who + ‘lived in Abraham’s bosom all the year,’ and was therefore untouched by + solemn thought at the fact. ‘He’s my cousin—a native of this + village. We were engaged before my father’s death left me so lonely. I was + only twenty, and a much greater belle than I am now. We know each other + thoroughly, as you may imagine. I give him a little sermonizing now and + then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, it’s only in fun. He’s very naughty sometimes—not really, you + know—but he will look at any pretty face when he sees it.’ + </p> + <p> + Storing up this statement of his susceptibility as another item to be + miserable upon when she had time, ‘How do you know that?’ Cytherea asked, + with a swelling heart. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, you know how things do come to women’s ears. He used to live at + Budmouth as an assistant-architect, and I found out that a young giddy + thing of a girl who lives there somewhere took his fancy for a day or two. + But I don’t feel jealous at all—our engagement is so matter-of-fact + that neither of us can be jealous. And it was a mere flirtation—she + was too silly for him. He’s fond of rowing, and kindly gave her an airing + for an evening or two. I’ll warrant they talked the most unmitigated + rubbish under the sun—all shallowness and pastime, just as + everything is at watering places—neither of them caring a bit for + the other—she giggling like a goose all the time—’ + </p> + <p> + Concentrated essence of woman pervaded the room rather than air. ‘She <i>didn’t</i>! + and it <i>wasn’t</i> shallowness!’ Cytherea burst out, with brimming eyes. + ‘’Twas deep deceit on one side, and entire confidence on the other—yes, + it was!’ The pent-up emotion had swollen and swollen inside the young + thing till the dam could no longer embay it. The instant the words were + out she would have given worlds to have been able to recall them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know her—or him?’ said Miss Hinton, starting with suspicion + at the warmth shown. + </p> + <p> + The two rivals had now lost their personality quite. There was the same + keen brightness of eye, the same movement of the mouth, the same mind in + both, as they looked doubtingly and excitedly at each other. As is + invariably the case with women when a man they care for is the subject of + an excitement among them, the situation abstracted the differences which + distinguished them as individuals, and left only the properties common to + them as atoms of a sex. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea caught at the chance afforded her of not betraying herself. ‘Yes, + I know her,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Miss Hinton, ‘I am really vexed if my speaking so lightly of + any friend of yours has hurt your feelings, but—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, never mind,’ Cytherea returned; ‘it doesn’t matter, Miss Hinton. I + think I must leave you now. I have to call at other places. Yes—I + must go.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Hinton, in a perplexed state of mind, showed her visitor politely + downstairs to the door. Here Cytherea bade her a hurried adieu, and + flitted down the garden into the lane. + </p> + <p> + She persevered in her duties with a wayward pleasure in giving herself + misery, as was her wont. Mr. Springrove’s name was next on the list, and + she turned towards his dwelling, the Three Tranters Inn. + </p> + <p> + 3. FOUR TO FIVE P.M. + </p> + <p> + The cottages along Carriford village street were not so close but that on + one side or other of the road was always a hedge of hawthorn or privet, + over or through which could be seen gardens or orchards rich with produce. + It was about the middle of the early apple-harvest, and the laden trees + were shaken at intervals by the gatherers; the soft pattering of the + falling crop upon the grassy ground being diversified by the loud rattle + of vagrant ones upon a rail, hencoop, basket, or lean-to roof, or upon the + rounded and stooping backs of the collectors—mostly children, who + would have cried bitterly at receiving such a smart blow from any other + quarter, but smilingly assumed it to be but fun in apples. + </p> + <p> + The Three Tranters Inn, a many-gabled, mediaeval building, constructed + almost entirely of timber, plaster, and thatch, stood close to the line of + the roadside, almost opposite the churchyard, and was connected with a row + of cottages on the left by thatched outbuildings. It was an uncommonly + characteristic and handsome specimen of the genuine roadside inn of bygone + times; and standing on one of the great highways in this part of England, + had in its time been the scene of as much of what is now looked upon as + the romantic and genial experience of stage-coach travelling as any + halting-place in the country. The railway had absorbed the whole stream of + traffic which formerly flowed through the village and along by the ancient + door of the inn, reducing the empty-handed landlord, who used only to farm + a few fields at the back of the house, to the necessity of eking out his + attenuated income by increasing the extent of his agricultural business if + he would still maintain his social standing. Next to the general stillness + pervading the spot, the long line of outbuildings adjoining the house was + the most striking and saddening witness to the passed-away fortunes of the + Three Tranters Inn. It was the bulk of the original stabling, and where + once the hoofs of two-score horses had daily rattled over the stony yard, + to and from the stalls within, thick grass now grew, whilst the line of + roofs—once so straight—over the decayed stalls, had sunk into + vast hollows till they seemed like the cheeks of toothless age. + </p> + <p> + On a green plot at the other end of the building grew two or three large, + wide-spreading elm-trees, from which the sign was suspended—representing + the three men called tranters (irregular carriers), standing side by side, + and exactly alike to a hair’s-breadth, the grain of the wood and joints of + the boards being visible through the thin paint depicting their forms, + which were still further disfigured by red stains running downwards from + the rusty nails above. + </p> + <p> + Under the trees now stood a cider-mill and press, and upon the spot + sheltered by the boughs were gathered Mr. Springrove himself, his men, the + parish clerk, two or three other men, grinders and supernumeraries, a + woman with an infant in her arms, a flock of pigeons, and some little boys + with straws in their mouths, endeavouring, whenever the men’s backs were + turned, to get a sip of the sweet juice issuing from the vat. + </p> + <p> + Edward Springrove the elder, the landlord, now more particularly a farmer, + and for two months in the year a cider-maker, was an employer of labour of + the old school, who worked himself among his men. He was now engaged in + packing the pomace into horsehair bags with a rammer, and Gad Weedy, his + man, was occupied in shovelling up more from a tub at his side. The shovel + shone like silver from the action of the juice, and ever and anon, in its + motion to and fro, caught the rays of the declining sun and reflected them + in bristling stars of light. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove had been too young a man when the pristine days of the + Three Tranters had departed for ever to have much of the host left in him + now. He was a poet with a rough skin: one whose sturdiness was more the + result of external circumstances than of intrinsic nature. Too kindly + constituted to be very provident, he was yet not imprudent. He had a quiet + humorousness of disposition, not out of keeping with a frequent + melancholy, the general expression of his countenance being one of + abstraction. Like Walt Whitman he felt as his years increased— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I foresee too much; it means more than I thought.’ +</pre> + <p> + On the present occasion he wore gaiters and a leathern apron, and worked + with his shirt-sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows, disclosing solid and + fleshy rather than muscular arms. They were stained by the cider, and two + or three brown apple-pips from the pomace he was handling were to be seen + sticking on them here and there. + </p> + <p> + The other prominent figure was that of Richard Crickett, the parish clerk, + a kind of Bowdlerized rake, who ate only as much as a woman, and had the + rheumatism in his left hand. The remainder of the group, brown-faced + peasants, wore smock-frocks embroidered on the shoulders with hearts and + diamonds, and were girt round their middle with a strap, another being + worn round the right wrist. + </p> + <p> + ‘And have you seen the steward, Mr. Springrove?’ said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + ‘Just a glimpse of him; but ‘twas just enough to show me that he’s not + here for long.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why mid that be?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’ll never stand the vagaries of the female figure holden the reins—not + he.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She d’ pay en well,’ said a grinder; ‘and money’s money.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—‘tis: very much so,’ the clerk replied. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, naibour Crickett,’ said Springrove, ‘but she’ll vlee in a + passion—all the fat will be in the fire—and there’s an end + o’t.... Yes, she is a one,’ continued the farmer, resting, raising his + eyes, and reading the features of a distant apple. + </p> + <p> + ‘She is,’ said Gad, resting too (it is wonderful how prompt a journeyman + is in following his master’s initiative to rest) and reflectively + regarding the ground in front of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘True: a one is she,’ the clerk chimed in, shaking his head ominously. + </p> + <p> + ‘She has such a temper,’ said the farmer, ‘and is so wilful too. You may + as well try to stop a footpath as stop her when she has taken anything + into her head. I’d as soon grind little green crabs all day as live wi’ + her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a temper she hev, ‘tis,’ the clerk replied, ‘though I be a servant + of the Church that say it. But she isn’t goen to flee in a passion this + time.’ + </p> + <p> + The audience waited for the continuation of the speech, as if they knew + from experience the exact distance off it lay in the future. + </p> + <p> + The clerk swallowed nothing as if it were a great deal, and then went on, + ‘There’s some’at between ‘em: mark my words, naibours—there’s + some’at between ‘em.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘D’ye mean it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I d’ know it. He came last Saturday, didn’t he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’A did, truly,’ said Gad Weedy, at the same time taking an apple from the + hopper of the mill, eating a piece, and flinging back the remainder to be + ground up for cider. + </p> + <p> + ‘He went to church a-Sunday,’ said the clerk again. + </p> + <p> + ‘’A did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And she kept her eye upon en all the service, her face flickeren between + red and white, but never stoppen at either.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove nodded, and went to the press. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the clerk, ‘you don’t call her the kind o’ woman to make + mistakes in just trotten through the weekly service o’ God? Why, as a rule + she’s as right as I be myself.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove nodded again, and gave a twist to the screw of the press, + followed in the movement by Gad at the other side; the two grinders + expressing by looks of the greatest concern that, if Miss Aldclyffe were + as right at church as the clerk, she must be right indeed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, as right in the service o’ God as I be myself,’ repeated the clerk. + ‘But last Sunday, when we were in the tenth commandment, says she, + “Incline our hearts to keep this law,” says she, when ‘twas “Laws in our + hearts, we beseech Thee,” all the church through. Her eye was upon <i>him</i>—she + was quite lost—“Hearts to keep this law,” says she; she was no more + than a mere shadder at that tenth time—a mere shadder. You mi’t ha’ + mouthed across to her “Laws in our hearts we beseech Thee,” fifty times + over—she’d never ha’ noticed ye. She’s in love wi’ the man, that’s + what she is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then she’s a bigger stunpoll than I took her for,’ said Mr. Springrove. + ‘Why, she’s old enough to be his mother.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The row’ll be between her and that young Curlywig, you’ll see. She won’t + run the risk of that pretty face be-en near.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Clerk Crickett, I d’ fancy you d’ know everything about everybody,’ said + Gad. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well so’s,’ said the clerk modestly. ‘I do know a little. It comes to + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I d’ know where from.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That wife o’ thine. She’s an entertainen woman, not to speak + disrespectful.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is: and a winnen one. Look at the husbands she’ve had—God bless + her!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wonder you could stand third in that list, Clerk Crickett,’ said Mr. + Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, ‘t has been a power o’ marvel to myself oftentimes. Yes, matrimony + do begin wi’ “Dearly beloved,” and ends wi’ “Amazement,” as the + prayer-book says. But what could I do, naibour Springrove? ‘Twas ordained + to be. Well do I call to mind what your poor lady said to me when I had + just married. “Ah, Mr. Crickett,” says she, “your wife will soon settle + you as she did her other two: here’s a glass o’ rum, for I shan’t see your + poor face this time next year.” I swallered the rum, called again next + year, and said, “Mrs. Springrove, you gave me a glass o’ rum last year + because I was going to die—here I be alive still, you see.” “Well + said, clerk! Here’s two glasses for you now, then,” says she. “Thank you, + mem,” I said, and swallered the rum. Well, dang my old sides, next year I + thought I’d call again and get three. And call I did. But she wouldn’t + give me a drop o’ the commonest. “No, clerk,” says she, “you be too tough + for a woman’s pity.”... Ah, poor soul, ‘twas true enough! Here be I, that + was expected to die, alive and hard as a nail, you see, and there’s she + moulderen in her grave.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I used to think ‘twas your wife’s fate not to have a liven husband when I + zid ‘em die off so,’ said Gad. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fate? Bless thy simplicity, so ‘twas her fate; but she struggled to have + one, and would, and did. Fate’s nothen beside a woman’s schemen!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose, then, that Fate is a He, like us, and the Lord, and the rest + o’ ‘em up above there,’ said Gad, lifting his eyes to the sky. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hullo! Here’s the young woman comen that we were a-talken about by-now,’ + said a grinder, suddenly interrupting. ‘She’s comen up here, as I be + alive!’ + </p> + <p> + The two grinders stood and regarded Cytherea as if she had been a ship + tacking into a harbour, nearly stopping the mill in their new interest. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stylish accoutrements about the head and shoulders, to my thinken,’ said + the clerk. ‘Sheenen curls, and plenty o’ em.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If there’s one kind of pride more excusable than another in a young + woman, ‘tis being proud of her hair,’ said Mr. Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear man!—the pride there is only a small piece o’ the whole. I + warrant now, though she can show such a figure, she ha’n’t a stick o’ + furniture to call her own.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, Clerk Crickett, let the maid be a maid while she is a maid,’ said + Farmer Springrove chivalrously. + </p> + <p> + ‘O,’ replied the servant of the Church; ‘I’ve nothen to say against it—O + no: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“The chimney-sweeper’s daughter Sue + As I have heard declare, O, + Although she’s neither sock nor shoe + Will curl and deck her hair, O.”’ +</pre> + <p> + Cytherea was rather disconcerted at finding that the gradual cessation of + the chopping of the mill was on her account, and still more when she saw + all the cider-makers’ eyes fixed upon her except Mr. Springrove’s, whose + natural delicacy restrained him. She neared the plot of grass, but instead + of advancing further, hesitated on its border. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove perceived her embarrassment, which was relieved when she + saw his old-established figure coming across to her, wiping his hands in + his apron. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know your errand, missie,’ he said, ‘and am glad to see you, and attend + to it. I’ll step indoors.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you are busy I am in no hurry for a minute or two,’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then if so be you really wouldn’t mind, we’ll wring down this last + filling to let it drain all night?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all. I like to see you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We are only just grinding down the early pickthongs and griffins,’ + continued the farmer, in a half-apologetic tone for detaining by his + cider-making any well-dressed woman. ‘They rot as black as a chimney-crook + if we keep ‘em till the regulars turn in.’ As he spoke he went back to the + press, Cytherea keeping at his elbow. ‘I’m later than I should have been + by rights,’ he continued, taking up a lever for propelling the screw, and + beckoning to the men to come forward. ‘The truth is, my son Edward had + promised to come to-day, and I made preparations; but instead of him comes + a letter: “London, September the eighteenth, Dear Father,” says he, and + went on to tell me he couldn’t. It threw me out a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course,’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s got a place ‘a b’lieve?’ said the clerk, drawing near. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, poor mortal fellow, no. He tried for this one here, you know, but + couldn’t manage to get it. I don’t know the rights o’ the matter, but + willy-nilly they wouldn’t have him for steward. Now mates, form in line.’ + </p> + <p> + Springrove, the clerk, the grinders, and Gad, all ranged themselves behind + the lever of the screw, and walked round like soldiers wheeling. + </p> + <p> + ‘The man that the old quean hev got is a man you can hardly get upon your + tongue to gainsay, by the look o’ en,’ rejoined Clerk Crickett. + </p> + <p> + ‘One o’ them people that can contrive to be thought no worse o’ for + stealen a horse than another man for looken over hedge at en,’ said a + grinder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, he’s all there as steward, and is quite the gentleman—no + doubt about that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So would my Ted ha’ been, for the matter o’ that,’ the farmer said. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s true: ‘a would, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I said, I’ll give Ted a good education if it do cost me my eyes, and I + would have done it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, that you would so,’ said the chorus of assistants solemnly. + </p> + <p> + ‘But he took to books and drawing naturally, and cost very little; and as + a wind-up the womenfolk hatched up a match between him and his cousin.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When’s the wedden to be, Mr. Springrove?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Uncertain—but soon, I suppose. Edward, you see, can do anything + pretty nearly, and yet can’t get a straightforward living. I wish + sometimes I had kept him here, and let professions go. But he was such a + one for the pencil.’ + </p> + <p> + He dropped the lever in the hedge, and turned to his visitor. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now then, missie, if you’ll come indoors, please.’ + </p> + <p> + Gad Weedy looked with a placid criticism at Cytherea as she withdrew with + the farmer. + </p> + <p> + ‘I could tell by the tongue o’ her that she didn’t take her degrees in our + county,’ he said in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + ‘The railways have left you lonely here,’ she observed, when they were + indoors. + </p> + <p> + Save the withered old flies, which were quite tame from the solitude, not + a being was in the house. Nobody seemed to have entered it since the last + passenger had been called out to mount the last stage-coach that had run + by. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, the Inn and I seem almost a pair of fossils,’ the farmer replied, + looking at the room and then at himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, Mr. Springrove,’ said Cytherea, suddenly recollecting herself; ‘I am + much obliged to you for recommending me to Miss Aldclyffe.’ She began to + warm towards the old man; there was in him a gentleness of disposition + which reminded her of her own father. + </p> + <p> + ‘Recommending? Not at all, miss. Ted—that’s my son—Ted said a + fellow-draughtsman of his had a sister who wanted to be doing something in + the world, and I mentioned it to the housekeeper, that’s all. Ay, I miss + my son very much.’ + </p> + <p> + She kept her back to the window that he might not see her rising colour. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘sometimes I can’t help feeling uneasy about him. You + know, he seems not made for a town life exactly: he gets very queer over + it sometimes, I think. Perhaps he’ll be better when he’s married to + Adelaide.’ + </p> + <p> + A half-impatient feeling arose in her, like that which possesses a sick + person when he hears a recently-struck hour struck again by a slow clock. + She had lived further on. + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything depends upon whether he loves her,’ she said tremulously. + </p> + <p> + ‘He used to—he doesn’t show it so much now; but that’s because he’s + older. You see, it was several years ago they first walked together as + young man and young woman. She’s altered too from what she was when he + first courted her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, she’s more sensible by half. When he used to write to her she’d creep + up the lane and look back over her shoulder, and slide out the letter, and + read a word and stand in thought looking at the hills and seeing none. + Then the cuckoo would cry—away the letter would slip, and she’d + start wi’ fright at the mere bird, and have a red skin before the quickest + man among ye could say, “Blood rush up.”’ + </p> + <p> + He came forward with the money and dropped it into her hand. His thoughts + were still with Edward, and he absently took her little fingers in his as + he said, earnestly and ingenuously— + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis so seldom I get a gentlewoman to speak to that I can’t help speaking + to you, Miss Graye, on my fears for Edward; I sometimes am afraid that + he’ll never get on—that he’ll die poor and despised under the worst + mental conditions, a keen sense of having been passed in the race by men + whose brains are nothing to his own, all through his seeing too far into + things—being discontented with make-shifts—thinking o’ + perfection in things, and then sickened that there’s no such thing as + perfection. I shan’t be sorry to see him marry, since it may settle him + down and do him good.... Ay, we’ll hope for the best.’ + </p> + <p> + He let go her hand and accompanied her to the door saying, ‘If you should + care to walk this way and talk to an old man once now and then, it will be + a great delight to him, Miss Graye. Good-evening to ye.... Ah look! a + thunderstorm is brewing—be quick home. Or shall I step up with you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thank you, Mr. Springrove. Good evening,’ she said in a low voice, + and hurried away. One thought still possessed her; Edward had trifled with + her love. + </p> + <p> + 4. FIVE TO SIX P.M. + </p> + <p> + She followed the road into a bower of trees, overhanging it so densely + that the pass appeared like a rabbit’s burrow, and presently reached a + side entrance to the park. The clouds rose more rapidly than the farmer + had anticipated: the sheep moved in a trail, and complained incoherently. + Livid grey shades, like those of the modern French painters, made a + mystery of the remote and dark parts of the vista, and seemed to insist + upon a suspension of breath. Before she was half-way across the park the + thunder rumbled distinctly. + </p> + <p> + The direction in which she had to go would take her close by the old + manor-house. The air was perfectly still, and between each low rumble of + the thunder behind she could hear the roar of the waterfall before her, + and the creak of the engine among the bushes hard by it. Hurrying on, with + a growing dread of the gloom and of the approaching storm, she drew near + the Old House, now rising before her against the dark foliage and sky in + tones of strange whiteness. + </p> + <p> + On the flight of steps, which descended from a terrace in front to the + level of the park, stood a man. He appeared, partly from the relief the + position gave to his figure, and partly from fact, to be of towering + height. He was dark in outline, and was looking at the sky, with his hands + behind him. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary for Cytherea to pass directly across the line of his + front. She felt so reluctant to do this, that she was about to turn under + the trees out of the path and enter it again at a point beyond the Old + House; but he had seen her, and she came on mechanically, unconsciously + averting her face a little, and dropping her glance to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes unswervingly lingered along the path until they fell upon another + path branching in a right line from the path she was pursuing. It came + from the steps of the Old House. ‘I am exactly opposite him now,’ she + thought, ‘and his eyes are going through me.’ + </p> + <p> + A clear masculine voice said, at the same instant— + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you afraid?’ + </p> + <p> + She, interpreting his question by her feelings at the moment, assumed + himself to be the object of fear, if any. ‘I don’t think I am,’ she + stammered. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to know that she thought in that sense. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of the thunder, I mean,’ he said; ‘not of myself.’ + </p> + <p> + She must turn to him now. ‘I think it is going to rain,’ she remarked for + the sake of saying something. + </p> + <p> + He could not conceal his surprise and admiration of her face and bearing. + He said courteously, ‘It may possibly not rain before you reach the House, + if you are going there?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I am,’ + </p> + <p> + ‘May I walk up with you? It is lonely under the trees.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ Fearing his courtesy arose from a belief that he was addressing a + woman of higher station than was hers, she added, ‘I am Miss Aldclyffe’s + companion. I don’t mind the loneliness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, Miss Aldclyffe’s companion. Then will you be kind enough to take a + subscription to her? She sent to me this afternoon to ask me to become a + subscriber to her Society, and I was out. Of course I’ll subscribe if she + wishes it. I take a great interest in the Society.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe will be glad to hear that, I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; let me see—what Society did she say it was? I am afraid I + haven’t enough money in my pocket, and yet it would be a satisfaction to + her to have practical proof of my willingness. I’ll get it, and be out in + one minute.’ + </p> + <p> + He entered the house and was at her side again within the time he had + named. ‘This is it,’ he said pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + She held up her hand. The soft tips of his fingers brushed the palm of her + glove as he placed the money within it. She wondered why his fingers + should have touched her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think after all,’ he continued, ‘that the rain is upon us, and will + drench you before you reach the House. Yes: see there.’ + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a round wet spot as large as a nasturtium leaf, which had + suddenly appeared upon the white surface of the step. + </p> + <p> + ‘You had better come into the porch. It is not nearly night yet. The + clouds make it seem later than it really is.’ + </p> + <p> + Heavy drops of rain, followed immediately by a forked flash of lightning + and sharp rattling thunder compelled her, willingly or no, to accept his + invitation. She ascended the steps, stood beside him just within the + porch, and for the first time obtained a series of short views of his + person, as they waited there in silence. + </p> + <p> + He was an extremely handsome man, well-formed, and well-dressed, of an age + which seemed to be two or three years less than thirty. The most striking + point in his appearance was the wonderful, almost preternatural, clearness + of his complexion. There was not a blemish or speck of any kind to mar the + smoothness of its surface or the beauty of its hue. Next, his forehead was + square and broad, his brows straight and firm, his eyes penetrating and + clear. By collecting the round of expressions they gave forth, a person + who theorized on such matters would have imbibed the notion that their + owner was of a nature to kick against the pricks; the last man in the + world to put up with a position because it seemed to be his destiny to do + so; one who took upon himself to resist fate with the vindictive + determination of a Theomachist. Eyes and forehead both would have + expressed keenness of intellect too severely to be pleasing, had their + force not been counteracted by the lines and tone of the lips. These were + full and luscious to a surprising degree, possessing a woman-like softness + of curve, and a ruby redness so intense, as to testify strongly to much + susceptibility of heart where feminine beauty was concerned—a + susceptibility that might require all the ballast of brain with which he + had previously been credited to confine within reasonable channels. + </p> + <p> + His manner was rather elegant than good: his speech well-finished and + unconstrained. + </p> + <p> + The pause in their discourse, which had been caused by the peal of thunder + was unbroken by either for a minute or two, during which the ears of both + seemed to be absently following the low roar of the waterfall as it became + gradually rivalled by the increasing rush of rain upon the trees and + herbage of the grove. After her short looks at him, Cytherea had turned + her head towards the avenue for a while, and now, glancing back again for + an instant, she discovered that his eyes were engaged in a steady, though + delicate, regard of her face and form. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, by reason of the narrowness of the porch, their dresses + touched, and remained in contact. + </p> + <p> + His clothes are something exterior to every man; but to a woman her dress + is part of her body. Its motions are all present to her intelligence if + not to her eyes; no man knows how his coat-tails swing. By the slightest + hyperbole it may be said that her dress has sensation. Crease but the very + Ultima Thule of fringe or flounce, and it hurts her as much as pinching + her. Delicate antennae, or feelers, bristle on every outlying frill. Go to + the uppermost: she is there; tread on the lowest: the fair creature is + there almost before you. + </p> + <p> + Thus the touch of clothes, which was nothing to Manston, sent a thrill + through Cytherea, seeing, moreover, that he was of the nature of a + mysterious stranger. She looked out again at the storm, but still felt + him. At last to escape the sensation she moved away, though by so doing it + was necessary to advance a little into the rain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look, the rain is coming into the porch upon you,’ he said. ‘Step inside + the door.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea hesitated. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perfectly safe, I assure you,’ he added, laughing, and holding the door + open. ‘You shall see what a state of disorganization I am in—boxes + on boxes, furniture, straw, crockery, in every form of transposition. An + old woman is in the back quarters somewhere, beginning to put things to + rights.... You know the inside of the house, I dare say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never been in.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O well, come along. Here, you see, they have made a door through, here, + they have put a partition dividing the old hall into two, one part is now + my parlour; there they have put a plaster ceiling, hiding the old + chestnut-carved roof because it was too high and would have been chilly + for me; you see, being the original hall, it was open right up to the top, + and here the lord of the manor and his retainers used to meet and be merry + by the light from the monstrous fire which shone out from that monstrous + fire-place, now narrowed to a mere nothing for my grate, though you can + see the old outline still. I almost wish I could have had it in its + original state.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With more romance and less comfort.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, exactly. Well, perhaps the wish is not deep-seated. You will see how + the things are tumbled in anyhow, packing-cases and all. The only piece of + ornamental furniture yet unpacked is this one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘An organ?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, an organ. I made it myself, except the pipes. I opened the case this + afternoon to commence soothing myself at once. It is not a very large one, + but quite big enough for a private house. You play, I dare say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The piano. I am not at all used to an organ.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You would soon acquire the touch for an organ, though it would spoil your + touch for the piano. Not that that matters a great deal. A piano isn’t + much as an instrument.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is the fashion to say so now. I think it is quite good enough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That isn’t altogether a right sentiment about things being good enough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—no. What I mean is, that the men who despise pianos do it as a + rule from their teeth, merely for fashion’s sake, because cleverer men + have said it before them—not from the experience of their ears.’ + </p> + <p> + Now Cytherea all at once broke into a blush at the consciousness of a + great snub she had been guilty of in her eagerness to explain herself. He + charitably expressed by a look that he did not in the least mind her + blunder, if it were one; and this attitude forced him into a position of + mental superiority which vexed her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I play for my private amusement only,’ he said. ‘I have never learned + scientifically. All I know is what I taught myself.’ + </p> + <p> + The thunder, lightning, and rain had now increased to a terrific force. + The clouds, from which darts, forks, zigzags, and balls of fire + continually sprang, did not appear to be more than a hundred yards above + their heads, and every now and then a flash and a peal made gaps in the + steward’s descriptions. He went towards the organ, in the midst of a + volley which seemed to shake the aged house from foundations to chimney. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are not going to play now, are you?’ said Cytherea uneasily. + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes. Why not now?’ he said. ‘You can’t go home, and therefore we may as + well be amused, if you don’t mind sitting on this box. The few chairs I + have unpacked are in the other room.’ + </p> + <p> + Without waiting to see whether she sat down or not, he turned to the organ + and began extemporizing a harmony which meandered through every variety of + expression of which the instrument was capable. Presently he ceased and + began searching for some music-book. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a splendid flash!’ he said, as the lightning again shone in through + the mullioned window, which, of a proportion to suit the whole extent of + the original hall, was much too large for the present room. The thunder + pealed again. Cytherea, in spite of herself, was frightened, not only at + the weather, but at the general unearthly weirdness which seemed to + surround her there. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish I—the lightning wasn’t so bright. Do you think it will last + long?’ she said timidly. + </p> + <p> + ‘It can’t last much longer,’ he murmured, without turning, running his + fingers again over the keys. ‘But this is nothing,’ he continued, suddenly + stopping and regarding her. ‘It seems brighter because of the deep shadow + under those trees yonder. Don’t mind it; now look at me—look in my + face—now.’ + </p> + <p> + He had faced the window, looking fixedly at the sky with his dark strong + eyes. She seemed compelled to do as she was bidden, and looked in the + too-delicately beautiful face. + </p> + <p> + The flash came; but he did not turn or blink, keeping his eyes fixed as + firmly as before. ‘There,’ he said, turning to her, ‘that’s the way to + look at lightning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, it might have blinded you!’ she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense—not lightning of this sort—I shouldn’t have stared + at it if there had been danger. It is only sheet-lightning now. Now, will + you have another piece? Something from an oratorio this time?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thank you—I don’t want to hear it whilst it thunders so.’ But + he had begun without heeding her answer, and she stood motionless again, + marvelling at the wonderful indifference to all external circumstance + which was now evinced by his complete absorption in the music before him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you play such saddening chords?’ she said, when he next paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m—because I like them, I suppose,’ said he lightly. ‘Don’t you + like sad impressions sometimes?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sometimes, perhaps.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When you are full of trouble.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, why shouldn’t I when I am full of trouble?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you troubled?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am troubled.’ He said this thoughtfully and abruptly—so abruptly + that she did not push the dialogue further. + </p> + <p> + He now played more powerfully. Cytherea had never heard music in the + completeness of full orchestral power, and the tones of the organ, which + reverberated with considerable effect in the comparatively small space of + the room, heightened by the elemental strife of light and sound outside, + moved her to a degree out of proportion to the actual power of the mere + notes, practised as was the hand that produced them. The varying strains—now + loud, now soft; simple, complicated, weird, touching, grand, boisterous, + subdued; each phase distinct, yet modulating into the next with a graceful + and easy flow—shook and bent her to themselves, as a gushing brook + shakes and bends a shadow cast across its surface. The power of the music + did not show itself so much by attracting her attention to the subject of + the piece, as by taking up and developing as its libretto the poem of her + own life and soul, shifting her deeds and intentions from the hands of her + judgment and holding them in its own. + </p> + <p> + She was swayed into emotional opinions concerning the strange man before + her; new impulses of thought came with new harmonies, and entered into her + with a gnawing thrill. A dreadful flash of lightning then, and the thunder + close upon it. She found herself involuntarily shrinking up beside him, + and looking with parted lips at his face. + </p> + <p> + He turned his eyes and saw her emotion, which greatly increased the ideal + element in her expressive face. She was in the state in which woman’s + instinct to conceal has lost its power over her impulse to tell; and he + saw it. Bending his handsome face over her till his lips almost touched + her ear, he murmured, without breaking the harmonies— + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you very much like this piece?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very much indeed,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I could see you were affected by it. I will copy it for you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you much.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will bring it to the House to you to-morrow. Who shall I ask for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, not for me. Don’t bring it,’ she said hastily. ‘I shouldn’t like you + to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me see—to-morrow evening at seven or a few minutes past I shall + be passing the waterfall on my way home. I could conveniently give it you + there, and I should like you to have it.’ + </p> + <p> + He modulated into the Pastoral Symphony, still looking in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ she said, to get rid of the look. + </p> + <p> + The storm had by this time considerably decreased in violence, and in + seven or ten minutes the sky partially cleared, the clouds around the + western horizon becoming lighted up with the rays of the sinking sun. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea drew a long breath of relief, and prepared to go away. She was + full of a distressing sense that her detention in the old manor-house, and + the acquaintanceship it had set on foot, was not a thing she wished. It + was such a foolish thing to have been excited and dragged into frankness + by the wiles of a stranger. + </p> + <p> + ‘Allow me to come with you,’ he said, accompanying her to the door, and + again showing by his behaviour how much he was impressed with her. His + influence over her had vanished with the musical chords, and she turned + her back upon him. ‘May I come?’ he repeated. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no. The distance is not a quarter of a mile—it is really not + necessary, thank you,’ she said quietly. And wishing him good-evening, + without meeting his eyes, she went down the steps, leaving him standing at + the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, how is it that man has so fascinated me?’ was all she could think. Her + own self, as she had sat spell-bound before him, was all she could see. + Her gait was constrained, from the knowledge that his eyes were upon her + until she had passed the hollow by the waterfall, and by ascending the + rise had become hidden from his view by the boughs of the overhanging + trees. + </p> + <p> + 5. SIX TO SEVEN P.M. + </p> + <p> + The wet shining road threw the western glare into her eyes with an + invidious lustre which rendered the restlessness of her mood more + wearying. Her thoughts flew from idea to idea without asking for the + slightest link of connection between one and another. One moment she was + full of the wild music and stirring scene with Manston—-the next, + Edward’s image rose before her like a shadowy ghost. Then Manston’s black + eyes seemed piercing her again, and the reckless voluptuous mouth appeared + bending to the curves of his special words. What could be those troubles + to which he had alluded? Perhaps Miss Aldclyffe was at the bottom of them. + Sad at heart she paced on: her life was bewildering her. + </p> + <p> + On coming into Miss Aldclyffe’s presence Cytherea told her of the + incident, not without a fear that she would burst into one of her + ungovernable fits of temper at learning Cytherea’s slight departure from + the programme. But, strangely to Cytherea, Miss Aldclyffe looked + delighted. The usual cross-examination followed. + </p> + <p> + ‘And so you were with him all that time?’ said the lady, with assumed + severity. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I was.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I did not tell you to call at the Old House twice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t call, as I have said. He made me come into the porch.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What remarks did he make, do you say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That the lightning was not so bad as I thought.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A very important remark, that. Did he—’ she turned her glance full + upon the girl, and eyeing her searchingly, said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Did he say anything about <i>me</i>?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing,’ said Cytherea, returning her gaze calmly, ‘except that I was to + give you the subscription.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are quite sure?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe you. Did he say anything striking or strange about himself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only one thing—that he was troubled,’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Troubled!’ + </p> + <p> + After saying the word, Miss Aldclyffe relapsed into silence. Such + behaviour as this had ended, on most previous occasions, by her making a + confession, and Cytherea expected one now. But for once she was mistaken, + nothing more was said. + </p> + <p> + When she had returned to her room she sat down and penned a farewell + letter to Edward Springrove, as little able as any other excitable and + brimming young woman of nineteen to feel that the wisest and only + dignified course at that juncture was to do nothing at all. She told him + that, to her painful surprise, she had learnt that his engagement to + another woman was a matter of notoriety. She insisted that all honour bade + him marry his early love—a woman far better than her unworthy self, + who only deserved to be forgotten, and begged him to remember that he was + not to see her face again. She upbraided him for levity and cruelty in + meeting her so frequently at Budmouth, and above all in stealing the kiss + from her lips on the last evening of the water excursions. ‘I never, never + can forget it!’ she said, and then felt a sensation of having done her + duty, ostensibly persuading herself that her reproaches and commands were + of such a force that no man to whom they were uttered could ever approach + her more. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was all unconsciously said in words which betrayed a lingering + tenderness of love at every unguarded turn. Like Beatrice accusing Dante + from the chariot, try as she might to play the superior being who + contemned such mere eye-sensuousness, she betrayed at every point a pretty + woman’s jealousy of a rival, and covertly gave her old lover hints for + excusing himself at each fresh indictment. + </p> + <p> + This done, Cytherea, still in a practical mood, upbraided herself with + weakness in allowing a stranger like Mr. Manston to influence her as he + had done that evening. What right on earth had he to suggest so suddenly + that she might meet him at the waterfall to receive his music? She would + have given much to be able to annihilate the ascendency he had obtained + over her during that extraordinary interval of melodious sound. Not being + able to endure the notion of his living a minute longer in the belief he + was then holding, she took her pen and wrote to him also:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘KNAPWATER HOUSE + September 20th. + + ‘I find I cannot meet you at seven o’clock by the waterfall as I + promised. The emotion I felt made me forgetful of realities. + + ‘C. GRAYE.’ +</pre> + <p> + A great statesman thinks several times, and acts; a young lady acts, and + thinks several times. When, a few minutes later, she saw the postman carry + off the bag containing one of the letters, and a messenger with the other, + she, for the first time, asked herself the question whether she had acted + very wisely in writing to either of the two men who had so influenced her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. THE EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. FROM SEPTEMBER THE TWENTY-FIRST TO THE MIDDLE OF NOVEMBER + </h3> + <p> + The foremost figure within Cytherea’s horizon, exclusive of the inmates of + Knapwater House, was now the steward, Mr. Manston. It was impossible that + they should live within a quarter of a mile of each other, be engaged in + the same service, and attend the same church, without meeting at some spot + or another, twice or thrice a week. On Sundays, in her pew, when by chance + she turned her head, Cytherea found his eyes waiting desirously for a + glimpse of hers, and, at first more strangely, the eyes of Miss Aldclyffe + furtively resting on him. On coming out of church he frequently walked + beside Cytherea till she reached the gate at which residents in the House + turned into the shrubbery. By degrees a conjecture grew to a certainty. + She knew that he loved her. + </p> + <p> + But a strange fact was connected with the development of his love. He was + palpably making the strongest efforts to subdue, or at least to hide, the + weakness, and as it sometimes seemed, rather from his own conscience than + from surrounding eyes. Hence she found that not one of his encounters with + her was anything more than the result of pure accident. He made no + advances whatever: without avoiding her, he never sought her: the words he + had whispered at their first interview now proved themselves to be quite + as much the result of unguarded impulse as was her answer. Something held + him back, bound his impulse down, but she saw that it was neither pride of + his person, nor fear that she would refuse him—a course she + unhesitatingly resolved to take should he think fit to declare himself. + She was interested in him and his marvellous beauty, as she might have + been in some fascinating panther or leopard—for some undefinable + reason she shrank from him, even whilst she admired. The keynote of her + nature, a warm ‘precipitance of soul,’ as Coleridge happily writes it, + which Manston had so directly pounced upon at their very first interview, + gave her now a tremulous sense of being in some way in his power. + </p> + <p> + The state of mind was, on the whole, a dangerous one for a young and + inexperienced woman; and perhaps the circumstance which, more than any + other, led her to cherish Edward’s image now, was that he had taken no + notice of the receipt of her letter, stating that she discarded him. It + was plain then, she said, that he did not care deeply for her, and she + thereupon could not quite leave off caring deeply for him:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Ingenium mulierum, + Nolunt ubi velis, ubi nolis cupiunt ultro.’ +</pre> + <p> + The month of October passed, and November began its course. The + inhabitants of the village of Carriford grew weary of supposing that Miss + Aldclyffe was going to marry her steward. New whispers arose and became + very distinct (though they did not reach Miss Aldclyffe’s ears) to the + effect that the steward was deeply in love with Cytherea Graye. Indeed, + the fact became so obvious that there was nothing left to say about it + except that their marriage would be an excellent one for both;—for + her in point of comfort—and for him in point of love. + </p> + <p> + As circles in a pond grow wider and wider, the next fact, which at first + had been patent only to Cytherea herself, in due time spread to her + neighbours, and they, too, wondered that he made no overt advances. By the + middle of November, a theory made up of a combination of the other two was + received with general favour: its substance being that a guilty intrigue + had been commenced between Manston and Miss Aldclyffe, some years before, + when he was a very young man, and she still in the enjoyment of some + womanly beauty, but now that her seniority began to grow emphatic she was + becoming distasteful to him. His fear of the effect of the lady’s jealousy + would, they said, thus lead him to conceal from her his new attachment to + Cytherea. Almost the only woman who did not believe this was Cytherea + herself, on unmistakable grounds, which were hidden from all besides. It + was not only in public, but even more markedly in secluded places, on + occasions when gallantry would have been safe from all discovery, that + this guarded course of action was pursued, all the strength of a consuming + passion burning in his eyes the while. + </p> + <p> + 2. NOVEMBER THE EIGHTEENTH + </p> + <p> + It was on a Friday in this month of November that Owen Graye paid a visit + to his sister. + </p> + <p> + His zealous integrity still retained for him the situation at Budmouth, + and in order that there should be as little interruption as possible to + his duties there, he had decided not to come to Knapwater till late in the + afternoon, and to return to Budmouth by the first train the next morning, + Miss Aldclyffe having made a point of frequently offering him lodging for + an unlimited period, to the great pleasure of Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + He reached the house about four o’clock, and ringing the bell, asked of + the page who answered it for Miss Graye. + </p> + <p> + When Graye spoke the name of his sister, Manston, who was just coming out + from an interview with Miss Aldclyffe, passed him in the vestibule and + heard the question. The steward’s face grew hot, and he secretly clenched + his hands. He half crossed the court, then turned his head and saw that + the lad still stood at the door, though Owen had been shown into the + house. Manston went back to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who was that man?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has he ever been here before?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How many times?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Three.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are sure you don’t know him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think he is Miss Graye’s brother, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then, why the devil didn’t you say so before!’ Manston exclaimed, and + again went on his way. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course, that was not the man of my dreams—of course, it couldn’t + be!’ he said to himself. ‘That I should be such a fool—such an utter + fool. Good God! to allow a girl to influence me like this, day after day, + till I am jealous of her very brother. A lady’s dependent, a waif, a + helpless thing entirely at the mercy of the world; yes, curse it; that is + just why it is; that fact of her being so helpless against the blows of + circumstances which renders her so deliciously sweet!’ + </p> + <p> + He paused opposite his house. Should he get his horse saddled? No. + </p> + <p> + He went down the drive and out of the park, having started to proceed to + an outlying spot on the estate concerning some draining, and to call at + the potter’s yard to make an arrangement for the supply of pipes. But a + remark which Miss Aldclyffe had dropped in relation to Cytherea was what + still occupied his mind, and had been the immediate cause of his + excitement at the sight of her brother. Miss Aldclyffe had meaningly + remarked during their intercourse, that Cytherea was wildly in love with + Edward Springrove, in spite of his engagement to his cousin Adelaide. + </p> + <p> + ‘How I am harassed!’ he said aloud, after deep thought for half-an-hour, + while still continuing his walk with the greatest vehemence. ‘How I am + harassed by these emotions of mine!’ He calmed himself by an effort. + ‘Well, duty after all it shall be, as nearly as I can effect it. “Honesty + is the best policy;”’ with which vigorously uttered resolve he once more + attempted to turn his attention to the prosy object of his journey. + </p> + <p> + The evening had closed in to a dark and dreary night when the steward came + from the potter’s door to proceed homewards again. The gloom did not tend + to raise his spirits, and in the total lack of objects to attract his eye, + he soon fell to introspection as before. It was along the margin of turnip + fields that his path lay, and the large leaves of the crop struck flatly + against his feet at every step, pouring upon them the rolling drops of + moisture gathered upon their broad surfaces; but the annoyance was + unheeded. Next reaching a fir plantation, he mounted the stile and + followed the path into the midst of the darkness produced by the + overhanging trees. + </p> + <p> + After walking under the dense shade of the inky boughs for a few minutes, + he fancied he had mistaken the path, which as yet was scarcely familiar to + him. This was proved directly afterwards by his coming at right angles + upon some obstruction, which careful feeling with outstretched hands soon + told him to be a rail fence. However, as the wood was not large, he + experienced no alarm about finding the path again, and with some sense of + pleasure halted awhile against the rails, to listen to the intensely + melancholy yet musical wail of the fir-tops, and as the wind passed on, + the prompt moan of an adjacent plantation in reply. He could just dimly + discern the airy summits of the two or three trees nearest him waving + restlessly backwards and forwards, and stretching out their boughs like + hairy arms into the dull sky. The scene, from its striking and emphatic + loneliness, began to grow congenial to his mood; all of human kind seemed + at the antipodes. + </p> + <p> + A sudden rattle on his right hand caused him to start from his reverie, + and turn in that direction. There, before him, he saw rise up from among + the trees a fountain of sparks and smoke, then a red glare of light coming + forward towards him; then a flashing panorama of illuminated oblong + pictures; then the old darkness, more impressive than ever. + </p> + <p> + The surprise, which had owed its origin to his imperfect acquaintance with + the topographical features of that end of the estate, had been but + momentary; the disturbance, a well-known one to dwellers by a railway, + being caused by the 6.50 down-train passing along a shallow cutting in the + midst of the wood immediately below where he stood, the driver having the + fire-door of the engine open at the minute of going by. The train had, + when passing him, already considerably slackened speed, and now a whistle + was heard, announcing that Carriford Road Station was not far in its van. + </p> + <p> + But contrary to the natural order of things, the discovery that it was + only a commonplace train had not caused Manston to stir from his position + of facing the railway. + </p> + <p> + If the 6.50 down-train had been a flash of forked lightning transfixing + him to the earth, he could scarcely have remained in a more trance-like + state. He still leant against the railings, his right hand still continued + pressing on his walking-stick, his weight on one foot, his other heel + raised, his eyes wide open towards the blackness of the cutting. The only + movement in him was a slight dropping of the lower jaw, separating his + previously closed lips a little way, as when a strange conviction rushes + home suddenly upon a man. A new surprise, not nearly so trivial as the + first, had taken possession of him. + </p> + <p> + It was on this account. At one of the illuminated windows of a + second-class carriage in the series gone by, he had seen a pale face, + reclining upon one hand, the light from the lamp falling full upon it. The + face was a woman’s. + </p> + <p> + At last Manston moved; gave a whispering kind of whistle, adjusted his + hat, and walked on again, cross-questioning himself in every direction as + to how a piece of knowledge he had carefully concealed had found its way + to another person’s intelligence. ‘How can my address have become known?’ + he said at length, audibly. ‘Well, it is a blessing I have been + circumspect and honourable, in relation to that—yes, I will say it, + for once, even if the words choke me, that darling of mine, Cytherea, + never to be my own, never. I suppose all will come out now. All!’ The + great sadness of his utterance proved that no mean force had been + exercised upon himself to sustain the circumspection he had just claimed. + </p> + <p> + He wheeled to the left, pursued the ditch beside the railway fence, and + presently emerged from the wood, stepping into a road which crossed the + railway by a bridge. + </p> + <p> + As he neared home, the anxiety lately written in his face, merged by + degrees into a grimly humorous smile, which hung long upon his lips, and + he quoted aloud a line from the book of Jeremiah— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘A woman shall compass a man.’ +</pre> + <p> + 3. NOVEMBER THE NINETEENTH. DAYBREAK + </p> + <p> + Before it was light the next morning, two little naked feet pattered along + the passage in Knapwater House, from which Owen Graye’s bedroom opened, + and a tap was given upon his door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen, Owen, are you awake?’ said Cytherea in a whisper through the + keyhole. ‘You must get up directly, or you’ll miss the train.’ + </p> + <p> + When he descended to his sister’s little room, he found her there already + waiting with a cup of cocoa and a grilled rasher on the table for him. A + hasty meal was despatched in the intervals of putting on his overcoat and + finding his hat, and they then went softly through the long deserted + passages, the kitchen-maid who had prepared their breakfast walking before + them with a lamp held high above her head, which cast long wheeling + shadows down corridors intersecting the one they followed, their remoter + ends being lost in darkness. The door was unbolted and they stepped out. + </p> + <p> + Owen had preferred walking to the station to accepting the pony-carriage + which Miss Aldclyffe had placed at his disposal, having a morbid horror of + giving trouble to people richer than himself, and especially to their + men-servants, who looked down upon him as a hybrid monster in social + position. Cytherea proposed to walk a little way with him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I want to talk to you as long as I can,’ she said tenderly. + </p> + <p> + Brother and sister then emerged by the heavy door into the drive. The + feeling and aspect of the hour were precisely similar to those under which + the steward had left the house the evening previous, excepting that + apparently unearthly reversal of natural sequence, which is caused by the + world getting lighter instead of darker. ‘The tearful glimmer of the + languid dawn’ was just sufficient to reveal to them the melancholy red + leaves, lying thickly in the channels by the roadside, ever and anon + loudly tapped on by heavy drops of water, which the boughs above had + collected from the foggy air. + </p> + <p> + They passed the Old House, engaged in a deep conversation, and had + proceeded about twenty yards by a cross route, in the direction of the + turnpike road, when the form of a woman emerged from the porch of the + building. + </p> + <p> + She was wrapped in a grey waterproof cloak, the hood of which was drawn + over her head and closely round her face—so closely that her eyes + were the sole features uncovered. + </p> + <p> + With this one exception of her appearance there, the most perfect + stillness and silence pervaded the steward’s residence from basement to + chimney. Not a shutter was open; not a twine of smoke came forth. + </p> + <p> + Underneath the ivy-covered gateway she stood still and listened for two, + or possibly three minutes, till she became conscious of others in the + park. Seeing the pair she stepped back, with the apparent intention of + letting them pass out of sight, and evidently wishing to avoid + observation. But looking at her watch, and returning it rapidly to her + pocket, as if surprised at the lateness of the hour, she hurried out + again, and across the park by a still more oblique line than that traced + by Owen and his sister. + </p> + <p> + These in the meantime had got into the road, and were walking along it as + the woman came up on the other side of the boundary hedge, looking for a + gate or stile, by which she, too, might get off the grass upon the hard + ground. + </p> + <p> + Their conversation, of which every word was clear and distinct, in the + still air of the dawn, to the distance of a quarter of a mile, reached her + ears, and withdrew her attention from all other matters and sights + whatsoever. Thus arrested she stood for an instant as precisely in the + attitude of Imogen by the cave of Belarius, as if she had studied the + position from the play. When they had advanced a few steps, she followed + them in some doubt, still screened by the hedge. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you believe in such odd coincidences?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you mean, believe in them? They occur sometimes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, one will occur often enough—that is, two disconnected events + will fall strangely together by chance, and people scarcely notice the + fact beyond saying, “Oddly enough it happened that so and so were the + same,” and so on. But when three such events coincide without any apparent + reason for the coincidence, it seems as if there must be invisible means + at work. You see, three things falling together in that manner are ten + times as singular as two cases of coincidence which are distinct.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, of course: what a mathematical head you have, Cytherea! But I don’t + see so much to marvel at in our case. That the man who kept the + public-house in which Miss Aldclyffe fainted, and who found out her name + and position, lives in this neighbourhood, is accounted for by the fact + that she got him the berth to stop his tongue. That you came here was + simply owing to Springrove.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, but look at this. Miss Aldclyffe is the woman our father first loved, + and I have come to Miss Aldclyffe’s; you can’t get over that.’ + </p> + <p> + From these premises, she proceeded to argue like an elderly divine on the + designs of Providence which were apparent in such conjunctures, and went + into a variety of details connected with Miss Aldclyffe’s history. + </p> + <p> + ‘Had I better tell Miss Aldclyffe that I know all this?’ she inquired at + last. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the use?’ he said. ‘Your possessing the knowledge does no harm; + you are at any rate comfortable here, and a confession to Miss Aldclyffe + might only irritate her. No, hold your tongue, Cytherea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I fancy I should have been tempted to tell her too,’ Cytherea went on, + ‘had I not found out that there exists a very odd, almost imperceptible, + and yet real connection of some kind between her and Mr. Manston, which is + more than that of a mutual interest in the estate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is in love with him!’ exclaimed Owen; ‘fancy that!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—that’s what everybody says who has been keen enough to notice + anything. I said so at first. And yet now I cannot persuade myself that + she is in love with him at all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why can’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She doesn’t act as if she were. She isn’t—you will know I don’t say + it from any vanity, Owen—she isn’t the least jealous of me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps she is in some way in his power.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—she is not. He was openly advertised for, and chosen from forty + or fifty who answered the advertisement, without knowing whose it was. And + since he has been here, she has certainly done nothing to compromise + herself in any way. Besides, why should she have brought an enemy here at + all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then she must have fallen in love with him. You know as well as I do, + Cyth, that with women there’s nothing between the two poles of emotion + towards an interesting male acquaintance. ‘Tis either love or aversion.’ + </p> + <p> + They walked for a few minutes in silence, when Cytherea’s eyes + accidentally fell upon her brother’s feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen,’ she said, ‘do you know that there is something unusual in your + manner of walking?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it like?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t quite say, except that you don’t walk so regularly as you used + to.’ + </p> + <p> + The woman behind the hedge, who had still continued to dog their + footsteps, made an impatient movement at this change in their + conversation, and looked at her watch again. Yet she seemed reluctant to + give over listening to them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ Owen returned with assumed carelessness, ‘I do know it. I think the + cause of it is that mysterious pain which comes just above my ankle + sometimes. You remember the first time I had it? That day we went by + steam-packet to Lulstead Cove, when it hindered me from coming back to + you, and compelled me to sleep with the gateman we have been talking + about.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But is it anything serious, dear Owen?’ Cytherea exclaimed, with some + alarm. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, nothing at all. It is sure to go off again. I never find a sign of it + when I sit in the office.’ + </p> + <p> + Again their unperceived companion made a gesture of vexation, and looked + at her watch as if time were precious. But the dialogue still flowed on + upon this new subject, and showed no sign of returning to its old channel. + </p> + <p> + Gathering up her skirt decisively she renounced all further hope, and + hurried along the ditch till she had dropped into a valley, and came to a + gate which was beyond the view of those coming behind. This she softly + opened, and came out upon the road, following it in the direction of the + railway station. + </p> + <p> + Presently she heard Owen Graye’s footsteps in her rear, his quickened pace + implying that he had parted from his sister. The woman thereupon increased + her rapid walk to a run, and in a few minutes safely distanced her + fellow-traveller. + </p> + <p> + The railway at Carriford Road consisted only of a single line of rails; + and the short local down-train by which Owen was going to Budmouth was + shunted on to a siding whilst the first up-train passed. Graye entered the + waiting-room, and the door being open he listlessly observed the movements + of a woman wearing a long grey cloak, and closely hooded, who had asked + for a ticket for London. + </p> + <p> + He followed her with his eyes on to the platform, saw her waiting there + and afterwards stepping into the train: his recollection of her ceasing + with the perception. + </p> + <p> + 4. EIGHT TO TEN O’CLOCK A.M. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crickett, twice a widow, and now the parish clerk’s wife, a + fine-framed, scandal-loving woman, with a peculiar corner to her eye by + which, without turning her head, she could see what people were doing + almost behind her, lived in a cottage standing nearer to the old + manor-house than any other in the village of Carriford, and she had on + that account been temporarily engaged by the steward, as a respectable + kind of charwoman and general servant, until a settled arrangement could + be made with some person as permanent domestic. + </p> + <p> + Every morning, therefore, Mrs. Crickett, immediately she had lighted the + fire in her own cottage, and prepared the breakfast for herself and + husband, paced her way to the Old House to do the same for Mr. Manston. + Then she went home to breakfast; and when the steward had eaten his, and + had gone out on his rounds, she returned again to clear away, make his + bed, and put the house in order for the day. + </p> + <p> + On the morning of Owen Graye’s departure, she went through the operations + of her first visit as usual—proceeded home to breakfast, and went + back again, to perform those of the second. + </p> + <p> + Entering Manston’s empty bedroom, with her hands on her hips, she + indifferently cast her eyes upon the bed, previously to dismantling it. + </p> + <p> + Whilst she looked, she thought in an inattentive manner, ‘What a + remarkably quiet sleeper Mr. Manston must be!’ The upper bed-clothes were + flung back, certainly, but the bed was scarcely disarranged. ‘Anybody + would almost fancy,’ she thought, ‘that he had made it himself after + rising.’ + </p> + <p> + But these evanescent thoughts vanished as they had come, and Mrs. Crickett + set to work; she dragged off the counterpane, blankets and sheets, and + stooped to lift the pillows. Thus stooping, something arrested her + attention; she looked closely—more closely—very closely. + ‘Well, to be sure!’ was all she could say. The clerk’s wife stood as if + the air had suddenly set to amber, and held her fixed like a fly in it. + </p> + <p> + The object of her wonder was a trailing brown hair, very little less than + a yard long, which proved it clearly to be a hair from some woman’s head. + She drew it off the pillow, and took it to the window; there holding it + out she looked fixedly at it, and became utterly lost in meditation: her + gaze, which had at first actively settled on the hair, involuntarily + dropped past its object by degrees and was lost on the floor, as the inner + vision obscured the outer one. + </p> + <p> + She at length moistened her lips, returned her eyes to the hair, wound it + round her fingers, put it in some paper, and secreted the whole in her + pocket. Mrs. Crickett’s thoughts were with her work no more that morning. + </p> + <p> + She searched the house from roof-tree to cellar, for some other trace of + feminine existence or appurtenance; but none was to be found. + </p> + <p> + She went out into the yard, coal-hole, stable, hay-loft, green-house, + fowl-house, and piggery, and still there was no sign. Coming in again, she + saw a bonnet, eagerly pounced upon it; and found it to be her own. + </p> + <p> + Hastily completing her arrangements in the other rooms, she entered the + village again, and called at once on the postmistress, Elizabeth Leat, an + intimate friend of hers, and a female who sported several unique diseases + and afflictions. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crickett unfolded the paper, took out the hair, and waved it on high + before the perplexed eyes of Elizabeth, which immediately mooned and + wandered after it like a cat’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Leat, contracting her eyelids, and stretching out + towards the invisible object a narrow bony hand that would have been an + unmitigated delight to the pencil of Carlo Crivelli. + </p> + <p> + ‘You shall hear,’ said Mrs. Crickett, complacently gathering up the + treasure into her own fat hand; and the secret was then solemnly imparted, + together with the accident of its discovery. + </p> + <p> + A shaving-glass was taken down from a nail, laid on its back in the middle + of a table by the window, and the hair spread carefully out upon it. The + pair then bent over the table from opposite sides, their elbows on the + edge, their hands supporting their heads, their foreheads nearly touching, + and their eyes upon the hair. + </p> + <p> + ‘He ha’ been mad a’ter my lady Cytherea,’ said Mrs. Crickett, ‘and ‘tis my + very belief the hair is—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No ‘tidn’. Hers idn’ so dark as that,’ said Elizabeth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elizabeth, you know that as the faithful wife of a servant of the Church, + I should be glad to think as you do about the girl. Mind I don’t wish to + say anything against Miss Graye, but this I do say, that I believe her to + be a nameless thing, and she’s no right to stick a moral clock in her + face, and deceive the country in such a way. If she wasn’t of a bad stock + at the outset she was bad in the planten, and if she wasn’t bad in the + planten, she was bad in the growen, and if not in the growen, she’s made + bad by what she’s gone through since.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I have another reason for knowing it idn’ hers,’ said Mrs. Leat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! I know whose it is then—Miss Aldclyffe’s, upon my song!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis the colour of hers, but I don’t believe it to be hers either.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you believe what they d’ say about her and him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I say nothen about that; but you don’t know what I know about his + letters.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What about ‘em?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He d’ post all his letters here except those for one person, and they he + d’ take to Budmouth. My son is in Budmouth Post Office, as you know, and + as he d’ sit at desk he can see over the blind of the window all the + people who d’ post letters. Mr. Manston d’ unvariably go there wi’ letters + for that person; my boy d’ know ‘em by sight well enough now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it a she?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a she.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s her name?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The little stunpoll of a fellow couldn’t call to mind more than that ‘tis + Miss Somebody, of London. However, that’s the woman who ha’ been here, + depend upon’t—a wicked one—some poor street-wench escaped from + Sodom, I warrant ye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only to find herself in Gomorrah, seemingly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That may be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, Mrs. Leat, this is clear to me. ‘Tis no miss who came here to see + our steward last night—whenever she came or wherever she vanished. + Do you think he would ha’ let a miss get here how she could, go away how + she would, without breakfast or help of any kind?’ + </p> + <p> + Elizabeth shook her head—Mrs. Crickett looked at her solemnly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say I know she had no help of any kind; I know it was so, for the grate + was quite cold when I touched it this morning with these fingers, and he + was still in bed. No, he wouldn’t take the trouble to write letters to a + girl and then treat her so off-hand as that. There’s a tie between ‘em + stronger than feelen. She’s his wife.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He married! The Lord so ‘s, what shall we hear next? Do he look married + now? His are not the abashed eyes and lips of a married man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps she’s a tame one—but she’s his wife still.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no: he’s not a married man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, he is. I’ve had three, and I ought to know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, well,’ said Mrs. Leat, giving way. ‘Whatever may be the truth on’t + I trust Providence will settle it all for the best, as He always do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay, Elizabeth,’ rejoined Mrs. Crickett with a satirical sigh, as she + turned on her foot to go home, ‘good people like you may say so, but I + have always found Providence a different sort of feller.’ + </p> + <p> + 5. NOVEMBER THE TWENTIETH + </p> + <p> + It was Miss Aldclyffe’s custom, a custom originated by her father, and + nourished by her own exclusiveness, to unlock the post-bag herself every + morning, instead of allowing the duty to devolve on the butler, as was the + case in most of the neighbouring county families. The bag was brought + upstairs each morning to her dressing-room, where she took out the + contents, mostly in the presence of her maid and Cytherea, who had the + entree of the chamber at all hours, and attended there in the morning at a + kind of reception on a small scale, which was held by Miss Aldclyffe of + her namesake only. + </p> + <p> + Here she read her letters before the glass, whilst undergoing the + operation of being brushed and dressed. + </p> + <p> + ‘What woman can this be, I wonder?’ she said on the morning succeeding + that of the last section. ‘“London, N.!” It is the first time in my life I + ever had a letter from that outlandish place, the North side of London.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea had just come into her presence to learn if there was anything + for herself; and on being thus addressed, walked up to Miss Aldclyffe’s + corner of the room to look at the curiosity which had raised such an + exclamation. But the lady, having opened the envelope and read a few + lines, put it quickly in her pocket, before Cytherea could reach her side. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, ‘tis nothing,’ she said. She proceeded to make general remarks in a + noticeably forced tone of sang-froid, from which she soon lapsed into + silence. Not another word was said about the letter: she seemed very + anxious to get her dressing done, and the room cleared. Thereupon Cytherea + went away to the other window, and a few minutes later left the room to + follow her own pursuits. + </p> + <p> + It was late when Miss Aldclyffe descended to the breakfast-table and then + she seemed there to no purpose; tea, coffee, eggs, cutlets, and all their + accessories, were left absolutely untasted. The next that was seen of her + was when walking up and down the south terrace, and round the flower-beds; + her face was pale, and her tread was fitful, and she crumpled a letter in + her hand. + </p> + <p> + Dinner-time came round as usual; she did not speak ten words, or indeed + seem conscious of the meal; for all that Miss Aldclyffe did in the way of + eating, dinner might have been taken out as intact as it was taken in. + </p> + <p> + In her own private apartment Miss Aldclyffe again pulled out the letter of + the morning. One passage in it ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course, being his wife, I could publish the fact, and compel him to + acknowledge me at any moment, notwithstanding his threats, and reasonings + that it will be better to wait. I have waited, and waited again, and the + time for such acknowledgment seems no nearer than at first. To show you + how patiently I have waited I can tell you that not till a fortnight ago, + when by stress of circumstances I had been driven to new lodgings, have I + ever assumed my married name, solely on account of its having been his + request all along that I should not do it. This writing to you, madam, is + my first disobedience, and I am justified in it. A woman who is driven to + visit her husband like a thief in the night and then sent away like a + street dog—left to get up, unbolt, unbar, and find her way out of + the house as she best may—is justified in doing anything. + </p> + <p> + ‘But should I demand of him a restitution of rights, there would be + involved a publicity which I could not endure, and a noisy scandal + flinging my name the length and breadth of the country. + </p> + <p> + ‘What I still prefer to any such violent means is that you reason with him + privately, and compel him to bring me home to your parish in a decent and + careful manner, in the way that would be adopted by any respectable man, + whose wife had been living away from him for some time, by reason, say, of + peculiar family circumstances which had caused disunion, but not enmity, + and who at length was enabled to reinstate her in his house. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will, I know, oblige me in this, especially as knowledge of a + peculiar transaction of your own, which took place some years ago, has + lately come to me in a singular way. I will not at present trouble you by + describing how. It is enough, that I alone, of all people living, know <i>all + the sides of the story</i>, those from whom I collected it having each + only a partial knowledge which confuses them and points to nothing. One + person knows of your early engagement and its sudden termination; another, + of the reason of those strange meetings at inns and coffee-houses; + another, of what was sufficient to cause all this, and so on. I know what + fits one and all the circumstances like a key, and shows them to be the + natural outcrop of a rational (though rather rash) line of conduct for a + young lady. You will at once perceive how it was that some at least of + these things were revealed to me. + </p> + <p> + ‘This knowledge then, common to, and secretly treasured by us both, is the + ground upon which I beg for your friendship and help, with a feeling that + you will be too generous to refuse it to me. + </p> + <p> + ‘I may add that, as yet, my husband knows nothing of this, neither need he + if you remember my request.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A threat—a flat stinging threat! as delicately wrapped up in words + as the woman could do it; a threat from a miserable unknown creature to an + Aldclyffe, and not the least proud member of the family either! A threat + on his account—O, O! shall it be?’ + </p> + <p> + Presently this humour of defiance vanished, and the members of her body + became supple again, her proceedings proving that it was absolutely + necessary to give way, Aldclyffe as she was. She wrote a short answer to + Mrs. Manston, saying civilly that Mr. Manston’s possession of such a near + relation was a fact quite new to herself, and that she would see what + could be done in such an unfortunate affair. + </p> + <p> + 6. NOVEMBER THE TWENTY-FIRST + </p> + <p> + Manston received a message the next day requesting his attendance at the + House punctually at eight o’clock the ensuing evening. Miss Aldclyffe was + brave and imperious, but with the purpose she had in view she could not + look him in the face whilst daylight shone upon her. + </p> + <p> + The steward was shown into the library. On entering it, he was immediately + struck with the unusual gloom which pervaded the apartment. The fire was + dead and dull, one lamp, and that a comparatively small one, was burning + at the extreme end, leaving the main proportion of the lofty and sombre + room in an artificial twilight, scarcely powerful enough to render visible + the titles of the folio and quarto volumes which were jammed into the + lower tiers of the bookshelves. + </p> + <p> + After keeping him waiting for more than twenty minutes (Miss Aldclyffe + knew that excellent recipe for taking the stiffness out of human flesh, + and for extracting all pre-arrangement from human speech) she entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + Manston sought her eye directly. The hue of her features was not + discernible, but the calm glance she flung at him, from which all attempt + at returning his scrutiny was absent, awoke him to the perception that + probably his secret was by some means or other known to her; how it had + become known he could not tell. + </p> + <p> + She drew forth the letter, unfolded it, and held it up to him, letting it + hang by one corner from between her finger and thumb, so that the light + from the lamp, though remote, fell directly upon its surface. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know whose writing this is?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + He saw the strokes plainly, instantly resolving to burn his ships and + hazard all on an advance. + </p> + <p> + ‘My wife’s,’ he said calmly. + </p> + <p> + His quiet answer threw her off her balance. She had no more expected an + answer than does a preacher when he exclaims from the pulpit, ‘Do you feel + your sin?’ She had clearly expected a sudden alarm. + </p> + <p> + ‘And why all this concealment?’ she said again, her voice rising, as she + vainly endeavoured to control her feelings, whatever they were. + </p> + <p> + ‘It doesn’t follow that, because a man is married, he must tell every + stranger of it, madam,’ he answered, just as calmly as before. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stranger! well, perhaps not; but, Mr. Manston, why did you choose to + conceal it, I ask again? I have a perfect right to ask this question, as + you will perceive, if you consider the terms of my advertisement.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will tell you. There were two simple reasons. The first was this + practical one; you advertised for an unmarried man, if you remember?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course I remember.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, an incident suggested to me that I should try for the situation. I + was married; but, knowing that in getting an office where there is a + restriction of this kind, leaving one’s wife behind is always accepted as + a fulfilment of the condition, I left her behind for awhile. The other + reason is, that these terms of yours afforded me a plausible excuse for + escaping (for a short time) the company of a woman I had been mistaken in + marrying.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mistaken! what was she?’ the lady inquired. + </p> + <p> + ‘A third-rate actress, whom I met with during my stay in Liverpool last + summer, where I had gone to fulfil a short engagement with an architect.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where did she come from?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is an American by birth, and I grew to dislike her when we had been + married a week.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She was ugly, I imagine?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is not an ugly woman by any means.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Up to the ordinary standard?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite up to the ordinary standard—indeed, handsome. After a while + we quarrelled and separated.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You did not ill-use her, of course?’ said Miss Aldclyffe, with a little + sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + ‘I did not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But at any rate, you got thoroughly tired of her.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston looked as if he began to think her questions out of place; + however, he said quietly, ‘I did get tired of her. I never told her so, + but we separated; I to come here, bringing her with me as far as London + and leaving her there in perfectly comfortable quarters; and though your + advertisement expressed a single man, I have always intended to tell you + the whole truth; and this was when I was going to tell it, when your + satisfaction with my careful management of your affairs should have proved + the risk to be a safe one to run.’ + </p> + <p> + She bowed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I saw that you were good enough to be interested in my welfare to a + greater extent than I could have anticipated or hoped, judging you by the + frigidity of other employers, and this caused me to hesitate. I was vexed + at the complication of affairs. So matters stood till three nights ago; I + was then walking home from the pottery, and came up to the railway. The + down-train came along close to me, and there, sitting at a carriage + window, I saw my wife: she had found out my address, and had thereupon + determined to follow me here. I had not been home many minutes before she + came in, next morning early she left again—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because you treated her so cavalierly?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And as I suppose, wrote to you directly. That’s the whole story of her, + madam.’ Whatever were Manston’s real feelings towards the lady who had + received his explanation in these supercilious tones, they remained locked + within him as within a casket of steel. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did your friends know of your marriage, Mr. Manston?’ she continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody at all; we kept it a secret for various reasons.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is true then that, as your wife tells me in this letter, she has not + passed as Mrs. Manston till within these last few days?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is quite true; I was in receipt of a very small and uncertain income + when we married; and so she continued playing at the theatre as before our + marriage, and in her maiden name.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has she any friends?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never heard that she has any in England. She came over here on + some theatrical speculation, as one of a company who were going to do + much, but who never did anything; and here she has remained.’ + </p> + <p> + A pause ensued, which was terminated by Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Now, though I have no direct right to concern + myself with your private affairs (beyond those which arise from your + misleading me and getting the office you hold)—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As to that, madam,’ he interrupted, rather hotly, ‘as to coming here, I + am vexed as much as you. Somebody, a member of the Institute of Architects—who, + I could never tell—sent to my old address in London your + advertisement cut from the paper; it was forwarded to me; I wanted to get + away from Liverpool, and it seemed as if this was put in my way on + purpose, by some old friend or other. I answered the advertisement + certainly, but I was not particularly anxious to come here, nor am I + anxious to stay.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe descended from haughty superiority to womanly persuasion + with a haste which was almost ludicrous. Indeed, the Quos ego of the whole + lecture had been less the genuine menace of the imperious ruler of + Knapwater than an artificial utterance to hide a failing heart. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, now, Mr. Manston, you wrong me; don’t suppose I wish to be + overbearing, or anything of the kind; and you will allow me to say this + much, at any rate, that I have become interested in your wife, as well as + in yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly, madam,’ he said, slowly, like a man feeling his way in the + dark. Manston was utterly at fault now. His previous experience of the + effect of his form and features upon womankind en masse, had taught him to + flatter himself that he could account by the same law of natural selection + for the extraordinary interest Miss Aldclyffe had hitherto taken in him, + as an unmarried man; an interest he did not at all object to, seeing that + it kept him near Cytherea, and enabled him, a man of no wealth, to rule on + the estate as if he were its lawful owner. Like Curius at his Sabine farm, + he had counted it his glory not to possess gold himself, but to have power + over her who did. But at this hint of the lady’s wish to take his wife + under her wing also, he was perplexed: could she have any sinister motive + in doing so? But he did not allow himself to be troubled with these + doubts, which only concerned his wife’s happiness. + </p> + <p> + ‘She tells me,’ continued Miss Aldclyffe, ‘how utterly alone in the world + she stands, and that is an additional reason why I should sympathize with + her. Instead, then, of requesting the favour of your retirement from the + post, and dismissing your interests altogether, I will retain you as my + steward still, on condition that you bring home your wife, and live with + her respectably, in short, as if you loved her; you understand. I <i>wish</i> + you to stay here if you grant that everything shall flow smoothly between + yourself and her.’ + </p> + <p> + The breast and shoulders of the steward rose, as if an expression of + defiance was about to be poured forth; before it took form, he controlled + himself and said, in his natural voice— + </p> + <p> + ‘My part of the performance shall be carried out, madam.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And her anxiety to obtain a standing in the world ensures that hers + will,’ replied Miss Aldclyffe. ‘That will be satisfactory, then.’ + </p> + <p> + After a few additional remarks, she gently signified that she wished to + put an end to the interview. The steward took the hint and retired. + </p> + <p> + He felt vexed and mortified; yet in walking homeward he was convinced that + telling the whole truth as he had done, with the single exception of his + love for Cytherea (which he tried to hide even from himself), had never + served him in better stead than it had done that night. + </p> + <p> + Manston went to his desk and thought of Cytherea’s beauty with the + bitterest, wildest regret. After the lapse of a few minutes he calmed + himself by a stoical effort, and wrote the subjoined letter to his wife:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘KNAPWATER, + November 21, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + ‘DEAR EUNICE,—I hope you reached London safely after your flighty + visit to me. + </p> + <p> + ‘As I promised, I have thought over our conversation that night, and your + wish that your coming here should be no longer delayed. After all, it was + perfectly natural that you should have spoken unkindly as you did, + ignorant as you were of the circumstances which bound me. + </p> + <p> + ‘So I have made arrangements to fetch you home at once. It is hardly worth + while for you to attempt to bring with you any luggage you may have + gathered about you (beyond mere clothing). Dispose of superfluous things + at a broker’s; your bringing them would only make a talk in this parish, + and lead people to believe we had long been keeping house separately. + </p> + <p> + ‘Will next Monday suit you for coming? You have nothing to do that can + occupy you for more than a day or two, as far as I can see, and the + remainder of this week will afford ample time. I can be in London the + night before, and we will come down together by the mid-day train—Your + very affectionate husband, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘AENEAS MANSTON. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Now, of course, I shall no longer write to you as Mrs. Rondley.’ + </p> + <p> + The address on the envelope was— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +MRS. MANSTON, 41 CHARLES SQUARE, + HOXTON, + LONDON, N. +</pre> + <p> + He took the letter to the house, and it being too late for the country + post, sent one of the stablemen with it to Casterbridge, instead of + troubling to go to Budmouth with it himself as heretofore. He had no + longer any necessity to keep his condition a secret. + </p> + <p> + 7. FROM THE TWENTY-SECOND TO THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF NOVEMBER + </p> + <p> + But the next morning Manston found that he had been forgetful of another + matter, in naming the following Monday to his wife for the journey. + </p> + <p> + The fact was this. A letter had just come, reminding him that he had left + the whole of the succeeding week open for an important business engagement + with a neighbouring land-agent, at that gentleman’s residence thirteen + miles off. The particular day he had suggested to his wife, had, in the + interim, been appropriated by his correspondent. The meeting could not now + be put off. + </p> + <p> + So he wrote again to his wife, stating that business, which could not be + postponed, called him away from home on Monday, and would entirely prevent + him coming all the way to fetch her on Sunday night as he had intended, + but that he would meet her at the Carriford Road Station with a conveyance + when she arrived there in the evening. + </p> + <p> + The next day came his wife’s answer to his first letter, in which she said + that she would be ready to be fetched at the time named. Having already + written his second letter, which was by that time in her hands, he made no + further reply. + </p> + <p> + The week passed away. The steward had, in the meantime, let it become + generally known in the village that he was a married man, and by a little + judicious management, sound family reasons for his past secrecy upon the + subject, which were floated as adjuncts to the story, were placidly + received; they seemed so natural and justifiable to the unsophisticated + minds of nine-tenths of his neighbours, that curiosity in the matter, + beyond a strong curiosity to see the lady’s face, was well-nigh + extinguished. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. THE EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + 1. NOVEMBER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. UNTIL TEN P.M. + </h3> + <p> + Monday came, the day named for Mrs. Manston’s journey from London to her + husband’s house; a day of singular and great events, influencing the + present and future of nearly all the personages whose actions in a complex + drama form the subject of this record. + </p> + <p> + The proceedings of the steward demand the first notice. Whilst taking his + breakfast on this particular morning, the clock pointing to eight, the + horse-and-gig that was to take him to Chettlewood waiting ready at the + door, Manston hurriedly cast his eyes down the column of Bradshaw which + showed the details and duration of the selected train’s journey. + </p> + <p> + The inspection was carelessly made, the leaf being kept open by the aid of + one hand, whilst the other still held his cup of coffee; much more + carelessly than would have been the case had the expected new-comer been + Cytherea Graye, instead of his lawful wife. + </p> + <p> + He did not perceive, branching from the column down which his finger ran, + a small twist, called a shunting-line, inserted at a particular place, to + imply that at that point the train was divided into two. By this oversight + he understood that the arrival of his wife at Carriford Road Station would + not be till late in the evening: by the second half of the train, + containing the third-class passengers, and passing two hours and + three-quarters later than the previous one, by which the lady, as a + second-class passenger, would really be brought. + </p> + <p> + He then considered that there would be plenty of time for him to return + from his day’s engagement to meet this train. He finished his breakfast, + gave proper and precise directions to his servant on the preparations that + were to be made for the lady’s reception, jumped into his gig, and drove + off to Lord Claydonfield’s, at Chettlewood. + </p> + <p> + He went along by the front of Knapwater House. He could not help turning + to look at what he knew to be the window of Cytherea’s room. Whilst he + looked, a hopeless expression of passionate love and sensuous anguish came + upon his face and lingered there for a few seconds; then, as on previous + occasions, it was resolutely repressed, and he trotted along the smooth + white road, again endeavouring to banish all thought of the young girl + whose beauty and grace had so enslaved him. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that when, in the evening of the same day, Mrs. Manston + reached Carriford Road Station, her husband was still at Chettlewood, + ignorant of her arrival, and on looking up and down the platform, dreary + with autumn gloom and wind, she could see no sign that any preparation + whatever had been made for her reception and conduct home. + </p> + <p> + The train went on. She waited, fidgeted with the handle of her umbrella, + walked about, strained her eyes into the gloom of the chilly night, + listened for wheels, tapped with her foot, and showed all the usual signs + of annoyance and irritation: she was the more irritated in that this + seemed a second and culminating instance of her husband’s neglect—the + first having been shown in his not fetching her. + </p> + <p> + Reflecting awhile upon the course it would be best to take, in order to + secure a passage to Knapwater, she decided to leave all her luggage, + except a dressing-bag, in the cloak-room, and walk to her husband’s house, + as she had done on her first visit. She asked one of the porters if he + could find a lad to go with her and carry her bag: he offered to do it + himself. + </p> + <p> + The porter was a good-tempered, shallow-minded, ignorant man. Mrs. + Manston, being apparently in very gloomy spirits, would probably have + preferred walking beside him without saying a word: but her companion + would not allow silence to continue between them for a longer period than + two or three minutes together. + </p> + <p> + He had volunteered several remarks upon her arrival, chiefly to the effect + that it was very unfortunate Mr. Manston had not come to the station for + her, when she suddenly asked him concerning the inhabitants of the parish. + </p> + <p> + He told her categorically the names of the chief—first the chief + possessors of property; then of brains; then of good looks. As first among + the latter he mentioned Miss Cytherea Graye. + </p> + <p> + After getting him to describe her appearance as completely as lay in his + power, she wormed out of him the statement that everybody had been saying—before + Mrs. Manston’s existence was heard of—how well the handsome Mr. + Manston and the beautiful Miss Graye were suited for each other as man and + wife, and that Miss Aldclyffe was the only one in the parish who took no + interest in bringing about the match. + </p> + <p> + ‘He rather liked her you think?’ + </p> + <p> + The porter began to think he had been too explicit, and hastened to + correct the error. + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, he don’t care a bit about her, ma’am,’ he said solemnly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not more than he does about me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then that must be little indeed,’ Mrs. Manston murmured. She stood still, + as if reflecting upon the painful neglect her words had recalled to her + mind; then, with a sudden impulse, turned round, and walked petulantly a + few steps back again in the direction of the station. + </p> + <p> + The porter stood still and looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll go back again; yes, indeed, I’ll go back again!’ she said + plaintively. Then she paused and looked anxiously up and down the deserted + road. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I mustn’t go back now,’ she continued, in a tone of resignation. + Seeing that the porter was watching her, she turned about and came on as + before, giving vent to a slight laugh. + </p> + <p> + It was a laugh full of character; the low forced laugh which seeks to hide + the painful perception of a humiliating position under the mask of + indifference. + </p> + <p> + Altogether her conduct had shown her to be what in fact she was, a weak, + though a calculating woman, one clever to conceive, weak to execute: one + whose best-laid schemes were for ever liable to be frustrated by the + ineradicable blight of vacillation at the critical hour of action. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, if I had only known that all this was going to happen!’ she murmured + again, as they paced along upon the rustling leaves. + </p> + <p> + ‘What did you say, ma’am?’ said the porter. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, nothing particular; we are getting near the old manor-house by this + time, I imagine?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very near now, ma’am.’ + </p> + <p> + They soon reached Manston’s residence, round which the wind blew + mournfully and chill. + </p> + <p> + Passing under the detached gateway, they entered the porch. The porter + stepped forward, knocked heavily and waited. + </p> + <p> + Nobody came. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Manston then advanced to the door and gave a different series of + rappings—less forcible, but more sustained. + </p> + <p> + There was not a movement of any kind inside, not a ray of light visible; + nothing but the echo of her own knocks through the passages, and the dry + scratching of the withered leaves blown about her feet upon the floor of + the porch. + </p> + <p> + The steward, of course, was not at home. Mrs. Crickett, not expecting that + anybody would arrive till the time of the later train, had set the place + in order, laid the supper-table, and then locked the door, to go into the + village and converse with her friends. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is there an inn in the village?’ said Mrs. Manston, after the fourth and + loudest rapping upon the iron-studded old door had resulted only in the + fourth and loudest echo from the passages inside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ma’am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who keeps it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Farmer Springrove.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will go there to-night,’ she said decisively. ‘It is too cold, and + altogether too bad, for a woman to wait in the open road on anybody’s + account, gentle or simple.’ + </p> + <p> + They went down the park and through the gate, into the village of + Carriford. By the time they reached the Three Tranters, it was verging + upon ten o’clock. There, on the spot where two months earlier in the + season the sunny and lively group of villagers making cider under the + trees had greeted Cytherea’s eyes, was nothing now intelligible but a vast + cloak of darkness, from which came the low sough of the elms, and the + occasional creak of the swinging sign. + </p> + <p> + They went to the door, Mrs. Manston shivering; but less from the cold, + than from the dreariness of her emotions. Neglect is the coldest of winter + winds. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that Edward Springrove was expected to arrive from London + either on that evening or the next, and at the sound of voices his father + came to the door fully expecting to see him. A picture of disappointment + seldom witnessed in a man’s face was visible in old Mr. Springrove’s, when + he saw that the comer was a stranger. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Manston asked for a room, and one that had been prepared for Edward + was immediately named as being ready for her, another being adaptable for + Edward, should he come in. + </p> + <p> + Without taking any refreshment, or entering any room downstairs, or even + lifting her veil, she walked straight along the passage and up to her + apartment, the chambermaid preceding her. + </p> + <p> + ‘If Mr. Manston comes to-night,’ she said, sitting on the bed as she had + come in, and addressing the woman, ‘tell him I cannot see him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ma’am.’ + </p> + <p> + The woman left the room, and Mrs. Manston locked the door. Before the + servant had gone down more than two or three stairs, Mrs. Manston + unfastened the door again, and held it ajar. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bring me some brandy,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + The chambermaid went down to the bar and brought up the spirit in a + tumbler. When she came into the room, Mrs. Manston had not removed a + single article of apparel, and was walking up and down, as if still quite + undecided upon the course it was best to adopt. + </p> + <p> + Outside the door, when it was closed upon her, the maid paused to listen + for an instant. She heard Mrs. Manston talking to herself. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is welcome home!’ she said. + </p> + <p> + 2. FROM TEN TO HALF-PAST ELEVEN P.M. + </p> + <p> + A strange concurrence of phenomena now confronts us. + </p> + <p> + During the autumn in which the past scenes were enacted, Mr. Springrove + had ploughed, harrowed, and cleaned a narrow and shaded piece of ground, + lying at the back of his house, which for many years had been looked upon + as irreclaimable waste. + </p> + <p> + The couch-grass extracted from the soil had been left to wither in the + sun; afterwards it was raked together, lighted in the customary way, and + now lay smouldering in a large heap in the middle of the plot. + </p> + <p> + It had been kindled three days previous to Mrs. Manston’s arrival, and one + or two villagers, of a more cautious and less sanguine temperament than + Springrove, had suggested that the fire was almost too near the back of + the house for its continuance to be unattended with risk; for though no + danger could be apprehended whilst the air remained moderately still, a + brisk breeze blowing towards the house might possibly carry a spark + across. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, that’s true enough,’ said Springrove. ‘I must look round before going + to bed and see that everything’s safe; but to tell the truth I am anxious + to get the rubbish burnt up before the rain comes to wash it into ground + again. As to carrying the couch into the back field to burn, and bringing + it back again, why, ‘tis more than the ashes would be worth.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, that’s very true,’ said the neighbours, and passed on. + </p> + <p> + Two or three times during the first evening after the heap was lit, he + went to the back door to take a survey. Before bolting and barring up for + the night, he made a final and more careful examination. The + slowly-smoking pile showed not the slightest signs of activity. + Springrove’s perfectly sound conclusion was, that as long as the heap was + not stirred, and the wind continued in the quarter it blew from then, the + couch would not flame, and that there could be no shadow of danger to + anything, even a combustible substance, though it were no more than a yard + off. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the burning couch was discovered in precisely the same + state as when he had gone to bed the preceding night. The heap smoked in + the same manner the whole of that day: at bed-time the farmer looked + towards it, but less carefully than on the first night. + </p> + <p> + The morning and the whole of the third day still saw the heap in its old + smouldering condition; indeed, the smoke was less, and there seemed a + probability that it might have to be re-kindled on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + After admitting Mrs. Manston to his house in the evening, and hearing her + retire, Mr. Springrove returned to the front door to listen for a sound of + his son, and inquired concerning him of the railway-porter, who sat for a + while in the kitchen. The porter had not noticed young Mr. Springrove get + out of the train, at which intelligence the old man concluded that he + would probably not see his son till the next day, as Edward had hitherto + made a point of coming by the train which had brought Mrs. Manston. + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later the porter left the inn, Springrove at the same time + going to the door to listen again an instant, then he walked round and in + at the back of the house. + </p> + <p> + The farmer glanced at the heap casually and indifferently in passing; two + nights of safety seemed to ensure the third; and he was about to bolt and + bar as usual, when the idea struck him that there was just a possibility + of his son’s return by the latest train, unlikely as it was that he would + be so delayed. The old man thereupon left the door unfastened, looked to + his usual matters indoors, and went to bed, it being then half-past ten + o’clock. + </p> + <p> + Farmers and horticulturists well know that it is in the nature of a heap + of couch-grass, when kindled in calm weather, to smoulder for many days, + and even weeks, until the whole mass is reduced to a powdery charcoal ash, + displaying the while scarcely a sign of combustion beyond the volcano-like + smoke from its summit; but the continuance of this quiet process is + throughout its length at the mercy of one particular whim of Nature: that + is, a sudden breeze, by which the heap is liable to be fanned into a flame + so brisk as to consume the whole in an hour or two. + </p> + <p> + Had the farmer narrowly watched the pile when he went to close the door, + he would have seen, besides the familiar twine of smoke from its summit, a + quivering of the air around the mass, showing that a considerable heat had + arisen inside. + </p> + <p> + As the railway-porter turned the corner of the row of houses adjoining the + Three Tranters, a brisk new wind greeted his face, and spread past him + into the village. He walked along the high-road till he came to a gate, + about three hundred yards from the inn. Over the gate could be discerned + the situation of the building he had just quitted. He carelessly turned + his head in passing, and saw behind him a clear red glow indicating the + position of the couch-heap: a glow without a flame, increasing and + diminishing in brightness as the breeze quickened or fell, like the coal + of a newly lighted cigar. If those cottages had been his, he thought, he + should not care to have a fire so near them as that—and the wind + rising. But the cottages not being his, he went on his way to the station, + where he was about to resume duty for the night. The road was now quite + deserted: till four o’clock the next morning, when the carters would go by + to the stables there was little probability of any human being passing the + Three Tranters Inn. + </p> + <p> + By eleven, everybody in the house was asleep. It truly seemed as if the + treacherous element knew there had arisen a grand opportunity for + devastation. + </p> + <p> + At a quarter past eleven a slight stealthy crackle made itself heard amid + the increasing moans of the night wind; the heap glowed brighter still, + and burst into a flame; the flame sank, another breeze entered it, + sustained it, and it grew to be first continuous and weak, then continuous + and strong. + </p> + <p> + At twenty minutes past eleven a blast of wind carried an airy bit of + ignited fern several yards forward, in a direction parallel to the houses + and inn, and there deposited it on the ground. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later another puff of wind carried a similar piece to a + distance of five-and-twenty yards, where it also was dropped softly on the + ground. + </p> + <p> + Still the wind did not blow in the direction of the houses, and even now + to a casual observer they would have appeared safe. But Nature does few + things directly. A minute later yet, an ignited fragment fell upon the + straw covering of a long thatched heap or ‘grave’ of mangel-wurzel, lying + in a direction at right angles to the house, and down toward the hedge. + There the fragment faded to darkness. + </p> + <p> + A short time subsequent to this, after many intermediate deposits and + seemingly baffled attempts, another fragment fell on the mangel-wurzel + grave, and continued to glow; the glow was increased by the wind; the + straw caught fire and burst into flame. It was inevitable that the flame + should run along the ridge of the thatch towards a piggery at the end. Yet + had the piggery been tiled, the time-honoured hostel would even now at + this last moment have been safe; but it was constructed as piggeries are + mostly constructed, of wood and thatch. The hurdles and straw roof of the + frail erection became ignited in their turn, and abutting as the shed did + on the back of the inn, flamed up to the eaves of the main roof in less + than thirty seconds. + </p> + <p> + 3. HALF-PAST ELEVEN TO TWELVE P.M. + </p> + <p> + A hazardous length of time elapsed before the inmates of the Three + Tranters knew of their danger. When at length the discovery was made, the + rush was a rush for bare life. + </p> + <p> + A man’s voice calling, then screams, then loud stamping and shouts were + heard. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove ran out first. Two minutes later appeared the ostler and + chambermaid, who were man and wife. The inn, as has been stated, was a + quaint old building, and as inflammable as a bee-hive; it overhung the + base at the level of the first floor, and again overhung at the eaves, + which were finished with heavy oak barge-boards; every atom in its + substance, every feature in its construction, favoured the fire. + </p> + <p> + The forked flames, lurid and smoky, became nearly lost to view, bursting + forth again with a bound and loud crackle, increased tenfold in power and + brightness. The crackling grew sharper. Long quivering shadows began to be + flung from the stately trees at the end of the house; the square outline + of the church tower, on the other side of the way, which had hitherto been + a dark mass against a sky comparatively light, now began to appear as a + light object against a sky of darkness; and even the narrow surface of the + flag-staff at the top could be seen in its dark surrounding, brought out + from its obscurity by the rays from the dancing light. + </p> + <p> + Shouts and other noises increased in loudness and frequency. The lapse of + ten minutes brought most of the inhabitants of that end of the village + into the street, followed in a short time by the rector, Mr. Raunham. + </p> + <p> + Casting a hasty glance up and down, he beckoned to one or two of the men, + and vanished again. In a short time wheels were heard, and Mr. Raunham and + the men reappeared, with the garden engine, the only one in the village, + except that at Knapwater House. After some little trouble the hose was + connected with a tank in the old stable-yard, and the puny instrument + began to play. + </p> + <p> + Several seemed paralyzed at first, and stood transfixed, their rigid faces + looking like red-hot iron in the glaring light. In the confusion a woman + cried, ‘Ring the bells backwards!’ and three or four of the old and + superstitious entered the belfry and jangled them indescribably. Some were + only half dressed, and, to add to the horror, among them was Clerk + Crickett, running up and down with a face streaming with blood, ghastly + and pitiful to see, his excitement being so great that he had not the + slightest conception of how, when, or where he came by the wound. + </p> + <p> + The crowd was now busy at work, and tried to save a little of the + furniture of the inn. The only room they could enter was the parlour, from + which they managed to bring out the bureau, a few chairs, some old silver + candlesticks, and half-a-dozen light articles; but these were all. + </p> + <p> + Fiery mats of thatch slid off the roof and fell into the road with a + deadened thud, whilst white flakes of straw and wood-ash were flying in + the wind like feathers. At the same time two of the cottages adjoining, + upon which a little water had been brought to play from the rector’s + engine, were seen to be on fire. The attenuated spirt of water was as + nothing upon the heated and dry surface of the thatched roof; the fire + prevailed without a minute’s hindrance, and dived through to the rafters. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly arose a cry, ‘Where’s Mr. Springrove?’ + </p> + <p> + He had vanished from the spot by the churchyard wall, where he had been + standing a few minutes earlier. + </p> + <p> + ‘I fancy he’s gone inside,’ said a voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Madness and folly! what can he save?’ said another. ‘Good God, find him! + Help here!’ + </p> + <p> + A wild rush was made at the door, which had fallen to, and in defiance of + the scorching flame that burst forth, three men forced themselves through + it. Immediately inside the threshold they found the object of their search + lying senseless on the floor of the passage. + </p> + <p> + To bring him out and lay him on a bank was the work of an instant; a basin + of cold water was dashed in his face, and he began to recover + consciousness, but very slowly. He had been saved by a miracle. No sooner + were his preservers out of the building than the window-frames lit up as + if by magic with deep and waving fringes of flames. Simultaneously, the + joints of the boards forming the front door started into view as glowing + bars of fire: a star of red light penetrated the centre, gradually + increasing in size till the flames rushed forth. + </p> + <p> + Then the staircase fell. + </p> + <p> + ‘Everybody is out safe,’ said a voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, thank God!’ said three or four others. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, we forgot that a stranger came! I think she is safe.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope she is,’ said the weak voice of some one coming up from behind. It + was the chambermaid’s. + </p> + <p> + Springrove at that moment aroused himself; he staggered to his feet, and + threw his hands up wildly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Everybody, no! no! The lady who came by train, Mrs. Manston! I tried to + fetch her out, but I fell.’ + </p> + <p> + An exclamation of horror burst from the crowd; it was caused partly by + this disclosure of Springrove, more by the added perception which followed + his words. + </p> + <p> + An average interval of about three minutes had elapsed between one + intensely fierce gust of wind and the next, and now another poured over + them; the roof swayed, and a moment afterwards fell in with a crash, + pulling the gable after it, and thrusting outwards the front wall of + wood-work, which fell into the road with a rumbling echo; a cloud of black + dust, myriads of sparks, and a great outburst of flame followed the uproar + of the fall. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is she? what is she?’ burst from every lip again and again, + incoherently, and without leaving a sufficient pause for a reply, had a + reply been volunteered. + </p> + <p> + The autumn wind, tameless, and swift, and proud, still blew upon the dying + old house, which was constructed so entirely of combustible materials that + it burnt almost as fiercely as a corn-rick. The heat in the road + increased, and now for an instant at the height of the conflagration all + stood still, and gazed silently, awestruck and helpless, in the presence + of so irresistible an enemy. Then, with minds full of the tragedy unfolded + to them, they rushed forward again with the obtuse directness of waves, to + their labour of saving goods from the houses adjoining, which it was + evident were all doomed to destruction. + </p> + <p> + The minutes passed by. The Three Tranters Inn sank into a mere heap of + red-hot charcoal: the fire pushed its way down the row as the church clock + opposite slowly struck the hour of midnight, and the bewildered chimes, + scarcely heard amid the crackling of the flames, wandered through the + wayward air of the Old Hundred-and-Thirteenth Psalm. + </p> + <p> + 4. NINE TO ELEVEN P.M. + </p> + <p> + Manston mounted his gig and set out from Chettlewood that evening in no + very enviable frame of mind. The thought of domestic life in Knapwater Old + House, with the now eclipsed wife of the past, was more than disagreeable, + was positively distasteful to him. + </p> + <p> + Yet he knew that the influential position, which, from whatever fortunate + cause, he held on Miss Aldclyffe’s manor, would never again fall to his + lot on any other, and he tacitly assented to this dilemma, hoping that + some consolation or other would soon suggest itself to him; married as he + was, he was near Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + He occasionally looked at his watch as he drove along the lanes, timing + the pace of his horse by the hour, that he might reach Carriford Road + Station just soon enough to meet the last London train. + </p> + <p> + He soon began to notice in the sky a slight yellow halo, near the horizon. + It rapidly increased; it changed colour, and grew redder; then the glare + visibly brightened and dimmed at intervals, showing that its origin was + affected by the strong wind prevailing. + </p> + <p> + Manston reined in his horse on the summit of a hill, and considered. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a rick-yard on fire,’ he thought; ‘no house could produce such a + raging flame so suddenly.’ + </p> + <p> + He trotted on again, attempting to particularize the local features in the + neighbourhood of the fire; but this it was too dark to do, and the + excessive winding of the roads misled him as to its direction, not being + an old inhabitant of the district, or a countryman used to forming such + judgments; whilst the brilliancy of the light shortened its real + remoteness to an apparent distance of not more than half: it seemed so + near that he again stopped his horse, this time to listen; but he could + hear no sound. + </p> + <p> + Entering now a narrow valley, the sides of which obscured the sky to an + angle of perhaps thirty or forty degrees above the mathematical horizon, + he was obliged to suspend his judgment till he was in possession of + further knowledge, having however assumed in the interim, that the fire + was somewhere between Carriford Road Station and the village. + </p> + <p> + The self-same glare had just arrested the eyes of another man. He was at + that minute gliding along several miles to the east of the steward’s + position, but nearing the same point as that to which Manston tended. The + younger Edward Springrove was returning from London to his father’s house + by the identical train which the steward was expecting to bring his wife, + the truth being that Edward’s lateness was owing to the simplest of all + causes, his temporary want of money, which led him to make a slow journey + for the sake of travelling at third-class fare. + </p> + <p> + Springrove had received Cytherea’s bitter and admonitory letter, and he + was clearly awakened to a perception of the false position in which he had + placed himself, by keeping silence at Budmouth on his long engagement. An + increasing reluctance to put an end to those few days of ecstasy with + Cytherea had overruled his conscience, and tied his tongue till speaking + was too late. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why did I do it? how could I dream of loving her?’ he asked himself as he + walked by day, as he tossed on his bed by night: ‘miserable folly!’ + </p> + <p> + An impressionable heart had for years—perhaps as many as six or + seven years—been distracting him, by unconsciously setting itself to + yearn for somebody wanting, he scarcely knew whom. Echoes of himself, + though rarely, he now and then found. Sometimes they were men, sometimes + women, his cousin Adelaide being one of these; for in spite of a fashion + which pervades the whole community at the present day—the habit of + exclaiming that woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse, the fact + remains that, after all, women are Mankind, and that in many of the + sentiments of life the difference of sex is but a difference of degree. + </p> + <p> + But the indefinable helpmate to the remoter sides of himself still + continued invisible. He grew older, and concluded that the ideas, or + rather emotions, which possessed him on the subject, were probably too + unreal ever to be found embodied in the flesh of a woman. Thereupon, he + developed a plan of satisfying his dreams by wandering away to the + heroines of poetical imagination, and took no further thought on the + earthly realization of his formless desire, in more homely matters + satisfying himself with his cousin. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea appeared in the sky: his heart started up and spoke: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Tis She, and here + Lo! I unclothe and clear + My wishes’ cloudy character.’ +</pre> + <p> + Some women kindle emotion so rapidly in a man’s heart that the judgment + cannot keep pace with its rise, and finds, on comprehending the situation, + that faithfulness to the old love is already treachery to the new. Such + women are not necessarily the greatest of their sex, but there are very + few of them. Cytherea was one. + </p> + <p> + On receiving the letter from her he had taken to thinking over these + things, and had not answered it at all. But ‘hungry generations’ soon + tread down the muser in a city. At length he thought of the strong + necessity of living. After a dreary search, the negligence of which was + ultimately overcome by mere conscientiousness, he obtained a situation as + assistant to an architect in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross: the + duties would not begin till after the lapse of a month. + </p> + <p> + He could not at first decide whither he should go to spend the intervening + time; but in the midst of his reasonings he found himself on the road + homeward, impelled by a secret and unowned hope of getting a last glimpse + of Cytherea there. + </p> + <p> + 5. MIDNIGHT + </p> + <p> + It was a quarter to twelve when Manston drove into the station-yard. The + train was punctual, and the bell, announcing its arrival, rang as he + crossed the booking-office to go out upon the platform. + </p> + <p> + The porter who had accompanied Mrs. Manston to Carriford, and had returned + to the station on his night duty, recognized the steward as he entered, + and immediately came towards him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Manston came by the nine o’clock train, sir,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + The steward gave vent to an expression of vexation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Her luggage is here, sir,’ the porter said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Put it up behind me in the gig if it is not too much,’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘Directly this train is in and gone, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + The man vanished and crossed the line to meet the entering train. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where is that fire?’ Manston said to the booking-clerk. + </p> + <p> + Before the clerk could speak, another man ran in and answered the question + without having heard it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Half Carriford is burnt down, or will be!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t see + the flames from this station on account of the trees, but step on the + bridge—‘tis tremendous!’ + </p> + <p> + He also crossed the line to assist at the entry of the train, which came + in the next minute. + </p> + <p> + The steward stood in the office. One passenger alighted, gave up his + ticket, and crossed the room in front of Manston: a young man with a black + bag and umbrella in his hand. He passed out of the door, down the steps, + and struck out into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who was that young man?’ said Manston, when the porter had returned. The + young man, by a kind of magnetism, had drawn the steward’s thoughts after + him. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s an architect.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My own old profession. I could have sworn it by the cut of him,’ Manston + murmured. ‘What’s his name?’ he said again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Springrove—Farmer Springrove’s son, Edward.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Farmer Springrove’s son, Edward,’ the steward repeated to himself, and + considered a matter to which the words had painfully recalled his mind. + </p> + <p> + The matter was Miss Aldclyffe’s mention of the young man as Cytherea’s + lover, which, indeed, had scarcely ever been absent from his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + ‘But for the existence of my wife that man might have been my rival,’ he + pondered, following the porter, who had now come back to him, into the + luggage-room. And whilst the man was carrying out and putting in one box, + which was sufficiently portable for the gig, Manston still thought, as his + eyes watched the process— + </p> + <p> + ‘But for my wife, Springrove might have been my rival.’ + </p> + <p> + He examined the lamps of his gig, carefully laid out the reins, mounted + the seat and drove along the turnpike-road towards Knapwater Park. + </p> + <p> + The exact locality of the fire was plain to him as he neared home. He soon + could hear the shout of men, the flapping of the flames, the crackling of + burning wood, and could smell the smoke from the conflagration. + </p> + <p> + Of a sudden, a few yards ahead, within the compass of the rays from the + right-hand lamp, burst forward the figure of a man. Having been walking in + darkness the newcomer raised his hands to his eyes, on approaching nearer, + to screen them from the glare of the reflector. + </p> + <p> + Manston saw that he was one of the villagers: a small farmer originally, + who had drunk himself down to a day-labourer and reputed poacher. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hoy!’ cried Manston, aloud, that the man might step aside out of the way. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that Mr. Manston?’ said the man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Somebody ha’ come to Carriford: and the rest of it may concern you, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, well.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you expect Mrs. Manston to-night, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, unfortunately she’s come, I know, and asleep long before this time, + I suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + The labourer leant his elbow upon the shaft of the gig and turned his + face, pale and sweating from his late work at the fire, up to Manston’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, she did come,’ he said.... ‘I beg pardon, sir, but I should be glad + of—of—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Glad of a trifle for bringen ye the news.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a farthing! I didn’t want your news, I knew she was come.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Won’t you give me a shillen, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then will you lend me a shillen, sir? I be tired out, and don’t know what + to do. If I don’t pay you back some day I’ll be d—d.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The devil is so cheated that perdition isn’t worth a penny as a + security.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me go on,’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thy wife is <i>dead</i>; that’s the rest o’ the news,’ said the labourer + slowly. He waited for a reply; none came. + </p> + <p> + ‘She went to the Three Tranters, because she couldn’t get into thy house, + the burnen roof fell in upon her before she could be called up, and she’s + a cinder, as thou’lt be some day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That will do, let me drive on,’ said the steward calmly. + </p> + <p> + Expectation of a concussion may be so intense that its failure strikes the + brain with more force than its fulfilment. The labourer sank back into the + ditch. Such a Cushi could not realize the possibility of such an unmoved + David as this. + </p> + <p> + Manston drove hastily to the turning of the road, tied his horse, and ran + on foot to the site of the fire. + </p> + <p> + The stagnation caused by the awful accident had been passed through, and + all hands were helping to remove from the remaining cottage what furniture + they could lay hold of; the thatch of the roofs being already on fire. The + Knapwater fire-engine had arrived on the spot, but it was small, and + ineffectual. A group was collected round the rector, who in a coat which + had become bespattered, scorched, and torn in his exertions, was directing + on one hand the proceedings relative to the removal of goods into the + church, and with the other was pointing out the spot on which it was most + desirable that the puny engines at their disposal should be made to play. + Every tongue was instantly silent at the sight of Manston’s pale and clear + countenance, which contrasted strangely with the grimy and streaming faces + of the toiling villagers. + </p> + <p> + ‘Was she burnt?’ he said in a firm though husky voice, and stepping into + the illuminated area. The rector came to him, and took him aside. ‘Is she + burnt?’ repeated Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘She is dead: but thank God, she was spared the horrid agony of burning,’ + the rector said solemnly; ‘the roof and gable fell in upon her, and + crushed her. Instant death must have followed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why was she here?’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘From what we can hurriedly collect, it seems that she found the door of + your house locked, and concluded that you had retired, the fact being that + your servant, Mrs. Crickett, had gone out to supper. She then came back to + the inn and went to bed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where’s the landlord?’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Springrove came up, walking feebly, and wrapped in a cloak, and + corroborated the evidence given by the rector. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did she look ill, or annoyed, when she came?’ said the steward. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t say. I didn’t see; but I think—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you think?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She was much put out about something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My not meeting her, naturally,’ murmured the other, lost in reverie. He + turned his back on Springrove and the rector, and retired from the shining + light. + </p> + <p> + Everything had been done that could be done with the limited means at + their disposal. The whole row of houses was destroyed, and each presented + itself as one stage of a series, progressing from smoking ruins at the end + where the inn had stood, to a partly flaming mass—glowing as none + but wood embers will glow—at the other. + </p> + <p> + A feature in the decline of town fires was noticeably absent here—steam. + There was present what is not observable in towns—incandescence. + </p> + <p> + The heat, and the smarting effect upon their eyes of the strong smoke from + the burning oak and deal, had at last driven the villagers back from the + road in front of the houses, and they now stood in groups in the + churchyard, the surface of which, raised by the interments of generations, + stood four or five feet above the level of the road, and almost even with + the top of the low wall dividing one from the other. The headstones stood + forth whitely against the dark grass and yews, their brightness being + repeated on the white smock-frocks of some of the labourers, and in a + mellower, ruddier form on their faces and hands, on those of the grinning + gargoyles, and on other salient stonework of the weather-beaten church in + the background. + </p> + <p> + The rector had decided that, under the distressing circumstances of the + case, there would be no sacrilege in placing in the church, for the night, + the pieces of furniture and utensils which had been saved from the several + houses. There was no other place of safety for them, and they accordingly + were gathered there. + </p> + <p> + 6. HALF-PAST TWELVE TO ONE A.M. + </p> + <p> + Manston, when he retired to meditate, had walked round the churchyard, and + now entered the opened door of the building. + </p> + <p> + He mechanically pursued his way round the piers into his own seat in the + north aisle. The lower atmosphere of this spot was shaded by its own wall + from the shine which streamed in over the window-sills on the same side. + The only light burning inside the church was a small tallow candle, + standing in the font, in the opposite aisle of the building to that in + which Manston had sat down, and near where the furniture was piled. The + candle’s mild rays were overpowered by the ruddier light from the ruins, + making the weak flame to appear like the moon by day. + </p> + <p> + Sitting there he saw Farmer Springrove enter the door, followed by his son + Edward, still carrying his travelling-bag in his hand. They were speaking + of the sad death of Mrs. Manston, but the subject was relinquished for + that of the houses burnt. + </p> + <p> + This row of houses, running from the inn eastward, had been built under + the following circumstances:— + </p> + <p> + Fifty years before this date, the spot upon which the cottages afterwards + stood was a blank strip, along the side of the village street, difficult + to cultivate, on account of the outcrop thereon of a large bed of flints + called locally a ‘lanch’ or ‘lanchet.’ + </p> + <p> + The Aldclyffe then in possession of the estate conceived the idea that a + row of cottages would be an improvement to the spot, and accordingly + granted leases of portions to several respectable inhabitants. Each lessee + was to be subject to the payment of a merely nominal rent for the whole + term of lives, on condition that he built his own cottage, and delivered + it up intact at the end of the term. + </p> + <p> + Those who had built had, one by one, relinquished their indentures, either + by sale or barter, to Farmer Springrove’s father. New lives were added in + some cases, by payment of a sum to the lord of the manor, etc., and all + the leases were now held by the farmer himself, as one of the chief + provisions for his old age. + </p> + <p> + The steward had become interested in the following conversation:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Try not to be so depressed, father; they are all insured.’ + </p> + <p> + The words came from Edward in an anxious tone. + </p> + <p> + ‘You mistake, Edward; they are not insured,’ returned the old man + gloomily. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not?’ the son asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not one!’ said the farmer. + </p> + <p> + ‘In the Helmet Fire Office, surely?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They were insured there every one. Six months ago the office, which had + been raising the premiums on thatched premises higher for some years, gave + up insuring them altogether, as two or three other fire-offices had done + previously, on account, they said, of the uncertainty and greatness of the + risk of thatch undetached. Ever since then I have been continually + intending to go to another office, but have never gone. Who expects a + fire?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember the terms of the leases?’ said Edward, still more + uneasily. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, not particularly,’ said his father absently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are they?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the bureau there; that’s why I tried to save it first, among other + things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, we must see to that at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you want?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The key.’ + </p> + <p> + They went into the south aisle, took the candle from the font, and then + proceeded to open the bureau, which had been placed in a corner under the + gallery. Both leant over upon the flap; Edward holding the candle, whilst + his father took the pieces of parchment from one of the drawers, and + spread the first out before him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You read it, Ted. I can’t see without my glasses. This one will be + sufficient. The terms of all are the same.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward took the parchment, and read quickly and indistinctly for some + time; then aloud and slowly as follows:— + </p> + <p> + ‘And the said John Springrove for himself his heirs executors and + administrators doth covenant and agree with the said Gerald Fellcourt + Aldclyffe his heirs and assigns that he the said John Springrove his heirs + and assigns during the said term shall pay unto the said Gerald Fellcourt + Aldclyffe his heirs and assigns the clear yearly rent of ten shillings and + sixpence.... at the several times hereinbefore appointed for the payment + thereof respectively. And also shall and at all times during the said term + well and sufficiently repair and keep the said Cottage or Dwelling-house + and all other the premises and all houses or buildings erected or to be + erected thereupon in good and proper repair in every respect without + exception and the said premises in such good repair upon the determination + of this demise shall yield up unto the said Gerald Fellcourt Aldclyffe his + heirs and assigns.’ + </p> + <p> + They closed the bureau and turned towards the door of the church without + speaking. + </p> + <p> + Manston also had come forward out of the gloom. Notwithstanding the + farmer’s own troubles, an instinctive respect and generous sense of + sympathy with the steward for his awful loss caused the old man to step + aside, that Manston might pass out without speaking to them if he chose to + do so. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is he?’ whispered Edward to his father, as Manston approached. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Manston, the steward.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston came near, and passed down the aisle on the side of the younger + man. Their faces came almost close together: one large flame, which still + lingered upon the ruins outside, threw long dancing shadows of each across + the nave till they bent upwards against the aisle wall, and also + illuminated their eyes, as each met those of the other. Edward had learnt, + by a letter from home, of the steward’s passion for Cytherea, and his + mysterious repression of it, afterwards explained by his marriage. That + marriage was now nought. Edward realized the man’s newly acquired freedom, + and felt an instinctive enmity towards him—he would hardly own to + himself why. The steward, too, knew Cytherea’s attachment to Edward, and + looked keenly and inscrutably at him. + </p> + <p> + 7. ONE TO TWO A.M. + </p> + <p> + Manston went homeward alone, his heart full of strange emotions. Entering + the house, and dismissing the woman to her own home, he at once proceeded + upstairs to his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Reasoning worldliness, especially when allied with sensuousness, cannot + repress on some extreme occasions the human instinct to pour out the soul + to some Being or Personality, who in frigid moments is dismissed with the + title of Chance, or at most Law. Manston was selfishly and inhumanly, but + honestly and unutterably, thankful for the recent catastrophe. Beside his + bed, for that first time during a period of nearly twenty years, he fell + down upon his knees in a passionate outburst of feeling. + </p> + <p> + Many minutes passed before he arose. He walked to the window, and then + seemed to remember for the first time that some action on his part was + necessary in connection with the sad circumstance of the night. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the house at once, he went to the scene of the fire, arriving + there in time to hear the rector making an arrangement with a certain + number of men to watch the spot till morning. The ashes were still red-hot + and flaming. Manston found that nothing could be done towards searching + them at that hour of the night. He turned homeward again, in the company + of the rector, who had considerately persuaded him to retire from the + scene for a while, and promised that as soon as a man could live amid the + embers of the Three Tranters Inn, they should be carefully searched for + the remains of his unfortunate wife. + </p> + <p> + Manston then went indoors, to wait for morning. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. THE EVENTS OF FIVE DAYS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. NOVEMBER THE TWENTY-NINTH + </h3> + <p> + The search began at dawn, but a quarter past nine o’clock came without + bringing any result. Manston ate a little breakfast, and crossed the + hollow of the park which intervened between the old and modern + manor-houses, to ask for an interview with Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + He met her midway. She was about to pay him a visit of condolence, and to + place every man on the estate at his disposal, that the search for any + relic of his dead and destroyed wife might not be delayed an instant. + </p> + <p> + He accompanied her back to the house. At first they conversed as if the + death of the poor woman was an event which the husband must of necessity + deeply lament; and when all under this head that social form seemed to + require had been uttered, they spoke of the material damage done, and of + the steps which had better be taken to remedy it. + </p> + <p> + It was not till both were shut inside her private room that she spoke to + him in her blunt and cynical manner. A certain newness of bearing in him, + peculiar to the present morning, had hitherto forbidden her this tone: the + demeanour of the subject of her favouritism had altered, she could not + tell in what way. He was entirely a changed man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you really sorry for your poor wife, Mr. Manston?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I am,’ he answered shortly. + </p> + <p> + ‘But only as for any human being who has met with a violent death?’ + </p> + <p> + He confessed it—‘For she was not a good woman,’ he added. + </p> + <p> + ‘I should be sorry to say such a thing now the poor creature is dead,’ + Miss Aldclyffe returned reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why should I praise her if she doesn’t deserve it? I say + exactly what I have often admired Sterne for saying in one of his letters—that + neither reason nor Scripture asks us to speak nothing but good of the + dead. And now, madam,’ he continued, after a short interval of thought, ‘I + may, perhaps, hope that you will assist me, or rather not thwart me, in + endeavouring to win the love of a young lady living about you, one in whom + I am much interested already.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Cytherea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You have been loving Cytherea all the while?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + Surprise was a preface to much agitation in her, which caused her to rise + from her seat, and pace to the side of the room. The steward quietly + looked on and added, ‘I have been loving and still love her.’ + </p> + <p> + She came close up to him, wistfully contemplating his face, one hand + moving indecisively at her side. + </p> + <p> + ‘And your secret marriage was, then, the true and only reason for that + backwardness regarding the courtship of Cytherea, which, they tell me, has + been the talk of the village; not your indifference to her attractions.’ + Her voice had a tone of conviction in it, as well as of inquiry; but none + of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he said; ‘and not a dishonourable one. What held me back was just + that one thing—a sense of morality that perhaps, madam, you did not + give me credit for.’ The latter words were spoken with a mien and tone of + pride. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe preserved silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now,’ he went on, ‘I may as well say a word in vindication of my + conduct lately, at the risk, too, of offending you. My actual motive in + submitting to your order that I should send for my late wife, and live + with her, was not the mercenary policy of wishing to retain an office + which brings me greater comforts than any I have enjoyed before, but this + unquenchable passion for Cytherea. Though I saw the weakness, folly, and + even wickedness of it continually, it still forced me to try to continue + near her, even as the husband of another woman.’ + </p> + <p> + He waited for her to speak: she did not. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s a great obstacle to my making any way in winning Miss Graye’s + love,’ he went on. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Edward Springrove,’ she said quietly. ‘I know it, I did once want to + see them married; they have had a slight quarrel, and it will soon be made + up again, unless—’ she spoke as if she had only half attended to + Manston’s last statement. + </p> + <p> + ‘He is already engaged to be married to somebody else,’ said the steward. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh!’ said she, ‘you mean to his cousin at Peakhill; that’s nothing to + help us; he’s now come home to break it off.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He must not break it off,’ said Manston, firmly and calmly. + </p> + <p> + His tone attracted her, startled her. Recovering herself, she said + haughtily, ‘Well, that’s your affair, not mine. Though my wish has been to + see her <i>your</i> wife, I can’t do anything dishonourable to bring about + such a result.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But it must be <i>made</i> your affair,’ he said in a hard, steady voice, + looking into her eyes, as if he saw there the whole panorama of her past. + </p> + <p> + One of the most difficult things to portray by written words is that + peculiar mixture of moods expressed in a woman’s countenance when, after + having been sedulously engaged in establishing another’s position, she + suddenly suspects him of undermining her own. It was thus that Miss + Aldclyffe looked at the steward. + </p> + <p> + ‘You—know—something—of me?’ she faltered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know all,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then curse that wife of yours! She wrote and said she wouldn’t tell you!’ + she burst out. ‘Couldn’t she keep her word for a day?’ She reflected and + then said, but no more as to a stranger, ‘I will not yield. I have + committed no crime. I yielded to her threats in a moment of weakness, + though I felt inclined to defy her at the time: it was chiefly because I + was mystified as to how she got to know of it. Pooh! I will put up with + threats no more. O, can <i>you</i> threaten me?’ she added softly, as if + she had for the moment forgotten to whom she had been speaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘My love must be made your affair,’ he repeated, without taking his eyes + from her. + </p> + <p> + An agony, which was not the agony of being discovered in a secret, + obstructed her utterance for a time. ‘How can you turn upon me so when I + schemed to get you here—schemed that you might win her till I found + you were married. O, how can you! O!... O!’ She wept; and the weeping of + such a nature was as harrowing as the weeping of a man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your getting me here was bad policy as to your secret—the most + absurd thing in the world,’ he said, not heeding her distress. ‘I knew + all, except the identity of the individual, long ago. Directly I found + that my coming here was a contrived thing, and not a matter of chance, it + fixed my attention upon you at once. All that was required was the mere + spark of life, to make of a bundle of perceptions an organic whole.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Policy, how can you talk of policy? Think, do think! And how can you + threaten me when you know—you know—that I would befriend you + readily without a threat!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, I think you would,’ he said more kindly; ‘but your indifference + for so many, many years has made me doubt it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, not indifference—‘twas enforced silence. My father lived.’ + </p> + <p> + He took her hand, and held it gently. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + ‘Now listen,’ he said, more quietly and humanly, when she had become + calmer: ‘Springrove must marry the woman he’s engaged to. You may make + him, but only in one way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well: but don’t speak sternly, AEneas!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know that his father has not been particularly thriving for the + last two or three years?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have heard something of it, once or twice, though his rents have been + promptly paid, haven’t they?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes; and do you know the terms of the leases of the houses which are + burnt?’ he said, explaining to her that by those terms she might compel + him even to rebuild every house. ‘The case is the clearest case of fire by + negligence that I have ever known, in addition to that,’ he continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want them rebuilt; you know it was intended by my father, + directly they fell in, to clear the site for a new entrance to the park?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, but that doesn’t affect the position, which is that Farmer + Springrove is in your power to an extent which is very serious for him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I won’t do it—‘tis a conspiracy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Won’t you for me?’ he said eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe changed colour. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t threaten now, I implore,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because you might threaten if you chose,’ she mournfully answered. ‘But + why be so—when your marriage with her was my own pet idea long + before it was yours? What must I do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Scarcely anything: simply this. When I have seen old Mr. Springrove, + which I shall do in a day or two, and told him that he will be expected to + rebuild the houses, do you see the young man. See him yourself, in order + that the proposals made may not appear to be anything more than an impulse + of your own. You or he will bring up the subject of the houses. To rebuild + them would be a matter of at least six hundred pounds, and he will almost + surely say that we are hard in insisting upon the extreme letter of the + leases. Then tell him that scarcely can you yourself think of compelling + an old tenant like his father to any such painful extreme—there + shall be no compulsion to build, simply a surrender of the leases. Then + speak feelingly of his cousin, as a woman whom you respect and love, and + whose secret you have learnt to be that she is heart-sick with hope + deferred. Beg him to marry her, his betrothed and your friend, as some + return for your consideration towards his father. Don’t suggest too early + a day for their marriage, or he will suspect you of some motive beyond + womanly sympathy. Coax him to make a promise to her that she shall be his + wife at the end of a twelvemonth, and get him, on assenting to this, to + write to Cytherea, entirely renouncing her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She has already asked him to do that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So much the better—and telling her, too, that he is about to fulfil + his long-standing promise to marry his cousin. If you think it worth + while, you may say Cytherea was not indisposed to think of me before she + knew I was married. I have at home a note she wrote me the first evening I + saw her, which looks rather warm, and which I could show you. Trust me, he + will give her up. When he is married to Adelaide Hinton, Cytherea will be + induced to marry me—perhaps before; a woman’s pride is soon + wounded.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And hadn’t I better write to Mr. Nyttleton, and inquire more particularly + what’s the law upon the houses?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, there’s no hurry for that. We know well enough how the case stands—quite + well enough to talk in general terms about it. And I want the pressure to + be put upon young Springrove before he goes away from home again.’ + </p> + <p> + She looked at him furtively, long, and sadly, as after speaking he became + lost in thought, his eyes listlessly tracing the pattern of the carpet. + ‘Yes, yes, she will be mine,’ he whispered, careless of Cytherea + Aldclyffe’s presence. At last he raised his eyes inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will do my best, AEneas,’ she answered. + </p> + <p> + Talibus incusat. Manston then left the house, and again went towards the + blackened ruins, where men were still raking and probing. + </p> + <p> + 2. FROM NOVEMBER THE TWENTY-NINTH TO DECEMBER THE SECOND + </p> + <p> + The smouldering remnants of the Three Tranters Inn seemed to promise that, + even when the searchers should light upon the remains of the unfortunate + Mrs. Manston, very little would be discoverable. + </p> + <p> + Consisting so largely of the charcoal and ashes of hard dry oak and + chestnut, intermingled with thatch, the interior of the heap was one + glowing mass of embers, which, on being stirred about, emitted sparks and + flame long after it was dead and black on the outside. It was persistently + hoped, however, that some traces of the body would survive the effect of + the hot coals, and after a search pursued uninterruptedly for thirty + hours, under the direction of Manston himself, enough was found to set at + rest any doubts of her fate. + </p> + <p> + The melancholy gleanings consisted of her watch, bunch of keys, a few + coins, and two charred and blackened bones. + </p> + <p> + Two days later the official inquiry into the cause of her death was held + at the Rising Sun Inn, before Mr. Floy, the coroner, and a jury of the + chief inhabitants of the district. The little tavern—the only + remaining one in the village—was crowded to excess by the + neighbouring peasantry as well as their richer employers: all who could by + any possibility obtain an hour’s release from their duties being present + as listeners. + </p> + <p> + The jury viewed the sad and infinitesimal remains, which were folded in a + white cambric cloth, and laid in the middle of a well-finished coffin + lined with white silk (by Manston’s order), which stood in an adjoining + room, the bulk of the coffin being completely filled in with carefully + arranged flowers and evergreens—also the steward’s own doing. + </p> + <p> + Abraham Brown, of Hoxton, London—an old white-headed man, without + the ruddiness which makes white hairs so pleasing—was sworn, and + deposed that he kept a lodging-house at an address he named. On a Saturday + evening less than a month before the fire, a lady came to him, with very + little luggage, and took the front room on the second floor. He did not + inquire where she came from, as she paid a week in advance, but she gave + her name as Mrs. Manston, referring him, if he wished for any guarantee of + her respectability, to Mr. Manston, Knapwater Park. Here she lived for + three weeks, rarely going out. She slept away from her lodgings one night + during the time. At the end of that time, on the twenty-eighth of + November, she left his house in a four-wheeled cab, about twelve o’clock + in the day, telling the driver to take her to the Waterloo Station. She + paid all her lodging expenses, and not having given notice the full week + previous to her going away, offered to pay for the next, but he only took + half. She wore a thick black veil, and grey waterproof cloak, when she + left him, and her luggage was two boxes, one of plain deal, with black + japanned clamps, the other sewn up in canvas. + </p> + <p> + Joseph Chinney, porter at the Carriford Road Station, deposed that he saw + Mrs. Manston, dressed as the last witness had described, get out of a + second-class carriage on the night of the twenty-eighth. She stood beside + him whilst her luggage was taken from the van. The luggage, consisting of + the clamped deal box and another covered with canvas, was placed in the + cloak-room. She seemed at a loss at finding nobody there to meet her. She + asked him for some person to accompany her, and carry her bag to Mr. + Manston’s house, Knapwater Park. He was just off duty at that time, and + offered to go himself. The witness here repeated the conversation he had + had with Mrs. Manston during their walk, and testified to having left her + at the door of the Three Tranters Inn, Mr. Manston’s house being closed. + </p> + <p> + Next, Farmer Springrove was called. A murmur of surprise and commiseration + passed round the crowded room when he stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + The events of the few preceding days had so worked upon his nervously + thoughtful nature that the blue orbits of his eyes, and the mere spot of + scarlet to which the ruddiness of his cheeks had contracted, seemed the + result of a heavy sickness. A perfect silence pervaded the assembly when + he spoke. + </p> + <p> + His statement was that he received Mrs. Manston at the threshold, and + asked her to enter the parlour. She would not do so, and stood in the + passage whilst the maid went upstairs to see that the room was in order. + The maid came down to the middle landing of the staircase, when Mrs. + Manston followed her up to the room. He did not speak ten words with her + altogether. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, whilst he was standing at the door listening for his son + Edward’s return, he saw her light extinguished, having first caught sight + of her shadow moving about the room. + </p> + <p> + THE CORONER: ‘Did her shadow appear to be that of a woman undressing?’ + </p> + <p> + SPRINGROVE: ‘I cannot say, as I didn’t take particular notice. It moved + backwards and forwards; she might have been undressing or merely pacing up + and down the room.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fitler, the ostler’s wife and chambermaid, said that she preceded + Mrs. Manston into the room, put down the candle, and went out. Mrs. + Manston scarcely spoke to her, except to ask her to bring a little brandy. + Witness went and fetched it from the bar, brought it up, and put it on the + dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + THE CORONER: ‘Had Mrs. Manston begun to undress, when you came back?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, sir; she was sitting on the bed, with everything on, as when she came + in.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did she begin to undress before you left?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not exactly before I had left; but when I had closed the door, and was on + the landing I heard her boot drop on the floor, as it does sometimes when + pulled off?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Had her face appeared worn and sleepy?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot say as her bonnet and veil were still on when I left, for she + seemed rather shy and ashamed to be seen at the Three Tranters at all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And did you hear or see any more of her?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No more, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crickett, temporary servant to Mr. Manston, said that in accordance + with Mr. Manston’s orders, everything had been made comfortable in the + house for Mrs. Manston’s expected return on Monday night. Mr. Manston told + her that himself and Mrs. Manston would be home late, not till between + eleven and twelve o’clock, and that supper was to be ready. Not expecting + Mrs. Manston so early, she had gone out on a very important errand to Mrs. + Leat the postmistress. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Manston deposed that in looking down the columns of Bradshaw he had + mistaken the time of the train’s arrival, and hence was not at the station + when she came. The broken watch produced was his wife’s—he knew it + by a scratch on the inner plate, and by other signs. The bunch of keys + belonged to her: two of them fitted the locks of her two boxes. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flooks, agent to Lord Claydonfield at Chettlewood, said that Mr. + Manston had pleaded as his excuse for leaving him rather early in the + evening after their day’s business had been settled, that he was going to + meet his wife at Carriford Road Station, where she was coming by the last + train that night. + </p> + <p> + The surgeon said that the remains were those of a human being. The small + fragment seemed a portion of one of the lumbar vertebrae—the other + the head of the os femoris—but they were both so far gone that it + was impossible to say definitely whether they belonged to the body of a + male or female. There was no moral doubt that they were a woman’s. He did + not believe that death resulted from burning by fire. He thought she was + crushed by the fall of the west gable, which being of wood, as well as the + floor, burnt after it had fallen, and consumed the body with it. + </p> + <p> + Two or three additional witnesses gave unimportant testimony. + </p> + <p> + The coroner summed up, and the jury without hesitation found that the + deceased Mrs. Manston came by her death accidentally through the burning + of the Three Tranters Inn. + </p> + <p> + 3. DECEMBER THE SECOND. AFTERNOON + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Springrove came from the door of the Rising Sun at the end of the + inquiry, Manston walked by his side as far as the stile to the park, a + distance of about a stone’s-throw. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, Mr. Springrove, this is a sad affair for everybody concerned.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Everybody,’ said the old farmer, with deep sadness, ‘’tis quite a misery + to me. I hardly know how I shall live through each day as it breaks. I + think of the words, “In the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were + even! and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning! for the fear + of thine heart wherewith thou shalt fear, and for the sight of thine eyes + which thou shalt see.”’ His voice became broken. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—true. I read Deuteronomy myself,’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘But my loss is as nothing to yours,’ the farmer continued. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing; but I can commiserate you. I should be worse than unfeeling if I + didn’t, although my own affliction is of so sad and solemn a kind. Indeed + my own loss makes me more keenly alive to yours, different in nature as it + is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What sum do you think would be required of me to put the houses in place + again?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have roughly thought six or seven hundred pounds.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If the letter of the law is to be acted up to,’ said the old man, with + more agitation in his voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, exactly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know enough of Miss Aldclyffe’s mind to give me an idea of how she + means to treat me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I am afraid I must tell you that though I know very little of her + mind as a rule, in this matter I believe she will be rather peremptory; + she might share to the extent of a sixth or an eighth perhaps, in + consideration of her getting new lamps for old, but I should hardly think + more.’ + </p> + <p> + The steward stepped upon the stile, and Mr. Springrove went along the road + with a bowed head and heavy footsteps towards his niece’s cottage, in + which, rather against the wish of Edward, they had temporarily taken + refuge. + </p> + <p> + The additional weight of this knowledge soon made itself perceptible. + Though indoors with Edward or Adelaide nearly the whole of the afternoon, + nothing more than monosyllabic replies could be drawn from him. Edward + continually discovered him looking fixedly at the wall or floor, quite + unconscious of another’s presence. At supper he ate just as usual, but + quite mechanically, and with the same abstraction. + </p> + <p> + 4. DECEMBER THE THIRD + </p> + <p> + The next morning he was in no better spirits. Afternoon came: his son was + alarmed, and managed to draw from him an account of the conversation with + the steward. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense; he knows nothing about it,’ said Edward vehemently. ‘I’ll see + Miss Aldclyffe myself. Now promise me, father, that you’ll not believe + till I come back, and tell you to believe it, that Miss Aldclyffe will do + any such unjust thing.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward started at once for Knapwater House. He strode rapidly along the + high-road, till he reached a wicket where a footpath allowed of a short + cut to the mansion. Here he leant down upon the bars for a few minutes, + meditating as to the best manner of opening his speech, and surveying the + scene before him in that absent mood which takes cognizance of little + things without being conscious of them at the time, though they appear in + the eye afterwards as vivid impressions. It was a yellow, lustrous, late + autumn day, one of those days of the quarter when morning and evening seem + to meet together without the intervention of a noon. The clear yellow + sunlight had tempted forth Miss Aldclyffe herself, who was at this same + time taking a walk in the direction of the village. As Springrove lingered + he heard behind the plantation a woman’s dress brushing along amid the + prickly husks and leaves which had fallen into the path from the boughs of + the chestnut trees. In another minute she stood in front of him. + </p> + <p> + He answered her casual greeting respectfully, and was about to request a + few minutes’ conversation with her, when she directly addressed him on the + subject of the fire. ‘It is a sad misfortune for your father’ she said, + ‘and I hear that he has lately let his insurances expire?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He has, madam, and you are probably aware that either by the general + terms of his holding, or the same coupled with the origin of the fire, the + disaster may involve the necessity of his rebuilding the whole row of + houses, or else of becoming a debtor to the estate, to the extent of some + hundreds of pounds?’ + </p> + <p> + She assented. ‘I have been thinking of it,’ she went on, and then repeated + in substance the words put into her mouth by the steward. Some disturbance + of thought might have been fancied as taking place in Springrove’s mind + during her statement, but before she had reached the end, his eyes were + clear, and directed upon her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t accept your conditions of release,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘They are not conditions exactly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, whatever they are not, they are very uncalled-for remarks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all—the houses have been burnt by your family’s negligence.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t refer to the houses—you have of course the best of all + rights to speak of that matter; but you, a stranger to me comparatively, + have no right at all to volunteer opinions and wishes upon a very delicate + subject, which concerns no living beings but Miss Graye, Miss Hinton, and + myself.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe, like a good many others in her position, had plainly not + realized that a son of her tenant and inferior could have become an + educated man, who had learnt to feel his individuality, to view society + from a Bohemian standpoint, far outside the farming grade in Carriford + parish, and that hence he had all a developed man’s unorthodox opinion + about the subordination of classes. And fully conscious of the labyrinth + into which he had wandered between his wish to behave honourably in the + dilemma of his engagement to his cousin Adelaide and the intensity of his + love for Cytherea, Springrove was additionally sensitive to any allusion + to the case. He had spoken to Miss Aldclyffe with considerable warmth. + </p> + <p> + And Miss Aldclyffe was not a woman likely to be far behind any second + person in warming to a mood of defiance. It seemed as if she were prepared + to put up with a cold refusal, but that her haughtiness resented a + criticism of her conduct ending in a rebuke. By this, Manston’s + discreditable object, which had been made hers by compulsion only, was now + adopted by choice. She flung herself into the work. + </p> + <p> + A fiery man in such a case would have relinquished persuasion and tried + palpable force. A fiery woman added unscrupulousness and evolved daring + strategy; and in her obstinacy, and to sustain herself as mistress, she + descended to an action the meanness of which haunted her conscience to her + dying hour. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t quite see, Mr. Springrove,’ she said, ‘that I am altogether what + you are pleased to call a stranger. I have known your family, at any rate, + for a good many years, and I know Miss Graye particularly well, and her + state of mind with regard to this matter.’ + </p> + <p> + Perplexed love makes us credulous and curious as old women. Edward was + willing, he owned it to himself, to get at Cytherea’s state of mind, even + through so dangerous a medium. + </p> + <p> + ‘A letter I received from her’ he said, with assumed coldness, ‘tells me + clearly enough what Miss Graye’s mind is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You think she still loves you? O yes, of course you do—all men are + like that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have reason to.’ He could feign no further than the first speech. + </p> + <p> + ‘I should be interested in knowing what reason?’ she said, with sarcastic + archness. + </p> + <p> + Edward felt he was allowing her to do, in fractional parts, what he + rebelled against when regarding it as a whole; but the fact that his + antagonist had the presence of a queen, and features only in the early + evening of their beauty, was not without its influence upon a keenly + conscious man. Her bearing had charmed him into toleration, as Mary + Stuart’s charmed the indignant Puritan visitors. He again answered her + honestly. + </p> + <p> + ‘The best of reasons—the tone of her letter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh, Mr. Springrove!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all, Miss Aldclyffe! Miss Graye desired that we should be + strangers to each other for the simple practical reason that intimacy + could only make wretched complications worse, not from lack of love—love + is only suppressed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you know yet, that in thus putting aside a man, a woman’s pity for + the pain she inflicts gives her a kindness of tone which is often mistaken + for suppressed love?’ said Miss Aldclyffe, with soft insidiousness. + </p> + <p> + This was a translation of the ambiguity of Cytherea’s tone which he had + certainly never thought of; and he was too ingenuous not to own it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had never thought of it,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘And don’t believe it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not unless there was some other evidence to support the view.’ + </p> + <p> + She paused a minute and then began hesitatingly— + </p> + <p> + ‘My intention was—what I did not dream of owning to you—my + intention was to try to induce you to fulfil your promise to Miss Hinton + not solely on her account and yours (though partly). I love Cytherea Graye + with all my soul, and I want to see her happy even more than I do you. I + did not mean to drag her name into the affair at all, but I am driven to + say that she wrote that letter of dismissal to you—for it was a most + pronounced dismissal—not on account of your engagement. She is old + enough to know that engagements can be broken as easily as they can be + made. She wrote it because she loved another man; very suddenly, and not + with any idea or hope of marrying him, but none the less deeply.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good—! I can’t listen to you for an instant, madam; why, she hadn’t + seen him!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She had; he came here the day before she wrote to you; and I could prove + to you, if it were worth while, that on that day she went voluntarily to + his house, though not artfully or blamably; stayed for two hours playing + and singing; that no sooner did she leave him than she went straight home, + and wrote the letter saying she should not see you again, entirely because + she had seen him and fallen desperately in love with him—a perfectly + natural thing for a young girl to do, considering that he’s the handsomest + man in the county. Why else should she not have written to you before?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I was such a—because she did not know of the connection + between me and my cousin until then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I must think she did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On what ground?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On the strong ground of my having told her so, distinctly, the very first + day she came to live with me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, what do you seek to impress upon me after all? This—that the + day Miss Graye wrote to me, saying it was better that we should part, + coincided with the day she had seen a certain man—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A remarkably handsome and talented man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I admit that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And that it coincided with the hour just subsequent to her seeing him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, just when she had seen him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And been to his house alone with him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is nothing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And stayed there playing and singing with him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Admit that, too,’ he said; ‘an accident might have caused it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And at the same instant that she wrote your dismissal she wrote a letter + referring to a secret appointment with him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never, by God, madam! never!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you say, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never.’ + </p> + <p> + She sneered. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no accounting for beliefs, and the whole history is a very + trivial matter; but I am resolved to prove that a lady’s word is truthful, + though upon a matter which concerns neither you nor herself. You shall + learn that she <i>did</i> write him a letter concerning an assignation—that + is, if Mr. Manston still has it, and will be considerate enough to lend it + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But besides,’ continued Edward, ‘a married man to do what would cause a + young girl to write a note of the kind you mention!’ + </p> + <p> + She flushed a little. + </p> + <p> + ‘That I don’t know anything about,’ she stammered. ‘But Cytherea didn’t, + of course, dream any more than I did, or others in the parish, that he was + married.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course she didn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I have reason to believe that he told her of the fact directly + afterwards, that she might not compromise herself, or allow him to. It is + notorious that he struggled honestly and hard against her attractions, and + succeeded in hiding his feelings, if not in quenching them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll hope that he did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But circumstances are changed now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very greatly changed,’ he murmured abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must remember,’ she added more suasively, ‘that Miss Graye has a + perfect right to do what she likes with her own—her heart, that is + to say.’ + </p> + <p> + Her descent from irritation was caused by perceiving that Edward’s faith + was really disturbed by her strong assertions, and it gratified her. + </p> + <p> + Edward’s thoughts flew to his father, and the object of his interview with + her. Tongue-fencing was utterly distasteful to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not trouble you by remaining longer, madam,’ he remarked, + gloomily; ‘our conversation has ended sadly for me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t think so,’ she said, ‘and don’t be mistaken. I am older than you + are, many years older, and I know many things.’ + </p> + <p> + Full of miserable doubt, and bitterly regretting that he had raised his + father’s expectations by anticipations impossible of fulfilment, Edward + slowly went his way into the village, and approached his cousin’s house. + The farmer was at the door looking eagerly for him. He had been waiting + there for more than half-an-hour. His eye kindled quickly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, Ted, what does she say?’ he asked, in the intensely sanguine tones + which fall sadly upon a listener’s ear, because, antecedently, they raise + pictures of inevitable disappointment for the speaker, in some direction + or another. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing for us to be alarmed at,’ said Edward, with a forced + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + ‘But must we rebuild?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It seems we must, father.’ + </p> + <p> + The old man’s eyes swept the horizon, then he turned to go in, without + making another observation. All light seemed extinguished in him again. + When Edward went in he found his father with the bureau open, unfolding + the leases with a shaking hand, folding them up again without reading + them, then putting them in their niche only to remove them again. + </p> + <p> + Adelaide was in the room. She said thoughtfully to Edward, as she watched + the farmer— + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope it won’t kill poor uncle, Edward. What should we do if anything + were to happen to him? He is the only near relative you and I have in the + world.’ It was perfectly true, and somehow Edward felt more bound up with + her after that remark. + </p> + <p> + She continued: ‘And he was only saying so hopefully the day before the + fire, that he wouldn’t for the world let any one else give me away to you + when we are married.’ + </p> + <p> + For the first time a conscientious doubt arose in Edward’s mind as to the + justice of the course he was pursuing in resolving to refuse the + alternative offered by Miss Aldclyffe. Could it be selfishness as well as + independence? How much he had thought of his own heart, how little he had + thought of his father’s peace of mind! + </p> + <p> + The old man did not speak again till supper-time, when he began asking his + son an endless number of hypothetical questions on what might induce Miss + Aldclyffe to listen to kinder terms; speaking of her now not as an unfair + woman, but as a Lachesis or Fate whose course it behoved nobody to + condemn. In his earnestness he once turned his eyes on Edward’s face: + their expression was woful: the pupils were dilated and strange in aspect. + </p> + <p> + ‘If she will only agree to that!’ he reiterated for the hundredth time, + increasing the sadness of his listeners. + </p> + <p> + An aristocratic knocking came to the door, and Jane entered with a letter, + addressed— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘MR. EDWARD SPRINGROVE, Junior.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Charles from Knapwater House brought it,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe’s writing,’ said Mr. Springrove, before Edward had + recognized it himself. ‘Now ‘tis all right; she’s going to make an offer; + she doesn’t want the houses there, not she; they are going to make that + the way into the park.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward opened the seal and glanced at the inside. He said, with a supreme + effort of self-command— + </p> + <p> + ‘It is only directed by Miss Aldclyffe, and refers to nothing connected + with the fire. I wonder at her taking the trouble to send it to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + His father looked absently at him and turned away again. Shortly + afterwards they retired for the night. Alone in his bedroom Edward opened + and read what he had not dared to refer to in their presence. + </p> + <p> + The envelope contained another envelope in Cytherea’s handwriting, + addressed to ‘—— Manston, Esq., Old Manor House.’ Inside this + was the note she had written to the steward after her detention in his + house by the thunderstorm— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘KNAPWATER HOUSE, + September 20th. +</pre> + <p> + ‘I find I cannot meet you at seven o’clock by the waterfall as I promised. + The emotion I felt made me forgetful of realities. ‘C. GRAYE.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe had not written a line, and, by the unvarying rule + observable when words are not an absolute necessity, her silence seemed + ten times as convincing as any expression of opinion could have been. + </p> + <p> + He then, step by step, recalled all the conversation on the subject of + Cytherea’s feelings that had passed between himself and Miss Aldclyffe in + the afternoon, and by a confusion of thought, natural enough under the + trying experience, concluded that because the lady was truthful in her + portraiture of effects, she must necessarily be right in her assumption of + causes. That is, he was convinced that Cytherea—the + hitherto-believed faithful Cytherea—had, at any rate, looked with + something more than indifference upon the extremely handsome face and form + of Manston. + </p> + <p> + Did he blame her, as guilty of the impropriety of allowing herself to love + the newcomer in the face of his not being free to return her love? No; + never for a moment did he doubt that all had occurred in her old, + innocent, impulsive way; that her heart was gone before she knew it—before + she knew anything, beyond his existence, of the man to whom it had flown. + Perhaps the very note enclosed to him was the result of first reflection. + Manston he would unhesitatingly have called a scoundrel, but for one + strikingly redeeming fact. It had been patent to the whole parish, and had + come to Edward’s own knowledge by that indirect channel, that Manston, as + a married man, conscientiously avoided Cytherea after those first few days + of his arrival during which her irresistibly beautiful and fatal glances + had rested upon him—his upon her. + </p> + <p> + Taking from his coat a creased and pocket-worn envelope containing + Cytherea’s letter to himself, Springrove opened it and read it through. He + was upbraided therein, and he was dismissed. It bore the date of the + letter sent to Manston, and by containing within it the phrase, ‘All the + day long I have been thinking,’ afforded justifiable ground for assuming + that it was written subsequently to the other (and in Edward’s sight far + sweeter one) to the steward. + </p> + <p> + But though he accused her of fickleness, he would not doubt the + genuineness, in its kind, of her partiality for him at Budmouth. It was a + short and shallow feeling—not perfect love: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Love is not love + Which alters when it alteration finds.’ +</pre> + <p> + But it was not flirtation; a feeling had been born in her and had died. It + would be well for his peace of mind if his love for her could flit away so + softly, and leave so few traces behind. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe had shown herself desperately concerned in the whole matter + by the alacrity with which she had obtained the letter from Manston, and + her labours to induce himself to marry his cousin. Taken in connection + with her apparent interest in, if not love for, Cytherea, her eagerness, + too, could only be accounted for on the ground that Cytherea indeed loved + the steward. + </p> + <p> + 5. DECEMBER THE FOURTH + </p> + <p> + Edward passed the night he scarcely knew how, tossing feverishly from side + to side, the blood throbbing in his temples, and singing in his ears. + </p> + <p> + Before the day began to break he dressed himself. On going out upon the + landing he found his father’s bedroom door already open. Edward concluded + that the old man had risen softly, as was his wont, and gone out into the + fields to start the labourers. But neither of the outer doors was + unfastened. He entered the front room, and found it empty. Then animated + by a new idea, he went round to the little back parlour, in which the few + wrecks saved from the fire were deposited, and looked in at the door. + Here, near the window, the shutters of which had been opened half way, he + saw his father leaning on the bureau, his elbows resting on the flap, his + body nearly doubled, his hands clasping his forehead. Beside him were + ghostly-looking square folds of parchment—the leases of the houses + destroyed. + </p> + <p> + His father looked up when Edward entered, and wearily spoke to the young + man as his face came into the faint light. + </p> + <p> + ‘Edward, why did you get up so early?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was uneasy, and could not sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + The farmer turned again to the leases on the bureau, and seemed to become + lost in reflection. In a minute or two, without lifting his eyes, he said— + </p> + <p> + ‘This is more than we can bear, Ted—more than we can bear! Ted, this + will kill me. Not the loss only—the sense of my neglect about the + insurance and everything. Borrow I never will. ‘Tis all misery now. God + help us—all misery now!’ + </p> + <p> + Edward did not answer, continuing to look fixedly at the dreary daylight + outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ted,’ the farmer went on, ‘this upset of be-en burnt out o’ home makes me + very nervous and doubtful about everything. There’s this troubles me + besides—our liven here with your cousin, and fillen up her house. It + must be very awkward for her. But she says she doesn’t mind. Have you said + anything to her lately about when you are going to marry her?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing at all lately.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, perhaps you may as well, now we are so mixed in together. You know, + no time has ever been mentioned to her at all, first or last, and I think + it right that now, since she has waited so patiently and so long—you + are almost called upon to say you are ready. It would simplify matters + very much, if you were to walk up to church wi’ her one of these mornings, + get the thing done, and go on liven here as we are. If you don’t I must + get a house all the sooner. It would lighten my mind, too, about the two + little freeholds over the hill—not a morsel a-piece, divided as they + were between her mother and me, but a tidy bit tied together again. Just + think about it, will ye, Ted?’ + </p> + <p> + He stopped from exhaustion produced by the intense concentration of his + mind upon the weary subject, and looked anxiously at his son. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I will,’ said Edward. + </p> + <p> + ‘But I am going to see her of the Great House this morning,’ the farmer + went on, his thoughts reverting to the old subject. ‘I must know the + rights of the matter, the when and the where. I don’t like seeing her, but + I’d rather talk to her than the steward. I wonder what she’ll say to me.’ + </p> + <p> + The younger man knew exactly what she would say. If his father asked her + what he was to do, and when, she would simply refer him to Manston: her + character was not that of a woman who shrank from a proposition she had + once laid down. If his father were to say to her that his son had at last + resolved to marry his cousin within the year, and had given her a promise + to that effect, she would say, ‘Mr. Springrove, the houses are burnt: + we’ll let them go: trouble no more about them.’ + </p> + <p> + His mind was already made up. He said calmly, ‘Father, when you are + talking to Miss Aldclyffe, mention to her that I have asked Adelaide if + she is willing to marry me next Christmas. She is interested in my union + with Adelaide, and the news will be welcome to her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And yet she can be iron with reference to me and her property,’ the + farmer murmured. ‘Very well, Ted, I’ll tell her.’ + </p> + <p> + 6. DECEMBER THE FIFTH + </p> + <p> + Of the many contradictory particulars constituting a woman’s heart, two + had shown their vigorous contrast in Cytherea’s bosom just at this time. + </p> + <p> + It was a dark morning, the morning after old Mr. Springrove’s visit to + Miss Aldclyffe, which had terminated as Edward had intended. Having risen + an hour earlier than was usual with her, Cytherea sat at the window of an + elegant little sitting-room on the ground floor, which had been + appropriated to her by the kindness or whim of Miss Aldclyffe, that she + might not be driven into that lady’s presence against her will. She leant + with her face on her hand, looking out into the gloomy grey air. A yellow + glimmer from the flapping flame of the newly-lit fire fluttered on one + side of her face and neck like a butterfly about to settle there, + contrasting warmly with the other side of the same fair face, which + received from the window the faint cold morning light, so weak that her + shadow from the fire had a distinct outline on the window-shutter in spite + of it. There the shadow danced like a demon, blue and grim. + </p> + <p> + The contradiction alluded to was that in spite of the decisive mood which + two months earlier in the year had caused her to write a peremptory and + final letter to Edward, she was now hoping for some answer other than the + only possible one a man who, as she held, did not love her wildly, could + send to such a communication. For a lover who did love wildly, she had + left one little loophole in her otherwise straightforward epistle. Why she + expected the letter on some morning of this particular week was, that + hearing of his return to Carriford, she fondly assumed that he meant to + ask for an interview before he left. Hence it was, too, that for the last + few days, she had not been able to keep in bed later than the time of the + postman’s arrival. + </p> + <p> + The clock pointed to half-past seven. She saw the postman emerge from + beneath the bare boughs of the park trees, come through the wicket, dive + through the shrubbery, reappear on the lawn, stalk across it without + reference to paths—as country postmen do—and come to the + porch. She heard him fling the bag down on the seat, and turn away towards + the village, without hindering himself for a single pace. + </p> + <p> + Then the butler opened the door, took up the bag, brought it in, and + carried it up the staircase to place it on the slab by Miss Aldclyffe’s + dressing-room door. The whole proceeding had been depicted by sounds. + </p> + <p> + She had a presentiment that her letter was in the bag at last. She thought + then in diminishing pulsations of confidence, ‘He asks to see me! Perhaps + he asks to see me: I hope he asks to see me.’ + </p> + <p> + A quarter to eight: Miss Aldclyffe’s bell—rather earlier than usual. + ‘She must have heard the post-bag brought,’ said the maiden, as, tired of + the chilly prospect outside, she turned to the fire, and drew imaginative + pictures of her future therein. + </p> + <p> + A tap came to the door, and the lady’s-maid entered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe is awake,’ she said; ‘and she asked if you were moving + yet, miss.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll run up to her,’ said Cytherea, and flitted off with the utterance of + the words. ‘Very fortunate this,’ she thought; ‘I shall see what is in the + bag this morning all the sooner.’ + </p> + <p> + She took it up from the side table, went into Miss Aldclyffe’s bedroom, + pulled up the blinds, and looked round upon the lady in bed, calculating + the minutes that must elapse before she looked at her letters. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, darling, how are you? I am glad you have come in to see me,’ said + Miss Aldclyffe. ‘You can unlock the bag this morning, child, if you like,’ + she continued, yawning factitiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Strange!’ Cytherea thought; ‘it seems as if she knew there was likely to + be a letter for me.’ + </p> + <p> + From her bed Miss Aldclyffe watched the girl’s face as she tremblingly + opened the post-bag and found there an envelope addressed to her in + Edward’s handwriting; one he had written the day before, after the + decision he had come to on an impartial, and on that account torturing, + survey of his own, his father’s, his cousin Adelaide’s, and what he + believed to be Cytherea’s, position. + </p> + <p> + The haughty mistress’s soul sickened remorsefully within her when she saw + suddenly appear upon the speaking countenance of the young lady before her + a wan desolate look of agony. + </p> + <p> + The master-sentences of Edward’s letter were these: ‘You speak truly. That + we never meet again is the wisest and only proper course. That I regret + the past as much as you do yourself, it is hardly necessary for me to + say.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. THE EVENTS OF TEN MONTHS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. DECEMBER TO APRIL + </h3> + <p> + Week after week, month after month, the time had flown by. Christmas had + passed; dreary winter with dark evenings had given place to more dreary + winter with light evenings. Thaws had ended in rain, rain in wind, wind in + dust. Showery days had come—the period of pink dawns and white + sunsets; with the third week in April the cuckoo had appeared, with the + fourth, the nightingale. + </p> + <p> + Edward Springrove was in London, attending to the duties of his new + office, and it had become known throughout the neighbourhood of Carriford + that the engagement between himself and Miss Adelaide Hinton would + terminate in marriage at the end of the year. + </p> + <p> + The only occasion on which her lover of the idle delicious days at + Budmouth watering-place had been seen by Cytherea after the time of the + decisive correspondence, was once in church, when he sat in front of her, + and beside Miss Hinton. + </p> + <p> + The rencounter was quite an accident. Springrove had come there in the + full belief that Cytherea was away from home with Miss Aldclyffe; and he + continued ignorant of her presence throughout the service. + </p> + <p> + It is at such moments as these, when a sensitive nature writhes under the + conception that its most cherished emotions have been treated with + contumely, that the sphere-descended Maid, Music, friend of Pleasure at + other times, becomes a positive enemy—racking, bewildering, + unrelenting. The congregation sang the first Psalm and came to the verse— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Like some fair tree which, fed by streams, + With timely fruit doth bend, + He still shall flourish, and success + All his designs attend.’ +</pre> + <p> + Cytherea’s lips did not move, nor did any sound escape her; but could she + help singing the words in the depths of her being, although the man to + whom she applied them sat at her rival’s side? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the moral compensation for all a woman’s petty cleverness under + thriving conditions is the real nobility that lies in her extreme + foolishness at these other times; her sheer inability to be simply just, + her exercise of an illogical power entirely denied to men in general—the + power not only of kissing, but of delighting to kiss the rod by a + punctilious observance of the self-immolating doctrines in the Sermon on + the Mount. + </p> + <p> + As for Edward—a little like other men of his temperament, to whom, + it is somewhat humiliating to think, the aberrancy of a given love is in + itself a recommendation—his sentiment, as he looked over his + cousin’s book, was of a lower rank, Horatian rather than Psalmodic— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘O, what hast thou of her, of her + Whose every look did love inspire; + Whose every breathing fanned my fire, + And stole me from myself away!’ +</pre> + <p> + Then, without letting him see her, Cytherea slipt out of church early, and + went home, the tones of the organ still lingering in her ears as she tried + bravely to kill a jealous thought that would nevertheless live: ‘My nature + is one capable of more, far more, intense feeling than hers! She can’t + appreciate all the sides of him—she never will! He is more tangible + to me even now, as a thought, than his presence itself is to her!’ She was + less noble then. + </p> + <p> + But she continually repressed her misery and bitterness of heart till the + effort to do so showed signs of lessening. At length she even tried to + hope that her lost lover and her rival would love one another very dearly. + </p> + <p> + The scene and the sentiment dropped into the past. Meanwhile, Manston + continued visibly before her. He, though quiet and subdued in his bearing + for a long time after the calamity of November, had not simulated a grief + that he did not feel. At first his loss seemed so to absorb him—though + as a startling change rather than as a heavy sorrow—that he paid + Cytherea no attention whatever. His conduct was uniformly kind and + respectful, but little more. Then, as the date of the catastrophe grew + remoter, he began to wear a different aspect towards her. He always + contrived to obliterate by his manner all recollection on her side that + she was comparatively more dependent than himself—making much of her + womanhood, nothing of her situation. Prompt to aid her whenever occasion + offered, and full of delightful petits soins at all times, he was not + officious. In this way he irresistibly won for himself a position as her + friend, and the more easily in that he allowed not the faintest symptom of + the old love to be apparent. + </p> + <p> + Matters stood thus in the middle of the spring when the next move on his + behalf was made by Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + 2. THE THIRD OF MAY + </p> + <p> + She led Cytherea to a summer-house called the Fane, built in the private + grounds about the mansion in the form of a Grecian temple; it overlooked + the lake, the island on it, the trees, and their undisturbed reflection in + the smooth still water. Here the old and young maid halted; here they + stood, side by side, mentally imbibing the scene. + </p> + <p> + The month was May—the time, morning. Cuckoos, thrushes, blackbirds, + and sparrows gave forth a perfect confusion of song and twitter. The road + was spotted white with the fallen leaves of apple-blossoms, and the + sparkling grey dew still lingered on the grass and flowers. Two swans + floated into view in front of the women, and then crossed the water + towards them. + </p> + <p> + ‘They seem to come to us without any will of their own—quite + involuntarily—don’t they?’ said Cytherea, looking at the birds’ + graceful advance. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, but if you look narrowly you can see their hips just beneath the + water, working with the greatest energy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d rather not see that, it spoils the idea of proud indifference to + direction which we associate with a swan.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It does; we’ll have “involuntarily.” Ah, now this reminds me of + something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of what?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of a human being who involuntarily comes towards yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea looked into Miss Aldclyffe’s face; her eyes grew round as + circles, and lines of wonderment came visibly upon her countenance. She + had not once regarded Manston as a lover since his wife’s sudden + appearance and subsequent death. The death of a wife, and such a death, + was an overwhelming matter in her ideas of things. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it a man or woman?’ she said, quite innocently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Manston,’ said Miss Aldclyffe quietly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Manston attracted by me <i>now</i>?’ said Cytherea, standing at gaze. + </p> + <p> + ‘Didn’t you know it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly I did not. Why, his poor wife has only been dead six months.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course he knows that. But loving is not done by months, or method, or + rule, or nobody would ever have invented such a phrase as “falling in + love.” He does not want his love to be observed just yet, on the very + account you mention; but conceal it as he may from himself and us, it + exists definitely—and very intensely, I assure you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose then, that if he can’t help it, it is no harm of him,’ said + Cytherea naively, and beginning to ponder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course it isn’t—you know that well enough. She was a great + burden and trouble to him. This may become a great good to you both.’ + </p> + <p> + A rush of feeling at remembering that the same woman, before Manston’s + arrival, had just as frankly advocated Edward’s claims, checked Cytherea’s + utterance for awhile. + </p> + <p> + ‘There, don’t look at me like that, for Heaven’s sake!’ said Miss + Aldclyffe. ‘You could almost kill a person by the force of reproach you + can put into those eyes of yours, I verily believe.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward once in the young lady’s thoughts, there was no getting rid of him. + She wanted to be alone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you want me here?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now there, there; you want to be off, and have a good cry,’ said Miss + Aldclyffe, taking her hand. ‘But you mustn’t, my dear. There’s nothing in + the past for you to regret. Compare Mr. Manston’s honourable conduct + towards his wife and yourself, with Springrove towards his betrothed and + yourself, and then see which appears the more worthy of your thoughts.’ + </p> + <p> + 3. FROM THE FOURTH OF MAY TO THE TWENTY-FIRST OF JUNE + </p> + <p> + The next stage in Manston’s advances towards her hand was a clearly + defined courtship. She was sadly perplexed, and some contrivance was + necessary on his part in order to meet with her. But it is next to + impossible for an appreciative woman to have a positive repugnance towards + an unusually handsome and gifted man, even though she may not be inclined + to love him. Hence Cytherea was not so alarmed at the sight of him as to + render a meeting and conversation with her more than a matter of + difficulty. + </p> + <p> + Coming and going from church was his grand opportunity. Manston was very + religious now. It is commonly said that no man was ever converted by + argument, but there is a single one which will make any Laodicean in + England, let him be once love-sick, wear prayer-books and become a zealous + Episcopalian—the argument that his sweetheart can be seen from his + pew. + </p> + <p> + Manston introduced into his method a system of bewitching flattery, + everywhere pervasive, yet, too, so transitory and intangible, that, as in + the case of the poet Wordsworth and the Wandering Voice, though she felt + it present, she could never find it. As a foil to heighten its effect, he + occasionally spoke philosophically of the evanescence of female beauty—the + worthlessness of mere appearance. ‘Handsome is that handsome does’ he + considered a proverb which should be written on the looking-glass of every + woman in the land. ‘Your form, your motions, your heart have won me,’ he + said, in a tone of playful sadness. ‘They are beautiful. But I see these + things, and it comes into my mind that they are doomed, they are gliding + to nothing as I look. Poor eyes, poor mouth, poor face, poor maiden! + “Where will her glories be in twenty years?” I say. “Where will all of her + be in a hundred?” Then I think it is cruel that you should bloom a day, + and fade for ever and ever. It seems hard and sad that you will die as + ordinarily as I, and be buried; be food for roots and worms, be forgotten + and come to earth, and grow up a mere blade of churchyard-grass and an ivy + leaf. Then, Miss Graye, when I see you are a Lovely Nothing, I pity you, + and the love I feel then is better and sounder, larger and more lasting + than that I felt at the beginning.’ Again an ardent flash of his handsome + eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was by this route that he ventured on an indirect declaration and offer + of his hand. + </p> + <p> + She implied in the same indirect manner that she did not love him enough + to accept it. + </p> + <p> + An actual refusal was more than he had expected. Cursing himself for what + he called his egregious folly in making himself the slave of a mere lady’s + attendant, and for having given the parish, should they know of her + refusal, a chance of sneering at him—certainly a ground for thinking + less of his standing than before—he went home to the Old House, and + walked indecisively up and down his back-yard. Turning aside, he leant his + arms upon the edge of the rain-water-butt standing in the corner, and + looked into it. The reflection from the smooth stagnant surface tinged his + face with the greenish shades of Correggio’s nudes. Staves of sunlight + slanted down through the still pool, lighting it up with wonderful + distinctness. Hundreds of thousands of minute living creatures sported and + tumbled in its depth with every contortion that gaiety could suggest; + perfectly happy, though consisting only of a head, or a tail, or at most a + head and a tail, and all doomed to die within the twenty-four hours. + </p> + <p> + ‘Damn my position! Why shouldn’t I be happy through my little day too? Let + the parish sneer at my repulses, let it. I’ll get her, if I move heaven + and earth to do it!’ + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the inexperienced Cytherea had, towards Edward in the first place, + and Manston afterwards, unconsciously adopted bearings that would have + been the very tactics of a professional fisher of men who wished to have + them each successively dangling at her heels. For if any rule at all can + be laid down in a matter which, for men collectively, is notoriously + beyond regulation, it is that to snub a petted man, and to pet a snubbed + man, is the way to win in suits of both kinds. Manston with Springrove’s + encouragement would have become indifferent. Edward with Manston’s + repulses would have sheered off at the outset, as he did afterwards. Her + supreme indifference added fuel to Manston’s ardour—it completely + disarmed his pride. The invulnerable Nobody seemed greater to him than a + susceptible Princess. + </p> + <p> + 4. FROM THE TWENTY-FIRST OF JUNE TO THE END OF JULY + </p> + <p> + Cytherea had in the meantime received the following letter from her + brother. It was the first definite notification of the enlargement of that + cloud no bigger than a man’s hand which had for nearly a twelvemonth hung + before them in the distance, and which was soon to give a colour to their + whole sky from horizon to horizon. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘BUDMOUTH REGIS, +</pre> + <p> + Saturday. + </p> + <p> + ‘DARLING SIS,—I have delayed telling you for a long time of a little + matter which, though not one to be seriously alarmed about, is + sufficiently vexing, and it would be unfair in me to keep it from you any + longer. It is that for some time past I have again been distressed by that + lameness which I first distinctly felt when we went to Lulstead Cove, and + again when I left Knapwater that morning early. It is an unusual pain in + my left leg, between the knee and the ankle. I had just found fresh + symptoms of it when you were here for that half-hour about a month ago—when + you said in fun that I began to move like an old man. I had a good mind to + tell you then, but fancying it would go off in a few days, I thought it + was not worth while. Since that time it has increased, but I am still able + to work in the office, sitting on the stool. My great fear is that Mr. G. + will have some out-door measuring work for me to do soon, and that I shall + be obliged to decline it. However, we will hope for the best. How it came, + what was its origin, or what it tends to, I cannot think. You shall hear + again in a day or two, if it is no better...—Your loving brother, + OWEN.’ + </p> + <p> + This she answered, begging to know the worst, which she could bear, but + suspense and anxiety never. In two days came another letter from him, of + which the subjoined paragraph is a portion:— + </p> + <p> + ‘I had quite decided to let you know the worst, and to assure you that it + was the worst, before you wrote to ask it. And again I give you my word + that I will conceal nothing—so that there will be no excuse whatever + for your wearing yourself out with fears that I am worse than I say. This + morning then, for the first time, I have been obliged to stay away from + the office. Don’t be frightened at this, dear Cytherea. Rest is all that + is wanted, and by nursing myself now for a week, I may avoid an illness of + six months.’ + </p> + <p> + After a visit from her he wrote again:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Dr. Chestman has seen me. He said that the ailment was some sort of + rheumatism, and I am now undergoing proper treatment for its cure. My leg + and foot have been placed in hot bran, liniments have been applied, and + also severe friction with a pad. He says I shall be as right as ever in a + very short time. Directly I am I shall run up by the train to see you. + Don’t trouble to come to me if Miss Aldclyffe grumbles again about your + being away, for I am going on capitally.... You shall hear again at the + end of the week.’ + </p> + <p> + At the time mentioned came the following:— + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry to tell you, because I know it will be so disheartening after + my last letter, that I am not so well as I was then, and that there has + been a sort of hitch in the proceedings. After I had been treated for + rheumatism a few days longer (in which treatment they pricked the place + with a long needle several times,) I saw that Dr. Chestman was in doubt + about something, and I requested that he would call in a brother + professional man to see me as well. They consulted together and then told + me that rheumatism was not the disease after all, but erysipelas. They + then began treating it differently, as became a different matter. + Blisters, flour, and starch, seem to be the order of the day now—medicine, + of course, besides. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Gradfield has been in to inquire about me. He says he has been + obliged to get a designer in my place, which grieves me very much, though, + of course, it could not be avoided.’ + </p> + <p> + A month passed away; throughout this period, Cytherea visited him as often + as the limited time at her command would allow, and wore as cheerful a + countenance as the womanly determination to do nothing which might depress + him could enable her to wear. Another letter from him then told her these + additional facts:— + </p> + <p> + ‘The doctors find they are again on the wrong tack. They cannot make out + what the disease is. O Cytherea! how I wish they knew! This suspense is + wearing me out. Could not Miss Aldclyffe spare you for a day? Do come to + me. We will talk about the best course then. I am sorry to complain, but I + am worn out.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea went to Miss Aldclyffe, and told her of the melancholy turn her + brother’s illness had taken. Miss Aldclyffe at once said that Cytherea + might go, and offered to do anything to assist her which lay in her power. + Cytherea’s eyes beamed gratitude as she turned to leave the room, and + hasten to the station. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, Cytherea,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, calling her back; ‘just one word. Has + Mr. Manston spoken to you lately?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cytherea, blushing timorously. + </p> + <p> + ‘He proposed?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you refused him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tut, tut! Now listen to my advice,’ said Miss Aldclyffe emphatically, + ‘and accept him before he changes his mind. The chance which he offers you + of settling in life is one that may possibly, probably, not occur again. + His position is good and secure, and the life of his wife would be a happy + one. You may not be sure that you love him madly; but suppose you are not + sure? My father used to say to me as a child when he was teaching me + whist, “When in doubt win the trick!” That advice is ten times as valuable + to a woman on the subject of matrimony. In refusing a man there is always + the risk that you may never get another offer.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why didn’t you win the trick when you were a girl?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, my lady Pert; I’m not the text,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, her face + glowing like fire. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea laughed stealthily. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was about to say,’ resumed Miss Aldclyffe severely, ‘that here is Mr. + Manston waiting with the tenderest solicitude for you, and you overlooking + it, as if it were altogether beneath you. Think how you might benefit your + sick brother if you were Mrs. Manston. You will please me <i>very much</i> + by giving him some encouragement. You understand me, Cythie dear?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was silent. + </p> + <p> + ‘And,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, still more emphatically, ‘on your promising + that you will accept him some time this year, I will take especial care of + your brother. You are listening, Cytherea?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she whispered, leaving the room. + </p> + <p> + She went to Budmouth, passed the day with her brother, and returned to + Knapwater wretched and full of foreboding. Owen had looked startlingly + thin and pale—thinner and paler than ever she had seen him before. + The brother and sister had that day decided that notwithstanding the drain + upon their slender resources, another surgeon should see him. Time was + everything. + </p> + <p> + Owen told her the result in his next letter:— + </p> + <p> + ‘The three practitioners between them have at last hit the nail on the + head, I hope. They probed the place, and discovered that the secret lay in + the bone. I underwent an operation for its removal three days ago (after + taking chloroform)... Thank God it is over. Though I am so weak, my + spirits are rather better. I wonder when I shall be at work again? I asked + the surgeons how long it would be first. I said a month? They shook their + heads. A year? I said. Not so long, they said. Six months? I inquired. + They would not, or could not, tell me. But never mind. + </p> + <p> + ‘Run down, when you have half a day to spare, for the hours drag on so + drearily. O Cytherea, you can’t think how drearily!’ + </p> + <p> + She went. Immediately on her departure Miss Aldclyffe sent a note to the + Old House, to Manston. On the maiden’s return, tired and sick at heart as + usual, she found Manston at the station awaiting her. He asked politely if + he might accompany her to Knapwater. She tacitly acquiesced. During their + walk he inquired the particulars of her brother’s illness, and with an + irresistible desire to pour out her trouble to some one, she told him of + the length of time which must elapse before he could be strong again, and + of the lack of comfort in lodgings. + </p> + <p> + Manston was silent awhile. Then he said impetuously: ‘Miss Graye, I will + not mince matters—I love you—you know it. Stratagem they say + is fair in love, and I am compelled to adopt it now. Forgive me, for I + cannot help it. Consent to be my wife at any time that may suit you—any + remote day you may name will satisfy me—and you shall find him well + provided for.’ + </p> + <p> + For the first time in her life she truly dreaded the handsome man at her + side who pleaded thus selfishly, and shrank from the hot voluptuous nature + of his passion for her, which, disguise it as he might under a quiet and + polished exterior, at times radiated forth with a scorching white heat. + She perceived how animal was the love which bargained. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not love you, Mr. Manston,’ she replied coldly. + </p> + <p> + 5. FROM THE FIRST TO THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF AUGUST + </p> + <p> + The long sunny days of the later summer-time brought only the same dreary + accounts from Budmouth, and saw Cytherea paying the same sad visits. + </p> + <p> + She grew perceptibly weaker, in body and mind. Manston still persisted in + his suit, but with more of his former indirectness, now that he saw how + unexpectedly well she stood an open attack. His was the system of Dares at + the Sicilian games— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He, like a captain who beleaguers round + Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, + Views all the approaches with observing eyes, + This and that other part again he tries, + And more on industry than force relies.’ +</pre> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe made it appear more clearly than ever that aid to Owen from + herself depended entirely upon Cytherea’s acceptance of her steward. + Hemmed in and distressed, Cytherea’s answers to his importunities grew + less uniform; they were firm, or wavering, as Owen’s malady fluctuated. + Had a register of her pitiful oscillations been kept, it would have + rivalled in pathos the diary wherein De Quincey tabulates his combat with + Opium—perhaps as noticeable an instance as any in which a thrilling + dramatic power has been given to mere numerals. Thus she wearily and + monotonously lived through the month, listening on Sundays to the + well-known round of chapters narrating the history of Elijah and Elisha in + famine and drought; on week-days to buzzing flies in hot sunny rooms. ‘So + like, so very like, was day to day.’ Extreme lassitude seemed all that the + world could show her. + </p> + <p> + Her state was in this wise, when one afternoon, having been with her + brother, she met the surgeon, and begged him to tell the actual truth + concerning Owen’s condition. + </p> + <p> + The reply was that he feared that the first operation had not been + thorough; that although the wound had healed, another attempt might still + be necessary, unless nature were left to effect her own cure. But the time + such a self-healing proceeding would occupy might be ruinous. + </p> + <p> + ‘How long would it be?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is impossible to say. A year or two, more or less.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And suppose he submitted to another artificial extraction?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then he might be well in four or six months.’ + </p> + <p> + Now the remainder of his and her possessions, together with a sum he had + borrowed, would not provide him with necessary comforts for half that + time. To combat the misfortune, there were two courses open—her + becoming betrothed to Manston, or the sending Owen to the County Hospital. + </p> + <p> + Thus terrified, driven into a corner, panting and fluttering about for + some loophole of escape, yet still shrinking from the idea of being + Manston’s wife, the poor little bird endeavoured to find out from Miss + Aldclyffe whether it was likely Owen would be well treated in the + hospital. + </p> + <p> + ‘County Hospital!’ said Miss Aldclyffe; ‘why, it is only another name for + slaughter-house—in surgical cases at any rate. Certainly if anything + about your body is snapt in two they do join you together in a fashion, + but ‘tis so askew and ugly, that you may as well be apart again.’ Then she + terrified the inquiring and anxious maiden by relating horrid stories of + how the legs and arms of poor people were cut off at a moment’s notice, + especially in cases where the restorative treatment was likely to be long + and tedious. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know how willing I am to help you, Cytherea,’ she added + reproachfully. ‘You know it. Why are you so obstinate then? Why do you + selfishly bar the clear, honourable, and only sisterly path which leads + out of this difficulty? I cannot, on my conscience, countenance you; no, I + cannot.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston once more repeated his offer; and once more she refused, but this + time weakly, and with signs of an internal struggle. Manston’s eye + sparkled; he saw for the hundredth time in his life, that perseverance, if + only systematic, was irresistible by womankind. + </p> + <p> + 6. THE TWENTY-SEVENTH OF AUGUST + </p> + <p> + On going to Budmouth three days later, she found to her surprise that the + steward had been there, had introduced himself, and had seen her brother. + A few delicacies had been brought him also by the same hand. Owen spoke in + warm terms of Manston and his free and unceremonious call, as he could not + have refrained from doing of any person, of any kind, whose presence had + served to help away the tedious hours of a long day, and who had, + moreover, shown that sort of consideration for him which the accompanying + basket implied—antecedent consideration, so telling upon all + invalids—and which he so seldom experienced except from the hands of + his sister. + </p> + <p> + How should he perceive, amid this tithe-paying of mint, and anise, and + cummin, the weightier matters which were left undone? + </p> + <p> + Again the steward met her at Carriford Road Station on her return journey. + Instead of being frigid as at the former meeting at the same place, she + was embarrassed by a strife of thought, and murmured brokenly her thanks + for what he had done. The same request that he might see her home was + made. + </p> + <p> + He had perceived his error in making his kindness to Owen a conditional + kindness, and had hastened to efface all recollection of it. ‘Though I let + my offer on her brother’s—my friend’s—behalf, seem dependent + on my lady’s graciousness to me,’ he whispered wooingly in the course of + their walk, ‘I could not conscientiously adhere to my statement; it was + said with all the impulsive selfishness of love. Whether you choose to + have me, or whether you don’t, I love you too devotedly to be anything but + kind to your brother.... Miss Graye, Cytherea, I will do anything,’ he + continued earnestly, ‘to give you pleasure—indeed I will.’ + </p> + <p> + She saw on the one hand her poor and much-loved Owen recovering from his + illness and troubles by the disinterested kindness of the man beside her, + on the other she drew him dying, wholly by reason of her self-enforced + poverty. To marry this man was obviously the course of common sense, to + refuse him was impolitic temerity. There was reason in this. But there was + more behind than a hundred reasons—a woman’s gratitude and her + impulse to be kind. + </p> + <p> + The wavering of her mind was visible in her tell-tale face. He noticed it, + and caught at the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + They were standing by the ruinous foundations of an old mill in the midst + of a meadow. Between grey and half-overgrown stonework—the only + signs of masonry remaining—the water gurgled down from the old + millpond to a lower level, under the cloak of rank broad leaves—the + sensuous natures of the vegetable world. On the right hand the sun, + resting on the horizon-line, streamed across the ground from below + copper-coloured and lilac clouds, stretched out in flats beneath a sky of + pale soft green. All dark objects on the earth that lay towards the sun + were overspread by a purple haze, against which a swarm of wailing gnats + shone forth luminously, rising upward and floating away like sparks of + fire. + </p> + <p> + The stillness oppressed and reduced her to mere passivity. The only wish + the humidity of the place left in her was to stand motionless. The + helpless flatness of the landscape gave her, as it gives all such + temperaments, a sense of bare equality with, and no superiority to, a + single entity under the sky. + </p> + <p> + He came so close that their clothes touched. ‘Will you try to love me? Do + try to love me!’ he said, in a whisper, taking her hand. He had never + taken it before. She could feel his hand trembling exceedingly as it held + hers in its clasp. + </p> + <p> + Considering his kindness to her brother, his love for herself, and + Edward’s fickleness, ought she to forbid him to do this? How truly pitiful + it was to feel his hand tremble so—all for her! Should she withdraw + her hand? She would think whether she would. Thinking, and hesitating, she + looked as far as the autumnal haze on the marshy ground would allow her to + see distinctly. There was the fragment of a hedge—all that remained + of a ‘wet old garden’—standing in the middle of the mead, without a + definite beginning or ending, purposeless and valueless. It was overgrown, + and choked with mandrakes, and she could almost fancy she heard their + shrieks.... Should she withdraw her hand? No, she could not withdraw it + now; it was too late, the act would not imply refusal. She felt as one in + a boat without oars, drifting with closed eyes down a river—she knew + not whither. + </p> + <p> + He gave her hand a gentle pressure, and relinquished it. + </p> + <p> + Then it seemed as if he were coming to the point again. No, he was not + going to urge his suit that evening. Another respite. + </p> + <p> + 7. THE EARLY PART OF SEPTEMBER + </p> + <p> + Saturday came, and she went on some trivial errand to the village + post-office. It was a little grey cottage with a luxuriant jasmine + encircling the doorway, and before going in Cytherea paused to admire this + pleasing feature of the exterior. Hearing a step on the gravel behind the + corner of the house, she resigned the jasmine and entered. Nobody was in + the room. She could hear Mrs. Leat, the widow who acted as postmistress, + walking about over her head. Cytherea was going to the foot of the stairs + to call Mrs. Leat, but before she had accomplished her object, another + form stood at the half-open door. Manston came in. + </p> + <p> + ‘Both on the same errand,’ he said gracefully. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will call her,’ said Cytherea, moving in haste to the foot of the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘One moment.’ He glided to her side. ‘Don’t call her for a moment,’ he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + But she had said, ‘Mrs. Leat!’ + </p> + <p> + He seized Cytherea’s hand, kissed it tenderly, and carefully replaced it + by her side. + </p> + <p> + She had that morning determined to check his further advances, until she + had thoroughly considered her position. The remonstrance was now on her + tongue, but as accident would have it, before the word could be spoken + Mrs. Leat was stepping from the last stair to the floor, and no + remonstrance came. + </p> + <p> + With the subtlety which characterized him in all his dealings with her, he + quickly concluded his own errand, bade her a good-bye, in the tones of + which love was so garnished with pure politeness that it only showed its + presence to herself, and left the house—putting it out of her power + to refuse him her companionship homeward, or to object to his late action + of kissing her hand. + </p> + <p> + The Friday of the next week brought another letter from her brother. In + this he informed her that, in absolute grief lest he should distress her + unnecessarily, he had some time earlier borrowed a few pounds. A week ago, + he said, his creditor became importunate, but that on the day on which he + wrote, the creditor had told him there was no hurry for a settlement, that + ‘his <i>sister’s suitor</i> had guaranteed the sum.’ ‘Is he Mr. Manston? + tell me, Cytherea,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + He also mentioned that a wheeled chair had been anonymously hired for his + especial use, though as yet he was hardly far enough advanced towards + convalescence to avail himself of the luxury. ‘Is this Mr. Manston’s + doing?’ he inquired. + </p> + <p> + She could dally with her perplexity, evade it, trust to time for guidance, + no longer. The matter had come to a crisis: she must once and for all + choose between the dictates of her understanding and those of her heart. + She longed, till her soul seemed nigh to bursting, for her lost mother’s + return to earth, but for one minute, that she might have tender counsel to + guide her through this, her great difficulty. + </p> + <p> + As for her heart, she half fancied that it was not Edward’s to quite the + extent that it once had been; she thought him cruel in conducting himself + towards her as he did at Budmouth, cruel afterwards in making so light of + her. She knew he had stifled his love for her—was utterly lost to + her. But for all that she could not help indulging in a woman’s pleasure + of recreating defunct agonies, and lacerating herself with them now and + then. + </p> + <p> + ‘If I were rich,’ she thought, ‘I would give way to the luxury of being + morbidly faithful to him for ever without his knowledge.’ + </p> + <p> + But she considered; in the first place she was a homeless dependent; and + what did practical wisdom tell her to do under such desperate + circumstances? To provide herself with some place of refuge from poverty, + and with means to aid her brother Owen. This was to be Mr. Manston’s wife. + </p> + <p> + She did not love him. + </p> + <p> + But what was love without a home? Misery. What was a home without love? + Alas, not much; but still a kind of home. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘I am urged by my common sense to marry Mr. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + Did anything nobler in her say so too? + </p> + <p> + With the death (to her) of Edward her heart’s occupation was gone. Was it + necessary or even right for her to tend it and take care of it as she used + to in the old time, when it was still a capable minister? + </p> + <p> + By a slight sacrifice here she could give happiness to at least two hearts + whose emotional activities were still unwounded. She would do good to two + men whose lives were far more important than hers. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said again, ‘even Christianity urges me to marry Mr. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + Directly Cytherea had persuaded herself that a kind of heroic + self-abnegation had to do with the matter, she became much more content in + the consideration of it. A wilful indifference to the future was what + really prevailed in her, ill and worn out, as she was, by the perpetual + harassments of her sad fortune, and she regarded this indifference, as + gushing natures will do under such circumstances, as genuine resignation + and devotedness. + </p> + <p> + Manston met her again the following day: indeed, there was no escaping him + now. At the end of a short conversation between them, which took place in + the hollow of the park by the waterfall, obscured on the outer side by the + low hanging branches of the limes, she tacitly assented to his assumption + of a privilege greater than any that had preceded it. He stooped and + kissed her brow. + </p> + <p> + Before going to bed she wrote to Owen explaining the whole matter. It was + too late in the evening for the postman’s visit, and she placed the letter + on the mantelpiece to send it the next day. + </p> + <p> + The morning (Sunday) brought a hurried postscript to Owen’s letter of the + day before:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘September 9, 1865. +</pre> + <p> + ‘DEAR CYTHEREA—I have received a frank and friendly letter from Mr. + Manston explaining the position in which he stands now, and also that in + which he hopes to stand towards you. Can’t you love him? Why not? Try, for + he is a good, and not only that, but a cultured man. Think of the weary + and laborious future that awaits you if you continue for life in your + present position, and do you see any way of escape from it except by + marriage? I don’t. Don’t go against your heart, Cytherea, but be wise.—Ever + affectionately yours, OWEN.’ + </p> + <p> + She thought that probably he had replied to Mr. Manston in the same + favouring mood. She had a conviction that that day would settle her doom. + Yet + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘So true a fool is love,’ +</pre> + <p> + that even now she nourished a half-hope that something would happen at the + last moment to thwart her deliberately-formed intentions, and favour the + old emotion she was using all her strength to thrust down. + </p> + <p> + 8. THE TENTH OF SEPTEMBER + </p> + <p> + The Sunday was the thirteenth after Trinity, and the afternoon service at + Carriford was nearly over. The people were singing the Evening Hymn. + </p> + <p> + Manston was at church as usual in his accustomed place two seats forward + from the large square pew occupied by Miss Aldclyffe and Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + The ordinary sadness of an autumnal evening-service seemed, in Cytherea’s + eyes, to be doubled on this particular occasion. She looked at all the + people as they stood and sang, waving backwards and forwards like a forest + of pines swayed by a gentle breeze; then at the village children singing + too, their heads inclined to one side, their eyes listlessly tracing some + crack in the old walls, or following the movement of a distant bough or + bird with features petrified almost to painfulness. Then she looked at + Manston; he was already regarding her with some purpose in his glance. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is coming this evening,’ she said in her mind. A minute later, at the + end of the hymn, when the congregation began to move out, Manston came + down the aisle. He was opposite the end of her seat as she stepped from + it, the remainder of their progress to the door being in contact with each + other. Miss Aldclyffe had lingered behind. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t let’s hurry,’ he said, when Cytherea was about to enter the private + path to the House as usual. ‘Would you mind turning down this way for a + minute till Miss Aldclyffe has passed?’ + </p> + <p> + She could not very well refuse now. They turned into a secluded path on + their left, leading round through a thicket of laurels to the other gate + of the church-yard, walking very slowly. By the time the further gate was + reached, the church was closed. They met the sexton with the keys in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘We are going inside for a minute,’ said Manston to him, taking the keys + unceremoniously. ‘I will bring them to you when we return.’ + </p> + <p> + The sexton nodded his assent, and Cytherea and Manston walked into the + porch, and up the nave. + </p> + <p> + They did not speak a word during their progress, or in any way interfere + with the stillness and silence that prevailed everywhere around them. + Everything in the place was the embodiment of decay: the fading red glare + from the setting sun, which came in at the west window, emphasizing the + end of the day and all its cheerful doings, the mildewed walls, the uneven + paving-stones, the wormy pews, the sense of recent occupation, and the + dank air of death which had gathered with the evening, would have made + grave a lighter mood than Cytherea’s was then. + </p> + <p> + ‘What sensations does the place impress you with?’ she said at last, very + sadly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I feel imperatively called upon to be honest, from very despair of + achieving anything by stratagem in a world where the materials are such as + these.’ He, too, spoke in a depressed voice, purposely or otherwise. + </p> + <p> + ‘I feel as if I were almost ashamed to be seen walking such a world,’ she + murmured; ‘that’s the effect it has upon me; but it does not induce me to + be honest particularly.’ + </p> + <p> + He took her hand in both his, and looked down upon the lids of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘I pity you sometimes,’ he said more emphatically. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am pitiable, perhaps; so are many people. Why do you pity me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think that you make yourself needlessly sad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not needlessly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, needlessly. Why should you be separated from your brother so much, + when you might have him to stay with you till he is well?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That can’t be,’ she said, turning away. + </p> + <p> + He went on, ‘I think the real and only good thing that can be done for him + is to get him away from Budmouth awhile; and I have been wondering whether + it could not be managed for him to come to my house to live for a few + weeks. Only a quarter of a mile from you. How pleasant it would be!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It would.’ + </p> + <p> + He moved himself round immediately to the front of her, and held her hand + more firmly, as he continued, ‘Cytherea, why do you say “It would,” so + entirely in the tone of abstract supposition? I want him there: I want him + to be my brother, too. Then make him so, and be my wife! I cannot live + without you. O Cytherea, my darling, my love, come and be my wife!’ + </p> + <p> + His face bent closer and closer to hers, and the last words sank to a + whisper as weak as the emotion inspiring it was strong. + </p> + <p> + She said firmly and distinctly, ‘Yes, I will.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Next month?’ he said on the instant, before taking breath. + </p> + <p> + ‘No; not next month.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The next?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘December? Christmas Day, say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, you darling!’ He was about to imprint a kiss upon her pale, cold + mouth, but she hastily covered it with her hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t kiss me—at least where we are now!’ she whispered + imploringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We are too near God.’ + </p> + <p> + He gave a sudden start, and his face flushed. She had spoken so + emphatically that the words ‘Near God’ echoed back again through the + hollow building from the far end of the chancel. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a thing to say!’ he exclaimed; ‘surely a pure kiss is not + inappropriate to the place!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she replied, with a swelling heart; ‘I don’t know why I burst out so—I + can’t tell what has come over me! Will you forgive me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How shall I say “Yes” without judging you? How shall I say “No” without + losing the pleasure of saying “Yes?”’ He was himself again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ she absently murmured. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll say “Yes,”’ he answered daintily. ‘It is sweeter to fancy we are + forgiven, than to think we have not sinned; and you shall have the + sweetness without the need.’ + </p> + <p> + She did not reply, and they moved away. The church was nearly dark now, + and melancholy in the extreme. She stood beside him while he locked the + door, then took the arm he gave her, and wound her way out of the + churchyard with him. Then they walked to the house together, but the great + matter having been set at rest, she persisted in talking only on + indifferent subjects. + </p> + <p> + ‘Christmas Day, then,’ he said, as they were parting at the end of the + shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + ‘I meant Old Christmas Day,’ she said evasively. + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m, people do not usually attach that meaning to the words.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No; but I should like it best if it could not be till then?’ It seemed to + be still her instinct to delay the marriage to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well, love,’ he said gently. ‘’Tis a fortnight longer still; but + never mind. Old Christmas Day.’ + </p> + <p> + 9. THE ELEVENTH OF SEPTEMBER + </p> + <p> + ‘There. It will be on a Friday!’ + </p> + <p> + She sat upon a little footstool gazing intently into the fire. It was the + afternoon of the day following that of the steward’s successful + solicitation of her hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wonder if it would be proper in me to run across the park and tell him + it is a Friday?’ she said to herself, rising to her feet, looking at her + hat lying near, and then out of the window towards the Old House. Proper + or not, she felt that she must at all hazards remove the disagreeable, + though, as she herself owned, unfounded impression the coincidence had + occasioned. She left the house directly, and went to search for him. + </p> + <p> + Manston was in the timber-yard, looking at the sawyers as they worked. + Cytherea came up to him hesitatingly. Till within a distance of a few + yards she had hurried forward with alacrity—now that the practical + expression of his face became visible she wished almost she had never + sought him on such an errand; in his business-mood he was perhaps very + stern. + </p> + <p> + ‘It will be on a Friday,’ she said confusedly, and without any preface. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come this way!’ said Manston, in the tone he used for workmen, not being + able to alter at an instant’s notice. He gave her his arm and led her back + into the avenue, by which time he was lover again. ‘On a Friday, will it, + dearest? You do not mind Fridays, surely? That’s nonsense.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not seriously mind them, exactly—but if it could be any other day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, let us say Old Christmas Eve, then. Shall it be Old Christmas Eve?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Old Christmas Eve.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your word is solemn, and irrevocable now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly, I have solemnly pledged my word; I should not have promised to + marry you if I had not meant it. Don’t think I should.’ She spoke the + words with a dignified impressiveness. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must not be vexed at my remark, dearest. Can you think the worse of + an ardent man, Cytherea, for showing some anxiety in love?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no.’ She could not say more. She was always ill at ease when he spoke + of himself as a piece of human nature in that analytical way, and wanted + to be out of his presence. The time of day, and the proximity of the + house, afforded her a means of escape. ‘I must be with Miss Aldclyffe now—will + you excuse my hasty coming and going?’ she said prettily. Before he had + replied she had parted from him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea, was it Mr. Manston I saw you scudding away from in the avenue + just now?’ said Miss Aldclyffe, when Cytherea joined her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘“Yes.” Come, why don’t you say more than that? I hate those taciturn + “Yesses” of yours. I tell you everything, and yet you are as close as wax + with me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I parted from him because I wanted to come in.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What a novel and important announcement! Well, is the day fixed?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe’s face kindled into intense interest at once. ‘Is it + indeed? When is it to be?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On Old Christmas Eve.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Old Christmas Eve.’ Miss Aldclyffe drew Cytherea round to her front, and + took a hand in each of her own. ‘And then you will be a bride!’ she said + slowly, looking with critical thoughtfulness upon the maiden’s delicately + rounded cheeks. + </p> + <p> + The normal area of the colour upon each of them decreased perceptibly + after that slow and emphatic utterance by the elder lady. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe continued impressively, ‘You did not say “Old Christmas + Eve” as a fiancee should have said the words: and you don’t receive my + remark with the warm excitement that foreshadows a bright future.... How + many weeks are there to the time?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not reckoned them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not? Fancy a girl not counting the weeks! I find I must take the lead in + this matter—you are so childish, or frightened, or stupid, or + something, about it. Bring me my diary, and we will count them at once.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea silently fetched the book. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe opened the diary at the page containing the almanac, and + counted sixteen weeks, which brought her to the thirty-first of December—a + Sunday. Cytherea stood by, looking on as if she had no appetite for the + scene. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sixteen to the thirty-first. Then let me see, Monday will be the first of + January, Tuesday the second, Wednesday third, Thursday fourth, Friday + fifth—you have chosen a Friday, as I declare!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A Thursday, surely?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘No: Old Christmas Day comes on a Saturday.’ + </p> + <p> + The perturbed little brain had reckoned wrong. ‘Well, it must be a + Friday,’ she murmured in a reverie. + </p> + <p> + ‘No: have it altered, of course,’ said Miss Aldclyffe cheerfully. ‘There’s + nothing bad in Friday, but such a creature as you will be thinking about + its being unlucky—in fact, I wouldn’t choose a Friday myself to be + married on, since all the other days are equally available.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall not have it altered,’ said Cytherea firmly; ‘it has been altered + once already: I shall let it be.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY + </h2> + <h3> + 1. THE FIFTH OF JANUARY. BEFORE DAWN + </h3> + <p> + We pass over the intervening weeks. The time of the story is thus advanced + more than a quarter of a year. + </p> + <p> + On the midnight preceding the morning which would make her the wife of a + man whose presence fascinated her into involuntariness of bearing, and + whom in absence she almost dreaded, Cytherea lay in her little bed, vainly + endeavouring to sleep. + </p> + <p> + She had been looking back amid the years of her short though varied past, + and thinking of the threshold upon which she stood. Days and months had + dimmed the form of Edward Springrove like the gauzes of a vanishing + stage-scene, but his dying voice could still be heard faintly behind. That + a soft small chord in her still vibrated true to his memory, she would not + admit: that she did not approach Manston with feelings which could by any + stretch of words be called hymeneal, she calmly owned. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do I marry him?’ she said to herself. ‘Because Owen, dear Owen my + brother, wishes me to marry him. Because Mr. Manston is, and has been, + uniformly kind to Owen, and to me. “Act in obedience to the dictates of + common-sense,” Owen said, “and dread the sharp sting of poverty. How many + thousands of women like you marry every year for the same reason, to + secure a home, and mere ordinary, material comforts, which after all go + far to make life endurable, even if not supremely happy.” + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis right, I suppose, for him to say that. O, if people only knew what a + timidity and melancholy upon the subject of her future grows up in the + heart of a friendless woman who is blown about like a reed shaken with the + wind, as I am, they would not call this resignation of one’s self by the + name of scheming to get a husband. Scheme to marry? I’d rather scheme to + die! I know I am not pleasing my heart; I know that if I only were + concerned, I should like risking a single future. But why should I please + my useless self overmuch, when by doing otherwise I please those who are + more valuable than I?’ + </p> + <p> + In the midst of desultory reflections like these, which alternated with + surmises as to the inexplicable connection that appeared to exist between + her intended husband and Miss Aldclyffe, she heard dull noises outside the + walls of the house, which she could not quite fancy to be caused by the + wind. She seemed doomed to such disturbances at critical periods of her + existence. ‘It is strange,’ she pondered, ‘that this my last night in + Knapwater House should be disturbed precisely as my first was, no + occurrence of the kind having intervened.’ + </p> + <p> + As the minutes glided by the noise increased, sounding as if some one were + beating the wall below her window with a bunch of switches. She would + gladly have left her room and gone to stay with one of the maids, but they + were without doubt all asleep. + </p> + <p> + The only person in the house likely to be awake, or who would have brains + enough to comprehend her nervousness, was Miss Aldclyffe, but Cytherea + never cared to go to Miss Aldclyffe’s room, though she was always welcome + there, and was often almost compelled to go against her will. + </p> + <p> + The oft-repeated noise of switches grew heavier upon the wall, and was now + intermingled with creaks, and a rattling like the rattling of dice. The + wind blew stronger; there came first a snapping, then a crash, and some + portion of the mystery was revealed. It was the breaking off and fall of a + branch from one of the large trees outside. The smacking against the wall, + and the intermediate rattling, ceased from that time. + </p> + <p> + Well, it was the tree which had caused the noises. The unexplained matter + was that neither of the trees ever touched the walls of the house during + the highest wind, and that trees could not rattle like a man playing + castanets or shaking dice. + </p> + <p> + She thought, ‘Is it the intention of Fate that something connected with + these noises shall influence my future as in the last case of the kind?’ + </p> + <p> + During the dilemma she fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamt that she was + being whipped with dry bones suspended on strings, which rattled at every + blow like those of a malefactor on a gibbet; that she shifted and shrank + and avoided every blow, and they fell then upon the wall to which she was + tied. She could not see the face of the executioner for his mask, but his + form was like Manston’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank Heaven!’ she said, when she awoke and saw a faint light struggling + through her blind. ‘Now what were those noises?’ To settle that question + seemed more to her than the event of the day. + </p> + <p> + She pulled the blind aside and looked out. All was plain. The evening + previous had closed in with a grey drizzle, borne upon a piercing air from + the north, and now its effects were visible. The hoary drizzle still + continued; but the trees and shrubs were laden with icicles to an extent + such as she had never before witnessed. A shoot of the diameter of a pin’s + head was iced as thick as her finger; all the boughs in the park were bent + almost to the earth with the immense weight of the glistening incumbrance; + the walks were like a looking-glass. Many boughs had snapped beneath their + burden, and lay in heaps upon the icy grass. Opposite her eye, on the + nearest tree, was a fresh yellow scar, showing where the branch that had + terrified her had been splintered from the trunk. + </p> + <p> + ‘I never could have believed it possible,’ she thought, surveying the + bowed-down branches, ‘that trees would bend so far out of their true + positions without breaking.’ By watching a twig she could see a drop + collect upon it from the hoary fog, sink to the lowest point, and there + become coagulated as the others had done. + </p> + <p> + ‘Or that I could so exactly have imitated them,’ she continued. ‘On this + morning I am to be married—unless this is a scheme of the great + Mother to hinder a union of which she does not approve. Is it possible for + my wedding to take place in the face of such weather as this?’ + </p> + <p> + 2. MORNING + </p> + <p> + Her brother Owen was staying with Manston at the Old House. Contrary to + the opinion of the doctors, the wound had healed after the first surgical + operation, and his leg was gradually acquiring strength, though he could + only as yet get about on crutches, or ride, or be dragged in a chair. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe had arranged that Cytherea should be married from Knapwater + House, and not from her brother’s lodgings at Budmouth, which was + Cytherea’s first idea. Owen, too, seemed to prefer the plan. The + capricious old maid had latterly taken to the contemplation of the wedding + with even greater warmth than had at first inspired her, and appeared + determined to do everything in her power, consistent with her dignity, to + render the adjuncts of the ceremony pleasing and complete. + </p> + <p> + But the weather seemed in flat contradiction of the whole proceeding. At + eight o’clock the coachman crept up to the House almost upon his hands and + knees, entered the kitchen, and stood with his back to the fire, panting + from his exertions in pedestrianism. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen was by far the pleasantest apartment in Knapwater House on + such a morning as this. The vast fire was the centre of the whole system, + like a sun, and threw its warm rays upon the figures of the domestics, + wheeling about it in true planetary style. A nervously-feeble imitation of + its flicker was continually attempted by a family of polished metallic + utensils standing in rows and groups against the walls opposite, the whole + collection of shines nearly annihilating the weak daylight from outside. A + step further in, and the nostrils were greeted by the scent of green herbs + just gathered, and the eye by the plump form of the cook, wholesome, + white-aproned, and floury—looking as edible as the food she + manipulated—her movements being supported and assisted by her + satellites, the kitchen and scullery maids. Minute recurrent sounds + prevailed—the click of the smoke-jack, the flap of the flames, and + the light touches of the women’s slippers upon the stone floor. + </p> + <p> + The coachman hemmed, spread his feet more firmly upon the hearthstone, and + looked hard at a small plate in the extreme corner of the dresser. + </p> + <p> + ‘No wedden this mornen—that’s my opinion. In fact, there can’t be,’ + he said abruptly, as if the words were the mere torso of a many-membered + thought that had existed complete in his head. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen-maid was toasting a slice of bread at the end of a very long + toasting-fork, which she held at arm’s length towards the unapproachable + fire, travestying the Flanconnade in fencing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bad out of doors, isn’t it?’ she said, with a look of commiseration for + things in general. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bad? Not even a liven soul, gentle or simple, can stand on level ground. + As to getten up hill to the church, ‘tis perfect lunacy. And I speak of + foot-passengers. As to horses and carriage, ‘tis murder to think of ‘em. I + am going to send straight as a line into the breakfast-room, and say ‘tis + a closer.... Hullo—here’s Clerk Crickett and John Day a-comen! Now + just look at ‘em and picture a wedden if you can.’ + </p> + <p> + All eyes were turned to the window, from which the clerk and gardener were + seen crossing the court, bowed and stooping like Bel and Nebo. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll have to go if it breaks all the horses’ legs in the county,’ said + the cook, turning from the spectacle, knocking open the oven-door with the + tongs, glancing critically in, and slamming it together with a clang. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, O; why shall I?’ asked the coachman, including in his auditory by a + glance the clerk and gardener who had just entered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because Mr. Manston is in the business. Did you ever know him to give up + for weather of any kind, or for any other mortal thing in heaven or + earth?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘——Mornen so’s—such as it is!’ interrupted Mr. Crickett + cheerily, coming forward to the blaze and warming one hand without looking + at the fire. ‘Mr. Manston gie up for anything in heaven or earth, did you + say? You might ha’ cut it short by sayen “to Miss Aldclyffe,” and leaven + out heaven and earth as trifles. But it might be put off; putten off a + thing isn’t getten rid of a thing, if that thing is a woman. O no, no!’ + </p> + <p> + The coachman and gardener now naturally subsided into secondaries. The + cook went on rather sharply, as she dribbled milk into the exact centre of + a little crater of flour in a platter— + </p> + <p> + ‘It might be in this case; she’s so indifferent.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dang my old sides! and so it might be. I have a bit of news—I + thought there was something upon my tongue; but ‘tis a secret; not a word, + mind, not a word. Why, Miss Hinton took a holiday yesterday.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes?’ inquired the cook, looking up with perplexed curiosity. + </p> + <p> + ‘D’ye think that’s all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be so three-cunning—if it is all, deliver you from the evil + of raising a woman’s expectations wrongfully; I’ll skimmer your pate as + sure as you cry Amen!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it isn’t all. When I got home last night my wife said, “Miss + Adelaide took a holiday this mornen,” says she (my wife, that is); “walked + over to Nether Mynton, met the comen man, and got married!” says she.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Got married! what, Lord-a-mercy, did Springrove come?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Springrove, no—no—Springrove’s nothen to do wi’ it—‘twas + Farmer Bollens. They’ve been playing bo-peep for these two or three months + seemingly. Whilst Master Teddy Springrove has been daddlen, and hawken, + and spetten about having her, she’s quietly left him all forsook. Serve + him right. I don’t blame the little woman a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Farmer Bollens is old enough to be her father!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, quite; and rich enough to be ten fathers. They say he’s so rich that + he has business in every bank, and measures his money in half-pint cups.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lord, I wish it was me, don’t I wish ‘twas me!’ said the scullery-maid. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ‘twas as neat a bit of stitching as ever I heard of,’ continued the + clerk, with a fixed eye, as if he were watching the process from a + distance. ‘Not a soul knew anything about it, and my wife is the only one + in our parish who knows it yet. Miss Hinton came back from the wedden, + went to Mr. Manston, puffed herself out large, and said she was Mrs. + Bollens, but that if he wished, she had no objection to keep on the house + till the regular time of giving notice had expired, or till he could get + another tenant.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Just like her independence,’ said the cook. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, independent or no, she’s Mrs. Bollens now. Ah, I shall never forget + once when I went by Farmer Bollens’s garden—years ago now—years, + when he was taking up ashleaf taties. A merry feller I was at that time, a + very merry feller—for ‘twas before I took holy orders, and it didn’t + prick my conscience as ‘twould now. “Farmer,” says I, “little taties seem + to turn out small this year, don’t em?” “O no, Crickett,” says he, “some + be fair-sized.” He’s a dull man—Farmer Bollens is—he always + was. However, that’s neither here nor there; he’s a-married to a sharp + woman, and if I don’t make a mistake she’ll bring him a pretty good + family, gie her time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it don’t matter; there’s a Providence in it,’ said the + scullery-maid. ‘God A’mighty always sends bread as well as children.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But ‘tis the bread to one house and the children to another very often. + However, I think I can see my lady Hinton’s reason for chosen yesterday to + sickness-or-health-it. Your young miss, and that one, had crossed one + another’s path in regard to young Master Springrove; and I expect that + when Addy Hinton found Miss Graye wasn’t caren to have en, she thought + she’d be beforehand with her old enemy in marrying somebody else too. + That’s maids’ logic all over, and maids’ malice likewise.’ + </p> + <p> + Women who are bad enough to divide against themselves under a man’s + partiality are good enough to instantly unite in a common cause against + his attack. ‘I’ll just tell you one thing then,’ said the cook, shaking + out her words to the time of a whisk she was beating eggs with. ‘Whatever + maids’ logic is and maids’ malice too, if Cytherea Graye even now knows + that young Springrove is free again, she’ll fling over the steward as soon + as look at him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no: not now,’ the coachman broke in like a moderator. ‘There’s honour + in that maid, if ever there was in one. No Miss Hinton’s tricks in her. + She’ll stick to Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pifh!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t let a word be said till the wedden is over, for Heaven’s sake,’ the + clerk continued. ‘Miss Aldclyffe would fairly hang and quarter me, if my + news broke off that there wedden at a last minute like this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then you had better get your wife to bolt you in the closet for an hour + or two, for you’ll chatter it yourself to the whole boiling parish if she + don’t! ‘Tis a poor womanly feller!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You shouldn’t ha’ begun it, clerk. I knew how ‘twould be,’ said the + gardener soothingly, in a whisper to the clerk’s mangled remains. + </p> + <p> + The clerk turned and smiled at the fire, and warmed his other hand. + </p> + <p> + 3. NOON + </p> + <p> + The weather gave way. In half-an-hour there began a rapid thaw. By ten + o’clock the roads, though still dangerous, were practicable to the extent + of the half-mile required by the people of Knapwater Park. One mass of + heavy leaden cloud spread over the whole sky; the air began to feel damp + and mild out of doors, though still cold and frosty within. + </p> + <p> + They reached the church and passed up the nave, the deep-coloured glass of + the narrow windows rendering the gloom of the morning almost night itself + inside the building. Then the ceremony began. The only warmth or spirit + imported into it came from the bridegroom, who retained a vigorous—even + Spenserian—bridal-mood throughout the morning. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was as firm as he at this critical moment, but as cold as the air + surrounding her. The few persons forming the wedding-party were + constrained in movement and tone, and from the nave of the church came + occasional coughs, emitted by those who, in spite of the weather, had + assembled to see the termination of Cytherea’s existence as a single + woman. Many poor people loved her. They pitied her success, why, they + could not tell, except that it was because she seemed to stand more like a + statue than Cytherea Graye. + </p> + <p> + Yet she was prettily and carefully dressed; a strange contradiction in a + man’s idea of things—a saddening, perplexing contradiction. Are + there any points in which a difference of sex amounts to a difference of + nature? Then this is surely one. Not so much, as it is commonly put, in + regard to the amount of consideration given, but in the conception of the + thing considered. A man emasculated by coxcombry may spend more time upon + the arrangement of his clothes than any woman, but even then there is no + fetichism in his idea of them—they are still only a covering he uses + for a time. But here was Cytherea, in the bottom of her heart almost + indifferent to life, yet possessing an instinct with which her heart had + nothing to do, the instinct to be particularly regardful of those sorry + trifles, her robe, her flowers, her veil, and her gloves. + </p> + <p> + The irrevocable words were soon spoken—the indelible writing soon + written—and they came out of the vestry. Candles had been necessary + here to enable them to sign their names, and on their return to the church + the light from the candles streamed from the small open door, and across + the chancel to a black chestnut screen on the south side, dividing it from + a small chapel or chantry, erected for the soul’s peace of some Aldclyffe + of the past. Through the open-work of this screen could now be seen + illuminated, inside the chantry, the reclining figures of cross-legged + knights, damp and green with age, and above them a huge classic monument, + also inscribed to the Aldclyffe family, heavily sculptured in cadaverous + marble. + </p> + <p> + Leaning here—almost hanging to the monument—was Edward + Springrove, or his spirit. + </p> + <p> + The weak daylight would never have revealed him, shaded as he was by the + screen; but the unexpected rays of candle-light in the front showed him + forth in startling relief to any and all of those whose eyes wandered in + that direction. The sight was a sad one—sad beyond all description. + His eyes were wild, their orbits leaden. His face was of a sickly + paleness, his hair dry and disordered, his lips parted as if he could get + no breath. His figure was spectre-thin. His actions seemed beyond his own + control. + </p> + <p> + Manston did not see him; Cytherea did. The healing effect upon her heart + of a year’s silence—a year and a half’s separation—was undone + in an instant. One of those strange revivals of passion by mere sight—commoner + in women than in men, and in oppressed women commonest of all—had + taken place in her—so transcendently, that even to herself it seemed + more like a new creation than a revival. + </p> + <p> + Marrying for a home—what a mockery it was! + </p> + <p> + It may be said that the means most potent for rekindling old love in a + maiden’s heart are, to see her lover in laughter and good spirits in her + despite when the breach has been owing to a slight from herself; when + owing to a slight from him, to see him suffering for his own fault. If he + is happy in a clear conscience, she blames him; if he is miserable because + deeply to blame, she blames herself. The latter was Cytherea’s case now. + </p> + <p> + First, an agony of face told of the suppressed misery within her, which + presently could be suppressed no longer. When they were coming out of the + porch, there broke from her in a low plaintive scream the words, ‘He’s + dying—dying! O God, save us!’ She began to sink down, and would have + fallen had not Manston caught her. The chief bridesmaid applied her + vinaigrette. + </p> + <p> + ‘What did she say?’ inquired Manston. + </p> + <p> + Owen was the only one to whom the words were intelligible, and he was far + too deeply impressed, or rather alarmed, to reply. She did not faint, and + soon began to recover her self-command. Owen took advantage of the + hindrance to step back to where the apparition had been seen. He was + enraged with Springrove for what he considered an unwarrantable intrusion. + </p> + <p> + But Edward was not in the chantry. As he had come, so he had gone, nobody + could tell how or whither. + </p> + <p> + 4. AFTERNOON + </p> + <p> + It might almost have been believed that a transmutation had taken place in + Cytherea’s idiosyncrasy, that her moral nature had fled. + </p> + <p> + The wedding-party returned to the house. As soon as he could find an + opportunity, Owen took his sister aside to speak privately with her on + what had happened. The expression of her face was hard, wild, and unreal—an + expression he had never seen there before, and it disturbed him. He spoke + to her severely and sadly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ he said, ‘I know the cause of this emotion of yours. But + remember this, there was no excuse for it. You should have been woman + enough to control yourself. Remember whose wife you are, and don’t think + anything more of a mean-spirited fellow like Springrove; he had no + business to come there as he did. You are altogether wrong, Cytherea, and + I am vexed with you more than I can say—very vexed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Say ashamed of me at once,’ she bitterly answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am ashamed of you,’ he retorted angrily; ‘the mood has not left you + yet, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen,’ she said, and paused. Her lip trembled; her eye told of sensations + too deep for tears. ‘No, Owen, it has not left me; and I will be honest. I + own now to you, without any disguise of words, what last night I did not + own to myself, because I hardly knew of it. I love Edward Springrove with + all my strength, and heart, and soul. You call me a wanton for it, don’t + you? I don’t care; I have gone beyond caring for anything!’ She looked + stonily into his face and made the speech calmly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, poor Cytherea, don’t talk like that!’ he said, alarmed at her + manner. + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought that I did not love him at all,’ she went on hysterically. ‘A + year and a half had passed since we met. I could go by the gate of his + garden without thinking of him—look at his seat in church and not + care. But I saw him this morning—dying because he loves me so—I + know it is that! Can I help loving him too? No, I cannot, and I will love + him, and I don’t care! We have been separated somehow by some contrivance—I + know we have. O, if I could only die!’ + </p> + <p> + He held her in his arms. ‘Many a woman has gone to ruin herself,’ he said, + ‘and brought those who love her into disgrace, by acting upon such + impulses as possess you now. I have a reputation to lose as well as you. + It seems that do what I will by way of remedying the stains which fell + upon us, it is all doomed to be undone again.’ His voice grew husky as he + made the reply. + </p> + <p> + The right and only effective chord had been touched. Since she had seen + Edward, she had thought only of herself and him. Owen—her name—position—future—had + been as if they did not exist. + </p> + <p> + ‘I won’t give way and become a disgrace to <i>you</i>, at any rate,’ she + said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Besides, your duty to society, and those about you, requires that you + should live with (at any rate) all the appearance of a good wife, and try + to love your husband.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—my duty to society,’ she murmured. ‘But ah, Owen, it is + difficult to adjust our outer and inner life with perfect honesty to all! + Though it may be right to care more for the benefit of the many than for + the indulgence of your own single self, when you consider that the many, + and duty to them, only exist to you through your own existence, what can + be said? What do our own acquaintances care about us? Not much. I think of + mine. Mine will now (do they learn all the wicked frailty of my heart in + this affair) look at me, smile sickly, and condemn me. And perhaps, far in + time to come, when I am dead and gone, some other’s accent, or some + other’s song, or thought, like an old one of mine, will carry them back to + what I used to say, and hurt their hearts a little that they blamed me so + soon. And they will pause just for an instant, and give a sigh to me, and + think, “Poor girl!” believing they do great justice to my memory by this. + But they will never, never realize that it was my single opportunity of + existence, as well as of doing my duty, which they are regarding; they + will not feel that what to them is but a thought, easily held in those two + words of pity, “Poor girl!” was a whole life to me; as full of hours, + minutes, and peculiar minutes, of hopes and dreads, smiles, whisperings, + tears, as theirs: that it was my world, what is to them their world, and + they in that life of mine, however much I cared for them, only as the + thought I seem to them to be. Nobody can enter into another’s nature + truly, that’s what is so grievous.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it cannot be helped,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘But we must not stay here,’ she continued, starting up and going. ‘We + shall be missed. I’ll do my best, Owen—I will, indeed.’ + </p> + <p> + It had been decided that on account of the wretched state of the roads, + the newly-married pair should not drive to the station till the latest + hour in the afternoon at which they could get a train to take them to + Southampton (their destination that night) by a reasonable time in the + evening. They intended the next morning to cross to Havre, and thence to + Paris—a place Cytherea had never visited—for their wedding + tour. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon drew on. The packing was done. Cytherea was so restless that + she could stay still nowhere. Miss Aldclyffe, who, though she took little + part in the day’s proceedings, was, as it were, instinctively conscious of + all their movements, put down her charge’s agitation for once as the + natural result of the novel event, and Manston himself was as indulgent as + could be wished. + </p> + <p> + At length Cytherea wandered alone into the conservatory. When in it, she + thought she would run across to the hot-house in the outer garden, having + in her heart a whimsical desire that she should also like to take a last + look at the familiar flowers and luxuriant leaves collected there. She + pulled on a pair of overshoes, and thither she went. Not a soul was in or + around the place. The gardener was making merry on Manston’s and her + account. + </p> + <p> + The happiness that a generous spirit derives from the belief that it + exists in others is often greater than the primary happiness itself. The + gardener thought ‘How happy they are!’ and the thought made him happier + than they. + </p> + <p> + Coming out of the forcing-house again, she was on the point of returning + indoors, when a feeling that these moments of solitude would be her last + of freedom induced her to prolong them a little, and she stood still, + unheeding the wintry aspect of the curly-leaved plants, the straw-covered + beds, and the bare fruit-trees around her. The garden, no part of which + was visible from the house, sloped down to a narrow river at the foot, + dividing it from the meadows without. + </p> + <p> + A man was lingering along the public path on the other side of the river; + she fancied she knew the form. Her resolutions, taken in the presence of + Owen, did not fail her now. She hoped and prayed that it might not be one + who had stolen her heart away, and still kept it. Why should he have + reappeared at all, when he had declared that he went out of her sight for + ever? + </p> + <p> + She hastily hid herself, in the lowest corner of the garden close to the + river. A large dead tree, thickly robed in ivy, had been considerably + depressed by its icy load of the morning, and hung low over the stream, + which here ran slow and deep. The tree screened her from the eyes of any + passer on the other side. + </p> + <p> + She waited timidly, and her timidity increased. She would not allow + herself to see him—she would hear him pass, and then look to see if + it had been Edward. + </p> + <p> + But, before she heard anything, she became aware of an object reflected in + the water from under the tree which hung over the river in such a way + that, though hiding the actual path, and objects upon it, it permitted + their reflected images to pass beneath its boughs. The reflected form was + that of the man she had seen further off, but being inverted, she could + not definitely characterize him. + </p> + <p> + He was looking at the upper windows of the House—at hers—was + it Edward, indeed? If so, he was probably thinking he would like to say + one parting word. He came closer, gazed into the stream, and walked very + slowly. She was almost certain that it was Edward. She kept more safely + hidden. Conscience told her that she ought not to see him. But she + suddenly asked herself a question: ‘Can it be possible that he sees my + reflected image, as I see his? Of course he does!’ + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her in the water. + </p> + <p> + She could not help herself now. She stepped forward just as he emerged + from the other side of the tree and appeared erect before her. It was + Edward Springrove—till the inverted vision met his eye, dreaming no + more of seeing his Cytherea there than of seeing the dead themselves. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Springrove,’ she returned, in a low voice, across the stream. + </p> + <p> + He was the first to speak again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Since we have met, I want to tell you something, before we become quite + as strangers to each other.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—not now—I did not mean to speak—it is not right, + Edward.’ She spoke hurriedly and turned away from him, beating the air + with her hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not one common word of explanation?’ he implored. ‘Don’t think I am bad + enough to try to lead you astray. Well, go—it is better.’ + </p> + <p> + Their eyes met again. She was nearly choked. O, how she longed—and + dreaded—to hear his explanation! + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ she said desperately. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is that I did not come to the church this morning in order to distress + you: I did not, Cytherea. It was to try to speak to you before you were—married.’ + </p> + <p> + He stepped closer, and went on, ‘You know what has taken place? Surely you + do?—my cousin is married, and I am free.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Married—and not to you?’ Cytherea faltered, in a weak whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, she was married yesterday! A rich man had appeared, and she jilted + me. She said she never would have jilted a stranger, but that by jilting + me, she only exercised the right everybody has of snubbing their own + relations. But that’s nothing now. I came to you to ask once more if.... + But I was too late.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, Edward, what’s that, what’s that!’ she cried, in an agony of + reproach. ‘Why did you leave me to return to her? Why did you write me + that cruel, cruel letter that nearly killed me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea! Why, you had grown to love—like—Mr. Manston, and + how could you be anything to me—or care for me? Surely I acted + naturally?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no—never! I loved you—only you—not him—always + you!—till lately.... I try to love him now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But that can’t be correct! Miss Aldclyffe told me that you wanted to hear + no more of me—proved it to me!’ said Edward. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never! she couldn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She did, Cytherea. And she sent me a letter—a love-letter, you + wrote to Mr. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A love-letter I wrote?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, a love-letter—you could not meet him just then, you said you + were sorry, but the emotion you had felt with him made you forgetful of + realities.’ + </p> + <p> + The strife of thought in the unhappy girl who listened to this distortion + of her meaning could find no vent in words. And then there followed the + slow revelation in return, bringing with it all the misery of an + explanation which comes too late. The question whether Miss Aldclyffe were + schemer or dupe was almost passed over by Cytherea, under the immediate + oppressiveness of her despair in the sense that her position was + irretrievable. + </p> + <p> + Not so Springrove. He saw through all the cunning half-misrepresentations—worse + than downright lies—which had just been sufficient to turn the scale + both with him and with her; and from the bottom of his soul he cursed the + woman and man who had brought all this agony upon him and his Love. But he + could not add more misery to the future of the poor child by revealing too + much. The whole scheme she should never know. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was indifferent to my own future,’ Edward said, ‘and was urged to + promise adherence to my engagement with my cousin Adelaide by Miss + Aldclyffe: now you are married I cannot tell you how, but it was on + account of my father. Being forbidden to think of you, what did I care + about anything? My new thought that you still loved me was first raised by + what my father said in the letter announcing my cousin’s marriage. He said + that although you were to be married on Old Christmas Day—that is + to-morrow—he had noticed your appearance with pity: he thought you + loved me still. It was enough for me—I came down by the earliest + morning train, thinking I could see you some time to-day, the day, as I + thought, before your marriage, hoping, but hardly daring to hope, that you + might be induced to marry me. I hurried from the station; when I reached + the village I saw idlers about the church, and the private gate leading to + the House open. I ran into the church by the small door and saw you come + out of the vestry; I was too late. I have now told you. I was compelled to + tell you. O, my lost darling, now I shall live content—or die + content!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am to blame, Edward, I am,’ she said mournfully; ‘I was taught to dread + pauperism; my nights were made sleepless; there was continually reiterated + in my ears till I believed it— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“The world and its ways have a certain worth, + And to press a point where these oppose + Were a simple policy.” + </pre> + <p> + ‘But I will say nothing about who influenced—who persuaded. The act + is mine, after all. Edward, I married to escape dependence for my bread + upon the whim of Miss Aldclyffe, or others like her. It was clearly + represented to me that dependence is bearable if we have another place + which we can call home; but to be a dependent and to have no other spot + for the heart to anchor upon—O, it is mournful and harassing!... But + that without which all persuasion would have been as air, was added by my + miserable conviction that you were false; that did it, that turned me! You + were to be considered as nobody to me, and Mr. Manston was invariably + kind. Well, the deed is done—I must abide by it. I shall never let + him know that I do not love him—never. If things had only remained + as they seemed to be, if you had really forgotten me and married another + woman, I could have borne it better. I wish I did not know the truth as I + know it now! But our life, what is it? Let us be brave, Edward, and live + out our few remaining years with dignity. They will not be long. O, I hope + they will not be long!... Now, good-bye, good-bye!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish I could be near and touch you once, just once,’ said Springrove, + in a voice which he vainly endeavoured to keep firm and clear. + </p> + <p> + They looked at the river, then into it; a shoal of minnows was floating + over the sandy bottom, like the black dashes on miniver; though narrow, + the stream was deep, and there was no bridge. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea, reach out your hand that I may just touch it with mine.’ + </p> + <p> + She stepped to the brink and stretched out her hand and fingers towards + his, but not into them. The river was too wide. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind,’ said Cytherea, her voice broken by agitation, ‘I must be + going. God bless and keep you, my Edward! God bless you!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I must touch you, I must press your hand,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + They came near—nearer—nearer still—their fingers met. + There was a long firm clasp, so close and still that each hand could feel + the other’s pulse throbbing beside its own. + </p> + <p> + ‘My Cytherea! my stolen pet lamb!’ + </p> + <p> + She glanced a mute farewell from her large perturbed eyes, turned, and ran + up the garden without looking back. All was over between them. The river + flowed on as quietly and obtusely as ever, and the minnows gathered again + in their favourite spot as if they had never been disturbed. + </p> + <p> + Nobody indoors guessed from her countenance and bearing that her heart was + near to breaking with the intensity of the misery which gnawed there. At + these times a woman does not faint, or weep, or scream, as she will in the + moment of sudden shocks. When lanced by a mental agony of such refined and + special torture that it is indescribable by men’s words, she moves among + her acquaintances much as before, and contrives so to cast her actions in + the old moulds that she is only considered to be rather duller than usual. + </p> + <p> + 5. HALF-PAST TWO TO FIVE O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Owen accompanied the newly-married couple to the railway-station, and in + his anxiety to see the last of his sister, left the brougham and stood + upon his crutches whilst the train was starting. + </p> + <p> + When the husband and wife were about to enter the railway-carriage they + saw one of the porters looking frequently and furtively at them. He was + pale, and apparently very ill. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look at that poor sick man,’ said Cytherea compassionately, ‘surely he + ought not to be here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s been very queer to-day, madam, very queer,’ another porter answered. + ‘He do hardly hear when he’s spoken to, and d’ seem giddy, or as if + something was on his mind. He’s been like it for this month past, but + nothing so bad as he is to-day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor thing.’ + </p> + <p> + She could not resist an innate desire to do some just thing on this most + deceitful and wretched day of her life. Going up to him she gave him + money, and told him to send to the old manor-house for wine or whatever he + wanted. + </p> + <p> + The train moved off as the trembling man was murmuring his incoherent + thanks. Owen waved his hand; Cytherea smiled back to him as if it were + unknown to her that she wept all the while. + </p> + <p> + Owen was driven back to the Old House. But he could not rest in the lonely + place. His conscience began to reproach him for having forced on the + marriage of his sister with a little too much peremptoriness. Taking up + his crutches he went out of doors and wandered about the muddy roads with + no object in view save that of getting rid of time. + </p> + <p> + The clouds which had hung so low and densely during the day cleared from + the west just now as the sun was setting, calling forth a weakly twitter + from a few small birds. Owen crawled down the path to the waterfall, and + lingered thereabout till the solitude of the place oppressed him, when he + turned back and into the road to the village. He was sad; he said to + himself— + </p> + <p> + ‘If there is ever any meaning in those heavy feelings which are called + presentiments—and I don’t believe there is—there will be in + mine to-day.... Poor little Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + At that moment the last low rays of the sun touched the head and shoulders + of a man who was approaching, and showed him up to Owen’s view. It was old + Mr. Springrove. They had grown familiar with each other by reason of + Owen’s visits to Knapwater during the past year. The farmer inquired how + Owen’s foot was progressing, and was glad to see him so nimble again. + </p> + <p> + ‘How is your son?’ said Owen mechanically. + </p> + <p> + ‘He is at home, sitting by the fire,’ said the farmer, in a sad voice. + ‘This morning he slipped indoors from God knows where, and there he sits + and mopes, and thinks, and thinks, and presses his head so hard, that I + can’t help feeling for him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he married?’ said Owen. Cytherea had feared to tell him of the + interview in the garden. + </p> + <p> + ‘No. I can’t quite understand how the matter rests.... Ah! Edward, too, + who started with such promise; that he should now have become such a + careless fellow—not a month in one place. There, Mr. Graye, I know + what it is mainly owing to. If it hadn’t been for that heart affair, he + might have done—but the less said about him the better. I don’t know + what we should have done if Miss Aldclyffe had insisted upon the + conditions of the leases. Your brother-in-law, the steward, had a hand in + making it light for us, I know, and I heartily thank him for it.’ He + ceased speaking, and looked round at the sky. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you heard o’ what’s happened?’ he said suddenly; ‘I was just coming + out to learn about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I haven’t heard of anything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is something very serious, though I don’t know what. All I know is + what I heard a man call out bynow—that it very much concerns + somebody who lives in the parish.’ + </p> + <p> + It seems singular enough, even to minds who have no dim beliefs in + adumbration and presentiment, that at that moment not the shadow of a + thought crossed Owen’s mind that the somebody whom the matter concerned + might be himself, or any belonging to him. The event about to transpire + was as portentous to the woman whose welfare was more dear to him than his + own, as any, short of death itself, could possibly be; and ever + afterwards, when he considered the effect of the knowledge the next + half-hour conveyed to his brain, even his practical good sense could not + refrain from wonder that he should have walked toward the village after + hearing those words of the farmer, in so leisurely and unconcerned a way. + ‘How unutterably mean must my intelligence have appeared to the eye of a + foreseeing God,’ he frequently said in after-time. ‘Columbus on the eve of + his discovery of a world was not so contemptibly unaware.’ + </p> + <p> + After a few additional words of common-place the farmer left him, and, as + has been said, Owen proceeded slowly and indifferently towards the + village. + </p> + <p> + The labouring men had just left work, and passed the park gate, which + opened into the street as Owen came down towards it. They went along in a + drift, earnestly talking, and were finally about to turn in at their + respective doorways. But upon seeing him they looked significantly at one + another, and paused. He came into the road, on that side of the + village-green which was opposite the row of cottages, and turned round to + the right. When Owen turned, all eyes turned; one or two men went + hurriedly indoors, and afterwards appeared at the doorstep with their + wives, who also contemplated him, talking as they looked. They seemed + uncertain how to act in some matter. + </p> + <p> + ‘If they want me, surely they will call me,’ he thought, wondering more + and more. He could no longer doubt that he was connected with the subject + of their discourse. + </p> + <p> + The first who approached him was a boy. + </p> + <p> + ‘What has occurred?’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, a man ha’ got crazy-religious, and sent for the pa’son.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir. He wished he was dead, he said, and he’s almost out of his mind + wi’ wishen it so much. That was before Mr. Raunham came.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is he?’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘Joseph Chinney, one of the railway-porters; he used to be night-porter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—the man who was ill this afternoon; by the way, he was told to + come to the Old House for something, but he hasn’t been. But has anything + else happened—anything that concerns the wedding to-day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + Concluding that the connection which had seemed to be traced between + himself and the event must in some way have arisen from Cytherea’s + friendliness towards the man, Owen turned about and went homewards in a + much quieter frame of mind—yet scarcely satisfied with the solution. + The route he had chosen led through the dairy-yard, and he opened the + gate. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes before this point of time, Edward Springrove was looking over + one of his father’s fields at an outlying hamlet of three or four cottages + some mile and a half distant. A turnpike-gate was close by the gate of the + field. + </p> + <p> + The carrier to Casterbridge came up as Edward stepped into the road, and + jumped down from the van to pay toll. He recognized Springrove. ‘This is a + pretty set-to in your place, sir,’ he said. ‘You don’t know about it, I + suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ said Springrove. + </p> + <p> + The carrier paid his dues, came up to Edward, and spoke ten words in a + confidential whisper: then sprang upon the shafts of his vehicle, gave a + clinching nod of significance to Springrove, and rattled away. + </p> + <p> + Edward turned pale with the intelligence. His first thought was, ‘Bring + her home!’ + </p> + <p> + The next—did Owen Graye know what had been discovered? He probably + did by that time, but no risks of probability must be run by a woman he + loved dearer than all the world besides. He would at any rate make + perfectly sure that her brother was in possession of the knowledge, by + telling it him with his own lips. + </p> + <p> + Off he ran in the direction of the old manor-house. + </p> + <p> + The path was across arable land, and was ploughed up with the rest of the + field every autumn, after which it was trodden out afresh. The thaw had so + loosened the soft earth, that lumps of stiff mud were lifted by his feet + at every leap he took, and flung against him by his rapid motion, as it + were doggedly impeding him, and increasing tenfold the customary effort of + running, + </p> + <p> + But he ran on—uphill, and downhill, the same pace alike—like + the shadow of a cloud. His nearest direction, too, like Owen’s, was + through the dairy-barton, and as Owen entered it he saw the figure of + Edward rapidly descending the opposite hill, at a distance of two or three + hundred yards. Owen advanced amid the cows. + </p> + <p> + The dairyman, who had hitherto been talking loudly on some absorbing + subject to the maids and men milking around him, turned his face towards + the head of the cow when Owen passed, and ceased speaking. + </p> + <p> + Owen approached him and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘A singular thing has happened, I hear. The man is not insane, I suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not he—he’s sensible enough,’ said the dairyman, and paused. He was + a man noisy with his associates—stolid and taciturn with strangers. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it true that he is Chinney, the railway-porter?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s the man, sir.’ The maids and men sitting under the cows were all + attentively listening to this discourse, milking irregularly, and softly + directing the jets against the sides of the pail. + </p> + <p> + Owen could contain himself no longer, much as his mind dreaded anything of + the nature of ridicule. ‘The people all seem to look at me, as if + something seriously concerned me; is it this stupid matter, or what is + it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Surely, sir, you know better than anybody else if such a strange thing + concerns you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What strange thing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you know! His confessing to Parson Raunham.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What did he confess? Tell me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you really ha’n’t heard, ‘tis this. He was as usual on duty at the + station on the night of the fire last year, otherwise he wouldn’t ha’ + known it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Known what? For God’s sake tell, man!’ + </p> + <p> + But at this instant the two opposite gates of the dairy-yard, one on the + east, the other on the west side, slammed almost simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + The rector from one, Springrove from the other, came striding across the + barton. + </p> + <p> + Edward was nearest, and spoke first. He said in a low voice: ‘Your sister + is not legally married! His first wife is still living! How it comes out I + don’t know!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, here you are at last, Mr. Graye, thank Heaven!’ said the rector + breathlessly. ‘I have been to the Old House, and then to Miss Aldclyffe’s + looking for you—something very extraordinary.’ He beckoned to Owen, + afterwards included Springrove in his glance, and the three stepped aside + together. + </p> + <p> + ‘A porter at the station. He was a curious nervous man. He had been in a + strange state all day, but he wouldn’t go home. Your sister was kind to + him, it seems, this afternoon. When she and her husband had gone, he went + on with his work, shifting luggage-vans. Well, he got in the way, as if he + were quite lost to what was going on, and they sent him home at last. Then + he wished to see me. I went directly. There was something on his mind, he + said, and told it. About the time when the fire of last November + twelvemonth was got under, whilst he was by himself in the porter’s room, + almost asleep, somebody came to the station and tried to open the door. He + went out and found the person to be the lady he had accompanied to + Carriford earlier in the evening, Mrs. Manston. She asked, when would be + another train to London? The first the next morning, he told her, was at a + quarter-past six o’clock from Budmouth, but that it was express, and + didn’t stop at Carriford Road—it didn’t stop till it got to + Anglebury. “How far is it to Anglebury?” she said. He told her, and she + thanked him, and went away up the line. In a short time she ran back and + took out her purse. “Don’t on any account say a word in the village or + anywhere that I have been here, or a single breath about me—I’m + ashamed ever to have come.” He promised; she took out two sovereigns. + “Swear it on the Testament in the waiting-room,” she said, “and I’ll pay + you these.” He got the book, took an oath upon it, received the money, and + she left him. He was off duty at half-past five. He has kept silence all + through the intervening time till now, but lately the knowledge he + possessed weighed heavily upon his conscience and weak mind. Yet the + nearer came the wedding-day, the more he feared to tell. The actual + marriage filled him with remorse. He says your sister’s kindness + afterwards was like a knife going through his heart. He thought he had + ruined her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But whatever can be done? Why didn’t he speak sooner?’ cried Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘He actually called at my house twice yesterday,’ the rector continued, + ‘resolved, it seems, to unburden his mind. I was out both times—he + left no message, and, they say, he looked relieved that his object was + defeated. Then he says he resolved to come to you at the Old House last + night—started, reached the door, and dreaded to knock—and then + went home again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Here will be a tale for the newsmongers of the county,’ said Owen + bitterly. ‘The idea of his not opening his mouth sooner—the + criminality of the thing!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, that’s the inconsistency of a weak nature. But now that it is put to + us in this way, how much more probable it seems that she should have + escaped than have been burnt—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will, of course, go straight to Mr. Manston, and ask him what it all + means?’ Edward interrupted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course I shall! Manston has no right to carry off my sister unless + he’s her husband,’ said Owen. ‘I shall go and separate them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly you will,’ said the rector. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where’s the man?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In his cottage.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis no use going to him, either. I must go off at once and overtake them—lay + the case before Manston, and ask him for additional and certain proofs of + his first wife’s death. An up-train passes soon, I think.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where have they gone?’ said Edward. + </p> + <p> + ‘To Paris—as far as Southampton this afternoon, to proceed to-morrow + morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where in Southampton?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I really don’t know—some hotel. I only have their Paris address. + But I shall find them by making a few inquiries.’ + </p> + <p> + The rector had in the meantime been taking out his pocket-book, and now + opened it at the first page, whereon it was his custom every month to gum + a small railway time-table—cut from the local newspaper. + </p> + <p> + ‘The afternoon express is just gone,’ he said, holding open the page, ‘and + the next train to Southampton passes at ten minutes to six o’clock. Now it + wants—let me see—five-and-forty minutes to that time. Mr. + Graye, my advice is that you come with me to the porter’s cottage, where I + will shortly write out the substance of what he has said, and get him to + sign it. You will then have far better grounds for interfering between Mr. + and Mrs. Manston than if you went to them with a mere hearsay story.’ + </p> + <p> + The suggestion seemed a good one. ‘Yes, there will be time before the + train starts,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + Edward had been musing restlessly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me go to Southampton in your place, on account of your lameness?’ he + said suddenly to Graye. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am much obliged to you, but I think I can scarcely accept the offer,’ + returned Owen coldly. ‘Mr. Manston is an honourable man, and I had much + better see him myself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no doubt,’ said Mr. Raunham, ‘that the death of his wife was + fully believed in by himself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘None whatever,’ said Owen; ‘and the news must be broken to him, and the + question of other proofs asked, in a friendly way. It would not do for Mr. + Springrove to appear in the case at all.’ He still spoke rather coldly; + the recollection of the attachment between his sister and Edward was not a + pleasant one to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will never find them,’ said Edward. ‘You have never been to + Southampton, and I know every house there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That makes little difference,’ said the rector; ‘he will have a cab. + Certainly Mr. Graye is the proper man to go on the errand.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stay; I’ll telegraph to ask them to meet me when I arrive at the + terminus,’ said Owen; ‘that is, if their train has not already arrived.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Raunham pulled out his pocket-book again. ‘The two-thirty train + reached Southampton a quarter of an hour ago,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + It was too late to catch them at the station. Nevertheless, the rector + suggested that it would be worth while to direct a message to ‘all the + respectable hotels in Southampton,’ on the chance of its finding them, and + thus saving a deal of personal labour to Owen in searching about the + place. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll go and telegraph, whilst you return to the man,’ said Edward—an + offer which was accepted. Graye and the rector then turned off in the + direction of the porter’s cottage. + </p> + <p> + Edward, to despatch the message at once, hurriedly followed the road + towards the station, still restlessly thinking. All Owen’s proceedings + were based on the assumption, natural under the circumstances, of + Manston’s good faith, and that he would readily acquiesce in any + arrangement which should clear up the mystery. ‘But,’ thought Edward, + ‘suppose—and Heaven forgive me, I cannot help supposing it—that + Manston is not that honourable man, what will a young and inexperienced + fellow like Owen do? Will he not be hoodwinked by some specious story or + another, framed to last till Manston gets tired of poor Cytherea? And then + the disclosure of the truth will ruin and blacken both their futures + irremediably.’ + </p> + <p> + However, he proceeded to execute his commission. This he put in the form + of a simple request from Owen to Manston, that Manston would come to the + Southampton platform, and wait for Owen’s arrival, as he valued his + reputation. The message was directed as the rector had suggested, Edward + guaranteeing to the clerk who sent it off that every expense connected + with the search would be paid. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had the telegram been despatched than his heart sank within him + at the want of foresight shown in sending it. Had Manston, all the time, a + knowledge that his first wife lived, the telegram would be a forewarning + which might enable him to defeat Owen still more signally. + </p> + <p> + Whilst the machine was still giving off its multitudinous series of raps, + Edward heard a powerful rush under the shed outside, followed by a long + sonorous creak. It was a train of some sort, stealing softly into the + station, and it was an up-train. There was the ring of a bell. It was + certainly a passenger train. + </p> + <p> + Yet the booking-office window was closed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ho, ho, John, seventeen minutes after time and only three stations up the + line. The incline again?’ The voice was the stationmaster’s, and the reply + seemed to come from the guard. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, the other side of the cutting. The thaw has made it all in a perfect + cloud of fog, and the rails are as slippery as glass. We had to bring them + through the cutting at twice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anybody else for the four-forty-five express?’ the voice continued. The + few passengers, having crossed over to the other side long before this + time, had taken their places at once. + </p> + <p> + A conviction suddenly broke in upon Edward’s mind; then a wish overwhelmed + him. The conviction—as startling as it was sudden—was that + Manston was a villain, who at some earlier time had discovered that his + wife lived, and had bribed her to keep out of sight, that he might possess + Cytherea. The wish was—to proceed at once by this very train that + was starting, find Manston before he would expect from the words of the + telegram (if he got it) that anybody from Carriford could be with him—charge + him boldly with the crime, and trust to his consequent confusion (if he + were guilty) for a solution of the extraordinary riddle, and the release + of Cytherea! + </p> + <p> + The ticket-office had been locked up at the expiration of the time at + which the train was due. Rushing out as the guard blew his whistle, Edward + opened the door of a carriage and leapt in. The train moved along, and he + was soon out of sight. + </p> + <p> + Springrove had long since passed that peculiar line which lies across the + course of falling in love—if, indeed, it may not be called the + initial itself of the complete passion—a longing to cherish; when + the woman is shifted in a man’s mind from the region of mere admiration to + the region of warm fellowship. At this assumption of her nature, she + changes to him in tone, hue, and expression. All about the loved one that + said ‘She’ before, says ‘We’ now. Eyes that were to be subdued become eyes + to be feared for: a brain that was to be probed by cynicism becomes a + brain that is to be tenderly assisted; feet that were to be tested in the + dance become feet that are not to be distressed; the once-criticized + accent, manner, and dress, become the clients of a special pleader. + </p> + <p> + 6. FIVE TO EIGHT O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Now that he was fairly on the track, and had begun to cool down, Edward + remembered that he had nothing to show—no legal authority whatever + to question Manston or interfere between him and Cytherea as husband and + wife. He now saw the wisdom of the rector in obtaining a signed confession + from the porter. The document would not be a death-bed confession—perhaps + not worth anything legally—but it would be held by Owen; and he + alone, as Cytherea’s natural guardian, could separate them on the mere + ground of an unproved probability, or what might perhaps be called the + hallucination of an idiot. Edward himself, however, was as firmly + convinced as the rector had been of the truth of the man’s story, and + paced backward and forward the solitary compartment as the train wound + through the dark heathery plains, the mazy woods, and moaning coppices, as + resolved as ever to pounce on Manston, and charge him with the crime + during the critical interval between the reception of the telegram and the + hour at which Owen’s train would arrive—trusting to circumstances + for what he should say and do afterwards, but making up his mind to be a + ready second to Owen in any emergency that might arise. + </p> + <p> + At thirty-three minutes past seven he stood on the platform of the station + at Southampton—a clear hour before the train containing Owen could + possibly arrive. + </p> + <p> + Making a few inquiries here, but too impatient to pursue his investigation + carefully and inductively, he went into the town. + </p> + <p> + At the expiration of another half-hour he had visited seven hotels and + inns, large and small, asking the same questions at each, and always + receiving the same reply—nobody of that name, or answering to that + description, had been there. A boy from the telegraph-office had called, + asking for the same persons, if they recollected rightly. + </p> + <p> + He reflected awhile, struck again by a painful thought that they might + possibly have decided to cross the Channel by the night-boat. Then he + hastened off to another quarter of the town to pursue his inquiries among + hotels of the more old-fashioned and quiet class. His stained and weary + appearance obtained for him but a modicum of civility, wherever he went, + which made his task yet more difficult. He called at three several houses + in this neighbourhood, with the same result as before. He entered the door + of the fourth house whilst the clock of the nearest church was striking + eight. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have a tall gentleman named Manston, and a young wife arrived here this + evening?’ he asked again, in words which had grown odd to his ears from + very familiarity. + </p> + <p> + ‘A new-married couple, did you say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They are, though I didn’t say so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They have taken a sitting-room and bedroom, number thirteen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are they indoors?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know. Eliza!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, m’m.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘See if number thirteen is in—that gentleman and his wife.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, m’m.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has any telegram come for them?’ said Edward, when the maid had gone on + her errand. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—nothing that I know of.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Somebody did come and ask if a Mr. and Mrs. Masters, or some such name, + were here this evening,’ said another voice from the back of the + bar-parlour. + </p> + <p> + ‘And did they get the message?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course they did not—they were not here—they didn’t come + till half-an-hour after that. The man who made inquiries left no message. + I told them when they came that they, or a name something like theirs, had + been asked for, but they didn’t seem to understand why it should be, and + so the matter dropped.’ + </p> + <p> + The chambermaid came back. ‘The gentleman is not in, but the lady is. Who + shall I say?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody,’ said Edward. For it now became necessary to reflect upon his + method of proceeding. His object in finding their whereabouts—apart + from the wish to assist Owen—had been to see Manston, ask him flatly + for an explanation, and confirm the request of the message in the presence + of Cytherea—so as to prevent the possibility of the steward’s + palming off a story upon Cytherea, or eluding her brother when he came. + But here were two important modifications of the expected condition of + affairs. The telegram had not been received, and Cytherea was in the house + alone. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated as to the propriety of intruding upon her in Manston’s + absence. Besides, the women at the bottom of the stairs would see him—his + intrusion would seem odd—and Manston might return at any moment. He + certainly might call, and wait for Manston with the accusation upon his + tongue, as he had intended. But it was a doubtful course. That idea had + been based upon the assumption that Cytherea was not married. If the first + wife were really dead after all—and he felt sick at the thought—Cytherea + as the steward’s wife might in after-years—perhaps, at once—be + subjected to indignity and cruelty on account of an old lover’s + interference now. + </p> + <p> + Yes, perhaps the announcement would come most properly and safely for her + from her brother Owen, the time of whose arrival had almost expired. + </p> + <p> + But, on turning round, he saw that the staircase and passage were quite + deserted. He and his errand had as completely died from the minds of the + attendants as if they had never been. There was absolutely nothing between + him and Cytherea’s presence. Reason was powerless now; he must see her—right + or wrong, fair or unfair to Manston—offensive to her brother or no. + His lips must be the first to tell the alarming story to her. Who loved + her as he! He went back lightly through the hall, up the stairs, two at a + time, and followed the corridor till he came to the door numbered + thirteen. + </p> + <p> + He knocked softly: nobody answered. + </p> + <p> + There was no time to lose if he would speak to Cytherea before Manston + came. He turned the handle of the door and looked in. The lamp on the + table burned low, and showed writing materials open beside it; the chief + light came from the fire, the direct rays of which were obscured by a + sweet familiar outline of head and shoulders—still as precious to + him as ever. + </p> + <p> + 7. A QUARTER-PAST EIGHT O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + There is an attitude—approximatively called pensive—in which + the soul of a human being, and especially of a woman, dominates outwardly + and expresses its presence so strongly, that the intangible essence seems + more apparent than the body itself. This was Cytherea’s expression now. + What old days and sunny eves at Budmouth Bay was she picturing? Her + reverie had caused her not to notice his knock. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea!’ he said softly. + </p> + <p> + She let drop her hand, and turned her head, evidently thinking that her + visitor could be no other than Manston, yet puzzled at the voice. + </p> + <p> + There was no preface on Springrove’s tongue; he forgot his position—hers—that + he had come to ask quietly if Manston had other proofs of being a widower—everything—and + jumped to a conclusion. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are not his wife, Cytherea—come away, he has a wife living!’ he + cried in an agitated whisper. ‘Owen will be here directly.’ + </p> + <p> + She started up, recognized the tidings first, the bearer of them + afterwards. ‘Not his wife? O, what is it—what—who is living?’ + She awoke by degrees. ‘What must I do? Edward, it is you! Why did you + come? Where is Owen?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What has Manston shown you in proof of the death of his other wife? Tell + me quick.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing—we have never spoken of the subject. Where is my brother + Owen? I want him, I want him!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He is coming by-and-by. Come to the station to meet him—do,’ + implored Springrove. ‘If Mr. Manston comes, he will keep you from me: I am + nobody,’ he added bitterly, feeling the reproach her words had faintly + shadowed forth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Manston is only gone out to post a letter he has just written,’ she + said, and without being distinctly cognizant of the action, she wildly + looked for her bonnet and cloak, and began putting them on, but in the act + of fastening them uttered a spasmodic cry. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I’ll not go out with you,’ she said, flinging the articles down + again. Running to the door she flitted along the passage, and downstairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me a private room—quite private,’ she said breathlessly to + some one below. + </p> + <p> + ‘Number twelve is a single room, madam, and unoccupied,’ said some tongue + in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for any person to show her into it, Cytherea hurried + upstairs again, brushed through the corridor, entered the room specified, + and closed the door. Edward heard her sob out— + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody but Owen shall speak to me—nobody!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He will be here directly,’ said Springrove, close against the panel, and + then went towards the stairs. He had seen her; it was enough. + </p> + <p> + He descended, stepped into the street, and hastened to meet Owen at the + railway-station. + </p> + <p> + As for the poor maiden who had received the news, she knew not what to + think. She listened till the echo of Edward’s footsteps had died away, + then bowed her face upon the bed. Her sudden impulse had been to escape + from sight. Her weariness after the unwonted strain, mental and bodily, + which had been put upon her by the scenes she had passed through during + the long day, rendered her much more timid and shaken by her position than + she would naturally have been. She thought and thought of that single fact + which had been told her—that the first Mrs. Manston was still living—till + her brain seemed ready to burst its confinement with excess of throbbing. + It was only natural that she should, by degrees, be unable to separate the + discovery, which was matter of fact, from the suspicion of treachery on + her husband’s part, which was only matter of inference. And thus there + arose in her a personal fear of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Suppose he should come in now and seize me!’ This at first mere frenzied + supposition grew by degrees to a definite horror of his presence, and + especially of his intense gaze. Thus she raised herself to a heat of + excitement, which was none the less real for being vented in no cry of any + kind. No; she could not meet Manston’s eye alone, she would only see him + in her brother’s company. + </p> + <p> + Almost delirious with this idea, she ran and locked the door to prevent + all possibility of her intentions being nullified, or a look or word being + flung at her by anybody whilst she knew not what she was. + </p> + <p> + 8. HALF-PAST EIGHT O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Then Cytherea felt her way amid the darkness of the room till she came to + the head of the bed, where she searched for the bell-rope and gave it a + pull. Her summons was speedily answered by the landlady herself, whose + curiosity to know the meaning of these strange proceedings knew no bounds. + The landlady attempted to turn the handle of the door. Cytherea kept the + door locked. ‘Please tell Mr. Manston when he comes that I am ill,’ she + said from the inside, ‘and that I cannot see him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly I will, madam,’ said the landlady. ‘Won’t you have a fire?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor a light?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want one, thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor anything?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing.’ + </p> + <p> + The landlady withdrew, thinking her visitor half insane. + </p> + <p> + Manston came in about five minutes later, and went at once up to the + sitting-room, fully expecting to find his wife there. He looked round, + rang, and was told the words Cytherea had said, that she was too ill to be + seen. + </p> + <p> + ‘She is in number twelve room,’ added the maid. + </p> + <p> + Manston was alarmed, and knocked at the door. ‘Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am unwell, I cannot see you,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you seriously ill, dearest? Surely not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, not seriously.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me come in; I will get a doctor.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, he can’t see me either.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She won’t open the door, sir, not to nobody at all!’ said the + chambermaid, with wonder-waiting eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hold your tongue, and be off!’ said Manston with a snap. + </p> + <p> + The maid vanished. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, Cytherea, this is foolish—indeed it is—not opening the + door.... I cannot comprehend what can be the matter with you. Nor can a + doctor either, unless he sees you.’ + </p> + <p> + Her voice had trembled more and more at each answer she gave, but nothing + could induce her to come out and confront him. Hating scenes, Manston went + back to the sitting-room, greatly irritated and perplexed. + </p> + <p> + And there Cytherea from the adjoining room could hear him pacing up and + down. She thought, ‘Suppose he insists upon seeing me—he probably + may—and will burst open the door!’ This notion increased, and she + sank into a corner in a half-somnolent state, but with ears alive to the + slightest sound. Reason could not overthrow the delirious fancy that + outside her door stood Manston and all the people in the hotel, waiting to + laugh her to scorn. + </p> + <p> + 9. HALF-PAST EIGHT TO ELEVEN P.M. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, Springrove was pacing up and down the arrival platform of + the railway-station. Half-past eight o’clock—the time at which + Owen’s train was due—had come, and passed, but no train appeared. + </p> + <p> + ‘When will the eight-thirty train be in?’ he asked of a man who was + sweeping the mud from the steps. + </p> + <p> + ‘She is not expected yet this hour.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How is that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Christmas-time, you see, ‘tis always so. People are running about to see + their friends. The trains have been like it ever since Christmas Eve, and + will be for another week yet.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward again went on walking and waiting under the draughty roof. He found + it utterly impossible to leave the spot. His mind was so intent upon the + importance of meeting with Owen, and informing him of Cytherea’s + whereabouts, that he could not but fancy Owen might leave the station + unobserved if he turned his back, and become lost to him in the streets of + the town. + </p> + <p> + The hour expired. Ten o’clock struck. ‘When will the train be in?’ said + Edward to the telegraph clerk. + </p> + <p> + ‘In five-and-thirty minutes. She’s now at L——. They have extra + passengers, and the rails are bad to-day.’ + </p> + <p> + At last, at a quarter to eleven, the train came in. + </p> + <p> + The first to alight from it was Owen, looking pale and cold. He casually + glanced round upon the nearly deserted platform, and was hurrying to the + outlet, when his eyes fell upon Edward. At sight of his friend he was + quite bewildered, and could not speak. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here I am, Mr. Graye,’ said Edward cheerfully. ‘I have seen Cytherea, and + she has been waiting for you these two or three hours.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen took Edward’s hand, pressed it, and looked at him in silence. Such + was the concentration of his mind, that not till many minutes after did he + think of inquiring how Springrove had contrived to be there before him. + </p> + <p> + 10. ELEVEN O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + On their arrival at the door of the hotel, it was arranged between + Springrove and Graye that the latter only should enter, Edward waiting + outside. Owen had remembered continually what his friend had frequently + overlooked, that there was yet a possibility of his sister being Manston’s + wife, and the recollection taught him to avoid any rashness in his + proceedings which might lead to bitterness hereafter. + </p> + <p> + Entering the room, he found Manston sitting in the chair which had been + occupied by Cytherea on Edward’s visit, three hours earlier. Before Owen + had spoken, Manston arose, and stepping past him closed the door. His face + appeared harassed—much more troubled than the slight circumstance + which had as yet come to his knowledge seemed to account for. + </p> + <p> + Manston could form no reason for Owen’s presence, but intuitively linked + it with Cytherea’s seclusion. ‘Altogether this is most unseemly,’ he said, + ‘whatever it may mean.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t think there is meant anything unfriendly by my coming here,’ said + Owen earnestly; ‘but listen to this, and think if I could do otherwise + than come.’ + </p> + <p> + He took from his pocket the confession of Chinney the porter, as hastily + written out by the vicar, and read it aloud. The aspects of Manston’s face + whilst he listened to the opening words were strange, dark, and mysterious + enough to have justified suspicions that no deceit could be too + complicated for the possessor of such impulses, had there not overridden + them all, as the reading went on, a new and irrepressible expression—one + unmistakably honest. It was that of unqualified amazement in the steward’s + mind at the news he heard. Owen looked up and saw it. The sight only + confirmed him in the belief he had held throughout, in antagonism to + Edward’s suspicions. + </p> + <p> + There could no longer be a shadow of doubt that if the first Mrs. Manston + lived, her husband was ignorant of the fact. What he could have feared by + his ghastly look at first, and now have ceased to fear, it was quite + futile to conjecture. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now I do not for a moment doubt your complete ignorance of the whole + matter; you cannot suppose for an instant that I do,’ said Owen when he + had finished reading. ‘But is it not best for both that Cytherea should + come back with me till the matter is cleared up? In fact, under the + circumstances, no other course is left open to me than to request it.’ + </p> + <p> + Whatever Manston’s original feelings had been, all in him now gave way to + irritation, and irritation to rage. He paced up and down the room till he + had mastered it; then said in ordinary tones— + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly, I know no more than you and others know—it was a + gratuitous unpleasantness in you to say you did not doubt me. Why should + you, or anybody, have doubted me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, where is my sister?’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘Locked in the next room.’ + </p> + <p> + His own answer reminded Manston that Cytherea must, by some inscrutable + means, have had an inkling of the event. + </p> + <p> + Owen had gone to the door of Cytherea’s room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea, darling—‘tis Owen,’ he said, outside the door. A rustling + of clothes, soft footsteps, and a voice saying from the inside, ‘Is it + really you, Owen,—is it really?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, will you take care of me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Always.’ + </p> + <p> + She unlocked the door, and retreated again. Manston came forward from the + other room with a candle in his hand, as Owen pushed open the door. + </p> + <p> + Her frightened eyes were unnaturally large, and shone like stars in the + darkness of the background, as the light fell upon them. She leapt up to + Owen in one bound, her small taper fingers extended like the leaves of a + lupine. Then she clasped her cold and trembling hands round his neck and + shivered. + </p> + <p> + The sight of her again kindled all Manston’s passions into activity. ‘She + shall not go with you,’ he said firmly, and stepping a pace or two closer, + ‘unless you prove that she is not my wife; and you can’t do it!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This is proof,’ said Owen, holding up the paper. + </p> + <p> + ‘No proof at all,’ said Manston hotly. ‘’Tis not a death-bed confession, + and those are the only things of the kind held as good evidence.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Send for a lawyer,’ Owen returned, ‘and let him tell us the proper course + to adopt.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind the law—let me go with Owen!’ cried Cytherea, still + holding on to him. ‘You will let me go with him, won’t you, sir?’ she + said, turning appealingly to Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll have it all right and square,’ said Manston, with more quietness. + ‘I have no objection to your brother sending for a lawyer, if he wants + to.’ + </p> + <p> + It was getting on for twelve o’clock, but the proprietor of the hotel had + not yet gone to bed on account of the mystery on the first floor, which + was an occurrence unusual in the quiet family lodging. Owen looked over + the banisters, and saw him standing in the hall. It struck Graye that the + wisest course would be to take the landlord to a certain extent into their + confidence, appeal to his honour as a gentleman, and so on, in order to + acquire the information he wanted, and also to prevent the episode of the + evening from becoming a public piece of news. He called the landlord up to + where they stood, and told him the main facts of the story. + </p> + <p> + The landlord was fortunately a quiet, prejudiced man, and a meditative + smoker. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know the very man you want to see—the very man,’ he said, looking + at the general features of the candle-flame. ‘Sharp as a needle, and not + over-rich. Timms will put you all straight in no time—trust Timms + for that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s in bed by this time for certain,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind that—Timms knows me, I know him. He’ll oblige me as a + personal favour. Wait here a bit. Perhaps, too, he’s up at some party or + another—he’s a nice, jovial fellow, sharp as a needle, too; mind + you, sharp as a needle, too.’ + </p> + <p> + He went downstairs, put on his overcoat, and left the house, the three + persons most concerned entering the room, and standing motionless, + awkward, and silent in the midst of it. Cytherea pictured to herself the + long weary minutes she would have to stand there, whilst a sleepy man + could be prepared for consultation, till the constraint between them + seemed unendurable to her—she could never last out the time. Owen + was annoyed that Manston had not quietly arranged with him at once; + Manston at Owen’s homeliness of idea in proposing to send for an attorney, + as if he would be a touchstone of infallible proof. + </p> + <p> + Reflection was cut short by the approach of footsteps, and in a few + moments the proprietor of the hotel entered, introducing his friend. ‘Mr. + Timms has not been in bed,’ he said; ‘he had just returned from dining + with a few friends, so there’s no trouble given. To save time I explained + the matter as we came along.’ + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Owen and Manston both that they might get a misty + exposition of the law from Mr. Timms at that moment of concluding dinner + with a few friends. + </p> + <p> + ‘As far as I can see,’ said the lawyer, yawning, and turning his vision + inward by main force, ‘it is quite a matter for private arrangement + between the parties, whoever the parties are—at least at present. I + speak more as a father than as a lawyer, it is true, but, let the young + lady stay with her father, or guardian, safe out of shame’s way, until the + mystery is sifted, whatever the mystery is. Should the evidence prove to + be false, or trumped up by anybody to get her away from you, her husband, + you may sue them for the damages accruing from the delay.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes,’ said Manston, who had completely recovered his self-possession + and common-sense; ‘let it all be settled by herself.’ Turning to Cytherea + he whispered so softly that Owen did not hear the words— + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you wish to go back with your brother, dearest, and leave me here + miserable, and lonely, or will you stay with me, your own husband.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll go back with Owen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well.’ He relinquished his coaxing tone, and went on sternly: ‘And + remember this, Cytherea, I am as innocent of deception in this thing as + you are yourself. Do you believe me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I do,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had no shadow of suspicion that my first wife lived. I don’t think she + does even now. Do you believe me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe you,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now, good-evening,’ he continued, opening the door and politely + intimating to the three men standing by that there was no further + necessity for their remaining in his room. ‘In three days I shall claim + her.’ + </p> + <p> + The lawyer and the hotel-keeper retired first. Owen, gathering up as much + of his sister’s clothing as lay about the room, took her upon his arm, and + followed them. Edward, to whom she owed everything, who had been left + standing in the street like a dog without a home, was utterly forgotten. + Owen paid the landlord and the lawyer for the trouble he had occasioned + them, looked to the packing, and went to the door. + </p> + <p> + A fly, which somewhat unaccountably was seen lingering in front of the + house, was called up, and Cytherea’s luggage put upon it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know of any hotel near the station that is open for night + arrivals?’ Owen inquired of the driver. + </p> + <p> + ‘A place has been bespoke for you, sir, at the White Unicorn—and the + gentleman wished me to give you this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bespoken by Springrove, who ordered the fly, of course,’ said Owen to + himself. By the light of the street-lamp he read these lines, hurriedly + traced in pencil:— + </p> + <p> + ‘I have gone home by the mail-train. It is better for all parties that I + should be out of the way. Tell Cytherea that I apologize for having caused + her such unnecessary pain, as it seems I did—but it cannot be helped + now. E.S.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen handed his sister into the vehicle, and told the flyman to drive on. + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor Springrove—I think we have served him rather badly,’ he said + to Cytherea, repeating the words of the note to her. + </p> + <p> + A thrill of pleasure passed through her bosom as she listened to them. + They were the genuine reproach of a lover to his mistress; the trifling + coldness of her answer to him would have been noticed by no man who was + only a friend. But, in entertaining that sweet thought, she had forgotten + herself, and her position for the instant. + </p> + <p> + Was she still Manston’s wife—that was the terrible supposition, and + her future seemed still a possible misery to her. For, on account of the + late jarring accident, a life with Manston which would otherwise have been + only a sadness, must become a burden of unutterable sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Then she thought of the misrepresentation and scandal that would ensue if + she were no wife. One cause for thankfulness accompanied the reflection; + Edward knew the truth. + </p> + <p> + They soon reached the quiet old inn, which had been selected for them by + the forethought of the man who loved her well. Here they installed + themselves for the night, arranging to go to Budmouth by the first train + the next day. + </p> + <p> + At this hour Edward Springrove was fast approaching his native county on + the wheels of the night-mail. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. THE EVENTS OF FIVE WEEKS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. FROM THE SIXTH TO THE THIRTEENTH OF JANUARY + </h3> + <p> + Manston had evidently resolved to do nothing in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + This much was plain, that his earnest desire and intention was to raise in + Cytherea’s bosom no feelings of permanent aversion to him. The instant + after the first burst of disappointment had escaped him in the hotel at + Southampton, he had seen how far better it would be to lose her presence + for a week than her respect for ever. + </p> + <p> + ‘She shall be mine; I will claim the young thing yet,’ he insisted. And + then he seemed to reason over methods for compassing that object, which, + to all those who were in any degree acquainted with the recent event, + appeared the least likely of possible contingencies. + </p> + <p> + He returned to Knapwater late the next day, and was preparing to call on + Miss Aldclyffe, when the conclusion forced itself upon him that nothing + would be gained by such a step. No; every action of his should be done + openly—even religiously. At least, he called on the rector, and + stated this to be his resolve. + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Raunham, ‘it is best to proceed candidly and fairly, + or undue suspicion may fall on you. You should, in my opinion, take active + steps at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will do the utmost that lies in my power to clear up the mystery, and + silence the hubbub of gossip that has been set going about me. But what + can I do? They say that the man who comes first in the chain of inquiry is + not to be found—I mean the porter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry to say that he is not. When I returned from the station last + night, after seeing Owen Graye off, I went again to the cottage where he + has been lodging, to get more intelligence, as I thought. He was not + there. He had gone out at dusk, saying he would be back soon. But he has + not come back yet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I rather doubt if we shall see him again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Had I known of this, I would have done what in my flurry I did not think + of doing—set a watch upon him. But why not advertise for your + missing wife as a preliminary, consulting your solicitor in the meantime?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Advertise. I’ll think about it,’ said Manston, lingering on the word as + he pronounced it. ‘Yes, that seems a right thing—quite a right + thing.’ + </p> + <p> + He went home and remained moodily indoors all the next day and the next—for + nearly a week, in short. Then, one evening at dusk, he went out with an + uncertain air as to the direction of his walk, which resulted, however, in + leading him again to the rectory. + </p> + <p> + He saw Mr. Raunham. ‘Have you done anything yet?’ the rector inquired. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—I have not,’ said Manston absently. ‘But I am going to set about + it.’ He hesitated, as if ashamed of some weakness he was about to betray. + ‘My object in calling was to ask if you had heard any tidings from + Budmouth of my—Cytherea. You used to speak of her as one you were + interested in.’ + </p> + <p> + There was, at any rate, real sadness in Manston’s tone now, and the rector + paused to weigh his words ere he replied. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not heard directly from her,’ he said gently. ‘But her brother has + communicated with some people in the parish—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Springroves, I suppose,’ said Manston gloomily. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; and they tell me that she is very ill, and I am sorry to say, likely + to be for some days.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Surely, surely, I must go and see her!’ Manston cried. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would advise you not to go,’ said Raunham. ‘But do this instead—be + as quick as you can in making a movement towards ascertaining the truth as + regards the existence of your wife. You see, Mr. Manston, an out-step + place like this is not like a city, and there is nobody to busy himself + for the good of the community; whilst poor Cytherea and her brother are + socially too dependent to be able to make much stir in the matter, which + is a greater reason still why you should be disinterestedly prompt.’ + </p> + <p> + The steward murmured an assent. Still there was the same indecision!—not + the indecision of weakness—the indecision of conscious perplexity. + </p> + <p> + On Manston’s return from this interview at the rectory, he passed the door + of the Rising Sun Inn. Finding he had no light for his cigar, and it being + three-quarters of a mile to his residence in the park, he entered the + tavern to get one. Nobody was in the outer portion of the front room where + Manston stood, but a space round the fire was screened off from the + remainder, and inside the high oak settle, forming a part of the screen, + he heard voices conversing. The speakers had not noticed his footsteps, + and continued their discourse. + </p> + <p> + One of the two he recognized as a well-known night-poacher, the man who + had met him with tidings of his wife’s death on the evening of the + conflagration. The other seemed to be a stranger following the same mode + of life. The conversation was carried on in the emphatic and confidential + tone of men who are slightly intoxicated, its subject being an + unaccountable experience that one of them had had on the night of the + fire. + </p> + <p> + What the steward heard was enough, and more than enough, to lead him to + forget or to renounce his motive in entering. The effect upon him was + strange and strong. His first object seemed to be to escape from the house + again without being seen or heard. + </p> + <p> + Having accomplished this, he went in at the park gate, and strode off + under the trees to the Old House. There sitting down by the fire, and + burying himself in reflection, he allowed the minutes to pass by unheeded. + First the candle burnt down in its socket and stunk: he did not notice it. + Then the fire went out: he did not see it. His feet grew cold; still he + thought on. + </p> + <p> + It may be remarked that a lady, a year and a quarter before this time, + had, under the same conditions—an unrestricted mental absorption—shown + nearly the same peculiarities as this man evinced now. The lady was Miss + Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + It was half-past twelve when Manston moved, as if he had come to a + determination. + </p> + <p> + The first thing he did the next morning was to call at Knapwater House; + where he found that Miss Aldclyffe was not well enough to see him. She had + been ailing from slight internal haemorrhage ever since the confession of + the porter Chinney. Apparently not much aggrieved at the denial, he + shortly afterwards went to the railway-station and took his departure for + London, leaving a letter for Miss Aldclyffe, stating the reason of his + journey thither—to recover traces of his missing wife. + </p> + <p> + During the remainder of the week paragraphs appeared in the local and + other newspapers, drawing attention to the facts of this singular case. + The writers, with scarcely an exception, dwelt forcibly upon a feature + which had at first escaped the observation of the villagers, including Mr. + Raunham—that if the announcement of the man Chinney were true, it + seemed extremely probable that Mrs. Manston left her watch and keys behind + on purpose to blind people as to her escape; and that therefore she would + not now let herself be discovered, unless a strong pressure were put upon + her. The writers added that the police were on the track of the porter, + who very possibly had absconded in the fear that his reticence was + criminal, and that Mr. Manston, the husband, was, with praiseworthy + energy, making every effort to clear the whole matter up. + </p> + <p> + 2. FROM THE EIGHTEENTH TO THE END OF JANUARY + </p> + <p> + Five days from the time of his departure, Manston returned from London and + Liverpool, looking very fatigued and thoughtful. He explained to the + rector and other of his acquaintance that all the inquiries he had made at + his wife’s old lodgings and his own had been totally barren of results. + </p> + <p> + But he seemed inclined to push the affair to a clear conclusion now that + he had commenced. After the lapse of another day or two he proceeded to + fulfil his promise to the rector, and advertised for the missing woman in + three of the London papers. The advertisement was a carefully considered + and even attractive effusion, calculated to win the heart, or at least the + understanding, of any woman who had a spark of her own nature left in her. + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + Three days later he repeated the experiment; with the same result as + before. + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot try any further,’ said Manston speciously to the rector, his + sole auditor throughout the proceedings. ‘Mr. Raunham, I’ll tell you the + truth plainly: I don’t love her; I do love Cytherea, and the whole of this + business of searching for the other woman goes altogether against me. I + hope to God I shall never see her again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But you will do your duty at least?’ said Mr. Raunham. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have done it,’ said Manston. ‘If ever a man on the face of this earth + has done his duty towards an absent wife, I have towards her—living + or dead—at least,’ he added, correcting himself, ‘since I have lived + at Knapwater. I neglected her before that time—I own that, as I have + owned it before.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should, if I were you, adopt other means to get tidings of her if + advertising fails, in spite of my feelings,’ said the rector emphatically. + ‘But at any rate, try advertising once more. There’s a satisfaction in + having made any attempt three several times.’ + </p> + <p> + When Manston had left the study, the rector stood looking at the fire for + a considerable length of time, lost in profound reflection. He went to his + private diary, and after many pauses, which he varied only by dipping his + pen, letting it dry, wiping it on his sleeve, and then dipping it again, + he took the following note of events:— + </p> + <p> + ‘January 25.—Mr. Manston has just seen me for the third time on the + subject of his lost wife. There have been these peculiarities attending + the three interviews:— + </p> + <p> + ‘The first. My visitor, whilst expressing by words his great anxiety to do + everything for her recovery, showed plainly by his bearing that he was + convinced he should never see her again. + </p> + <p> + ‘The second. He had left off feigning anxiety to do rightly by his first + wife, and honestly asked after Cytherea’s welfare. + </p> + <p> + ‘The third (and most remarkable). He seemed to have lost all consistency. + Whilst expressing his love for Cytherea (which certainly is strong) and + evincing the usual indifference to the first Mrs. Manston’s fate, he was + unable to conceal the intensity of his eagerness for me to advise him to + <i>advertise again</i> for her.’ + </p> + <p> + A week after the second, the third advertisement was inserted. A paragraph + was attached, which stated that this would be the last time the + announcement would appear. + </p> + <p> + 3. THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY + </p> + <p> + At this, the eleventh hour, the postman brought a letter for Manston, + directed in a woman’s hand. + </p> + <p> + A bachelor friend of the steward’s, Mr. Dickson by name, who was somewhat + of a chatterer—plenus rimarum—and who boasted of an endless + string of acquaintances, had come over from Casterbridge the preceding day + by invitation—an invitation which had been a pleasant surprise to + Dickson himself, insomuch that Manston, as a rule, voted him a bore almost + to his face. He had stayed over the night, and was sitting at breakfast + with his host when the important missive arrived. + </p> + <p> + Manston did not attempt to conceal the subject of the letter, or the name + of the writer. First glancing the pages through, he read aloud as follows:— + </p> + <p> + ‘“MY HUSBAND,—I implore your forgiveness. + </p> + <p> + ‘“During the last thirteen months I have repeated to myself a hundred + times that you should never discover what I voluntarily tell you now, + namely, that I am alive and in perfect health. + </p> + <p> + ‘“I have seen all your advertisements. Nothing but your persistence has + won me round. Surely, I thought, he <i>must</i> love me still. Why else + should he try to win back a woman who, faithful unto death as she will be, + can, in a social sense, aid him towards acquiring nothing?—rather + the reverse, indeed. + </p> + <p> + ‘“You yourself state my own mind—that the only grounds upon which we + can meet and live together, with a reasonable hope of happiness, must be a + mutual consent to bury in oblivion all past differences. I heartily and + willingly forget everything—and forgive everything. You will do the + same, as your actions show. + </p> + <p> + ‘“There will be plenty of opportunity for me to explain the few facts + relating to my escape on the night of the fire. I will only give the heads + in this hurried note. I was grieved at your not coming to fetch me, more + grieved at your absence from the station, most of all by your absence from + home. On my journey to the inn I writhed under a passionate sense of wrong + done me. When I had been shown to my room I waited and hoped for you till + the landlord had gone upstairs to bed. I still found that you did not + come, and then I finally made up my mind to leave. I had half undressed, + but I put on my things again, forgetting my watch (and I suppose dropping + my keys, though I am not sure where) in my hurry, and slipped out of the + house. The—“’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, that’s a rum story,’ said Mr. Dickson, interrupting. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s a rum story?’ said Manston hastily, and flushing in the face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Forgetting her watch and dropping her keys in her hurry.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t see anything particularly wonderful in it. Any woman might do + such a thing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Any woman might if escaping from fire or shipwreck, or any such immediate + danger. But it seems incomprehensible to me that any woman in her senses, + who quietly decides to leave a house, should be so forgetful.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All that is required to reconcile your seeming with her facts is to + assume that she was not in her senses, for that’s what she did plainly, or + how could the things have been found there? Besides, she’s truthful + enough.’ He spoke eagerly and peremptorily. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, I know that. I merely meant that it seemed rather odd.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes.’ Manston read on:— + </p> + <p> + ‘“—and slipped out of the house. The rubbish-heap was burning up + brightly, but the thought that the house was in danger did not strike me; + I did not consider that it might be thatched. + </p> + <p> + ‘“I idled in the lane behind the wood till the last down-train had come + in, not being in a mood to face strangers. Whilst I was there the fire + broke out, and this perplexed me still more. However, I was still + determined not to stay in the place. I went to the railway-station, which + was now quiet, and inquired of the solitary man on duty there concerning + the trains. It was not till I had left the man that I saw the effect the + fire might have on my history. I considered also, though not in any + detailed manner, that the event, by attracting the attention of the + village to my former abode, might set people on my track should they doubt + my death, and a sudden dread of having to go back again to Knapwater—a + place which had seemed inimical to me from first to last—prompted me + to run back and bribe the porter to secrecy. I then walked on to + Anglebury, lingering about the outskirts of the town till the morning + train came in, when I proceeded by it to London, and then took these + lodgings, where I have been supporting myself ever since by needlework, + endeavouring to save enough money to pay my passage home to America, but + making melancholy progress in my attempt. However, all that is changed—can + I be otherwise than happy at it? Of course not. I am happy. Tell me what I + am to do, and believe me still to be your faithful wife, EUNICE. + </p> + <p> + ‘“My name here is (as before) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“MRS. RONDLEY, and my address, + 79 ADDINGTON STREET, + LAMBETH.’” + </pre> + <p> + The name and address were written on a separate slip of paper. + </p> + <p> + ‘So it’s to be all right at last then,’ said Manston’s friend. ‘But after + all there’s another woman in the case. You don’t seem very sorry for the + little thing who is put to such distress by this turn of affairs? I wonder + you can let her go so coolly.’ The speaker was looking out between the + mullions of the window—noticing that some of the lights were glazed + in lozenges, some in squares—as he said the words, otherwise he + would have seen the passionate expression of agonized hopelessness that + flitted across the steward’s countenance when the remark was made. He did + not see it, and Manston answered after a short interval. The way in which + he spoke of the young girl who had believed herself his wife, whom, a few + short days ago, he had openly idolized, and whom, in his secret heart, he + idolized still, as far as such a form of love was compatible with his + nature, showed that from policy or otherwise, he meant to act up to the + requirements of the position into which fate appeared determined to drive + him. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s neither here nor there,’ he said; ‘it is a point of honour to do + as I am doing, and there’s an end of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. Only I thought you used not to care overmuch about your first + bargain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I certainly did not at one time. One is apt to feel rather weary of wives + when they are so devilish civil under all aspects, as she used to be. But + anything for a change—Abigail is lost, but Michal is recovered. You + would hardly believe it, but she seems in fancy to be quite another bride—in + fact, almost as if she had really risen from the dead, instead of having + only done so virtually.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You let the young pink one know that the other has come or is coming?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cui bono?’ The steward meditated critically, showing a portion of his + intensely wide and regular teeth within the ruby lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot say anything to her that will do any good,’ he resumed. ‘It + would be awkward—either seeing or communicating with her again. The + best plan to adopt will be to let matters take their course—she’ll + find it all out soon enough.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston found himself alone a few minutes later. He buried his face in his + hands, and murmured, ‘O my lost one! O my Cytherea! That it should come to + this is hard for me! ‘Tis now all darkness—“a land of darkness as + darkness itself; and of the shadow of death without any order, and where + the light is as darkness.”’ + </p> + <p> + Yes, the artificial bearing which this extraordinary man had adopted + before strangers ever since he had overheard the conversation at the inn, + left him now, and he mourned for Cytherea aloud. + </p> + <p> + 4. THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY + </p> + <p> + Knapwater Park is the picture—at eleven o’clock on a muddy, quiet, + hazy, but bright morning—a morning without any blue sky, and without + any shadows, the earth being enlivened and lit up rather by the spirit of + an invisible sun than by its bodily presence. + </p> + <p> + The local Hunt had met for the day’s sport on the open space of ground + immediately in front of the steward’s residence—called in the list + of appointments, ‘Old House, Knapwater’—the meet being here once + every season, for the pleasure of Miss Aldclyffe and her friends. + </p> + <p> + Leaning out from one of the first-floor windows, and surveying with the + keenest interest the lively picture of pink and black coats, rich-coloured + horses, and sparkling bits and spurs, was the returned and long-lost + woman, Mrs. Manston. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of those forming the brilliant group were occasionally turned + towards her, showing plainly that her adventures were the subject of + conversation equally with or more than the chances of the coming day. She + did not flush beneath their scrutiny; on the contrary, she seemed rather + to enjoy it, her eyes being kindled with a light of contented exultation, + subdued to square with the circumstances of her matronly position. + </p> + <p> + She was, at the distance from which they surveyed her, an attractive woman—comely + as the tents of Kedar. But to a close observer it was palpable enough that + God did not do all the picture. Appearing at least seven years older than + Cytherea, she was probably her senior by double the number, the artificial + means employed to heighten the natural good appearance of her face being + very cleverly applied. Her form was full and round, its voluptuous + maturity standing out in strong contrast to the memory of Cytherea’s + lissom girlishness. + </p> + <p> + It seems to be an almost universal rule that a woman who once has courted, + or who eventually will court, the society of men on terms dangerous to her + honour cannot refrain from flinging the meaning glance whenever the moment + arrives in which the glance is strongly asked for, even if her life and + whole future depended upon that moment’s abstinence. + </p> + <p> + Had a cautious, uxorious husband seen in his wife’s countenance what might + now have been seen in this dark-eyed woman’s as she caught a stray glance + of flirtation from one or other of the red-coated gallants outside, he + would have passed many days in an agony of restless jealousy and doubt. + But Manston was not such a husband, and he was, moreover, calmly attending + to his business at the other end of the manor. + </p> + <p> + The steward had fetched home his wife in the most matter-of-fact way a few + days earlier, walking round the village with her the very next morning—at + once putting an end, by this simple solution, to all the riddling + inquiries and surmises that were rank in the village and its + neighbourhood. Some men said that this woman was as far inferior to + Cytherea as earth to heaven; others, older and sager, thought Manston + better off with such a wife than he would have been with one of Cytherea’s + youthful impulses, and inexperience in household management. All felt + their curiosity dying out of them. It was the same in Carriford as in + other parts of the world—immediately circumstantial evidence became + exchanged for direct, the loungers in court yawned, gave a final survey, + and turned away to a subject which would afford more scope for + speculation. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. THE EVENTS OF THREE WEEKS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. FROM THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY TO THE SECOND OF MARCH + </h3> + <p> + Owen Graye’s recovery from the illness that had incapacitated him for so + long a time was, professionally, the dawn of a brighter prospect for him + in every direction, though the change was at first very gradual, and his + movements and efforts were little more than mechanical. With the + lengthening of the days, and the revival of building operations for the + forthcoming season, he saw himself, for the first time, on a road which, + pursued with care, would probably lead to a comfortable income at some + future day. But he was still very low down the hill as yet. + </p> + <p> + The first undertaking entrusted to him in the new year began about a month + after his return from Southampton. Mr. Gradfield had come back to him in + the wake of his restored health, and offered him the superintendence, as + clerk of works, of a church which was to be nearly rebuilt at the village + of Tolchurch, fifteen or sixteen miles from Budmouth, and about half that + distance from Carriford. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am now being paid at the rate of a hundred and fifty pounds a year,’ he + said to his sister in a burst of thankfulness, ‘and you shall never, + Cytherea, be at any tyrannous lady’s beck and call again as long as I + live. Never pine or think about what has happened, dear; it’s no disgrace + to you. Cheer up; you’ll be somebody’s happy wife yet.’ + </p> + <p> + He did not say Edward Springrove’s, for, greatly to his disappointment, a + report had reached his ears that the friend to whom Cytherea owed so much + had been about to pack up his things and sail for Australia. However, this + was before the uncertainty concerning Mrs. Manston’s existence had been + dispersed by her return, a phenomenon that altered the cloudy relationship + in which Cytherea had lately been standing towards her old lover, to one + of distinctness; which result would have been delightful but for + circumstances about to be mentioned. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was still pale from her recent illness, and still greatly + dejected. Until the news of Mrs. Manston’s return had reached them, she + had kept herself closely shut up during the day-time, never venturing + forth except at night. Sleeping and waking she had been in perpetual dread + lest she should still be claimed by a man whom, only a few weeks earlier, + she had regarded in the light of a future husband with quiet assent, not + unmixed with cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + But the removal of the uneasiness in this direction—by Mrs. + Manston’s arrival, and her own consequent freedom—had been the + imposition of pain in another. Utterly fictitious details of the finding + of Cytherea and Manston had been invented and circulated, unavoidably + reaching her ears in the course of time. Thus the freedom brought no + happiness, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that she could ever again + show herself the sparkling creature she once had been— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Apt to entice a deity.’ +</pre> + <p> + On this account, and for the first time in his life, Owen made a point of + concealing from her the real state of his feelings with regard to the + unhappy transaction. He writhed in secret under the humiliation to which + they had been subjected, till the resentment it gave rise to, and for + which there was no vent, was sometimes beyond endurance; it induced a mood + that did serious damage to the material and plodding perseverance + necessary if he would secure permanently the comforts of a home for them. + </p> + <p> + They gave up their lodgings at Budmouth, and went to Tolchurch as soon as + the work commenced. + </p> + <p> + Here they were domiciled in one half of an old farmhouse, standing not far + from the ivy-covered church tower (which was all that was to remain of the + original structure). The long steep roof of this picturesque dwelling + sloped nearly down to the ground, the old tiles that covered it being + overgrown with rich olive-hued moss. New red tiles in twos and threes had + been used for patching the holes wrought by decay, lighting up the whole + harmonious surface with dots of brilliant scarlet. + </p> + <p> + The chief internal features of this snug abode were a wide fireplace, + enormous cupboards, a brown settle, and several sketches on the wood + mantel, done in outline with the point of a hot poker—the subjects + mainly consisting of old men walking painfully erect, with a curly-tailed + dog behind. + </p> + <p> + After a week or two of residence in Tolchurch, and rambles amid the quaint + scenery circumscribing it, a tranquillity began to spread itself through + the mind of the maiden, which Graye hoped would be a preface to her + complete restoration. She felt ready and willing to live the whole + remainder of her days in the retirement of their present quarters: she + began to sing about the house in low tremulous snatches— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“—I said, if there’s peace to be found in the world, + A heart that is humble may hope for it here.”’ +</pre> + <p> + 2. THE THIRD OF MARCH + </p> + <p> + Her convalescence had arrived at this point on a certain evening towards + the end of the winter, when Owen had come in from the building hard by, + and was changing his muddy boots for slippers, previously to sitting down + to toast and tea. + </p> + <p> + A prolonged though quiet knocking came to the door. + </p> + <p> + The only person who ever knocked at their door in that way was the new + vicar, the prime mover in the church-building. But he was that evening + dining with the Squire. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was uneasy at the sound—she did not know why, unless it was + because her nerves were weakened by the sickness she had undergone. + Instead of opening the door she ran out of the room, and upstairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘What nonsense, Cytherea!’ said her brother, going to the door. + </p> + <p> + Edward Springrove stood in the grey light outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Capital—not gone to Australia, and not going, of course!’ cried + Owen. ‘What’s the use of going to such a place as that?—I never + believed that you would.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going back to London again to-morrow,’ said Springrove, ‘and I + called to say a word before going. Where is... ?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She has just run upstairs. Come in—never mind scraping your shoes—we + are regular cottagers now; stone floor, yawning chimney-corner, and all, + you see.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Manston came,’ said Edward awkwardly, when he had sat down in the + chimney-corner by preference. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ At mention of one of his skeletons Owen lost his blitheness at + once, and fell into a reverie. + </p> + <p> + ‘The history of her escape is very simple.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You know I always had wondered, when my father was telling any of the + circumstances of the fire to me, how it could be that a woman could sleep + so soundly as to be unaware of her horrid position till it was too late + even to give shout or sound of any kind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I think that would have been possible, considering her long + wearisome journey. People have often been suffocated in their beds before + they awoke. But it was hardly likely a body would be completely burnt to + ashes as this was assumed to be, though nobody seemed to see it at the + time. And how positive the surgeon was too, about those bits of bone! Why + he should have been so, nobody can tell. I cannot help saying that if it + has ever been possible to find pure stupidity incarnate, it was in that + jury of Carriford. There existed in the mass the stupidity of twelve and + not the penetration of one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is she quite well?’ said Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who?—O, my sister, Cytherea. Thank you, nearly well, now. I’ll call + her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait one minute. I have a word to say to you.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen sat down again. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know, without my saying it, that I love Cytherea as dearly as + ever.... I think she loves me too,—does she really?’ + </p> + <p> + There was in Owen enough of that worldly policy on the subject of + matchmaking which naturally resides in the breasts of parents and + guardians, to give him a certain caution in replying, and, younger as he + was by five years than Edward, it had an odd effect. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, she may possibly love you still,’ he said, as if rather in doubt as + to the truth of his words. + </p> + <p> + Springrove’s countenance instantly saddened; he had expected a simple + ‘Yes,’ at the very least. He continued in a tone of greater depression— + </p> + <p> + ‘Supposing she does love me, would it be fair to you and to her if I made + her an offer of marriage, with these dreary conditions attached—that + we lived for a few years on the narrowest system, till a great debt, which + all honour and duty require me to pay off, shall be paid? My father, by + reason of the misfortune that befell him, is under a great obligation to + Miss Aldclyffe. He is getting old, and losing his energies. I am + attempting to work free of the burden. This makes my prospects gloomy + enough at present. + </p> + <p> + ‘But consider again,’ he went on. ‘Cytherea has been left in a nameless + and unsatisfactory, though innocent state, by this unfortunate, and now + void, marriage with Manston. A marriage with me, though under the—materially—untoward + conditions I have mentioned, would make us happy; it would give her a + locus standi. If she wished to be out of the sound of her misfortunes we + would go to another part of England—emigrate—do anything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll call Cytherea,’ said Owen. ‘It is a matter which she alone can + settle.’ He did not speak warmly. His pride could not endure the pity + which Edward’s visit and errand tacitly implied. Yet, in the other affair, + his heart went with Edward; he was on the same beat for paying off old + debts himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cythie, Mr. Springrove is here,’ he said, at the foot of the staircase. + </p> + <p> + His sister descended the creaking old steps with a faltering tread, and + stood in the firelight from the hearth. She extended her hand to + Springrove, welcoming him by a mere motion of the lip, her eyes averted—a + habit which had engendered itself in her since the beginning of her + illness and defamation. Owen opened the door and went out—leaving + the lovers alone. It was the first time they had met since the memorable + night at Southampton. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will get a light,’ she said, with a little embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—don’t, please, Cytherea,’ said Edward softly, ‘Come and sit down + with me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes. I ought to have asked <i>you</i> to,’ she returned timidly. + ‘Everybody sits in the chimney-corner in this parish. You sit on that + side. I’ll sit here.’ + </p> + <p> + Two recesses—one on the right, one on the left hand—were cut + in the inside of the fireplace, and here they sat down facing each other, + on benches fitted to the recesses, the fire glowing on the hearth between + their feet. Its ruddy light shone on the underslopes of their faces, and + spread out over the floor of the room with the low horizontality of the + setting sun, giving to every grain of sand and tumour in the paving a long + shadow towards the door. + </p> + <p> + Edward looked at his pale love through the thin azure twines of smoke that + went up like ringlets between them, and invested her, as seen through its + medium, with the shadowy appearance of a phantom. Nothing is so potent for + coaxing back the lost eyes of a woman as a discreet silence in the man who + has so lost them—and thus the patient Edward coaxed hers. After + lingering on the hearth for half a minute, waiting in vain for another + word from him, they were lifted into his face. + </p> + <p> + He was ready primed to receive them. ‘Cytherea, will you marry me?’ he + said. + </p> + <p> + He could not wait in his original position till the answer came. Stepping + across the front of the fire to her own side of the chimney corner, he + reclined at her feet, and searched for her hand. She continued in silence + awhile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Edward, I can never be anybody’s wife,’ she then said sadly, and with + firmness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Think of it in every light,’ he pleaded; ‘the light of love, first. Then, + when you have done that, see how wise a step it would be. I can only offer + you poverty as yet, but I want—I do so long to secure you from the + intrusion of that unpleasant past, which will often and always be thrust + before you as long as you live the shrinking solitary life you do now—a + life which purity chooses, it may be; but to the outside world it appears + like the enforced loneliness of neglect and scorn—and tongues are + busy inventing a reason for it which does not exist.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know all about it,’ she said hastily; ‘and those are the grounds of my + refusal. You and Owen know the whole truth—the two I love best on + earth—and I am content. But the scandal will be continually + repeated, and I can never give any one the opportunity of saying to you—that—your + wife....’ She utterly broke down and wept. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t, my own darling!’ he entreated. ‘Don’t, Cytherea!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Please to leave me—we will be friends, Edward—but don’t press + me—my mind is made up—I cannot—I will not marry you or + any man under the present ambiguous circumstances—never will I—I + have said it: never!’ + </p> + <p> + They were both silent. He listlessly regarded the illuminated blackness + overhead, where long flakes of soot floated from the sides and bars of the + chimney-throat like tattered banners in ancient aisles; whilst through the + square opening in the midst one or two bright stars looked down upon them + from the grey March sky. The sight seemed to cheer him. + </p> + <p> + ‘At any rate you will love me?’ he murmured to her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—always—for ever and for ever!’ + </p> + <p> + He kissed her once, twice, three times, and arose to his feet, slowly + withdrawing himself from her side towards the door. Cytherea remained with + her gaze fixed on the fire. Edward went out grieving, but hope was not + extinguished even now. + </p> + <p> + He smelt the fragrance of a cigar, and immediately afterwards saw a small + red star of fire against the darkness of the hedge. Graye was pacing up + and down the lane, smoking as he walked. Springrove told him the result of + the interview. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are a good fellow, Edward,’ he said; ‘but I think my sister is + right.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you would believe Manston a villain, as I do,’ said Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘It would be absurd of me to say that I like him now—family feeling + prevents it, but I cannot in honesty say deliberately that he is a bad + man.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward could keep the secret of Manston’s coercion of Miss Aldclyffe in + the matter of the houses a secret no longer. He told Owen the whole story. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s one thing,’ he continued, ‘but not all. What do you think of this—I + have discovered that he went to Budmouth post-office for a letter the day + before the first advertisement for his wife appeared in the papers. One + was there for him, and it was directed in his wife’s handwriting, as I can + prove. This was not till after the marriage with Cytherea, it is true, but + if (as it seems to show) the advertising was a farce, there is a strong + presumption that the rest of the piece was.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen was too astounded to speak. He dropped his cigar, and fixed his eyes + upon his companion. + </p> + <p> + ‘Collusion!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With his first wife?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—with his wife. I am firmly persuaded of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What did you discover?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That he fetched from the post-office at Budmouth a letter from her the + day <i>before</i> the first advertisement appeared.’ + </p> + <p> + Graye was lost in a long consideration. ‘Ah!’ he said, ‘it would be + difficult to prove anything of that sort now. The writing could not be + sworn to, and if he is guilty the letter is destroyed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have other suspicions—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—as you said’ interrupted Owen, who had not till now been able + to form the complicated set of ideas necessary for picturing the position. + ‘Yes, there is this to be remembered—Cytherea had been taken from + him before that letter came—and his knowledge of his wife’s + existence could not have originated till after the wedding. I could have + sworn he believed her dead then. His manner was unmistakable.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I have other suspicions,’ repeated Edward; ‘and if I only had the + right—if I were her husband or brother, he should be convicted of + bigamy yet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The reproof was not needed,’ said Owen, with a little bitterness. ‘What + can I do—a man with neither money nor friends—whilst Manston + has Miss Aldclyffe and all her fortune to back him up? God only knows what + lies between the mistress and her steward, but since this has transpired—if + it is true—I can believe the connection to be even an unworthy one—a + thing I certainly never so much as owned to myself before.’ + </p> + <p> + 3. THE FIFTH OF MARCH + </p> + <p> + Edward’s disclosure had the effect of directing Owen Graye’s thoughts into + an entirely new and uncommon channel. + </p> + <p> + On the Monday after Springrove’s visit, Owen had walked to the top of a + hill in the neighbourhood of Tolchurch—a wild hill that had no name, + beside a barren down where it never looked like summer. In the intensity + of his meditations on the ever-present subject, he sat down on a + weather-beaten boundary-stone gazing towards the distant valleys—seeing + only Manston’s imagined form. + </p> + <p> + Had his defenceless sister been trifled with? that was the question which + affected him. Her refusal of Edward as a husband was, he knew, dictated + solely by a humiliated sense of inadequacy to him in repute, and had not + been formed till since the slanderous tale accounting for her seclusion + had been circulated. Was it not true, as Edward had hinted, that he, her + brother, was neglecting his duty towards her in allowing Manston to thrive + unquestioned, whilst she was hiding her head for no fault at all? + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that Manston was sensuous villain enough to have + contemplated, at any moment before the marriage with Cytherea, the return + of his first wife, when he should have grown weary of his new toy? Had he + believed that, by a skilful manipulation of such circumstances as chance + would throw in his way, he could escape all suspicion of having known that + she lived? Only one fact within his own direct knowledge afforded the + least ground for such a supposition. It was that, possessed by a woman + only in the humble and unprotected station of a lady’s hired companion, + his sister’s beauty might scarcely have been sufficient to induce a + selfish man like Manston to make her his wife, unless he had foreseen the + possibility of getting rid of her again. + </p> + <p> + ‘But for that stratagem of Manston’s in relation to the Springroves,’ Owen + thought, ‘Cythie might now have been the happy wife of Edward. True, that + he influenced Miss Aldclyffe only rests on Edward’s suspicions, but the + grounds are good—the probability is strong.’ + </p> + <p> + He went indoors and questioned Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘On the night of the fire, who first said that Mrs. Manston was burnt?’ he + asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know who started the report.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Was it Manston?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It was certainly not he. All doubt on the subject was removed before he + came to the spot—that I am certain of. Everybody knew that she did + not escape <i>after</i> the house was on fire, and thus all overlooked the + fact that she might have left before—of course that would have + seemed such an improbable thing for anybody to do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, until the porter’s story of her irritation and doubt as to her + course made it natural.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What settled the matter at the inquest,’ said Cytherea, ‘was Mr. + Manston’s evidence that the watch was his wife’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He was sure of that, wasn’t he?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe he said he was certain of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It might have been hers—left behind in her perturbation, as they + say it was—impossible as that seems at first sight. Yes—on the + whole, he might have believed in her death.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know by several proofs that then, and at least for some time after, he + had no other thought than that she was dead. I now think that before the + porter’s confession he knew something about her—though not that she + lived.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘From what he said to me on the evening of the wedding-day, when I had + fastened myself in the room at the hotel, after Edward’s visit. He must + have suspected that I knew something, for he was irritated, and in a + passion of uneasy doubt. He said, “You don’t suppose my first wife is come + to light again, madam, surely?” Directly he had let the remark slip out, + he seemed anxious to withdraw it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s odd,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought it very odd.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Still we must remember he might only have hit upon the thought by + accident, in doubt as to your motive. Yes, the great point to discover + remains the same as ever—did he doubt his first impression of her + death <i>before</i> he married you. I can’t help thinking he did, although + he was so astounded at our news that night. Edward swears he did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It was perhaps only a short time before,’ said Cytherea; ‘when he could + hardly recede from having me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Seasoning justice with mercy as usual, Cytherea. ‘Tis unfair to yourself + to talk like that. If I could only bring him to ruin as a bigamist—supposing + him to be one—I should die happy. That’s what we must find out by + fair means or foul—was he a wilful bigamist?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is no use trying, Owen. You would have to employ a solicitor, and how + can you do that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t at all—I know that very well. But neither do I altogether + wish to at present—a lawyer must have a case—facts to go upon, + that means. Now they are scarce at present—as scarce as money is + with us, and till we have found more money there is no hurry for a lawyer. + Perhaps by the time we have the facts we shall have the money. The only + thing we lose in working alone in this way, is time—not the issue: + for the fruit that one mind matures in a twelvemonth forms a more + perfectly organized whole than that of twelve minds in one month, + especially if the interests of the single one are vitally concerned, and + those of the twelve are only hired. But there is not only my mind + available—you are a shrewd woman, Cythie, and Edward is an earnest + ally. Then, if we really get a sure footing for a criminal prosecution, + the Crown will take up the case.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t much care to press on in the matter,’ she murmured. ‘What good + can it do us, Owen, after all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Selfishly speaking, it will do this good—that all the facts of your + journey to Southampton will become known, and the scandal will die. + Besides, Manston will have to suffer—it’s an act of justice to you + and to other women, and to Edward Springrove.’ + </p> + <p> + He now thought it necessary to tell her of the real nature of the + Springroves’ obligation to Miss Aldclyffe—and their nearly certain + knowledge that Manston was the prime mover in effecting their + embarrassment. Her face flushed as she listened. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now,’ he said, ‘our first undertaking is to find out where Mrs. + Manston lived during the separation; next, when the first communications + passed between them after the fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If we only had Miss Aldclyffe’s countenance and assistance as I used to + have them,’ Cytherea returned, ‘how strong we should be! O, what power is + it that he exercises over her, swaying her just as he wishes! She loves me + now. Mrs. Morris in her letter said that Miss Aldclyffe prayed for me—yes, + she heard her praying for me, and crying. Miss Aldclyffe did not mind an + old friend like Mrs. Morris knowing it, either. Yet in opposition to this, + notice her dead silence and inaction throughout this proceeding.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a mystery; but never mind that now,’ said Owen impressively. ‘About + where Mrs. Manston has been living. We must get this part of it first—learn + the place of her stay in the early stage of their separation, during the + period of Manston’s arrival here, and so on, for that was where she was + first communicated with on the subject of coming to Knapwater, before the + fire; and that address, too, was her point of departure when she came to + her husband by stealth in the night—you know—the time I + visited you in the evening and went home early in the morning, and it was + found that he had been visited too. Ah! couldn’t we inquire of Mrs. Leat, + who keeps the post-office at Carriford, if she remembers where the letters + to Mrs. Manston were directed?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He never posted his letters to her in the parish—it was remarked at + the time. I was thinking if something relating to her address might not be + found in the report of the inquest in the Casterbridge Chronicle of the + date. Some facts about the inquest were given in the papers to a + certainty.’ + </p> + <p> + Her brother caught eagerly at the suggestion. ‘Who has a file of the + Chronicles?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Raunham used to file them,’ said Cytherea. ‘He was rather + friendly-disposed towards me, too.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen could not, on any consideration, escape from his attendance at the + church-building till Saturday evening; and thus it became necessary, + unless they actually wasted time, that Cytherea herself should assist. ‘I + act under your orders, Owen,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. THE EVENTS OF ONE WEEK + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE SIXTH + </h3> + <p> + The next morning the opening move of the game was made. Cytherea, under + cover of a thick veil, hired a conveyance and drove to within a mile or so + of Carriford. It was with a renewed sense of depression that she saw again + the objects which had become familiar to her eye during her sojourn under + Miss Aldclyffe’s roof—the outline of the hills, the meadow streams, + the old park trees. She hastened by a lonely path to the rectory-house, + and asked if Mr. Raunham was at home. + </p> + <p> + Now the rector, though a solitary bachelor, was as gallant and courteous + to womankind as an ancient Iberian; and, moreover, he was Cytherea’s + friend in particular, to an extent far greater than she had ever surmised. + Rarely visiting his relative, Miss Aldclyffe, except on parish matters, + more rarely still being called upon by Miss Aldclyffe, Cytherea had learnt + very little of him whilst she lived at Knapwater. The relationship was on + the impecunious paternal side, and for this branch of her family the lady + of the estate had never evinced much sympathy. In looking back upon our + line of descent it is an instinct with us to feel that all our vitality + was drawn from the richer party to any unequal marriage in the chain. + </p> + <p> + Since the death of the old captain, the rector’s bearing in Knapwater + House had been almost that of a stranger, a circumstance which he himself + was the last man in the world to regret. This polite indifference was so + frigid on both sides that the rector did not concern himself to preach at + her, which was a great deal in a rector; and she did not take the trouble + to think his sermons poor stuff, which in a cynical woman was a great deal + more. + </p> + <p> + Though barely fifty years of age, his hair was as white as snow, + contrasting strangely with the redness of his skin, which was as fresh and + healthy as a lad’s. Cytherea’s bright eyes, mutely and demurely glancing + up at him Sunday after Sunday, had been the means of driving away many of + the saturnine humours that creep into an empty heart during the hours of a + solitary life; in this case, however, to supplant them, when she left his + parish, by those others of a more aching nature which accompany an + over-full one. In short, he had been on the verge of feeling towards her + that passion to which his dignified self-respect would not give its true + name, even in the privacy of his own thought. + </p> + <p> + He received her kindly; but she was not disposed to be frank with him. He + saw her wish to be reserved, and with genuine good taste and good nature + made no comment whatever upon her request to be allowed to see the + Chronicle for the year before the last. He placed the papers before her on + his study table, with a timidity as great as her own, and then left her + entirely to herself. + </p> + <p> + She turned them over till she came to the first heading connected with the + subject of her search—‘Disastrous Fire and Loss of Life at + Carriford.’ + </p> + <p> + The sight, and its calamitous bearing upon her own life, made her so dizzy + that she could, for a while, hardly decipher the letters. Stifling + recollection by an effort she nerved herself to her work, and carefully + read the column. The account reminded her of no other fact than was + remembered already. + </p> + <p> + She turned on to the following week’s report of the inquest. After a + miserable perusal she could find no more pertaining to Mrs. Manston’s + address than this:— + </p> + <p> + ‘ABRAHAM BROWN, of Hoxton, London, at whose house the deceased woman had + been living, deposed,’ etc. + </p> + <p> + Nobody else from London had attended the inquest. She arose to depart, + first sending a message of thanks to Mr. Raunham, who was out of doors + gardening. + </p> + <p> + He stuck his spade into the ground, and accompanied her to the gate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can I help you in anything, Cytherea?’ he said, using her Christian name + by an intuition that unpleasant memories might be revived if he called her + Miss Graye after wishing her good-bye as Mrs. Manston at the wedding. + Cytherea saw the motive and appreciated it, nevertheless replying + evasively— + </p> + <p> + ‘I only guess and fear.’ + </p> + <p> + He earnestly looked at her again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Promise me that if you want assistance, and you think I can give it, you + will come to me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + The gate closed between them. + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t want me to help you in anything now, Cytherea?’ he repeated. + </p> + <p> + If he had spoken what he felt, ‘I want very much to help you, Cytherea, + and have been watching Manston on your account,’ she would gladly have + accepted his offer. As it was, she was perplexed, and raised her eyes to + his, not so fearlessly as before her trouble, but as modestly, and with + still enough brightness in them to do fearful execution as she said over + the gate— + </p> + <p> + ‘No, thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + She returned to Tolchurch weary with her day’s work. Owen’s greeting was + anxious— + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, Cytherea?’ + </p> + <p> + She gave him the words from the report of the inquest, pencilled on a slip + of paper. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now to find out the name of the street and number,’ Owen remarked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen,’ she said, ‘will you forgive me for what I am going to say? I don’t + think I can—indeed I don’t think I can—take any further steps + towards disentangling the mystery. I still think it a useless task, and it + does not seem any duty of mine to be revenged upon Mr. Manston in any + way.’ She added more gravely, ‘It is beneath my dignity as a woman to + labour for this; I have felt it so all day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ he said, somewhat shortly; ‘I shall work without you then. + There’s dignity in justice.’ He caught sight of her pale tired face, and + the dilated eye which always appeared in her with weariness. ‘Darling,’ he + continued warmly, and kissing her, ‘you shall not work so hard again—you + are worn out quite. But you must let me do as I like.’ + </p> + <p> + 2. MARCH THE TENTH + </p> + <p> + On Saturday evening Graye hurried off to Casterbridge, and called at the + house of the reporter to the Chronicle. The reporter was at home, and came + out to Graye in the passage. Owen explained who and what he was, and asked + the man if he would oblige him by turning to his notes of the inquest at + Carriford in the December of the year preceding the last—just adding + that a family entanglement, of which the reporter probably knew something, + made him anxious to ascertain some additional details of the event, if any + existed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly,’ said the other, without hesitation; ‘though I am afraid I + haven’t much beyond what we printed at the time. Let me see—my old + note-books are in my drawer at the office of the paper: if you will come + with me I can refer to them there.’ His wife and family were at tea inside + the room, and with the timidity of decent poverty everywhere he seemed + glad to get a stranger out of his domestic groove. + </p> + <p> + They crossed the street, entered the office, and went thence to an inner + room. Here, after a short search, was found the book required. The precise + address, not given in the condensed report that was printed, but written + down by the reporter, was as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘ABRAHAM BROWN, + LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER, + 41 CHARLES SQUARE, + HOXTON.’ +</pre> + <p> + Owen copied it, and gave the reporter a small fee. ‘I want to keep this + inquiry private for the present,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘You will perhaps + understand why, and oblige me.’ + </p> + <p> + The reporter promised. ‘News is shop with me,’ he said, ‘and to escape + from handling it is my greatest social enjoyment.’ + </p> + <p> + It was evening, and the outer room of the publishing-office was lighted up + with flaring jets of gas. After making the above remark, the reporter came + out from the inner apartment in Graye’s company, answering an expression + of obligation from Owen with the words that it was no trouble. At the + moment of his speech, he closed behind him the door between the two rooms, + still holding his note-book in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Before the counter of the front room stood a tall man, who was also + speaking, when they emerged. He said to the youth in attendance, ‘I will + take my paper for this week now I am here, so that you needn’t post it to + me.’ + </p> + <p> + The stranger then slightly turned his head, saw Owen, and recognized him. + Owen passed out without recognizing the other as Manston. + </p> + <p> + Manston then looked at the reporter, who, after walking to the door with + Owen, had come back again to lock up his books. Manston did not need to be + told that the shabby marble-covered book which he held in his hand, + opening endways and interleaved with blotting-paper, was an old + reporting-book. He raised his eyes to the reporter’s face, whose + experience had not so schooled his features but that they betrayed a + consciousness, to one half initiated as the other was, that his late + proceeding had been connected with events in the life of the steward. + Manston said no more, but, taking his newspaper, followed Owen from the + office, and disappeared in the gloom of the street. + </p> + <p> + Edward Springrove was now in London again, and on this same evening, + before leaving Casterbridge, Owen wrote a careful letter to him, stating + therein all the facts that had come to his knowledge, and begging him, as + he valued Cytherea, to make cautious inquiries. A tall man was standing + under the lamp-post, about half-a-dozen yards above the post-office, when + he dropped the letter into the box. + </p> + <p> + That same night, too, for a reason connected with the rencounter with Owen + Graye, the steward entertained the idea of rushing off suddenly to London + by the mail-train, which left Casterbridge at ten o’clock. But remembering + that letters posted after the hour at which Owen had obtained his + information—whatever that was—could not be delivered in London + till Monday morning, he changed his mind and went home to Knapwater. + Making a confidential explanation to his wife, arrangements were set on + foot for his departure by the mail on Sunday night. + </p> + <p> + 3. MARCH THE ELEVENTH + </p> + <p> + Starting for church the next morning several minutes earlier than was + usual with him, the steward intentionally loitered along the road from the + village till old Mr. Springrove overtook him. Manston spoke very civilly + of the morning, and of the weather, asking how the farmer’s barometer + stood, and when it was probable that the wind might change. It was not in + Mr. Springrove’s nature—going to church as he was, too—to + return anything but a civil answer to such civil questions, however his + feelings might have been biassed by late events. The conversation was + continued on terms of greater friendliness. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must be feeling settled again by this time, Mr. Springrove, after the + rough turn-out you had on that terrible night in November.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, but I don’t know about feeling settled, either, Mr. Manston. The old + window in the chimney-corner of the old house I shall never forget. No + window in the chimney-corner where I am now, and I had been used to it for + more than fifty years. Ted says ‘tis a great loss to me, and he knows + exactly what I feel.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your son is again in a good situation, I believe?’ said Manston, + imitating that inquisitiveness into the private affairs of the natives + which passes for high breeding in country villages. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir. I hope he’ll keep it, or do something else and stick to it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis to be hoped he’ll be steady now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s always been that, I assure ‘ee,’ said the old man tartly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—yes—I mean intellectually steady. Intellectual wild oats + will thrive in a soil of the strictest morality.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Intellectual gingerbread! Ted’s steady enough—that’s all I know + about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course—of course. Has he respectable lodgings? My own experience + has shown me that that’s a great thing to a young man living alone in + London.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Warwick Street, Charing Cross—that’s where he is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, to be sure—strange! A very dear friend of mine used to live + at number fifty-two in that very same street.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Edward lives at number forty-nine—how very near being the same + house!’ said the old farmer, pleased in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very,’ said Manston. ‘Well, I suppose we had better step along a little + quicker, Mr. Springrove; the parson’s bell has just begun.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Number forty-nine,’ he murmured. + </p> + <p> + 4. MARCH THE TWELFTH + </p> + <p> + Edward received Owen’s letter in due time, but on account of his daily + engagements he could not attend to any request till the clock had struck + five in the afternoon. Rushing then from his office in Westminster, he + called a hansom and proceeded to Hoxton. A few minutes later he knocked at + the door of number forty-one, Charles Square, the old lodging of Mrs. + Manston. + </p> + <p> + A tall man who would have looked extremely handsome had he not been + clumsily and closely wrapped up in garments that were much too elderly in + style for his years, stood at the corner of the quiet square at the same + instant, having, too, alighted from a cab, that had been driven along Old + Street in Edward’s rear. He smiled confidently when Springrove knocked. + </p> + <p> + Nobody came to the door. Springrove knocked again. + </p> + <p> + This brought out two people—one at the door he had been knocking + upon, the other from the next on the right. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is Mr. Brown at home?’ said Springrove. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When will he be in?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite uncertain.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can you tell me where I may find him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. O, here he is coming, sir. That’s Mr. Brown.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward looked down the pavement in the direction pointed out by the woman, + and saw a man approaching. He proceeded a few steps to meet him. + </p> + <p> + Edward was impatient, and to a certain extent still a countryman, who had + not, after the manner of city men, subdued the natural impulse to speak + out the ruling thought without preface. He said in a quiet tone to the + stranger, ‘One word with you—do you remember a lady lodger of yours + of the name of Mrs. Manston?’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brown half closed his eyes at Springrove, somewhat as if he were + looking into a telescope at the wrong end. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never let lodgings in my life,’ he said, after his survey. + </p> + <p> + ‘Didn’t you attend an inquest a year and a half ago, at Carriford?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never knew there was such a place in the world, sir; and as to lodgings, + I have taken acres first and last during the last thirty years, but I have + never let an inch.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose there is some mistake,’ Edward murmured, and turned away. He + and Mr. Brown were now opposite the door next to the one he had knocked + at. The woman who was still standing there had heard the inquiry and the + result of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I expect it is the other Mr. Brown, who used to live there, that you + want, sir,’ she said. ‘The Mr. Brown that was inquired for the other day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very likely that is the man,’ said Edward, his interest reawakening. + </p> + <p> + ‘He couldn’t make a do of lodging-letting here, and at last he went to + Cornwall, where he came from, and where his brother still lived, who had + often asked him to come home again. But there was little luck in the + change; for after London they say he couldn’t stand the rainy west winds + they get there, and he died in the December following. Will you step into + the passage?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s unfortunate,’ said Edward, going in. ‘But perhaps you remember a + Mrs. Manston living next door to you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes,’ said the landlady, closing the door. ‘The lady who was supposed + to have met with such a horrible fate, and was alive all the time. I saw + her the other day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Since the fire at Carriford?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. Her husband came to ask if Mr. Brown was still living here—just + as you might. He seemed anxious about it; and then one evening, a week or + fortnight afterwards, when he came again to make further inquiries, she + was with him. But I did not speak to her—she stood back, as if she + were shy. I was interested, however, for old Mr. Brown had told me all + about her when he came back from the inquest.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you know Mrs. Manston before she called the other day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No. You see she was only Mr. Brown’s lodger for two or three weeks, and I + didn’t know she was living there till she was near upon leaving again—we + don’t notice next-door people much here in London. I much regretted I had + not known her when I heard what had happened. It led me and Mr. Brown to + talk about her a great deal afterwards. I little thought I should see her + alive after all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And when do you say they came here together?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t exactly remember the day—though I remember a very beautiful + dream I had that same night—ah, I shall never forget it! Shoals of + lodgers coming along the square with angels’ wings and bright golden + sovereigns in their hands wanting apartments at West End prices. They + would not give any less; no, not if you—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. Did Mrs. Manston leave anything, such as papers, when she left these + lodgings originally?’ said Edward, though his heart sank as he asked. He + felt that he was outwitted. Manston and his wife had been there before + him, clearing the ground of all traces. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have always said “No” hitherto,’ replied the woman, ‘considering I + could say no more if put upon my oath, as I expected to be. But speaking + in a common everyday way now the occurrence is past, I believe a few + things of some kind (though I doubt if they were papers) were left in a + workbox she had, because she talked about it to Mr. Brown, and was rather + angry at what occurred—you see, she had a temper by all account, and + so I didn’t like to remind the lady of this workbox when she came the + other day with her husband.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And about the workbox?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, from what was casually dropped, I think Mrs. Manston had a few + articles of furniture she didn’t want, and when she was leaving they were + put in a sale just by. Amongst her things were two workboxes very much + alike. One of these she intended to sell, the other she didn’t, and Mr. + Brown, who collected the things together, took the wrong one to the sale.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What was in it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, nothing in particular, or of any value—some accounts, and her + usual sewing materials I think—nothing more. She didn’t take much + trouble to get it back—she said the bills were worth nothing to her + or anybody else, but that she should have liked to keep the box because + her husband gave it her when they were first married, and if he found she + had parted with it, he would be vexed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did Mrs. Manston, when she called recently with her husband, allude to + this, or inquire for it, or did Mr. Manston?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—and I rather wondered at it. But she seemed to have forgotten it—indeed, + she didn’t make any inquiry at all, only standing behind him, listening to + his; and he probably had never been told anything about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whose sale were these articles of hers taken to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who was the auctioneer? Mr. Halway. His place is the third turning from + the end of that street you see there. Anybody will tell you the shop—his + name is written up.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward went off to follow up his clue with a promptness which was dictated + more by a dogged will to do his utmost than by a hope of doing much. When + he was out of sight, the tall and cloaked man, who had watched him, came + up to the woman’s door, with an appearance of being in breathless haste. + </p> + <p> + ‘Has a gentleman been here inquiring about Mrs. Manston?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; he’s just gone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear me! I want him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s gone to Mr. Halway’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think I can give him some information upon the subject. Does he pay + pretty liberally?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He gave me half-a-crown.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That scale will do. I’m a poor man, and will see what my little + contribution to his knowledge will fetch. But, by the way, perhaps you + told him all I know—where she lived before coming to live here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t know where she lived before coming here. O no—I only said + what Mr. Brown had told me. He seemed a nice, gentle young man, or I + shouldn’t have been so open as I was.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall now about catch him at Mr. Halway’s,’ said the man, and went away + as hastily as he had come. + </p> + <p> + Edward in the meantime had reached the auction-room. He found some + difficulty, on account of the inertness of those whose only inducement to + an action is a mere wish from another, in getting the information he stood + in need of, but it was at last accorded him. The auctioneer’s book gave + the name of Mrs. Higgins, 3 Canley Passage, as the purchaser of the lot + which had included Mrs. Manston’s workbox. + </p> + <p> + Thither Edward went, followed by the man. Four bell pulls, one above the + other like waistcoat-buttons, appeared on the door-post. Edward seized the + first he came to. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who did you woant?’ said a thin voice from somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Edward looked above and around him; nobody was visible. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who did you woant?’ said the thin voice again. + </p> + <p> + He found now that the sound proceeded from below the grating covering the + basement window. He dropped his glance through the bars, and saw a child’s + white face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who did you woant?’ said the voice the third time, with precisely the + same languid inflection. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Higgins,’ said Edward. + </p> + <p> + ‘Third bell up,’ said the face, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + He pulled the third bell from the bottom, and was admitted by another + child, the daughter of the woman he was in search of. He gave the little + thing sixpence, and asked for her mamma. The child led him upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Higgins was the wife of a carpenter who from want of employment one + winter had decided to marry. Afterwards they both took to drink, and sank + into desperate circumstances. A few chairs and a table were the chief + articles of furniture in the third-floor back room which they occupied. A + roll of baby-linen lay on the floor; beside it a pap-clogged spoon and an + overturned tin pap-cup. Against the wall a Dutch clock was fixed out of + level, and ticked wildly in longs and shorts, its entrails hanging down + beneath its white face and wiry hands, like the faeces of a Harpy + (‘foedissima ventris proluvies, uncaeque manus, et pallida semper ora’). A + baby was crying against every chair-leg, the whole family of six or seven + being small enough to be covered by a washing-tub. Mrs. Higgins sat + helpless, clothed in a dress which had hooks and eyes in plenty, but never + one opposite the other, thereby rendering the dress almost useless as a + screen to the bosom. No workbox was visible anywhere. + </p> + <p> + It was a depressing picture of married life among the very poor of a city. + Only for one short hour in the whole twenty-four did husband and wife + taste genuine happiness. It was in the evening, when, after the sale of + some necessary article of furniture, they were under the influence of a + quartern of gin. + </p> + <p> + Of all the ingenious and cruel satires that from the beginning till now + have been stuck like knives into womankind, surely there is not one so + lacerating to them, and to us who love them, as the trite old fact, that + the most wretched of men can, in the twinkling of an eye, find a wife + ready to be more wretched still for the sake of his company. + </p> + <p> + Edward hastened to despatch his errand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Higgins had lately pawned the workbox with other useless articles of + lumber, she said. Edward bought the duplicate of her, and went downstairs + to the pawnbroker’s. + </p> + <p> + In the back division of a musty shop, amid the heterogeneous collection of + articles and odours invariably crowding such places, he produced his + ticket, and with a sense of satisfaction out of all proportion to the + probable worth of his acquisition, took the box and carried it off under + his arm. He attempted to lift the cover as he walked, but found it locked. + </p> + <p> + It was dusk when Springrove reached his lodging. Entering his small + sitting-room, the front apartment on the ground floor, he struck a light, + and proceeded to learn if any scrap or mark within or upon his purchase + rendered it of moment to the business in hand. Breaking open the cover + with a small chisel, and lifting the tray, he glanced eagerly beneath, and + found—nothing. + </p> + <p> + He next discovered that a pocket or portfolio was formed on the underside + of the cover. This he unfastened, and slipping his hand within, found that + it really contained some substance. First he pulled out about a dozen + tangled silk and cotton threads. Under them were a short household + account, a dry moss-rosebud, and an old pair of carte-de-visite + photographs. One of these was a likeness of Mrs. Manston—‘Eunice’ + being written under it in ink—the other of Manston himself. + </p> + <p> + He sat down dispirited. This was all the fruit of his task—not a + single letter, date, or address of any kind to help him—and was it + likely there would be? + </p> + <p> + However, thinking he would send the fragments, such as they were, to + Graye, in order to satisfy him that he had done his best so far, he + scribbled a line, and put all except the silk and cotton into an envelope. + Looking at his watch, he found it was then twenty minutes to seven; by + affixing an extra stamp he would be enabled to despatch them by that + evening’s post. He hastily directed the packet, and ran with it at once to + the post-office at Charing Cross. + </p> + <p> + On his return he took up the workbox again to examine it more leisurely. + He then found there was also a small cavity in the tray under the + pincushion, which was movable by a bit of ribbon. Lifting this he + uncovered a flattened sprig of myrtle, and a small scrap of crumpled + paper. The paper contained a verse or two in a man’s handwriting. He + recognized it as Manston’s, having seen notes and bills from him at his + father’s house. The stanza was of a complimentary character, descriptive + of the lady who was now Manston’s wife. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘EUNICE. + + ‘Whoso for hours or lengthy days + Shall catch her aspect’s changeful rays, + Then turn away, can none recall + Beyond a galaxy of all + In hazy portraiture; + Lit by the light of azure eyes + Like summer days by summer skies: + Her sweet transitions seem to be + A kind of pictured melody, + And not a set contour. + ‘AE. M.’ +</pre> + <p> + To shake, pull, and ransack the box till he had almost destroyed it was + now his natural action. But it contained absolutely nothing more. + </p> + <p> + ‘Disappointed again,’ he said, flinging down the box, the bit of paper, + and the withered twig that had lain with it. + </p> + <p> + Yet valueless as the new acquisition was, on second thoughts he considered + that it would be worth while to make good the statement in his late note + to Graye—that he had sent everything the box contained except the + sewing-thread. Thereupon he enclosed the verse and myrtle-twig in another + envelope, with a remark that he had overlooked them in his first search, + and put it on the table for the next day’s post. + </p> + <p> + In his hurry and concentration upon the matter that occupied him, + Springrove, on entering his lodging and obtaining a light, had not waited + to pull down the blind or close the shutters. Consequently all that he had + done had been visible from the street. But as on an average not one person + a minute passed along the quiet pavement at this time of the evening, the + discovery of the omission did not much concern his mind. + </p> + <p> + But the real state of the case was that a tall man had stood against the + opposite wall and watched the whole of his proceeding. When Edward came + out and went to the Charing Cross post-office, the man followed him and + saw him drop the letter into the box. The stranger did not further trouble + himself to follow Springrove back to his lodging again. + </p> + <p> + Manston now knew that there had been photographs of some kind in his + wife’s workbox, and though he had not been near enough to see them, he + guessed whose they were. The least reflection told him to whom they had + been sent. + </p> + <p> + He paused a minute under the portico of the post-office, looking at the + two or three omnibuses stopping and starting in front of him. Then he + rushed along the Strand, through Holywell Street, and on to Old Boswell + Court. Kicking aside the shoeblacks who began to importune him as he + passed under the colonnade, he turned up the narrow passage to the + publishing-office of the Post-Office Directory. He begged to be allowed to + see the Directory of the south-west counties of England for a moment. + </p> + <p> + The shopman immediately handed down the volume from a shelf, and Manston + retired with it to the window-bench. He turned to the county, and then to + the parish of Tolchurch. At the end of the historical and topographical + description of the village he read:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Postmistress—Mrs. Hurston. Letters received at 6.30 A.M. by + foot-post from Anglebury.’ + </p> + <p> + Returning his thanks, he handed back the book and quitted the office, + thence pursuing his way to an obscure coffee-house by the Strand, where he + now partook of a light dinner. But rest seemed impossible with him. Some + absorbing intention kept his body continually on the move. He paid his + bill, took his bag in his hand, and went out to idle about the streets and + over the river till the time should have arrived at which the night-mail + left the Waterloo Station, by which train he intended to return homeward. + </p> + <p> + There exists, as it were, an outer chamber to the mind, in which, when a + man is occupied centrally with the most momentous question of his life, + casual and trifling thoughts are just allowed to wander softly for an + interval, before being banished altogether. Thus, amid his concentration + did Manston receive perceptions of the individuals about him in the lively + thoroughfare of the Strand; tall men looking insignificant; little men + looking great and profound; lost women of miserable repute looking as + happy as the days are long; wives, happy by assumption, looking careworn + and miserable. Each and all were alike in this one respect, that they + followed a solitary trail like the inwoven threads which form a banner, + and all were equally unconscious of the significant whole they + collectively showed forth. + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock he turned into Lancaster Place, crossed the river, and + entered the railway-station, where he took his seat in the down + mail-train, which bore him, and Edward Springrove’s letter to Graye, far + away from London. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE THIRTEENTH. THREE TO SIX O’CLOCK A.M. + </h3> + <p> + They entered Anglebury Station in the dead, still time of early morning, + the clock over the booking-office pointing to twenty-five minutes to + three. Manston lingered on the platform and saw the mail-bags brought out, + noticing, as a pertinent pastime, the many shabby blotches of wax from + innumerable seals that had been set upon their mouths. The guard took them + into a fly, and was driven down the road to the post-office. + </p> + <p> + It was a raw, damp, uncomfortable morning, though, as yet, little rain was + falling. Manston drank a mouthful from his flask and walked at once away + from the station, pursuing his way through the gloom till he stood on the + side of the town adjoining, at a distance from the last house in the + street of about two hundred yards. + </p> + <p> + The station road was also the turnpike-road into the country, the first + part of its course being across a heath. Having surveyed the highway up + and down to make sure of its bearing, Manston methodically set himself to + walk backwards and forwards a stone’s throw in each direction. Although + the spring was temperate, the time of day, and the condition of suspense + in which the steward found himself, caused a sensation of chilliness to + pervade his frame in spite of the overcoat he wore. The drizzling rain + increased, and drops from the trees at the wayside fell noisily upon the + hard road beneath them, which reflected from its glassy surface the faint + halo of light hanging over the lamps of the adjacent town. + </p> + <p> + Here he walked and lingered for two hours, without seeing or hearing a + living soul. Then he heard the market-house clock strike five, and soon + afterwards, quick hard footsteps smote upon the pavement of the street + leading towards him. They were those of the postman for the Tolchurch + beat. He reached the bottom of the street, gave his bags a final hitch-up, + stepped off the pavement, and struck out for the country with a brisk + shuffle. + </p> + <p> + Manston then turned his back upon the town, and walked slowly on. In two + minutes a flickering light shone upon his form, and the postman overtook + him. + </p> + <p> + The new-comer was a short, stooping individual of above five-and-forty, + laden on both sides with leather bags large and small, and carrying a + little lantern strapped to his breast, which cast a tiny patch of light + upon the road ahead. + </p> + <p> + ‘A tryen mornen for travellers!’ the postman cried, in a cheerful voice, + without turning his head or slackening his trot. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is, indeed,’ said Manston, stepping out abreast of him. ‘You have a + long walk every day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—a long walk—for though the distance is only sixteen miles + on the straight—that is, eight to the furthest place and eight back, + what with the ins and outs to the gentlemen’s houses, it makes + two-and-twenty for my legs. Two-and-twenty miles a day, how many a year? I + used to reckon it, but I never do now. I don’t care to think o’ my wear + and tear, now it do begin to tell upon me.’ + </p> + <p> + Thus the conversation was begun, and the postman proceeded to narrate the + different strange events that marked his experience. Manston grew very + friendly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Postman, I don’t know what your custom is,’ he said, after a while; ‘but + between you and me, I always carry a drop of something warm in my pocket + when I am out on such a morning as this. Try it.’ He handed the bottle of + brandy. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you’ll excuse me, please. I haven’t took no stimmilents these five + years.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis never too late to mend.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Against the regulations, I be afraid.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who’ll know it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s true—nobody will know it. Still, honesty’s the best policy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—it is certainly. But, thank God, I’ve been able to get on + without it yet. You’ll surely drink with me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Really, ‘tis a’most too early for that sort o’ thing—however, to + oblige a friend, I don’t object to the faintest shadder of a drop.’ The + postman drank, and Manston did the same to a very slight degree. Five + minutes later, when they came to a gate, the flask was pulled out again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well done!’ said the postman, beginning to feel its effect; ‘but guide my + soul, I be afraid ‘twill hardly do!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not unless ‘tis well followed, like any other line you take up,’ said + Manston. ‘Besides, there’s a way of liking a drop of liquor, and of being + good—even religious—at the same time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, for some thimble-and-button in-an-out fellers; but I could never get + into the knack o’ it; not I.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, you needn’t be troubled; it isn’t necessary for the higher class of + mind to be religious—they have so much common-sense that they can + risk playing with fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That hits me exactly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In fact, a man I know, who always had no other god but “Me;” and devoutly + loved his neighbour’s wife, says now that believing is a mistake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, to be sure! However, believing in God is a mistake made by very few + people, after all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A true remark.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not one Christian in our parish would walk half a mile in a rain like + this to know whether the Scripture had concluded him under sin or grace.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor in mine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, you may depend upon it they’ll do away wi’ Goddymity altogether afore + long, although we’ve had him over us so many years.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no knowing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I suppose the Queen ‘ill be done away wi’ then. A pretty concern + that’ll be! Nobody’s head to put on your letters; and then your honest man + who do pay his penny will never be known from your scamp who don’t. O, + ‘tis a nation!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Warm the cockles of your heart, however. Here’s the bottle waiting.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll oblige you, my friend.’ + </p> + <p> + The drinking was repeated. The postman grew livelier as he went on, and at + length favoured the steward with a song, Manston himself joining in the + chorus. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘He flung his mallet against the wall, + Said, “The Lord make churches and chapels to fall, + And there’ll be work for tradesmen all!” + When Joan’s ale was new, + My boys, + When Joan’s ale was new.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘You understand, friend,’ the postman added, ‘I was originally a mason by + trade: no offence to you if you be a parson?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘None at all,’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + The rain now came down heavily, but they pursued their path with alacrity, + the produce of the several fields between which the lane wound its way + being indicated by the peculiar character of the sound emitted by the + falling drops. Sometimes a soaking hiss proclaimed that they were passing + by a pasture, then a patter would show that the rain fell upon some + large-leafed root crop, then a paddling plash announced the naked arable, + the low sound of the wind in their ears rising and falling with each pace + they took. + </p> + <p> + Besides the small private bags of the county families, which were all + locked, the postman bore the large general budget for the remaining + inhabitants along his beat. At each village or hamlet they came to, the + postman searched for the packet of letters destined for that place, and + thrust it into an ordinary letter-hole cut in the door of the receiver’s + cottage—the village post-offices being mostly kept by old women who + had not yet risen, though lights moving in other cottage windows showed + that such people as carters, woodmen, and stablemen had long been + stirring. + </p> + <p> + The postman had by this time become markedly unsteady, but he still + continued to be too conscious of his duties to suffer the steward to + search the bag. Manston was perplexed, and at lonely points in the road + cast his eyes keenly upon the short bowed figure of the man trotting + through the mud by his side, as if he were half inclined to run a very + great risk indeed. + </p> + <p> + It frequently happened that the houses of farmers, clergymen, etc., lay a + short distance up or down a lane or path branching from the direct track + of the postman’s journey. To save time and distance, at the point of + junction of some of these paths with the main road, the gate-post was + hollowed out to form a letter-box, in which the postman deposited his + missives in the morning, looking in the box again in the evening to + collect those placed there for the return post. Tolchurch Vicarage and + Farmstead, lying back from the village street, were served on this + principle. This fact the steward now learnt by conversing with the + postman, and the discovery relieved Manston greatly, making his intentions + much clearer to himself than they had been in the earlier stages of his + journey. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the outskirts of the village. Manston insisted upon the + flask being emptied before they proceeded further. This was done, and they + approached the church, the vicarage, and the farmhouse in which Owen and + Cytherea were living. + </p> + <p> + The postman paused, fumbled in his bag, took out by the light of his + lantern some half-dozen letters, and tried to sort them. He could not + perform the task. + </p> + <p> + ‘We be crippled disciples a b’lieve,’ he said, with a sigh and a stagger. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not drunk, but market-merry,’ said Manston cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well done! If I baint so weak that I can’t see the clouds—much less + letters. Guide my soul, if so be anybody should tell the Queen’s + postmaster-general of me! The whole story will have to go through + Parliament House, and I shall be high-treasoned—as safe as houses—and + be fined, and who’ll pay for a poor martel! O, ‘tis a world!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Trust in the Lord—he’ll pay.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He pay a b’lieve! why should he when he didn’t drink the drink? He pay a + b’lieve! D’ye think the man’s a fool?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, well, I had no intention of hurting your feelings—but how was + I to know you were so sensitive?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘True—you were not to know I was so sensitive. Here’s a caddle wi’ + these letters! Guide my soul, what will Billy do!’ + </p> + <p> + Manston offered his services. + </p> + <p> + ‘They are to be divided,’ the man said. + </p> + <p> + ‘How?’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘These, for the village, to be carried on into it: any for the vicarage or + vicarage farm must be left in the box of the gate-post just here. There’s + none for the vicarage-house this mornen, but I saw when I started there + was one for the clerk o’ works at the new church. This is it, isn’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + He held up a large envelope, directed in Edward Springrove’s handwriting:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘MR. O. GRAYE, + CLERK OF WORKS, + TOLCHURCH, + NEAR ANGLEBURY.’ +</pre> + <p> + The letter-box was scooped in an oak gate-post about a foot square. There + was no slit for inserting the letters, by reason of the opportunity such a + lonely spot would have afforded mischievous peasant-boys of doing damage + had such been the case; but at the side was a small iron door, kept close + by an iron reversible strap locked across it. One side of this strap was + painted black, the other white, and white or black outwards implied + respectively that there were letters inside, or none. + </p> + <p> + The postman had taken the key from his pocket and was attempting to insert + it in the keyhole of the box. He touched one side, the other, above, + below, but never made a straight hit. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me unlock it,’ said Manston, taking the key from the postman. He + opened the box and reached out with his other hand for Owen’s letter. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no. O no—no,’ the postman said. ‘As one of—Majesty’s + servants—care—Majesty’s mails—duty—put letters—own + hands.’ He slowly and solemnly placed the letter in the small cavity. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now lock it,’ he said, closing the door. + </p> + <p> + The steward placed the bar across, with the black side outwards, + signifying ‘empty,’ and turned the key. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve put the wrong side outwards!’ said the postman. ‘’Tisn’t empty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And dropped the key in the mud, so that I can’t alter it,’ said the + steward, letting something fall. + </p> + <p> + ‘What an awkward thing!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is an awkward thing.’ + </p> + <p> + They both went searching in the mud, which their own trampling had reduced + to the consistency of pap, the postman unstrapping his little lantern from + his breast, and thrusting it about, close to the ground, the rain still + drizzling down, and the dawn so tardy on account of the heavy clouds that + daylight seemed delayed indefinitely. The rays of the lantern were + rendered individually visible upon the thick mist, and seemed almost + tangible as they passed off into it, after illuminating the faces and + knees of the two stooping figures dripping with wet; the postman’s cape + and private bags, and the steward’s valise, glistening as if they had been + varnished. + </p> + <p> + ‘It fell on the grass,’ said the postman. + </p> + <p> + ‘No; it fell in the mud,’ said Manston. They searched again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m afraid we shan’t find it by this light,’ said the steward at length, + washing his muddy fingers in the wet grass of the bank. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m afraid we shan’t,’ said the other, standing up. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll tell you what we had better do,’ said Manston. ‘I shall be back this + way in an hour or so, and since it was all my fault, I’ll look again, and + shall be sure to find it in the daylight. And I’ll hide the key here for + you.’ He pointed to a spot behind the post. ‘It will be too late to turn + the index then, as the people will have been here, so that the box had + better stay as it is. The letter will only be delayed a day, and that will + not be noticed; if it is, you can say you placed the iron the wrong way + without knowing it, and all will be well.’ + </p> + <p> + This was agreed to by the postman as the best thing to be done under the + circumstances, and the pair went on. They had passed the village and come + to a crossroad, when the steward, telling his companion that their paths + now diverged, turned off to the left towards Carriford. + </p> + <p> + No sooner was the postman out of sight and hearing than Manston stalked + back to the vicarage letter-box by keeping inside a fence, and thus + avoiding the village; arrived here, he took the key from his pocket, where + it had been concealed all the time, and abstracted Owen’s letter. This + done, he turned towards home, by the help of what he carried in his valise + adjusting himself to his ordinary appearance as he neared the quarter in + which he was known. + </p> + <p> + An hour and half’s sharp walking brought him to his own door in Knapwater + Park. + </p> + <p> + 2. EIGHT O’CLOCK A.M. + </p> + <p> + Seated in his private office he wetted the flap of the stolen letter, and + waited patiently till the adhesive gum could be loosened. He took out + Edward’s note, the accounts, the rosebud, and the photographs, regarding + them with the keenest interest and anxiety. + </p> + <p> + The note, the accounts, the rosebud, and his own photograph, he restored + to their places again. The other photograph he took between his finger and + thumb, and held it towards the bars of the grate. There he held it for + half-a-minute or more, meditating. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a great risk to run, even for such an end,’ he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, impregnated with a bright idea, he jumped up and left the office + for the front parlour. Taking up an album of portraits, which lay on the + table, he searched for three or four likenesses of the lady who had so + lately displaced Cytherea, which were interspersed among the rest of the + collection, and carefully regarded them. They were taken in different + attitudes and styles, and he compared each singly with that he held in his + hand. One of them, the one most resembling that abstracted from the letter + in general tone, size, and attitude, he selected from the rest, and + returned with it to his office. + </p> + <p> + Pouring some water into a plate, he set the two portraits afloat upon it, + and sitting down tried to read. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a quarter of an hour, after several ineffectual attempts, he + found that each photograph would peel from the card on which it was + mounted. This done, he threw into the fire the original likeness and the + recent card, stuck upon the original card the recent likeness from the + album, dried it before the fire, and placed it in the envelope with the + other scraps. + </p> + <p> + The result he had obtained, then, was this: in the envelope were now two + photographs, both having the same photographer’s name on the back and + consecutive numbers attached. At the bottom of the one which showed his + own likeness, his own name was written down; on the other his wife’s name + was written; whilst the central feature, and whole matter to which this + latter card and writing referred, the likeness of a lady mounted upon it, + had been changed. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Manston entered the room, and begged him to come to breakfast. He + followed her and they sat down. During the meal he told her what he had + done, with scrupulous regard to every detail, and showed her the result. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is indeed a great risk to run,’ she said, sipping her tea. + </p> + <p> + ‘But it would be a greater not to do it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + The envelope was again fastened up as before, and Manston put it in his + pocket and went out. Shortly afterwards he was seen, on horseback, riding + in a direction towards Tolchurch. Keeping to the fields, as well as he + could, for the greater part of the way, he dropped into the road by the + vicarage letter-box, and looking carefully about, to ascertain that no + person was near, he restored the letter to its nook, placed the key in its + hiding-place, as he had promised the postman, and again rode homewards by + a roundabout way. + </p> + <p> + 3. AFTERNOON + </p> + <p> + The letter was brought to Owen Graye, the same afternoon, by one of the + vicar’s servants who had been to the box with a duplicate key, as usual, + to leave letters for the evening post. The man found that the index had + told falsely that morning for the first time within his recollection; but + no particular attention was paid to the mistake, as it was considered. The + contents of the envelope were scrutinized by Owen and flung aside as + useless. + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought Springrove’s second letter, the existence of + which was unknown to Manston. The sight of Edward’s handwriting again + raised the expectations of brother and sister, till Owen had opened the + envelope and pulled out the twig and verse. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing that’s of the slightest use, after all,’ he said to her; ‘we are + as far as ever from the merest shadow of legal proof that would convict + him of what I am morally certain he did, marry you, suspecting, if not + knowing, her to be alive all the time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What has Edward sent?’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘An old amatory verse in Manston’s writing. Fancy,’ he said bitterly, + ‘this is the strain he addressed her in when they were courting—as + he did you, I suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + He handed her the verse and she read— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘EUNICE. + + ‘Whoso for hours or lengthy days + Shall catch her aspect’s changeful rays, + Then turn away, can none recall + Beyond a galaxy of all + In hazy portraiture; + Lit by the light of azure eyes + Like summer days by summer skies: + Her sweet transitions seem to be + A kind of pictured melody, + And not a set contour. + ‘AE. M.’ +</pre> + <p> + A strange expression had overspread Cytherea’s countenance. It rapidly + increased to the most death-like anguish. She flung down the paper, seized + Owen’s hand tremblingly, and covered her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea! What is it, for Heaven’s sake?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen—suppose—O, you don’t know what I think.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘“<i>The light of azure eyes</i>,”’ she repeated with ashy lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, “the light of azure eyes”?’ he said, astounded at her manner. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Morris said in her letter to me that her eyes are <i>black</i>!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m. Mrs. Morris must have made a mistake—nothing likelier.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She didn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They might be either in this photograph,’ said Owen, looking at the card + bearing Mrs. Manston’s name. + </p> + <p> + ‘Blue eyes would scarcely photograph so deep in tone as that,’ said + Cytherea. ‘No, they seem black here, certainly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then, Manston must have blundered in writing his verses.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But could he? Say a man in love may forget his own name, but not that he + forgets the colour of his mistress’s eyes. Besides she would have seen the + mistake when she read them, and have had it corrected.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s true, she would,’ mused Owen. ‘Then, Cytherea, it comes to this—you + must have been misinformed by Mrs. Morris, since there is no other + alternative.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose I must.’ + </p> + <p> + Her looks belied her words. + </p> + <p> + ‘What makes you so strange—ill?’ said Owen again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t believe Mrs. Morris wrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But look at this, Cytherea. If it is clear to us that the woman had blue + eyes two years ago, she <i>must</i> have blue eyes now, whatever Mrs. + Morris or anybody else may fancy. Any one would think that Manston could + change the colour of a woman’s eyes to hear you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said, and paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘You say yes, as if he could,’ said Owen impatiently. + </p> + <p> + ‘By changing the woman herself,’ she exclaimed. ‘Owen, don’t you see the + horrid—what I dread?—that the woman he lives with is not Mrs. + Manston—that she was burnt after all—and that I am <i>his wife</i>!’ + </p> + <p> + She tried to support a stoicism under the weight of this new trouble, but + no! The unexpected revulsion of ideas was so overwhelming that she crept + to him and leant against his breast. + </p> + <p> + Before reflecting any further upon the subject Graye led her upstairs and + got her to lie down. Then he went to the window and stared out of it up + the lane, vainly endeavouring to come to some conclusion upon the + fantastic enigma that confronted him. Cytherea’s new view seemed + incredible, yet it had such a hold upon her that it would be necessary to + clear it away by positive proof before contemplation of her fear should + have preyed too deeply upon her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ he said, ‘this will not do. You must stay here alone all the + afternoon whilst I go to Carriford. I shall know all when I return.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, don’t go!’ she implored. + </p> + <p> + ‘Soon, then, not directly.’ He saw her subtle reasoning—that it was + folly to be wise. + </p> + <p> + Reflection still convinced him that good would come of persevering in his + intention and dispelling his sister’s idle fears. Anything was better than + this absurd doubt in her mind. But he resolved to wait till Sunday, the + first day on which he might reckon upon seeing Mrs. Manston without + suspicion. In the meantime he wrote to Edward Springrove, requesting him + to go again to Mrs. Manston’s former lodgings. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. THE EVENTS OF THREE DAYS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE EIGHTEENTH + </h3> + <p> + Sunday morning had come, and Owen was trudging over the six miles of hill + and dale that lay between Tolchurch and Carriford. + </p> + <p> + Edward Springrove’s answer to the last letter, after expressing his + amazement at the strange contradiction between the verses and Mrs. + Morris’s letter, had been to the effect that he had again visited the + neighbour of the dead Mr. Brown, and had received as near a description of + Mrs. Manston as it was possible to get at second-hand, and by hearsay. She + was a tall woman, wide at the shoulders, and full-chested, and she had a + straight and rather large nose. The colour of her eyes the informant did + not know, for she had only seen the lady in the street as she went in or + out. This confusing remark was added. The woman had almost recognized Mrs. + Manston when she had called with her husband lately, but she had kept her + veil down. Her residence, before she came to Hoxton, was quite unknown to + this next-door neighbour, and Edward could get no manner of clue to it + from any other source. + </p> + <p> + Owen reached the church-door a few minutes before the bells began chiming. + Nobody was yet in the church, and he walked round the aisles. From + Cytherea’s frequent description of how and where herself and others used + to sit, he knew where to look for Manston’s seat; and after two or three + errors of examination he took up a prayer-book in which was written + ‘Eunice Manston.’ The book was nearly new, and the date of the writing + about a month earlier. One point was at any rate established: that the + woman living with Manston was presented to the world as no other than his + lawful wife. + </p> + <p> + The quiet villagers of Carriford required no pew-opener in their place of + worship: natives and in-dwellers had their own seats, and strangers sat + where they could. Graye took a seat in the nave, on the north side, close + behind a pillar dividing it from the north aisle, which was completely + allotted to Miss Aldclyffe, her farmers, and her retainers, Manston’s pew + being in the midst of them. Owen’s position on the other side of the + passage was a little in advance of Manston’s seat, and so situated that by + leaning forward he could look directly into the face of any person sitting + there, though, if he sat upright, he was wholly hidden from such a one by + the intervening pillar. + </p> + <p> + Aiming to keep his presence unknown to Manston if possible, Owen sat, + without once turning his head, during the entrance of the congregation. A + rustling of silk round by the north passage and into Manston’s seat, told + him that some woman had entered there, and as it seemed from the + accompaniment of heavier footsteps, Manston was with her. + </p> + <p> + Immediately upon rising up, he looked intently in that direction, and saw + a lady standing at the end of the seat nearest himself. Portions of + Manston’s figure appeared on the other side of her. In two glances Graye + read thus many of her characteristics, and in the following order:— + </p> + <p> + She was a tall woman. + </p> + <p> + She was broad at the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + She was full-bosomed. + </p> + <p> + She was easily recognizable from the photograph but nothing could be + discerned of the colour of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + With a preoccupied mind he withdrew into his nook, and heard the service + continued—only conscious of the fact that in opposition to the + suspicion which one odd circumstance had bred in his sister concerning + this woman, all ostensible and ordinary proofs and probabilities tended to + the opposite conclusion. There sat the genuine original of the portrait—could + he wish for more? Cytherea wished for more. Eunice Manston’s eyes were + blue, and it was necessary that this woman’s eyes should be blue also. + </p> + <p> + Unskilled labour wastes in beating against the bars ten times the energy + exerted by the practised hand in the effective direction. Owen felt this + to be the case in his own and Edward’s attempts to follow up the clue + afforded them. Think as he might, he could not think of a crucial test in + the matter absorbing him, which should possess the indispensable attribute—a + capability of being applied privately; that in the event of its proving + the lady to be the rightful owner of the name she used, he might recede + without obloquy from an untenable position. + </p> + <p> + But to see Mrs. Manston’s eyes from where he sat was impossible, and he + could do nothing in the shape of a direct examination at present. Miss + Aldclyffe had possibly recognized him, but Manston had not, and feeling + that it was indispensable to keep the purport of his visit a secret from + the steward, he thought it would be as well, too, to keep his presence in + the village a secret from him; at any rate, till the day was over. + </p> + <p> + At the first opening of the doors, Graye left the church and wandered away + into the fields to ponder on another scheme. He could not call on Farmer + Springrove, as he had intended, until this matter was set at rest. Two + hours intervened between the morning and afternoon services. + </p> + <p> + This time had nearly expired before Owen had struck out any method of + proceeding, or could decide to run the risk of calling at the Old House + and asking to see Mrs. Manston point-blank. But he had drawn near the + place, and was standing still in the public path, from which a partial + view of the front of the building could be obtained, when the bells began + chiming for afternoon service. Whilst Graye paused, two persons came from + the front door of the half-hidden dwelling whom he presently saw to be + Manston and his wife. Manston was wearing his old garden-hat, and carried + one of the monthly magazines under his arm. Immediately they had passed + the gateway he branched off and went over the hill in a direction away + from the church, evidently intending to ramble along, and read as the + humour moved him. The lady meanwhile turned in the other direction, and + went into the church path. + </p> + <p> + Owen resolved to make something of this opportunity. He hurried along + towards the church, doubled round a sharp angle, and came back upon the + other path, by which Mrs. Manston must arrive. + </p> + <p> + In about three minutes she appeared in sight without a veil. He + discovered, as she drew nearer, a difficulty which had not struck him at + first—that it is not an easy matter to particularize the colour of a + stranger’s eyes in a merely casual encounter on a path out of doors. That + Mrs. Manston must be brought close to him, and not only so, but to look + closely at him, if his purpose were to be accomplished. + </p> + <p> + He shaped a plan. It might by chance be effectual; if otherwise, it would + not reveal his intention to her. When Mrs. Manston was within speaking + distance, he went up to her and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you kindly tell me which turning will take me to Casterbridge?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The second on the right,’ said Mrs. Manston. + </p> + <p> + Owen put on a blank look: he held his hand to his ear—conveying to + the lady the idea that he was deaf. + </p> + <p> + She came closer and said more distinctly— + </p> + <p> + ‘The second turning on the right.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen flushed a little. He fancied he had beheld the revelation he was in + search of. But had his eyes deceived him? + </p> + <p> + Once more he used the ruse, still drawing nearer and intimating by a + glance that the trouble he gave her was very distressing to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘How very deaf!’ she murmured. She exclaimed loudly— + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>The second turning to the right</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + She had advanced her face to within a foot of his own, and in speaking + mouthed very emphatically, fixing her eyes intently upon his. And now his + first suspicion was indubitably confirmed. Her eyes were as black as + midnight. + </p> + <p> + All this feigning was most distasteful to Graye. The riddle having been + solved, he unconsciously assumed his natural look before she had withdrawn + her face. She found him to be peering at her as if he would read her very + soul—expressing with his eyes the notification of which, apart from + emotion, the eyes are more capable than any other—inquiry. + </p> + <p> + Her face changed its expression—then its colour. The natural tint of + the lighter portions sank to an ashy gray; the pink of her cheeks grew + purpler. It was the precise result which would remain after blood had left + the face of one whose skin was dark, and artificially coated with + pearl-powder and carmine. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head and moved away, murmuring a hasty reply to Owen’s + farewell remark of ‘Good-day,’ and with a kind of nervous twitch lifting + her hand and smoothing her hair, which was of a light-brown colour. + </p> + <p> + ‘She wears false hair,’ he thought, ‘or has changed its colour + artificially. Her true hair matched her eyes.’ + </p> + <p> + And now, in spite of what Mr. Brown’s neighbours had said about nearly + recognizing Mrs. Manston on her recent visit—which might have meant + anything or nothing; in spite of the photograph, and in spite of his + previous incredulity; in consequence of the verse, of her silence and + backwardness at the visit to Hoxton with Manston, and of her appearance + and distress at the present moment, Graye had a conviction that the woman + was an impostor. + </p> + <p> + What could be Manston’s reason for such an astounding trick he could by no + stretch of imagination divine. + </p> + <p> + He changed his direction as soon as the woman was out of sight, and + plodded along the lanes homeward to Tolchurch. + </p> + <p> + One new idea was suggested to him by his desire to allay Cytherea’s dread + of being claimed, and by the difficulty of believing that the first Mrs. + Manston lost her life as supposed, notwithstanding the inquest and + verdict. Was it possible that the real Mrs. Manston, who was known to be a + Philadelphian by birth, had returned by the train to London, as the porter + had said, and then left the country under an assumed name, to escape that + worst kind of widowhood—the misery of being wedded to a fickle, + faithless, and truant husband? + </p> + <p> + In her complicated distress at the news brought by her brother, Cytherea’s + thoughts at length reverted to her friend, the Rector of Carriford. She + told Owen of Mr. Raunham’s warm-hearted behaviour towards herself, and of + his strongly expressed wish to aid her. + </p> + <p> + ‘He is not only a good, but a sensible man. We seem to want an old head on + our side.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And he is a magistrate,’ said Owen in a tone of concurrence. He thought, + too, that no harm could come of confiding in the rector, but there was a + difficulty in bringing about the confidence. He wished that his sister and + himself might both be present at an interview with Mr. Raunham, yet it + would be unwise for them to call on him together, in the sight of all the + servants and parish of Carriford. + </p> + <p> + There could be no objection to their writing him a letter. + </p> + <p> + No sooner was the thought born than it was carried out. They wrote to him + at once, asking him to have the goodness to give them some advice they + sadly needed, and begging that he would accept their assurance that there + was a real justification for the additional request they made—that + instead of their calling upon him, he would any evening of the week come + to their cottage at Tolchurch. + </p> + <p> + 2. MARCH THE TWENTIETH. SIX TO NINE O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Two evenings later, to the total disarrangement of his dinner-hour, Mr. + Raunham appeared at Owen’s door. His arrival was hailed with genuine + gratitude. The horse was tied to the palings, and the rector ushered + indoors and put into the easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + Then Graye told him the whole story, reminding him that their first + suspicions had been of a totally different nature, and that in + endeavouring to obtain proof of their truth they had stumbled upon marks + which had surprised them into these new uncertainties, thrice as + marvellous as the first, yet more prominent. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s heart was so full of anxiety that it superinduced a manner of + confidence which was a death-blow to all formality. Mr. Raunham took her + hand pityingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a serious charge,’ he said, as a sort of original twig on which his + thoughts might precipitate themselves. + </p> + <p> + ‘Assuming for a moment that such a substitution was rendered an easy + matter by fortuitous events,’ he continued, ‘there is this consideration + to be placed beside it—what earthly motive can Mr. Manston have had + which would be sufficiently powerful to lead him to run such a very great + risk? The most abandoned roue could not, at that particular crisis, have + taken such a reckless step for the mere pleasure of a new companion.’ + </p> + <p> + Owen had seen that difficulty about the motive; Cytherea had not. + </p> + <p> + ‘Unfortunately for us,’ the rector resumed, ‘no more evidence is to be + obtained from the porter, Chinney. I suppose you know what became of him? + He got to Liverpool and embarked, intending to work his way to America, + but on the passage he fell overboard and was drowned. But there is no + doubt of the truth of his confession—in fact, his conduct tends to + prove it true—and no moral doubt of the fact that the real Mrs. + Manston left here to go back by that morning’s train. This being the case, + then, why, if this woman is not she, did she take no notice of the + advertisement—I mean not necessarily a friendly notice, but from the + information it afforded her have rendered it impossible that she should be + personified without her own connivance?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think that argument is overthrown,’ Graye said, ‘by my earliest + assumption of her hatred of him, weariness of the chain which bound her to + him, and a resolve to begin the world anew. Let’s suppose she has married + another man—somewhere abroad, say; she would be silent for her own + sake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve hit the only genuine possibility,’ said Mr. Raunham, tapping his + finger upon his knee. ‘That would decidedly dispose of the second + difficulty. But his motive would be as mysterious as ever.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s pictured dreads would not allow her mind to follow their + conversation. ‘She’s burnt,’ she said. ‘O yes; I fear—I fear she + is!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think we can seriously believe that now, after what has + happened,’ said the rector. + </p> + <p> + Still straining her thought towards the worst, ‘Then, perhaps, the first + Mrs. Manston was not his wife,’ she returned; ‘and then I should be his + wife just the same, shouldn’t I?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They were married safely enough,’ said Owen. ‘There is abundance of + circumstantial evidence to prove that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon the whole,’ said Mr. Raunham, ‘I should advise your asking in a + straightforward way for legal proof from the steward that the present + woman is really his original wife—a thing which, to my mind, you + should have done at the outset.’ He turned to Cytherea kindly, and asked + her what made her give up her husband so unceremoniously. + </p> + <p> + She could not tell the rector of her aversion to Manston, and of her + unquenched love for Edward. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your terrified state no doubt,’ he said, answering for her, in the manner + of those accustomed to the pulpit. ‘But into such a solemn compact as + marriage, all-important considerations, both legally and morally, enter; + it was your duty to have seen everything clearly proved. Doubtless Mr. + Manston is prepared with proofs, but as it concerns nobody but yourself + that her identity should be publicly established (and by your absenteeism + you act as if you were satisfied) he has not troubled to exhibit them. + Nobody else has taken the trouble to prove what does not affect them in + the least—that’s the way of the world always. You, who should have + required all things to be made clear, ran away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That was partly my doing,’ said Owen. + </p> + <p> + The same explanation—her want of love for Manston—applied here + too, but she shunned the revelation. + </p> + <p> + ‘But never mind,’ added the rector, ‘it was all the greater credit to your + womanhood, perhaps. I say, then, get your brother to write a line to Mr. + Manston, saying you wish to be satisfied that all is legally clear (in + case you should want to marry again, for instance), and I have no doubt + that you will be. Or, if you would rather, I’ll write myself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O no, sir, no,’ pleaded Cytherea, beginning to blanch, and breathing + quickly. ‘Please don’t say anything. Let me live here with Owen. I am so + afraid it will turn out that I shall have to go to Knapwater and be his + wife, and I don’t want to go. Do conceal what we have told you. Let him + continue his deception—it is much the best for me.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Raunham at length divined that her love for Manston, if it had ever + existed, had transmuted itself into a very different feeling now. + </p> + <p> + ‘At any rate,’ he said, as he took his leave and mounted his mare, ‘I will + see about it. Rest content, Miss Graye, and depend upon it that I will not + lead you into difficulty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Conceal it,’ she still pleaded. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll see—but of course I must do my duty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—don’t do your duty!’ She looked up at him through the gloom, + illuminating her own face and eyes with the candle she held. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will consider, then,’ said Mr. Raunham, sensibly moved. He turned his + horse’s head, bade them a warm adieu, and left the door. + </p> + <p> + The rector of Carriford trotted homewards under the cold and clear March + sky, its countless stars fluttering like bright birds. He was unconscious + of the scene. Recovering from the effect of Cytherea’s voice and glance of + entreaty, he laid the subject of the interview clearly before himself. + </p> + <p> + The suspicions of Cytherea and Owen were honest, and had foundation—that + he must own. Was he—a clergyman, magistrate, and conscientious man—justified + in yielding to Cytherea’s importunities to keep silence, because she + dreaded the possibility of a return to Manston? Was she wise in her + request? Holding her present belief, and with no definite evidence either + way, she could, for one thing, never conscientiously marry any one else. + Suppose that Cytherea were Manston’s wife—i.e., that the first wife + was really burnt? The adultery of Manston would be proved, and, Mr. + Raunham thought, cruelty sufficient to bring the case within the meaning + of the statute. Suppose the new woman was, as stated, Mr. Manston’s + restored wife? Cytherea was perfectly safe as a single woman whose + marriage had been void. And if it turned out that, though this woman was + not Manston’s wife, his wife was still living, as Owen had suggested, in + America or elsewhere, Cytherea was safe. + </p> + <p> + The first supposition opened up the worst contingency. Was she really safe + as Manston’s wife? Doubtful. But, however that might be, the gentle, + defenceless girl, whom it seemed nobody’s business to help or defend, + should be put in a track to proceed against this man. She had but one + life, and the superciliousness with which all the world now regarded her + should be compensated in some measure by the man whose carelessness—to + set him in the best light—had caused it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Raunham felt more and more positively that his duty must be done. An + inquiry must be made into the matter. Immediately on reaching home, he sat + down and wrote a plain and friendly letter to Mr. Manston, and despatched + it at once to him by hand. Then he flung himself back in his chair, and + went on with his meditation. Was there anything in the suspicion? There + could be nothing, surely. Nothing is done by a clever man without a + motive, and what conceivable motive could Manston have for such abnormal + conduct? Corinthian that he might be, who had preyed on virginity like St. + George’s dragon, he would never have been absurd enough to venture on such + a course for the possession alone of the woman—there was no reason + for it—she was inferior to Cytherea in every respect, physical and + mental. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, it seemed rather odd, when he analyzed the action, that + a woman who deliberately hid herself from her husband for more than a + twelvemonth should be brought back by a mere advertisement. In fact, the + whole business had worked almost too smoothly and effectually for + unpremeditated sequence. It was too much like the indiscriminate righting + of everything at the end of an old play. And there was that curious + business of the keys and watch. Her way of accounting for their being left + behind by forgetfulness had always seemed to him rather forced. The only + unforced explanation was that suggested by the newspaper writers—that + she left them behind on purpose to blind people as to her escape, a motive + which would have clashed with the possibility of her being fished back by + an advertisement, as the present woman had been. Again, there were the two + charred bones. He shuffled the books and papers in his study, and walked + about the room, restlessly musing on the same subject. The parlour-maid + entered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can young Mr. Springrove from London see you to-night, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Young Mr. Springrove?’ said the rector, surprised. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, of course he can see me. Tell him to come in.’ + </p> + <p> + Edward came so impatiently into the room, as to show that the few short + moments his announcement had occupied had been irksome to him. He stood in + the doorway with the same black bag in his hand, and the same old gray + cloak on his shoulders, that he had worn fifteen months earlier when + returning on the night of the fire. This appearance of his conveyed a true + impression; he had become a stagnant man. But he was excited now. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have this moment come from London,’ he said, as the door was closed + behind him. + </p> + <p> + The prophetic insight, which so strangely accompanies critical + experiences, prompted Mr. Raunham’s reply. + </p> + <p> + ‘About the Grayes and Manston?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. That woman is not Mrs. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Prove it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can prove that she is somebody else—that her name is Anne + Seaway.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And are their suspicions true indeed!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I can do what’s more to the purpose at present.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Suggest Manston’s motive?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only suggest it, remember. But my assumption fits so perfectly with the + facts that have been secretly unearthed and conveyed to me, that I can + hardly conceive of another.’ + </p> + <p> + There was in Edward’s bearing that entire unconsciousness of himself + which, natural to wild animals, only prevails in a sensitive man at + moments of extreme intentness. The rector saw that he had no trivial story + to communicate, whatever the story was. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sit down,’ said Mr. Raunham. ‘My mind has been on the stretch all the + evening to form the slightest guess at such an object, and all to no + purpose—entirely to no purpose. Have you said anything to Owen + Graye?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing—nor to anybody. I could not trust to the effect a letter + might have upon yourself, either; the intricacy of the case brings me to + this interview.’ + </p> + <p> + Whilst Springrove had been speaking the two had sat down together. The + conversation, hitherto distinct to every corner of the room, was carried + on now in tones so low as to be scarcely audible to the interlocutors, and + in phrases which hesitated to complete themselves. Three-quarters of an + hour passed. Then Edward arose, came out of the rector’s study and again + flung his cloak around him. Instead of going thence homeward, he went + first to the Carriford Road Station with a telegram, having despatched + which he proceeded to his father’s house for the first time since his + arrival in the village. + </p> + <p> + 3. FROM NINE TO TEN O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + The next presentation is the interior of the Old House on the evening of + the preceding section. The steward was sitting by his parlour fire, and + had been reading the letter arrived from the rectory. Opposite to him sat + the woman known to the village and neighbourhood as Mrs. Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘Things are looking desperate with us,’ he said gloomily. His gloom was + not that of the hypochondriac, but the legitimate gloom which has its + origin in a syllogism. As he uttered the words he handed the letter to + her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I almost expected some such news as this,’ she replied, in a tone of much + greater indifference. ‘I knew suspicion lurked in the eyes of that young + man who stared at me so in the church path: I could have sworn it.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston did not answer for some time. His face was worn and haggard; + latterly his head had not been carried so uprightly as of old. ‘If they + prove you to be—who you are.... Yes, if they do,’ he murmured. + </p> + <p> + ‘They must not find that out,’ she said, in a positive voice, and looking + at him. ‘But supposing they do, the trick does not seem to me to be so + serious as to justify that wretched, miserable, horrible look of yours. It + makes my flesh creep; it is perfectly deathlike.’ + </p> + <p> + He did not reply, and she continued, ‘If they say and prove that Eunice is + indeed living—and dear, you know she is—she is sure to come + back.’ + </p> + <p> + This remark seemed to awaken and irritate him to speech. Again, as he had + done a hundred times during their residence together, he categorized the + events connected with the fire at the Three Tranters. He dwelt on every + incident of that night’s history, and endeavoured, with an anxiety which + was extraordinary in the apparent circumstances, to prove that his wife + must, by the very nature of things, have perished in the flames. She arose + from her seat, crossed the hearthrug, and set herself to soothe him; then + she whispered that she was still as unbelieving as ever. ‘Come, supposing + she escaped—just supposing she escaped—where is she?’ coaxed + the lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why are you so curious continually?’ said Manston. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I am a woman and want to know. Now where is she?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the Flying Isle of San Borandan.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Witty cruelty is the cruellest of any. Ah, well—if she is in + England, she will come back.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is not in England.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But she will come back?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, she won’t.... Come, madam,’ he said, arousing himself, ‘I shall not + answer any more questions.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—ah—ah—she is not dead,’ the woman murmured again + poutingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘She is, I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think so, love.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She was burnt, I tell you!’ he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now to please me, admit the bare possibility of her being alive—just + the possibility.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O yes—to please you I will admit that,’ he said quickly. ‘Yes, I + admit the possibility of her being alive, to please you.’ + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in utter perplexity. The words could only have been said + in jest, and yet they seemed to savour of a tone the furthest remove from + jesting. There was his face plain to her eyes, but no information of any + kind was to be read there. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is only natural that I should be curious,’ she murmured pettishly, ‘if + I resemble her as much as you say I do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are handsomer,’ he said, ‘though you are about her own height and + size. But don’t worry yourself. You must know that you are body and soul + united with me, though you are but my housekeeper.’ + </p> + <p> + She bridled a little at the remark. ‘Wife,’ she said, ‘most certainly + wife, since you cannot dismiss me without losing your character and + position, and incurring heavy penalties.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I own it—it was well said, though mistakenly—very + mistakenly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t riddle to me about mistakenly and such dark things. Now what was + your motive, dearest, in running the risk of having me here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your beauty,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘She thanks you much for the compliment, but will not take it. Come, what + was your motive?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your wit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no; not my wit. Wit would have made a wife of me by this time instead + of what I am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your virtue.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Or virtue either.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I tell you it was your beauty—really.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I cannot help seeing and hearing, and if what people say is true, I + am not nearly so good-looking as Cytherea, and several years older.’ + </p> + <p> + The aspect of Manston’s face at these words from her was so confirmatory + of her hint, that his forced reply of ‘O no,’ tended to develop her + chagrin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mere liking or love for me,’ she resumed, ‘would not have sprung up all + of a sudden, as your pretended passion did. You had been to London several + times between the time of the fire and your marriage with Cytherea—you + had never visited me or thought of my existence or cared that I was out of + a situation and poor. But the week after you married her and were + separated from her, off you rush to make love to me—not first to me + either, for you went to several places—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, not several places.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, you told me so yourself—that you went first to the only + lodging in which your wife had been known as Mrs. Manston, and when you + found that the lodging-house-keeper had gone away and died, and that + nobody else in the street had any definite ideas as to your wife’s + personal appearance, and came and proposed the arrangement we carried out—that + I should personate her. Your taking all this trouble shows that something + more serious than love had to do with the matter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Humbug—what trouble after all did I take? When I found Cytherea + would not stay with me after the wedding I was much put out at being left + alone again. Was that unnatural?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And those favouring accidents you mention—that nobody knew my first + wife—seemed an arrangement of Providence for our mutual benefit, and + merely perfected a half-formed impulse—that I should call you my + first wife to escape the scandal that would have arisen if you had come + here as anything else.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My love, that story won’t do. If Mrs. Manston was burnt, Cytherea, whom + you love better than me, could have been compelled to live with you as + your lawful wife. If she was not burnt, why should you run the risk of her + turning up again at any moment and exposing your substitution of me, and + ruining your name and prospects?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why—because I might have loved you well enough to run the risk + (assuming her not to be burnt, which I deny).’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—you would have run the risk the other way. You would rather have + risked her finding you with Cytherea as a second wife, than with me as a + personator of herself—the first one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You came easiest to hand—remember that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not so very easy either, considering the labour you took to teach me your + first wife’s history. All about how she was a native of Philadelphia. Then + making me read up the guide-book to Philadelphia, and details of American + life and manners, in case the birthplace and history of your wife, Eunice, + should ever become known in this neighbourhood—unlikely as it was. + Ah! and then about the handwriting of hers that I had to imitate, and the + dying my hair, and rouging, to make the transformation complete? You mean + to say that that was taking less trouble than there would have been in + arranging events to make Cytherea believe herself your wife, and live with + you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You were a needy adventuress, who would dare anything for a new pleasure + and an easy life—and I was fool enough to give in to you—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good heavens above!—did I ask you to insert those advertisements + for your old wife, and to make me answer it as if I was she? Did I ask you + to send me the letter for me to copy and send back to you when the third + advertisement appeared—purporting to come from the long-lost wife, + and giving a detailed history of her escape and subsequent life—all + which you had invented yourself? You deluded me into loving you, and then + enticed me here! Ah, and this is another thing. How did you know the real + wife wouldn’t answer it, and upset all your plans?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I knew she was burnt.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why didn’t you force Cytherea to come back, then? Now, my love, I have + caught you, and you may just as well tell first as last, <i>what was your + motive in having me here as your first wife</i>?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Silence!’ he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + She was silent for the space of two minutes, and then persisted in going + on to mutter, ‘And why was it that Miss Aldclyffe allowed her favourite + young lady, Cythie, to be overthrown and supplanted without an + expostulation or any show of sympathy? Do you know I often think you + exercise a secret power over Miss Aldclyffe. And she always shuns me as if + I shared the power. A poor, ill-used creature like me sharing power, + indeed!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She thinks you are Mrs. Manston.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That wouldn’t make her avoid me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes it would,’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I wish I was dead—dead!’ + He had jumped up from his seat in uttering the words, and now walked + wearily to the end of the room. Coming back more decisively, he looked in + her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘We must leave this place if Raunham suspects what I think he does,’ he + said. ‘The request of Cytherea and her brother may simply be for a + satisfactory proof, to make her feel legally free—but it may mean + more.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What may it mean?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How should I know?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, well, never mind, old boy,’ she said, approaching him to make up + the quarrel. ‘Don’t be so alarmed—anybody would think that you were + the woman and I the man. Suppose they do find out what I am—we can + go away from here and keep house as usual. People will say of you, “His + first wife was burnt to death” (or “ran away to the Colonies,” as the case + may be); “He married a second, and deserted her for Anne Seaway.” A very + everyday case—nothing so horrible, after all.’ + </p> + <p> + He made an impatient movement. ‘Whichever way we do it, <i>nobody must + know that you are not my wife Eunice</i>. And now I must think about + arranging matters.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston then retired to his office, and shut himself up for the remainder + of the evening. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. THE EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE TWENTY-FIRST. MORNING + </h3> + <p> + Next morning the steward went out as usual. He shortly told his companion, + Anne, that he had almost matured their scheme, and that they would enter + upon the details of it when he came home at night. The fortunate fact that + the rector’s letter did not require an immediate answer would give him + time to consider. + </p> + <p> + Anne Seaway then began her duties in the house. Besides daily + superintending the cook and housemaid one of these duties was, at rare + intervals, to dust Manston’s office with her own hands, a servant being + supposed to disturb the books and papers unnecessarily. She softly + wandered from table to shelf with the duster in her hand, afterwards + standing in the middle of the room, and glancing around to discover if any + noteworthy collection of dust had still escaped her. + </p> + <p> + Her eye fell upon a faint layer which rested upon the ledge of an + old-fashioned chestnut cabinet of French Renaissance workmanship, placed + in a recess by the fireplace. At a height of about four feet from the + floor the upper portion of the front receded, forming the ledge alluded + to, on which opened at each end two small doors, the centre space between + them being filled out by a panel of similar size, making the third of + three squares. The dust on the ledge was nearly on a level with the + woman’s eye, and, though insignificant in quantity, showed itself + distinctly on account of this obliquity of vision. Now opposite the + central panel, concentric quarter-circles were traced in the deposited + film, expressing to her that this panel, too, was a door like the others; + that it had lately been opened, and had skimmed the dust with its lower + edge. + </p> + <p> + At last, then, her curiosity was slightly rewarded. For the right of the + matter was that Anne had been incited to this exploration of Manston’s + office rather by a wish to know the reason of his long seclusion here, + after the arrival of the rector’s letter, and their subsequent discourse, + than by any immediate desire for cleanliness. Still, there would have been + nothing remarkable to Anne in this sight but for one recollection. Manston + had once casually told her that each of the two side-lockers included half + the middle space, the panel of which did not open, and was only put in for + symmetry. It was possible that he had opened this compartment by + candlelight the preceding night, or he would have seen the marks in the + dust, and effaced them, that he might not be proved guilty of telling her + an untruth. She balanced herself on one foot and stood pondering. She + considered that it was very vexing and unfair in him to refuse her all + knowledge of his remaining secrets, under the peculiar circumstances of + her connection with him. She went close to the cabinet. As there was no + keyhole, the door must be capable of being opened by the unassisted hand. + The circles in the dust told her at which edge to apply her force. Here + she pulled with the tips of her fingers, but the panel would not come + forward. She fetched a chair and looked over the top of the cabinet, but + no bolt, knob, or spring was to be seen. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, never mind,’ she said, with indifference; ‘I’ll ask him about it, and + he will tell me.’ Down she came and turned away. Then looking back again + she thought it was absurd such a trifle should puzzle her. She retraced + her steps, and opened a drawer beneath the ledge of the cabinet, pushing + in her hand and feeling about on the underside of the board. + </p> + <p> + Here she found a small round sinking, and pressed her finger into it. + Nothing came of the pressure. She withdrew her hand and looked at the tip + of her finger: it was marked with the impress of the circle, and, in + addition, a line ran across it diametrically. + </p> + <p> + ‘How stupid of me; it is the head of a screw.’ Whatever mysterious + contrivance had originally existed for opening the puny cupboard of the + cabinet, it had at some time been broken, and this rough substitute + provided. Stimulated curiosity would not allow her to recede now. She + fetched a screwdriver, withdrew the screw, pulled the door open with a + penknife, and found inside a cavity about ten inches square. The cavity + contained— + </p> + <p> + Letters from different women, with unknown signatures, Christian names + only (surnames being despised in Paphos). Letters from his wife Eunice. + Letters from Anne herself, including that she wrote in answer to his + advertisement. A small pocket-book. Sundry scraps of paper. + </p> + <p> + The letters from the strange women with pet names she glanced carelessly + through, and then put them aside. They were too similar to her own + regretted delusion, and curiosity requires contrast to excite it. + </p> + <p> + The letters from his wife were next examined. They were dated back as far + as Eunice’s first meeting with Manston, and the early ones before their + marriage contained the usual pretty effusions of women at such a period of + their existence. Some little time after he had made her his wife, and when + he had come to Knapwater, the series began again, and now their contents + arrested her attention more forcibly. She closed the cabinet, carried the + letters into the parlour, reclined herself on the sofa, and carefully + perused them in the order of their dates. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘JOHN STREET, + October 17, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + ‘MY DEAREST HUSBAND,—I received your hurried line of yesterday, and + was of course content with it. But why don’t you tell me your exact + address instead of that “Post-Office, Budmouth?” This matter is all a + mystery to me, and I ought to be told every detail. I cannot fancy it is + the same kind of occupation you have been used to hitherto. Your command + that I am to stay here awhile until you can “see how things look” and can + arrange to send for me, I must necessarily abide by. But if, as you say, a + married man would have been rejected by the person who engaged you, and + that hence my existence must be kept a secret until you have secured your + position, why did you think of going at all? + </p> + <p> + ‘The truth is, this keeping our marriage a secret is troublesome, vexing, + and wearisome to me. I see the poorest woman in the street bearing her + husband’s name openly—living with him in the most matter-of-fact + ease, and why shouldn’t I? I wish I was back again in Liverpool. + </p> + <p> + ‘To-day I bought a grey waterproof cloak. I think it is a little too long + for me, but it was cheap for one of such a quality. The weather is gusty + and dreary, and till this morning I had hardly set foot outside the door + since you left. Please do tell me when I am to come.—Very + affectionately yours, EUNICE.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘JOHN STREET, + October 25, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + ‘MY DEAR HUSBAND,—Why don’t you write? Do you hate me? I have not + had the heart to do anything this last week. That I, your wife, should be + in this strait, and my husband well to do! I have been obliged to leave my + first lodging for debt—among other things, they charged me for a lot + of brandy which I am quite sure I did not taste. Then I went to Camberwell + and was found out by them. I went away privately from thence, and changed + my name the second time. I am now Mrs. Rondley. But the new lodging was + the wretchedest and dearest I ever set foot in, and I left it after being + there only a day. I am now at No. 20 in the same street that you left me + in originally. All last night the sash of my window rattled so dreadfully + that I could not sleep, but I had not energy enough to get out of bed to + stop it. This morning I have been walking—I don’t know how far—but + far enough to make my feet ache. I have been looking at the outside of two + or three of the theatres, but they seem forbidding if I regard them with + the eye of an actress in search of an engagement. Though you said I was to + think no more of the stage, I believe you would not care if you found me + there. But I am not an actress by nature, and art will never make me one. + I am too timid and retiring; I was intended for a cottager’s wife. I + certainly shall not try to go on the boards again whilst I am in this + strange place. The idea of being brought on as far as London and then left + here alone! Why didn’t you leave me in Liverpool? Perhaps you thought I + might have told somebody that my real name was Mrs. Manston. As if I had a + living friend to whom I could impart it—no such good fortune! In + fact, my nearest friend is no nearer than what most people would call a + stranger. But perhaps I ought to tell you that a week before I wrote my + last letter to you, after wishing that my uncle and aunt in Philadelphia + (the only near relatives I had) were still alive, I suddenly resolved to + send a line to my cousin James, who, I believe, is still living in that + neighbourhood. He has never seen me since we were babies together. I did + not tell him of my marriage, because I thought you might not like it, and + I gave my real maiden name, and an address at the post-office here. But + God knows if the letter will ever reach him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do write me an answer, and send something.—Your affectionate wife, + EUNICE.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘FRIDAY, October 28. +</pre> + <p> + ‘MY DEAR HUSBAND,—The order for ten pounds has just come, and I am + truly glad to get it. But why will you write so bitterly? Ah—well, + if I had only had the money I should have been on my way to America by + this time, so don’t think I want to bore you of my own free-will. Who can + you have met with at that new place? Remember I say this in no malignant + tone, but certainly the facts go to prove that you have deserted me! You + are inconstant—I know it. O, why are you so? Now I have lost you, I + love you in spite of your neglect. I am weakly fond—that’s my + nature. I fear that upon the whole my life has been wasted. I know there + is another woman supplanting me in your heart—yes, I know it. Come + to me—do come. EUNICE.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘41 CHARLES SQUARE, HOXTON, + November 19. +</pre> + <p> + ‘DEAR AENEAS,—Here I am back again after my visit. Why should you + have been so enraged at my finding your exact address? Any woman would + have tried to do it—you know she would have. And no woman would have + lived under assumed names so long as I did. I repeat that I did not call + myself Mrs. Manston until I came to this lodging at the beginning of this + month—what could you expect? + </p> + <p> + ‘A helpless creature I, had not fortune favoured me unexpectedly. Banished + as I was from your house at dawn, I did not suppose the indignity was + about to lead to important results. But in crossing the park I overheard + the conversation of a young man and woman who had also risen early. I + believe her to be the girl who has won you away from me. Well, their + conversation concerned you and Miss Aldclyffe, <i>very peculiarly</i>. The + remarkable thing is that you yourself, without knowing it, told me of + what, added to their conversation, completely reveals a secret to me that + neither of you understand. Two negatives never made such a telling + positive before. One clue more, and you would see it. A single + consideration prevents my revealing it—just one doubt as to whether + your ignorance was real, and was not feigned to deceive me. Civility now, + please. EUNICE.’ + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘41 CHARLES SQUARE, + Tuesday, November 22. +</pre> + <p> + ‘MY DARLING HUSBAND,—Monday will suit me excellently for coming. I + have acted exactly up to your instructions, and have sold my rubbish at + the broker’s in the next street. All this movement and bustle is + delightful to me after the weeks of monotony I have endured. It is a + relief to wish the place good-bye—London always has seemed so much + more foreign to me than Liverpool The mid-day train on Monday will do + nicely for me. I shall be anxiously looking out for you on Sunday night. + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope so much that you are not angry with me for writing to Miss + Aldclyffe. You are not, dear, are you? Forgive me.—Your loving wife, + EUNICE.’ + </p> + <p> + This was the last of the letters from the wife to the husband. One other, + in Mrs. Manston’s handwriting, and in the same packet, was differently + addressed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘THREE TRANTERS INN, CARRIFORD, + November 28, 1864. +</pre> + <p> + ‘DEAR COUSIN JAMES,—Thank you indeed for answering my letter so + promptly. When I called at the post-office yesterday I did not in the + least think there would be one. But I must leave this subject. I write + again at once under the strangest and saddest conditions it is possible to + conceive. + </p> + <p> + ‘I did not tell you in my last that I was a married woman. Don’t blame me—it + was my husband’s influence. I hardly know where to begin my story. I had + been living apart from him for a time—then he sent for me (this was + last week) and I was glad to go to him. Then this is what he did. He + promised to fetch me, and did not—leaving me to do the journey + alone. He promised to meet me at the station here—he did not. I went + on through the darkness to his house, and found his door locked and + himself away from home. I have been obliged to come here, and I write to + you in a strange room in a strange village inn! I choose the present + moment to write to drive away my misery. Sorrow seems a sort of pleasure + when you detail it on paper—poor pleasure though. + </p> + <p> + ‘But this is what I want to know—and I am ashamed to tell it. I + would gladly do as you say, and come to you as a housekeeper, but I have + not the money even for a steerage passage. James, do you want me badly + enough—do you pity me enough to send it? I could manage to subsist + in London upon the proceeds of my sale for another month or six weeks. + Will you send it to the same address at the post-office? But how do I know + that you...’ + </p> + <p> + Thus the letter ended. From creases in the paper it was plain that the + writer, having got so far, had become dissatisfied with her production, + and had crumpled it in her hand. Was it to write another, or not to write + at all? + </p> + <p> + The next thing Anne Seaway perceived was that the fragmentary story she + had coaxed out of Manston, to the effect that his wife had left England + for America, might be truthful, according to two of these letters, + corroborated by the evidence of the railway-porter. And yet, at first, he + had sworn in a passion that his wife was most certainly consumed in the + fire. + </p> + <p> + If she had been burnt, this letter, written in her bedroom, and probably + thrust into her pocket when she relinquished it, would have been burnt + with her. Nothing was surer than that. Why, then, did he say she was + burnt, and never show Anne herself this letter? + </p> + <p> + The question suddenly raised a new and much stranger one—kindling a + burst of amazement in her. How did Manston become possessed of this + letter? + </p> + <p> + That fact of possession was certainly the most remarkable revelation of + all in connection with this epistle, and perhaps had something to do with + his reason for never showing it to her. + </p> + <p> + She knew by several proofs, that before his marriage with Cytherea, and up + to the time of the porter’s confession, Manston believed—honestly + believed—that Cytherea would be his lawful wife, and hence, of + course, that his wife Eunice was dead. So that no communication could + possibly have passed between his wife and himself from the first moment + that he believed her dead on the night of the fire, to the day of his + wedding. And yet he had that letter. How soon afterwards could they have + communicated with each other? + </p> + <p> + The existence of the letter—as much as, or more than its contents—implying + that Mrs. Manston was not burnt, his belief in that calamity must have + terminated at the moment he obtained possession of the letter, if no + earlier. Was, then, the only solution to the riddle that Anne could + discern, the true one?—that he had communicated with his wife + somewhere about the commencement of Anne’s residence with him, or at any + time since? + </p> + <p> + It was the most unlikely thing on earth that a woman who had forsaken her + husband should countenance his scheme to personify her—whether she + were in America, in London, or in the neighbourhood of Knapwater. + </p> + <p> + Then came the old and harassing question, what was Manston’s real motive + in risking his name on the deception he was practising as regarded Anne. + It could not be, as he had always pretended, mere passion. Her thoughts + had reverted to Mr. Raunham’s letter, asking for proofs of her identity + with the original Mrs. Manston. She could see no loophole of escape for + the man who supported her. True, in her own estimation, his worst + alternative was not so very bad after all—the getting the name of + libertine, a possible appearance in the divorce or some other court of + law, and a question of damages. Such an exposure might hinder his worldly + progress for some time. Yet to him this alternative was, apparently, + terrible as death itself. + </p> + <p> + She restored the letters to their hiding-place, scanned anew the other + letters and memoranda, from which she could gain no fresh information, + fastened up the cabinet, and left everything in its former condition. + </p> + <p> + Her mind was ill at ease. More than ever she wished that she had never + seen Manston. Where the person suspected of mysterious moral obliquity is + the possessor of great physical and intellectual attractions, the mere + sense of incongruity adds an extra shudder to dread. The man’s strange + bearing terrified Anne as it had terrified Cytherea; for with all the + woman Anne’s faults, she had not descended to such depths of depravity as + to willingly participate in crime. She had not even known that a living + wife was being displaced till her arrival at Knapwater put retreat out of + the question, and had looked upon personation simply as a mode of + subsistence a degree better than toiling in poverty and alone, after a + bustling and somewhat pampered life as housekeeper in a gay mansion. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Non illa colo calathisve Minervae + Foemineas assueta manus.’ +</pre> + <p> + 2. AFTERNOON + </p> + <p> + Mr. Raunham and Edward Springrove had by this time set in motion a + machinery which they hoped to find working out important results. + </p> + <p> + The rector was restless and full of meditation all the following morning. + It was plain, even to the servants about him, that Springrove’s + communication wore a deeper complexion than any that had been made to the + old magistrate for many months or years past. The fact was that, having + arrived at the stage of existence in which the difficult intellectual feat + of suspending one’s judgment becomes possible, he was now putting it in + practice, though not without the penalty of watchful effort. + </p> + <p> + It was not till the afternoon that he determined to call on his relative, + Miss Aldclyffe, and cautiously probe her knowledge of the subject + occupying him so thoroughly. Cytherea, he knew, was still beloved by this + solitary woman. Miss Aldclyffe had made several private inquiries + concerning her former companion, and there was ever a sadness in her tone + when the young lady’s name was mentioned, which showed that from whatever + cause the elder Cytherea’s renunciation of her favourite and namesake + proceeded, it was not from indifference to her fate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you ever had any reason for supposing your steward anything but an + upright man?’ he said to the lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never the slightest. Have you?’ said she reservedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—I have.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can say nothing plainly, because nothing is proved. But my suspicions + are very strong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you mean that he was rather cool towards his wife when they were first + married, and that it was unfair in him to leave her? I know he was; but I + think his recent conduct towards her has amply atoned for the neglect.’ + </p> + <p> + He looked Miss Aldclyffe full in the face. It was plain that she spoke + honestly. She had not the slightest notion that the woman who lived with + the steward might be other than Mrs. Manston—much less that a + greater matter might be behind. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s not it—I wish it was no more. My suspicion is, first, that + the woman living at the Old House is not Mr. Manston’s wife.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not—Mr. Manston’s wife?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is it.’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe looked blankly at the rector. ‘Not Mr. Manston’s wife—who + else can she be?’ she said simply. + </p> + <p> + ‘An improper woman of the name of Anne Seaway.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Raunham had, in common with other people, noticed the extraordinary + interest of Miss Aldclyffe in the well-being of her steward, and had + endeavoured to account for it in various ways. The extent to which she was + shaken by his information, whilst it proved that the understanding between + herself and Manston did not make her a sharer of his secrets, also showed + that the tie which bound her to him was still unbroken. Mr. Raunham had + lately begun to doubt the latter fact, and now, on finding himself + mistaken, regretted that he had not kept his own counsel in the matter. + This it was too late to do, and he pushed on with his proofs. He gave Miss + Aldclyffe in detail the grounds of his belief. + </p> + <p> + Before he had done, she recovered the cloak of reserve that she had + adopted on his opening the subject. + </p> + <p> + ‘I might possibly be convinced that you were in the right, after such an + elaborate argument,’ she replied, ‘were it not for one fact, which bears + in the contrary direction so pointedly, that nothing but absolute proof + can turn it. It is that there is no conceivable motive which could induce + any sane man—leaving alone a man of Mr. Manston’s clear-headedness + and integrity—to venture upon such an extraordinary course of + conduct—no motive on earth.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That was my own opinion till after the visit of a friend last night—a + friend of mine and poor little Cytherea’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—and Cytherea,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, catching at the idea raised + by the name. ‘That he loved Cytherea—yes and loves her now, wildly + and devotedly, I am as positive as that I breathe. Cytherea is years + younger than Mrs. Manston—as I shall call her—twice as sweet + in disposition, three times as beautiful. Would he have given her up + quietly and suddenly for a common—Mr. Raunham, your story is + monstrous, and I don’t believe it!’ She glowed in her earnestness. + </p> + <p> + The rector might now have advanced his second proposition—the + possible motive—but for reasons of his own he did not. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well, madam. I only hope that facts will sustain you in your belief. + Ask him the question to his face, whether the woman is his wife or no, and + see how he receives it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will to-morrow, most certainly,’ she said. ‘I always let these things + die of wholesome ventilation, as every fungus does.’ + </p> + <p> + But no sooner had the rector left her presence, than the grain of + mustard-seed he had sown grew to a tree. Her impatience to set her mind at + rest could not brook a night’s delay. It was with the utmost difficulty + that she could wait till evening arrived to screen her movements. + Immediately the sun had dropped behind the horizon, and before it was + quite dark, she wrapped her cloak around her, softly left the house, and + walked erect through the gloomy park in the direction of the old + manor-house. + </p> + <p> + The same minute saw two persons sit down in the rectory-house to share the + rector’s usually solitary dinner. One was a man of official appearance, + commonplace in all except his eyes. The other was Edward Springrove. + </p> + <p> + The discovery of the carefully-concealed letters rankled in the mind of + Anne Seaway. Her woman’s nature insisted that Manston had no right to keep + all matters connected with his lost wife a secret from herself. Perplexity + had bred vexation; vexation, resentment; curiosity had been continuous. + The whole morning this resentment and curiosity increased. + </p> + <p> + The steward said very little to his companion during their luncheon at + mid-day. He seemed reckless of appearances—almost indifferent to + whatever fate awaited him. All his actions betrayed that something + portentous was impending, and still he explained nothing. By carefully + observing every trifling action, as only a woman can observe them, the + thought at length dawned upon her that he was going to run away secretly. + She feared for herself; her knowledge of law and justice was vague, and + she fancied she might in some way be made responsible for him. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon he went out of the house again, and she watched him drive + away in the direction of the county-town. She felt a desire to go there + herself, and, after an interval of half-an-hour, followed him on foot + notwithstanding the distance—ostensibly to do some shopping. + </p> + <p> + One among her several trivial errands was to make a small purchase at the + druggist’s. Near the druggist’s stood the County Bank. Looking out of the + shop window, between the coloured bottles, she saw Manston come down the + steps of the bank, in the act of withdrawing his hand from his pocket, and + pulling his coat close over its mouth. + </p> + <p> + It is an almost universal habit with people, when leaving a bank, to be + carefully adjusting their pockets if they have been receiving money; if + they have been paying it in, their hands swing laxly. The steward had in + all likelihood been taking money—possibly on Miss Aldclyffe’s + account—that was continual with him. And he might have been removing + his own, as a man would do who was intending to leave the country. + </p> + <p> + 3. FROM FIVE TO EIGHT O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Anne reached home again in time to preside over preparations for dinner. + Manston came in half-an-hour later. The lamp was lighted, the shutters + were closed, and they sat down together. He was pale and worn—almost + haggard. + </p> + <p> + The meal passed off in almost unbroken silence. When preoccupation + withstands the influence of a social meal with one pleasant companion, the + mental scene must be surpassingly vivid. Just as she was rising a tap came + to the door. + </p> + <p> + Before a maid could attend to the knock, Manston crossed the room and + answered it himself. The visitor was Miss Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + Manston instantly came back and spoke to Anne in an undertone. ‘I should + be glad if you could retire to your room for a short time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a dry, starlight evening,’ she replied. ‘I will go for a little + walk if your object is merely a private conversation with Miss Aldclyffe.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well, do; there’s no accounting for tastes,’ he said. A few + commonplaces then passed between her and Miss Aldclyffe, and Anne went + upstairs to bonnet and cloak herself. She came down, opened the front + door, and went out. + </p> + <p> + She looked around to realize the night. It was dark, mournful, and quiet. + Then she stood still. From the moment that Manston had requested her + absence, a strong and burning desire had prevailed in her to know the + subject of Miss Aldclyffe’s conversation with him. Simple curiosity was + not entirely what inspired her. Her suspicions had been thoroughly aroused + by the discovery of the morning. A conviction that her future depended on + her power to combat a man who, in desperate circumstances, would be far + from a friend to her, prompted a strategic movement to acquire the + important secret that was in handling now. The woman thought and thought, + and regarded the dull dark trees, anxiously debating how the thing could + be done. + </p> + <p> + Stealthily re-opening the front door she entered the hall, and advancing + and pausing alternately, came close to the door of the room in which Miss + Aldclyffe and Manston conversed. Nothing could be heard through the + keyhole or panels. At a great risk she softly turned the knob and opened + the door to a width of about half-an-inch, performing the act so + delicately that three minutes, at least, were occupied in completing it. + At that instant Miss Aldclyffe said— + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s a draught somewhere. The door is ajar, I think.’ + </p> + <p> + Anne glided back under the staircase. Manston came forward and closed the + door. This chance was now cut off, and she considered again. The parlour, + or sitting-room, in which the conference took place, had the + window-shutters fixed on the outside of the window, as is usual in the + back portions of old country-houses. The shutters were hinged one on each + side of the opening, and met in the middle, where they were fastened by a + bolt passing continuously through them and the wood mullion within, the + bolt being secured on the inside by a pin, which was seldom inserted till + Manston and herself were about to retire for the night; sometimes not at + all. + </p> + <p> + If she returned to the door of the room she might be discovered at any + moment, but could she listen at the window, which overlooked a part of the + garden never visited after nightfall, she would be safe from disturbance. + The idea was worth a trial. + </p> + <p> + She glided round to the window, took the head of the bolt between her + finger and thumb, and softly screwed it round until it was entirely + withdrawn from its position. The shutters remained as before, whilst, + where the bolt had come out, was now a shining hole three-quarters of an + inch in diameter, through which one might see into the middle of the room. + She applied her eye to the orifice. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe and Manston were both standing; Manston with his back to + the window, his companion facing it. The lady’s demeanour was severe, + condemnatory, and haughty. No more was to be seen; Anne then turned + sideways, leant with her shoulder against the shutters and placed her ear + upon the hole. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know where,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘And how could you, a man, act a + double deceit like this?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Men do strange things sometimes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What was your reason—come?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A mere whim.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I might even believe that, if the woman were handsomer than Cytherea, or + if you had been married some time to Cytherea and had grown tired of her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And can’t you believe it, too, under these conditions; that I married + Cytherea, gave her up because I heard that my wife was alive, found that + my wife would not come to live with me, and then, not to let any woman I + love so well as Cytherea run any risk of being displaced and ruined in + reputation, should my wife ever think fit to return, induced this woman to + come to me, as being better than no companion at all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot believe it. Your love for Cytherea was not of such a kind as + that excuse would imply. It was Cytherea or nobody with you. As an object + of passion, you did not desire the company of this Anne Seaway at all, and + certainly not so much as to madly risk your reputation by bringing her + here in the way you have done. I am sure you didn’t, AEneas.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So am I,’ he said bluntly. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe uttered an exclamation of astonishment; the confession was + like a blow in its suddenness. She began to reproach him bitterly, and + with tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘How could you overthrow my plans, disgrace the only girl I ever had any + respect for, by such inexplicable doings!... That woman must leave this + place—the country perhaps. Heavens! the truth will leak out in a day + or two!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She must do no such thing, and the truth must be stifled somehow—nobody + knows how. If I stay here, or on any spot of the civilized globe, as + AEneas Manston, this woman must live with me as my wife, or I am damned + past redemption!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not countenance your keeping her, whatever your motive may be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You must do something,’ he murmured. ‘You must. Yes, you must.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never will,’ she said. ‘It is a criminal act.’ + </p> + <p> + He looked at her earnestly. ‘Will you not support me through this + deception if my very life depends upon it? Will you not?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense! Life! It will be a scandal to you, but she must leave this + place. It will out sooner or later, and the exposure had better come now.’ + </p> + <p> + Manston repeated gloomily the same words. ‘My life depends upon your + supporting me—my very life.’ + </p> + <p> + He then came close to her, and spoke into her ear. Whilst he spoke he held + her head to his mouth with both his hands. Strange expressions came over + her face; the workings of her mouth were painful to observe. Still he held + her and whispered on. + </p> + <p> + The only words that could be caught by Anne Seaway, confused as her + hearing frequently was by the moan of the wind and the waterfall in her + outer ear, were these of Miss Aldclyffe, in tones which absolutely + quivered: ‘They have no money. What can they prove?’ + </p> + <p> + The listener tasked herself to the utmost to catch his answer, but it was + in vain. Of the remainder of the colloquy one fact alone was plain to + Anne, and that only inductively—that Miss Aldclyffe, from what he + had revealed to her, was going to scheme body and soul on Manston’s + behalf. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe seemed now to have no further reason for remaining, yet she + lingered awhile as if loth to leave him. When, finally, the crestfallen + and agitated lady made preparations for departure, Anne quickly inserted + the bolt, ran round to the entrance archway, and down the steps into the + park. Here she stood close to the trunk of a huge lime-tree, which + absorbed her dark outline into its own. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes she saw Manston, with Miss Aldclyffe leaning on his arm, + cross the glade before her and proceed in the direction of the house. She + watched them ascend the rise and advance, as two black spots, towards the + mansion. The appearance of an oblong space of light in the dark mass of + walls denoted that the door was opened. Miss Aldclyffe’s outline became + visible upon it; the door shut her in, and all was darkness again. The + form of Manston returning alone arose from the gloom, and passed by Anne + in her hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + Waiting outside a quarter of an hour longer, that no suspicion of any kind + might be excited, Anne returned to the old manor-house. + </p> + <p> + 4. FROM EIGHT TO ELEVEN O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Manston was very friendly that evening. It was evident to her, now that + she was behind the scenes, that he was making desperate efforts to + disguise the real state of his mind. + </p> + <p> + Her terror of him did not decrease. They sat down to supper, Manston still + talking cheerfully. But what is keener than the eye of a mistrustful + woman? A man’s cunning is to it as was the armour of Sisera to the thin + tent-nail. She found, in spite of his adroitness, that he was attempting + something more than a disguise of his feeling. He was trying to distract + her attention, that he might be unobserved in some special movement of his + hands. + </p> + <p> + What a moment it was for her then! The whole surface of her body became + attentive. She allowed him no chance whatever. We know the duplicated + condition at such times—when the existence divides itself into two, + and the ostensibly innocent chatterer stands in front, like another + person, to hide the timorous spy. + </p> + <p> + Manston played the same game, but more palpably. The meal was nearly over + when he seemed possessed of a new idea of how his object might be + accomplished. He tilted back his chair with a reflective air, and looked + steadily at the clock standing against the wall opposite to him. He said + sententiously, ‘Few faces are capable of expressing more by dumb show than + the face of a clock. You may see in it every variety of incentive—from + the softest seductions to negligence to the strongest hints for action.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, in what way?’ she inquired. His drift was, as yet, quite + unintelligible to her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, for instance: look at the cold, methodical, unromantic, + business-like air of all the right-angled positions of the hands. They + make a man set about work in spite of himself. Then look at the piquant + shyness of its face when the two hands are over each other. Several + attitudes imply “Make ready.” The “make ready” of ten minutes to one + differs from the “make ready” of ten minutes to twelve, as youth differs + from age. “Upward and onward” says twenty-five minutes to eleven. Mid-day + or midnight expresses distinctly “It is done.” You surely have noticed + that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I have.’ + </p> + <p> + He continued with affected quaintness:— + </p> + <p> + ‘The easy dash of ten minutes past seven, the rakish recklessness of a + quarter past, the drooping weariness of twenty-five minutes past, must + have been observed by everybody.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whatever amount of truth there may be, there is a good deal of + imagination in your fancy,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + He still contemplated the clock. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then, again, the general finish of the face has a great effect upon the + eye. This old-fashioned brass-faced one we have here, with its arched top, + half-moon slit for the day of the month, and ship rocking at the upper + part, impresses me with the notion of its being an old cynic, elevating + his brows, whose thoughts can be seen wavering between good and evil.’ + </p> + <p> + A thought now enlightened her: the clock was behind her, and he wanted to + get her back turned. She dreaded turning, yet, not to excite his + suspicion, she was on her guard; she quickly looked behind her at the + clock as he spoke, recovering her old position again instantly. The time + had not been long enough for any action whatever on his part. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah,’ he casually remarked, and at the same minute began to pour her out a + glass of wine. ‘Speaking of the clock has reminded me that it must nearly + want winding up. Remember that it is wound to-night. Suppose you do it at + once, my dear.’ + </p> + <p> + There was no possible way of evading the act. She resolutely turned to + perform the operation: anything was better than that he should suspect + her. It was an old-fashioned eight-day clock, of workmanship suited to the + rest of the antique furniture that Manston had collected there, and ground + heavily during winding. + </p> + <p> + Anne had given up all idea of being able to watch him during the interval, + and the noise of the wheels prevented her learning anything by her ears. + But, as she wound, she caught sight of his shadow on the wall at her right + hand. + </p> + <p> + What was he doing? He was in the very act of pouring something into her + glass of wine. + </p> + <p> + He had completed the manoeuvre before she had done winding. She + methodically closed the clock-case and turned round again. When she faced + him he was sitting in his chair as before she had risen. + </p> + <p> + In a familiar scene which has hitherto been pleasant it is difficult to + realize that an added condition, which does not alter its aspect, can have + made it terrible. The woman thought that his action must have been + prompted by no other intent than that of poisoning her, and yet she could + not instantly put on a fear of her position. + </p> + <p> + And before she had grasped these consequences, another supposition served + to make her regard the first as unlikely, if not absurd. It was the act of + a madman to take her life in a manner so easy of discovery, unless there + were far more reason for the crime than any that Manston could possibly + have. + </p> + <p> + Was it not merely his intention, in tampering with her wine, to make her + sleep soundly that night? This was in harmony with her original suspicion, + that he intended secretly to abscond. At any rate, he was going to set + about some stealthy proceeding, as to which she was to be kept in utter + darkness. The difficulty now was to avoid drinking the wine. + </p> + <p> + By means of one pretext and another she put off taking her glass for + nearly five minutes, but he eyed her too frequently to allow her to throw + the potion under the grate. It became necessary to take one sip. This she + did, and found an opportunity of absorbing it in her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + Plainly he had no idea of her countermoves. The scheme seemed to him in + proper train, and he turned to poke out the fire. She instantly seized the + glass, and poured its contents down her bosom. When he faced round again + she was holding the glass to her lips, empty. + </p> + <p> + In due course he locked the doors and saw that the shutters were fastened. + She attended to a few closing details of housewifery, and a few minutes + later they retired for the night. + </p> + <p> + 5. FROM ELEVEN O’CLOCK TO MIDNIGHT + </p> + <p> + When Manston was persuaded, by the feigned heaviness of her breathing, + that Anne Seaway was asleep, he softly arose, and dressed himself in the + gloom. With ears strained to their utmost she heard him complete this + operation; then he took something from his pocket, put it in the drawer of + the dressing-table, went to the door, and down the stairs. She glided out + of bed and looked in the drawer. He had only restored to its place a small + phial she had seen there before. It was labelled ‘Battley’s Solution of + Opium.’ She felt relieved that her life had not been attempted. That was + to have been her sleeping-draught. No time was to be lost if she meant to + be a match for him. She followed him in her nightdress. When she reached + the foot of the staircase he was in the office and had closed the door, + under which a faint gleam showed that he had obtained a light. She crept + to the door, but could not venture to open it, however slightly. Placing + her ear to the panel, she could hear him tearing up papers of some sort, + and a brighter and quivering ray of light coming from the threshold an + instant later, implied that he was burning them. By the slight noise of + his footsteps on the uncarpeted floor, she at length imagined that he was + approaching the door. She flitted upstairs again and crept into bed. + </p> + <p> + Manston returned to the bedroom close upon her heels, and entered it—again + without a light. Standing motionless for an instant to assure himself that + she still slept, he went to the drawer in which their ready-money was + kept, and removed the casket that contained it. Anne’s ear distinctly + caught the rustle of notes, and the chink of the gold as he handled it. + Some he placed in his pocket, some he returned to its place. He stood + thinking, as it were weighing a possibility. While lingering thus, he + noticed the reflected image of his own face in the glass—pale and + spectre-like in its indistinctness. The sight seemed to be the feather + which turned the balance of indecision: he drew a heavy breath, retired + from the room, and passed downstairs. She heard him unbar the back-door, + and go out into the yard. + </p> + <p> + Feeling safe in a conclusion that he did not intend to return to the + bedroom again, she arose, and hastily dressed herself. On going to the + door of the apartment she found that he had locked it behind him. ‘A + precaution—it can be no more,’ she muttered. Yet she was all the + more perplexed and excited on this account. Had he been going to leave + home immediately, he would scarcely have taken the trouble to lock her in, + holding the belief that she was in a drugged sleep. The lock shot into a + mortice, so that there was no possibility of her pushing back the bolt. + How should she follow him? Easily. An inner closet opened from the + bedroom: it was large, and had some time heretofore been used as a + dressing or bath room, but had been found inconvenient from having no + other outlet to the landing. The window of this little room looked out + upon the roof of the porch, which was flat and covered with lead. Anne + took a pillow from the bed, gently opened the casement of the inner room + and stepped forth on the flat. There, leaning over the edge of the small + parapet that ornamented the porch, she dropped the pillow upon the gravel + path, and let herself down over the parapet by her hands till her toes + swung about two feet from the ground. From this position she adroitly + alighted upon the pillow, and stood in the path. + </p> + <p> + Since she had come indoors from her walk in the early part of the evening + the moon had risen. But the thick clouds overspreading the whole landscape + rendered the dim light pervasive and grey: it appeared as an attribute of + the air. Anne crept round to the back of the house, listening intently. + The steward had had at least ten minutes’ start of her. She had waited + here whilst one might count fifty, when she heard a movement in the + outhouse—a fragment once attached to the main building. This + outhouse was partitioned into an outer and an inner room, which had been a + kitchen and a scullery before the connecting erections were pulled down, + but they were now used respectively as a brewhouse and workshop, the only + means of access to the latter being through the brewhouse. The outer door + of this first apartment was usually fastened by a padlock on the exterior. + It was now closed, but not fastened. Manston was evidently in the + outhouse. + </p> + <p> + She slightly moved the door. The interior of the brewhouse was wrapped in + gloom, but a streak of light fell towards her in a line across the floor + from the inner or workshop door, which was not quite closed. This light + was unexpected, none having been visible through hole or crevice. Glancing + in, the woman found that he had placed cloths and mats at the various + apertures, and hung a sack at the window to prevent the egress of a single + ray. She could also perceive from where she stood that the bar of light + fell across the brewing-copper just outside the inner door, and that upon + it lay the key of her bedroom. The illuminated interior of the workshop + was also partly visible from her position through the two half-open doors. + Manston was engaged in emptying a large cupboard of the tools, gallipots, + and old iron it contained. When it was quite cleared he took a chisel, and + with it began to withdraw the hooks and shoulder-nails holding the + cupboard to the wall. All these being loosened, he extended his arms, + lifted the cupboard bodily from the brackets under it, and deposited it on + the floor beside him. + </p> + <p> + That portion of the wall which had been screened by the cupboard was now + laid bare. This, it appeared, had been plastered more recently than the + bulk of the outhouse. Manston loosened the plaster with some kind of tool, + flinging the pieces into a basket as they fell. Having now stripped clear + about two feet area of wall, he inserted a crowbar between the joints of + the bricks beneath, softly wriggling it until several were loosened. There + was now disclosed the mouth of an old oven, which was apparently contrived + in the thickness of the wall, and having fallen into disuse, had been + closed up with bricks in this manner. It was formed after the simple + old-fashioned plan of oven-building—a mere oblate cavity without a + flue. + </p> + <p> + Manston now stretched his arm into the oven, dragged forth a heavy weight + of great bulk, and let it slide to the ground. The woman who watched him + could see the object plainly. It was a common corn-sack, nearly full, and + was tied at the mouth in the usual way. + </p> + <p> + The steward had once or twice started up, as if he had heard sounds, and + his motions now became more cat-like still. On a sudden he put out the + light. Anne had made no noise, yet a foreign noise of some kind had + certainly been made in the intervening portion of the house. She heard it. + ‘One of the rats,’ she thought. + </p> + <p> + He seemed soon to recover from his alarm, but changed his tactics + completely. He did not light his candle—going on with his work in + the dark. She had only sounds to go by now, and, judging as well as she + could from these, he was piling up the bricks which closed the oven’s + mouth as they had been before he disturbed them. The query that had not + left her brain all the interval of her inspection—how should she get + back into her bedroom again?—now received a solution. Whilst he was + replacing the cupboard, she would glide across the brewhouse, take the key + from the top of the copper, run upstairs, unlock the door, and bring back + the key again: if he returned to bed, which was unlikely, he would think + the lock had failed to catch in the staple. This thought and intention, + occupying such length of words, flashed upon her in an instant, and hardly + disturbed her strong curiosity to stay and learn the meaning of his + actions in the workshop. + </p> + <p> + Slipping sideways through the first door and closing it behind her, she + advanced into the darkness towards the second, making every individual + footfall with the greatest care, lest the fragments of rubbish on the + floor should crackle beneath her tread. She soon stood close by the + copper, and not more than a foot from the door of the room occupied by + Manston himself, from which position she could distinctly hear him breathe + between each exertion, although it was far too dark to discern anything of + him. + </p> + <p> + To secure the key of her chamber was her first anxiety, and accordingly + she cautiously reached out with her hand to where it lay. Instead of + touching it, her fingers came in contact with the boot of a human being. + </p> + <p> + She drooped faint in a cold sweat. It was the foot either of a man or + woman, standing on the brewing-copper where the key had lain. A warm foot, + covered with a polished boot. + </p> + <p> + The startling discovery so terrified her that she could hardly repress a + sound. She withdrew her hand with a motion like the flight of an arrow. + Her touch was so light that the leather seemed to have been thick enough + to keep the owner of the foot in entire ignorance of it, and the noise of + Manston’s scraping might have been quite sufficient to drown the slight + rustle of her dress. + </p> + <p> + The person was obviously not the steward: he was still busy. It was + somebody who, since the light had been extinguished, had taken advantage + of the gloom, to come from some dark recess in the brewhouse and stand + upon the brickwork of the copper. The fear which had at first paralyzed + her lessened with the birth of a sense that fear now was utter failure: + she was in a desperate position and must abide by the consequences. The + motionless person on the copper was, equally with Manston, quite + unconscious of her proximity, and she ventured to advance her hand again, + feeling behind the feet, till she found the key. On its return to her + side, her finger-tip skimmed the lower verge of a trousers-leg. + </p> + <p> + It was a man, then, who stood there. To go to the door just at this time + was impolitic, and she shrank back into an inner corner to wait. The + comparative security from discovery that her new position ensured + resuscitated reason a little, and empowered her to form some logical + inferences:— + </p> + <p> + 1. The man who stood on the copper had taken advantage of the darkness to + get there, as she had to enter. + </p> + <p> + 2. The man must have been hidden in the outhouse before she had reached + the door. + </p> + <p> + 3. He must be watching Manston with much calculation and system, and for + purposes of his own. + </p> + <p> + She could now tell by the noises that Manston had completed his + re-erection of the cupboard. She heard him replacing the articles it had + contained—bottle by bottle, tool by tool—after which he came + into the brewhouse, went to the window, and pulled down the cloths + covering it; but the window being rather small, this unveiling scarcely + relieved the darkness of the interior. He returned to the workshop, + hoisted something to his back by a jerk, and felt about the room for some + other article. Having found it, he emerged from the inner door, crossed + the brewhouse, and went into the yard. Directly he stepped out she could + see his outline by the light of the clouded and weakly moon. The sack was + slung at his back, and in his hand he carried a spade. + </p> + <p> + Anne now waited in her corner in breathless suspense for the proceedings + of the other man. In about half-a-minute she heard him descend from the + copper, and then the square opening of the doorway showed the outline of + this other watcher passing through it likewise. The form was that of a + broad-shouldered man enveloped in a long coat. He vanished after the + steward. + </p> + <p> + The woman vented a sigh of relief, and moved forward to follow. + Simultaneously, she discovered that the watcher whose foot she had touched + was, in his turn, watched and followed also. + </p> + <p> + It was by one of her own sex. Anne Seaway shrank backward again. The + unknown woman came forward from the further side of the yard, and pondered + awhile in hesitation. Tall, dark, and closely wrapped, she stood up from + the earth like a cypress. She moved, crossed the yard without producing + the slightest disturbance by her footsteps, and went in the direction the + others had taken. + </p> + <p> + Anne waited yet another minute—then in her turn noiselessly followed + the last woman. + </p> + <p> + But so impressed was she with the sensation of people in hiding, that in + coming out of the yard she turned her head to see if any person were + following her, in the same way. Nobody was visible, but she discerned, + standing behind the angle of the stable, Manston’s horse and gig, ready + harnessed. + </p> + <p> + He did intend to fly after all, then, she thought. He must have placed the + horse in readiness, in the interval between his leaving the house and her + exit by the window. However, there was not time to weigh this branch of + the night’s events. She turned about again, and continued on the trail of + the other three. + </p> + <p> + 6. FROM MIDNIGHT TO HALF-PAST ONE A.M. + </p> + <p> + Intentness pervaded everything; Night herself seemed to have become a + watcher. + </p> + <p> + The four persons proceeded across the glade, and into the park plantation, + at equidistances of about seventy yards. Here the ground, completely + overhung by the foliage, was coated with a thick moss which was as soft as + velvet beneath their feet. The first watcher, that is, the man walking + immediately behind Manston, now fell back, when Manston’s housekeeper, + knowing the ground pretty well, dived circuitously among the trees and got + directly behind the steward, who, encumbered with his load, had proceeded + but slowly. The other woman seemed now to be about opposite to Anne, or a + little in advance, but on Manston’s other hand. + </p> + <p> + He reached a pit, midway between the waterfall and the engine-house. There + he stopped, wiped his face, and listened. + </p> + <p> + Into this pit had drifted uncounted generations of withered leaves, half + filling it. Oak, beech, and chestnut, rotten and brown alike, mingled + themselves in one fibrous mass. Manston descended into the midst of them, + placed his sack on the ground, and raking the leaves aside into a large + heap, began digging. Anne softly drew nearer, crept into a bush, and + turning her head to survey the rest, missed the man who had dropped + behind, and whom we have called the first watcher. Concluding that he, + too, had hidden himself, she turned her attention to the second watcher, + the other woman, who had meanwhile advanced near to where Anne lay in + hiding, and now seated herself behind a tree, still closer to the steward + than was Anne Seaway. + </p> + <p> + Here and thus Anne remained concealed. The crunch of the steward’s spade, + as it cut into the soft vegetable mould, was plainly perceptible to her + ears when the periodic cessations between the creaks of the engine + concurred with a lull in the breeze, which otherwise brought the subdued + roar of the cascade from the further side of the bank that screened it. A + large hole—some four or five feet deep—had been excavated by + Manston in about twenty minutes. Into this he immediately placed the sack, + and then began filling in the earth, and treading it down. Lastly he + carefully raked the whole mass of dead and dry leaves into the middle of + the pit, burying the ground with them as they had buried it before. + </p> + <p> + For a hiding-place the spot was unequalled. The thick accumulation of + leaves, which had not been disturbed for centuries, might not be disturbed + again for centuries to come, whilst their lower layers still decayed and + added to the mould beneath. + </p> + <p> + By the time this work was ended the sky had grown clearer, and Anne could + now see distinctly the face of the other woman, stretching from behind the + tree, seemingly forgetful of her position in her intense contemplation of + the actions of the steward. Her countenance was white and motionless. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible that Manston should not soon notice her. At the + completion of his labour he turned, and did so. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ho—you here!’ he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t think I am a spy upon you,’ she said, in an imploring whisper. Anne + recognized the voice as Miss Aldclyffe’s. + </p> + <p> + The trembling lady added hastily another remark, which was drowned in the + recurring creak of the engine close at hand The first watcher, if he had + come no nearer than his original position, was too far off to hear any + part of this dialogue, on account of the roar of the falling water, which + could reach him unimpeded by the bank. + </p> + <p> + The remark of Miss Aldclyffe to Manston had plainly been concerning the + first watcher, for Manston, with his spade in his hand, instantly rushed + to where the man was concealed, and, before the latter could disengage + himself from the boughs, the steward struck him on the head with the blade + of the instrument. The man fell to the ground. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fly!’ said Miss Aldclyffe to Manston. Manston vanished amidst the trees. + Miss Aldclyffe went off in a contrary direction. + </p> + <p> + Anne Seaway was about to run away likewise, when she turned and looked at + the fallen man. He lay on his face, motionless. + </p> + <p> + Many of these women who own to no moral code show considerable magnanimity + when they see people in trouble. To act right simply because it is one’s + duty is proper; but a good action which is the result of no law of + reflection shines more than any. She went up to him and gently turned him + over, upon which he began to show signs of life. By her assistance he was + soon able to stand upright. + </p> + <p> + He looked about him with a bewildered air, endeavouring to collect his + ideas. ‘Who are you?’ he said to the woman, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + It was bad policy now to attempt disguise. ‘I am the supposed Mrs. + Manston,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am the officer employed by Mr. Raunham to sift this mystery—which + may be criminal.’ He stretched his limbs, pressed his head, and seemed + gradually to awake to a sense of having been incautious in his utterance. + ‘Never you mind who I am,’ he continued. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, + either—it will no longer be a secret.’ + </p> + <p> + He stooped for his hat and ran in the direction the steward had taken—coming + back again after the lapse of a minute. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s only an aggravated assault, after all,’ he said hastily, ‘until we + have found out for certain what’s buried here. It may be only a bag of + building rubbish; but it may be more. Come and help me dig.’ He seized the + spade with the awkwardness of a town man, and went into the pit, + continuing a muttered discourse. ‘It’s no use my running after him + single-handed,’ he said. ‘He’s ever so far off by this time. The best step + is to see what is here.’ + </p> + <p> + It was far easier for the detective to re-open the hole than it had been + for Manston to form it. The leaves were raked away, the loam thrown out, + and the sack dragged forth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hold this,’ he said to Anne, whose curiosity still kept her standing + near. He turned on the light of a dark lantern he had brought, and gave it + into her hand. + </p> + <p> + The string which bound the mouth of the sack was now cut. The officer laid + the bag on its side, seized it by the bottom, and jerked forth the + contents. A large package was disclosed, carefully wrapped up in + impervious tarpaulin, also well tied. He was on the point of pulling open + the folds at one end, when a light coloured thread of something, hanging + on the outside, arrested his eye. He put his hand upon it; it felt + stringy, and adhered to his fingers. ‘Hold the light close,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + She held it close. He raised his hand to the glass, and they both peered + at an almost intangible filament he held between his finger and thumb. It + was a long hair; the hair of a woman. + </p> + <p> + ‘God! I couldn’t believe it—no, I couldn’t believe it!’ the + detective whispered, horror-struck. ‘And I have lost the man for the + present through my unbelief. Let’s get into a sheltered place.... Now wait + a minute whilst I prove it.’ + </p> + <p> + He thrust his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and withdrew thence a minute + packet of brown paper. Spreading it out he disclosed, coiled in the + middle, another long hair. It was the hair the clerk’s wife had found on + Manston’s pillow nine days before the Carriford fire. He held the two + hairs to the light: they were both of a pale-brown hue. He laid them + parallel and stretched out his arms: they were of the same length to a + nicety. The detective turned to Anne. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is the body of his first wife,’ he said quietly. ‘He murdered her, as + Mr. Springrove and the rector suspected—but how and when, God only + knows.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I!’ exclaimed Anne Seaway, a probable and natural sequence of events + and motives explanatory of the whole crime—events and motives + shadowed forth by the letter, Manston’s possession of it, his renunciation + of Cytherea, and instalment of herself—flashing upon her mind with + the rapidity of lightning. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—I see,’ said the detective, standing unusually close to her: and + a handcuff was on her wrist. ‘You must come with me, madam. Knowing as + much about a secret murder as God knows is a very suspicious thing: it + doesn’t make you a goddess—far from it.’ He directed the bull’s-eye + into her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh—lead on,’ she said scornfully, ‘and don’t lose your principal + actor for the sake of torturing a poor subordinate like me.’ + </p> + <p> + He loosened her hand, gave her his arm, and dragged her out of the grove—making + her run beside him till they had reached the rectory. A light was burning + here, and an auxiliary of the detective’s awaiting him: a horse ready + harnessed to a spring-cart was standing outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have come—I wish I had known that,’ the detective said to his + assistant, hurriedly and angrily. ‘Well, we’ve blundered—he’s gone—you + should have been here, as I said! I was sold by that woman, Miss Aldclyffe—she + watched me.’ He hastily gave directions in an undertone to this man. The + concluding words were, ‘Go in to the rector—he’s up. Detain Miss + Aldclyffe. I, in the meantime, am driving to Casterbridge with this one, + and for help. We shall be sure to have him when it gets light.’ + </p> + <p> + He assisted Anne into the vehicle, and drove off with her. As they went, + the clear, dry road showed before them, between the grassy quarters at + each side, like a white riband, and made their progress easy. They came to + a spot where the highway was overhung by dense firs for some distance on + both sides. It was totally dark here. + </p> + <p> + There was a smash; and a rude shock. In the very midst of its length, at + the point where the road began to drop down a hill, the detective drove + against something with a jerk which nearly flung them both to the ground. + </p> + <p> + The man recovered himself, placed Anne on the seat, and reached out his + hand. He found that the off-wheel of his gig was locked in that of another + conveyance of some kind. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hoy!’ said the officer. + </p> + <p> + Nobody answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hoy, you man asleep there!’ he said again. + </p> + <p> + No reply. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, that’s odd—this comes of the folly of travelling without + gig-lamps because you expect the dawn.’ He jumped to the ground and turned + on his lantern. + </p> + <p> + There was the gig which had obstructed him, standing in the middle of the + road; a jaded horse harnessed to it, but no human being in or near the + vehicle. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know whose gig this is?’ he said to the woman. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said sullenly. But she did recognize it as the steward’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll swear it’s Manston’s! Come, I can hear it by your tone. However, you + needn’t say anything which may criminate you. What forethought the man + must have had—how carefully he must have considered possible + contingencies! Why, he must have got the horse and gig ready before he + began shifting the body.’ + </p> + <p> + He listened for a sound among the trees. None was to be heard but the + occasional scamper of a rabbit over the withered leaves. He threw the + light of his lantern through a gap in the hedge, but could see nothing + beyond an impenetrable thicket. It was clear that Manston was not many + yards off, but the question was how to find him. Nothing could be done by + the detective just then, encumbered as he was by the horse and Anne. If he + had entered the thicket on a search unaided, Manston might have stepped + unobserved from behind a bush and murdered him with the greatest ease. + Indeed, there were such strong reasons for the exploit in Manston’s + circumstances at that moment that without showing cowardice, his pursuer + felt it hazardous to remain any longer where he stood. + </p> + <p> + He hastily tied the head of Manston’s horse to the back of his own + vehicle, that the steward might be deprived of the use of any means of + escape other than his own legs, and drove on thus with his prisoner to the + county-town. Arrived there, he lodged her in the police-station, and then + took immediate steps for the capture of Manston. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. THE EVENTS OF THREE HOURS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE TWENTY-THIRD. MIDDAY + </h3> + <p> + Thirty-six hours had elapsed since Manston’s escape. + </p> + <p> + It was market-day at the county-town. The farmers outside and inside the + corn-exchange looked at their samples of wheat, and poured them critically + as usual from one palm to another, but they thought and spoke of Manston. + Grocers serving behind their counters, instead of using their constant + phrase, ‘The next article, please?’ substituted, ‘Have you heard if he’s + caught?’ Dairymen and drovers standing beside the sheep and cattle pens, + spread their legs firmly, readjusted their hats, thrust their hands into + the lowest depths of their pockets, regarded the animals with the utmost + keenness of which the eye was capable, and said, ‘Ay, ay, so’s: they’ll + have him avore night.’ + </p> + <p> + Later in the day Edward Springrove passed along the street hurriedly and + anxiously. ‘Well, have you heard any more?’ he said to an acquaintance who + accosted him. + </p> + <p> + ‘They tracked him in this way,’ said the other young man. ‘A vagrant first + told them that Manston had passed a rick at daybreak, under which this man + was lying. They followed the track he pointed out and ultimately came to a + stile. On the other side was a heap of half-hardened mud, scraped from the + road. On the surface of the heap, where it had been smoothed by the + shovel, was distinctly imprinted the form of a man’s hand, the buttons of + his waistcoat, and his watch-chain, showing that he had stumbled in + hurrying over the stile, and fallen there. The pattern of the chain proved + the man to have been Manston. They followed on till they reached a ford + crossed by stepping-stones—on the further bank were the same + footmarks that had shown themselves beside the stile. The whole of this + course had been in the direction of Budmouth. On they went, and the next + clue was furnished them by a shepherd. He said that wherever a clear space + three or four yards wide ran in a line through a flock of sheep lying + about a ewe-lease, it was a proof that somebody had passed there not more + than half-an-hour earlier. At twelve o’clock that day he had noticed such + a feature in his flock. Nothing more could be heard of him, and they got + into Budmouth. The steam-packet to the Channel Islands was to start at + eleven last night, and they at once concluded that his hope was to get to + France by way of Jersey and St. Malo—his only chance, all the + railway-stations being watched. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, they went to the boat: he was not on board then. They went again at + half-past ten: he had not come. Two men now placed themselves under the + lamp immediately beside the gangway. Another stayed by the office door, + and one or two more up Mary Street—the straight cut to the quay. At + a quarter to eleven the mail-bags were put on board. Whilst the attention + of the idlers was directed to the mails, down Mary Street came a man as + boldly as possible. The gait was Manston’s, but not the clothes. He passed + over to the shaded part of the street: heads were turned. I suppose this + warned him, for he never emerged from the shadow. They watched and waited, + but the steward did not reappear. The alarm was raised—they searched + the town high and low—no Manston. All this morning they have been + searching, but there’s not a sign of him anywhere. However, he has lost + his last chance of getting across the Channel. It is reported that he has + since changed clothes with a labourer.’ + </p> + <p> + During this narration, Edward, lost in thought, had let his eyes follow a + shabby man in a smock-frock, but wearing light boots—who was + stalking down the street under a bundle of straw which overhung and + concealed his head. It was a very ordinary circumstance for a man with a + bundle of straw on his shoulders and overhanging his head, to go down the + High Street. Edward saw him cross the bridge which divided the town from + the country, place his shaggy encumbrance by the side of the road, and + leave it there. + </p> + <p> + Springrove now parted from his acquaintance, and went also in the + direction of the bridge, and some way beyond it. As far as he could see + stretched the turnpike road, and, while he was looking, he noticed a man + to leap from the hedge at a point two hundred, or two hundred and fifty + yards ahead, cross the road, and go through a wicket on the other side. + This figure seemed like that of the man who had been carrying the bundle + of straw. He looked at the straw: it still stood alone. + </p> + <p> + The subjoined facts sprang, as it were, into juxtaposition in his brain:— + </p> + <p> + Manston had been seen wearing the clothes of a labouring man—a brown + smock-frock. So had this man, who seemed other than a labourer, on second + thoughts: and he had concealed his face by his bundle of straw with the + greatest ease and naturalness. + </p> + <p> + The path the man had taken led, among other places, to Tolchurch, where + Cytherea was living. + </p> + <p> + If Mrs. Manston was murdered, as some said, on the night of the fire, + Cytherea was the steward’s lawful wife. Manston at bay, and reckless of + results, might rush to his wife and harm her. + </p> + <p> + It was a horrible supposition for a man who loved Cytherea to entertain; + but Springrove could not resist its influence. He started off for + Tolchurch. + </p> + <p> + 2. ONE TO TWO O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + On that self-same mid-day, whilst Edward was proceeding to Tolchurch by + the footpath across the fields, Owen Graye had left the village and was + riding along the turnpike road to the county-town, that he might ascertain + the exact truth of the strange rumour which had reached him concerning + Manston. Not to disquiet his sister, he had said nothing to her of the + matter. + </p> + <p> + She sat by the window reading. From her position she could see up the lane + for a distance of at least a hundred yards. Passers-by were so rare in + this retired nook, that the eyes of those who dwelt by the wayside were + invariably lifted to every one on the road, great and small, as to a + novelty. + </p> + <p> + A man in a brown smock-frock turned the corner and came towards the house. + It being market-day at Casterbridge, the village was nearly deserted, and + more than this, the old farm-house in which Owen and his sister were + staying, stood, as has been stated, apart from the body of cottages. The + man did not look respectable; Cytherea arose and bolted the door. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately he was near enough to see her cross the room. He advanced to + the door, knocked, and, receiving no answer, came to the window; he next + pressed his face against the glass, peering in. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea’s experience at that moment was probably as trying a one as ever + fell to the lot of a gentlewoman to endure. She recognized in the peering + face that of the man she had married. + </p> + <p> + But not a movement was made by her, not a sound escaped her. Her fear was + great; but had she known the truth—that the man outside, feeling he + had nothing on earth to lose by any act, was in the last stage of + recklessness, terrified nature must have given way. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ he said, ‘let me come in: I am your husband.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she replied, still not realizing the magnitude of her peril. ‘If you + want to speak to us, wait till my brother comes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O, he’s not at home? Cytherea, I can’t live without you! All my sin has + been because I love you so! Will you fly with me? I have money enough for + us both—only come with me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not now—not now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am your husband, I tell you, and I must come in.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You cannot,’ she said faintly. His words began to terrify her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will, I say!’ he exclaimed. ‘Will you let me in, I ask once more?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No—I will not,’ said Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I will let myself in!’ he answered resolutely. ‘I will, if I die for + it!’ + </p> + <p> + The windows were glazed in lattice panes of leadwork, hung in casements. + He broke one of the panes with a stone, thrust his hand through the hole, + unfastened the latch which held the casement close, and began opening the + window. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the shutters flew together with a slam, and were barred with + desperate quickness by Cytherea on the inside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Damn you!’ he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He ran round to the back of the house. His impatience was greater now: he + thrust his fist through the pantry window at one blow, and opened it in + the same way as the former one had been opened, before the terror-stricken + girl was aware that he had gone round. In an instant he stood in the + pantry, advanced to the front room where she was, flung back the shutters, + and held out his arms to embrace her. + </p> + <p> + In extremely trying moments of bodily or mental pain, Cytherea either + flushed hot or faded pale, according to the state of her constitution at + the moment. Now she burned like fire from head to foot, and this preserved + her consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Never before had the poor child’s natural agility served her in such good + stead as now. A heavy oblong table stood in the middle of the room. Round + this table she flew, keeping it between herself and Manston, her large + eyes wide open with terror, their dilated pupils constantly fixed upon + Manston’s, to read by his expression whether his next intention was to + dart to the right or the left. + </p> + <p> + Even he, at that heated moment, could not endure the expression of + unutterable agony which shone from that extraordinary gaze of hers. It had + surely been given her by God as a means of defence. Manston continued his + pursuit with a lowered eye. + </p> + <p> + The panting and maddened desperado—blind to everything but the + capture of his wife—went with a rush under the table: she went over + it like a bird. He went heavily over it: she flew under it, and was out at + the other side. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘One on her youth and pliant limbs relies, + One on his sinews and his giant size.’ +</pre> + <p> + But his superior strength was sure to tire her down in the long-run. She + felt her weakness increasing with the quickness of her breath; she uttered + a wild scream, which in its heartrending intensity seemed to echo for + miles. + </p> + <p> + At the same juncture her hair became unfastened, and rolled down about her + shoulders. The least accident at such critical periods is sufficient to + confuse the overwrought intelligence. She lost sight of his intended + direction for one instant, and he immediately outmanoeuvred her. + </p> + <p> + ‘At last! my Cytherea!’ he cried, overturning the table, springing over + it, seizing one of the long brown tresses, pulling her towards him, and + clasping her round. She writhed downwards between his arms and breast, and + fell fainting on the floor. For the first time his action was leisurely. + He lifted her upon the sofa, exclaiming, ‘Rest there for a while, my + frightened little bird!’ + </p> + <p> + And then there was an end of his triumph. He felt himself clutched by the + collar, and whizzed backwards with the force of a battering-ram against + the fireplace. Springrove, wild, red, and breathless, had sprung in at the + open window, and stood once more between man and wife. + </p> + <p> + Manston was on his legs again in an instant. A fiery glance on the one + side, a glance of pitiless justice on the other, passed between them. It + was again the meeting in the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite: ‘Hast thou + found me, O mine enemy? And he answered, I have found thee: because thou + hast sold thyself to work evil in the sight of the Lord.’ + </p> + <p> + A desperate wrestle now began between the two men. Manston was the taller, + but there was in Edward much hard tough muscle which the delicate flesh of + the steward lacked. They flew together like the jaws of a gin. In a minute + they were both on the floor, rolling over and over, locked in each other’s + grasp as tightly as if they had been one organic being at war with itself—Edward + trying to secure Manston’s arms with a small thong he had drawn from his + pocket, Manston trying to reach his knife. + </p> + <p> + Two characteristic noises pervaded the apartment through this momentous + space of time. One was the sharp panting of the two combatants, so similar + in each as to be undistinguishable; the other was the stroke of their + heels and toes, as they smote the floor at every contortion of body or + limbs. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea had not lost consciousness for more than half-a-minute. She had + then leapt up without recognizing that Edward was her deliverer, + unfastened the door, and rushed out, screaming wildly, ‘Come! Help! O, + help!’ + </p> + <p> + Three men stood not twenty yards off, looking perplexed. They dashed + forward at her words. ‘Have you seen a shabby man with a smock-frock on + lately?’ they inquired. She pointed to the door, and ran on the same as + before. + </p> + <p> + Manston, who had just loosened himself from Edward’s grasp, seemed at this + moment to renounce his intention of pushing the conflict to a desperate + end. ‘I give it all up for life—dear life!’ he cried, with a hoarse + laugh. ‘A reckless man has a dozen lives—see how I’ll baffle you all + yet!’ + </p> + <p> + He rushed out of the house, but no further. The boast was his last. In one + half-minute more he was helpless in the hands of his pursuers. + </p> + <p> + Edward staggered to his feet, and paused to recover breath. His thoughts + had never forsaken Cytherea, and his first act now was to hasten up the + lane after her. She had not gone far. He found her leaning upon a bank by + the roadside, where she had flung herself down in sheer exhaustion. He ran + up and lifted her in his arms, and thus aided she was enabled to stand + upright—clinging to him. What would Springrove have given to imprint + a kiss upon her lips then! + </p> + <p> + They walked slowly towards the house. The distressing sensation of whose + wife she was could not entirely quench the resuscitated pleasure he felt + at her grateful recognition of him, and her confiding seizure of his arm + for support. He conveyed her carefully into the house. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later, whilst she was sitting in a partially + recovered, half-dozing state in an arm-chair, Edward beside her waiting + anxiously till Graye should arrive, they saw a spring-cart pass the door. + Old and dry mud-splashes from long-forgotten rains disfigured its wheels + and sides; the varnish and paint had been scratched and dimmed; ornament + had long been forgotten in a restless contemplation of use. Three men sat + on the seat, the middle one being Manston. His hands were bound in front + of him, his eyes were set directly forward, his countenance pallid, hard, + and fixed. + </p> + <p> + Springrove had told Cytherea of Manston’s crime in a few short words. He + now said solemnly, ‘He is to die.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I cannot mourn for him,’ she replied with a shudder, leaning back and + covering her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + In the silence that followed the two short remarks, Springrove watched the + cart round the corner, and heard the rattle of its wheels gradually dying + away as it rolled in the direction of the county-town. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS + </h2> + <h3> + 1. MARCH THE TWENTY-NINTH. NOON + </h3> + <p> + Exactly seven days after Edward Springrove had seen the man with the + bundle of straw walking down the streets of Casterbridge, old Farmer + Springrove was standing on the edge of the same pavement, talking to his + friend, Farmer Baker. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause in their discourse. Mr. Springrove was looking down the + street at some object which had attracted his attention. ‘Ah, ‘tis what we + shall all come to!’ he murmured. + </p> + <p> + The other looked in the same direction. ‘True, neighbour Springrove; + true.’ + </p> + <p> + Two men, advancing one behind the other in the middle of the road, were + what the farmers referred to. They were carpenters, and bore on their + shoulders an empty coffin, covered by a thin black cloth. + </p> + <p> + ‘I always feel a satisfaction at being breasted by such a sight as that,’ + said Springrove, still regarding the men’s sad burden. ‘I call it a sort + of medicine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And it is medicine.... I have not heard of any body being ill up this way + lately? D’seem as if the person died suddenly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘May be so. Ah, Baker, we say sudden death, don’t we? But there’s no + difference in their nature between sudden death and death of any other + sort. There’s no such thing as a random snapping off of what was laid down + to last longer. We only suddenly light upon an end—thoughtfully + formed as any other—which has been existing at that very same point + from the beginning, though unseen by us to be so soon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is just a discovery to your own mind, and not an alteration in the + Lord’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s it. Unexpected is not as to the thing, but as to our sight.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now you’ll hardly believe me, neighbour, but this little scene in front + of us makes me feel less anxious about pushing on wi’ that threshing and + winnowing next week, that I was speaking about. Why should we not stand + still, says I to myself, and fling a quiet eye upon the Whys and the + Wherefores, before the end o’ it all, and we go down into the + mouldering-place, and are forgotten?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a feeling that will come. But ‘twont bear looking into. There’s a + back’ard current in the world, and we must do our utmost to advance in + order just to bide where we be. But, Baker, they are turning in here with + the coffin, look.’ + </p> + <p> + The two carpenters had borne their load into a narrow way close at hand. + The farmers, in common with others, turned and watched them along the way. + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a man’s coffin, and a tall man’s, too,’ continued Farmer Springrove. + ‘His was a fine frame, whoever he was.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A very plain box for the poor soul—just the rough elm, you see.’ + The corner of the cloth had blown aside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, for a very poor man. Well, death’s all the less insult to him. I + have often thought how much smaller the richer class are made to look than + the poor at last pinches like this. Perhaps the greatest of all the + reconcilers of a thoughtful man to poverty—and I speak from + experience—is the grand quiet it fills him with when the uncertainty + of his life shows itself more than usual.’ + </p> + <p> + As Springrove finished speaking, the bearers of the coffin went across a + gravelled square facing the two men and approached a grim and heavy + archway. They paused beneath it, rang a bell, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Over the archway was written in Egyptian capitals, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘COUNTY GAOL.’ +</pre> + <p> + The small rectangular wicket, which was constructed in one of the two + iron-studded doors, was opened from the inside. The men severally stepped + over the threshold, the coffin dragged its melancholy length through the + aperture, and both entered the court, and were covered from sight. + </p> + <p> + ‘Somebody in the gaol, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, one of the prisoners,’ said a boy, scudding by at the moment, who + passed on whistling. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know the name of the man who is dead?’ inquired Baker of a third + bystander. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ‘tis all over town—surely you know, Mr. Springrove? Why, + Manston, Miss Aldclyffe’s steward. He was found dead the first thing this + morning. He had hung himself behind the door of his cell, in some way, by + a handkerchief and some strips of his clothes. The turnkey says his + features were scarcely changed, as he looked at ‘em with the early sun + a-shining in at the grating upon him. He has left a full account of the + murder, and all that led to it. So there’s an end of him.’ + </p> + <p> + It was perfectly true: Manston was dead. + </p> + <p> + The previous day he had been allowed the use of writing-materials, and had + occupied himself for nearly seven hours in preparing the following + confession:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘LAST WORDS. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Having found man’s life to be a wretchedly conceived scheme, I renounce + it, and, to cause no further trouble, I write down the facts connected + with my past proceedings. + </p> + <p> + ‘After thanking God, on first entering my house, on the night of the fire + at Carriford, for my release from bondage to a woman I detested, I went, a + second time, to the scene of the disaster, and, finding that nothing could + be done by remaining there, shortly afterwards I returned home again in + the company of Mr. Raunham. + </p> + <p> + ‘He parted from me at the steps of my porch, and went back towards the + rectory. Whilst I still stood at the door, musing on my strange + deliverance, I saw a figure advance from beneath the shadow of the park + trees. It was the figure of a woman. + </p> + <p> + ‘When she came near, the twilight was sufficient to show me her attire: it + was a cloak reaching to the bottom of her dress, and a thick veil covering + her face. These features, together with her size and gait, aided also by a + flash of perception as to the chain of events which had saved her life, + told me that she was my wife Eunice. + </p> + <p> + ‘I gnashed my teeth in a frenzy of despair; I had lost Cytherea; I had + gained one whose beauty had departed, whose utterance was complaint, whose + mind was shallow, and who drank brandy every day. The revulsion of feeling + was terrible. Providence, whom I had just thanked, seemed a mocking + tormentor laughing at me. I felt like a madman. + </p> + <p> + ‘She came close—started at seeing me outside—then spoke to me. + Her first words were reproof for what I had unintentionally done, and + sounded as an earnest of what I was to be cursed with as long as we both + lived. I answered angrily; this tone of mine changed her complaints to + irritation. She taunted me with a secret she had discovered, which + concerned Miss Aldclyffe and myself. I was surprised to learn it—more + surprised that she knew it, but concealed my feeling. + </p> + <p> + ‘“How could you serve me so?” she said, her breath smelling of spirits + even then. “You love another woman—yes, you do. See how you drive me + about! I have been to the station, intending to leave you for ever, and + yet I come to try you once more.” + </p> + <p> + ‘An indescribable exasperation had sprung up in me as she talked—rage + and regret were all in all. Scarcely knowing what I did, I furiously + raised my hand and swung it round with my whole force to strike her. She + turned quickly—and it was the poor creature’s end. By her movement + my hand came edgewise exactly in the nape of the neck—as men strike + a hare to kill it. The effect staggered me with amazement. The blow must + have disturbed the vertebrae; she fell at my feet, made a few movements, + and uttered one low sound. + </p> + <p> + ‘I ran indoors for water and some wine, I came out and lanced her arm with + my penknife. But she lay still, and I found that she was dead. + </p> + <p> + ‘It was a long time before I could realize my horrible position. For + several minutes I had no idea of attempting to escape the consequences of + my deed. Then a light broke upon me. Had anybody seen her since she left + the Three Tranters? Had they not, she was already believed by the + parishioners to be dust and ashes. I should never be found out. + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon this I acted. + </p> + <p> + ‘The first question was how to dispose of the body. The impulse of the + moment was to bury her at once in the pit between the engine-house and + waterfall; but it struck me that I should not have time. It was now four + o’clock, and the working-men would soon be stirring about the place. I + would put off burying her till the next night. I carried her indoors. + </p> + <p> + ‘In turning the outhouse into a workshop, earlier in the season, I found, + when driving a nail into the wall for fixing a cupboard, that the wall + sounded hollow. I examined it, and discovered behind the plaster an old + oven which had long been disused, and was bricked up when the house was + prepared for me. + </p> + <p> + ‘To unfix this cupboard and pull out the bricks was the work of a few + minutes. Then, bearing in mind that I should have to remove the body again + the next night, I placed it in a sack, pushed it into the oven, packed in + the bricks, and replaced the cupboard. + </p> + <p> + ‘I then went to bed. In bed, I thought whether there were any very remote + possibilities that might lead to the supposition that my wife was not + consumed by the flames of the burning house. The thing which struck me + most forcibly was this, that the searchers might think it odd that no + remains whatever should be found. + </p> + <p> + ‘The clinching and triumphant deed would be to take the body and place it + among the ruins of the destroyed house. But I could not do this, on + account of the men who were watching against an outbreak of the fire. One + remedy remained. + </p> + <p> + ‘I arose again, dressed myself, and went down to the outhouse. I must take + down the cupboard again. I did take it down. I pulled out the bricks, + pulled out the sack, pulled out the corpse, and took her keys from her + pocket and the watch from her side. + </p> + <p> + ‘I then replaced everything as before. + </p> + <p> + ‘With these articles in my pocket I went out of the yard, and took my way + through the withy copse to the churchyard, entering it from the back. Here + I felt my way carefully along till I came to the nook where pieces of + bones from newly-dug graves are sometimes piled behind the laurel-bushes. + I had been earnestly hoping to find a skull among these old bones; but + though I had frequently seen one or two in the rubbish here, there was not + one now. I then groped in the other corner with the same result—nowhere + could I find a skull. Three or four fragments of leg and back-bones were + all I could collect, and with these I was forced to be content. + </p> + <p> + ‘Taking them in my hand, I crossed the road, and got round behind the inn, + where the couch heap was still smouldering. Keeping behind the hedge, I + could see the heads of the three or four men who watched the spot. + </p> + <p> + ‘Standing in this place I took the bones, and threw them one by one over + the hedge and over the men’s heads into the smoking embers. When the bones + had all been thrown, I threw the keys; last of all I threw the watch. + </p> + <p> + ‘I then returned home as I had gone, and went to bed once more, just as + the dawn began to break. I exulted—“Cytherea is mine again!” + </p> + <p> + ‘At breakfast-time I thought, “Suppose the cupboard should by some + unlikely chance get moved to-day!” + </p> + <p> + ‘I went to the mason’s yard hard by, while the men were at breakfast, and + brought away a shovelful of mortar. I took it into the outhouse, again + shifted the cupboard, and plastered over the mouth of the oven behind. + Simply pushing the cupboard back into its place, I waited for the next + night that I might bury the body, though upon the whole it was in a + tolerably safe hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + ‘When the night came, my nerves were in some way weaker than they had been + on the previous night. I felt reluctant to touch the body. I went to the + outhouse, but instead of opening the oven, I firmly drove in the + shoulder-nails that held the cupboard to the wall. “I will bury her + to-morrow night, however,” I thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘But the next night I was still more reluctant to touch her. And my + reluctance increased, and there the body remained. The oven was, after + all, never likely to be opened in my time. + </p> + <p> + ‘I married Cytherea Graye, and never did a bridegroom leave the church + with a heart more full of love and happiness, and a brain more fixed on + good intentions, than I did on that morning. + </p> + <p> + ‘When Cytherea’s brother made his appearance at the hotel in Southampton, + bearing his strange evidence of the porter’s disclosure, I was staggered + beyond expression. I thought they had found the body. “Am I to be + apprehended and to lose her even now?” I mourned. I saw my error, and + instantly saw, too, that I must act externally like an honourable man. So + at his request I yielded her up to him, and meditated on several schemes + for enabling me to claim the woman I had a legal right to claim as my + wife, without disclosing the reason why I knew myself to have it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I went home to Knapwater the next day, and for nearly a week lived in a + state of indecision. I could not hit upon a scheme for proving my wife + dead without compromising myself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Raunham hinted that I should take steps to discover her whereabouts + by advertising. I had no energy for the farce. But one evening I chanced + to enter the Rising Sun Inn. Two notorious poachers were sitting in the + settle, which screened my entrance. They were half drunk—their + conversation was carried on in the solemn and emphatic tone common to that + stage of intoxication, and I myself was the subject of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘The following was the substance of their disjointed remarks: On the night + of the great fire at Carriford, one of them was sent to meet me, and break + the news of the death of my wife to me. This he did; but because I would + not pay him for his news, he left me in a mood of vindictiveness. When the + fire was over, he joined his comrade. The favourable hour of the night + suggested to them the possibility of some unlawful gain before daylight + came. My fowlhouse stood in a tempting position, and still resenting his + repulse during the evening, one of them proposed to operate upon my birds. + I was believed to have gone to the rectory with Mr. Raunham. The other was + disinclined to go, and the first went off alone. + </p> + <p> + ‘It was now about three o’clock. He had advanced as far as the shrubbery, + which grows near the north wall of the house, when he fancied he heard, + above the rush of the waterfall, noises on the other side of the building. + He described them in these words, “Ghostly mouths talking—then a + fall—then a groan—then the rush of the water and creak of the + engine as before.” Only one explanation occurred to him; the house was + haunted. And, whether those of the living or the dead, voices of any kind + were inimical to one who had come on such an errand. He stealthily crept + home. + </p> + <p> + ‘His unlawful purpose in being behind the house led him to conceal his + adventure. No suspicion of the truth entered his mind till the + railway-porter had startled everybody by his strange announcement. Then he + asked himself, had the horrifying sounds of that night been really an + enactment in the flesh between me and my wife? + </p> + <p> + ‘The words of the other man were: + </p> + <p> + ‘“Why don’t he try to find her if she’s alive?” + </p> + <p> + ‘“True,” said the first. “Well, I don’t forget what I heard, and if she + don’t turn up alive my mind will be as sure as a Bible upon her murder, + and the parson shall know it, though I do get six months on the treadmill + for being where I was.” + </p> + <p> + ‘“And if she should turn up alive?” + </p> + <p> + ‘“Then I shall know that I am wrong, and believing myself a fool as well + as a rogue, hold my tongue.” + </p> + <p> + ‘I glided out of the house in a cold sweat. The only pressure in heaven or + earth which could have forced me to renounce Cytherea was now put upon me—the + dread of a death upon the gallows. + </p> + <p> + ‘I sat all that night weaving strategy of various kinds. The only + effectual remedy for my hazardous standing that I could see was a simple + one. It was to substitute another woman for my wife before the suspicions + of that one easily-hoodwinked man extended further. + </p> + <p> + ‘The only difficulty was to find a practicable substitute. + </p> + <p> + ‘The one woman at all available for the purpose was a friendless, innocent + creature, named Anne Seaway, whom I had known in my youth, and who had for + some time been the housekeeper of a lady in London. On account of this + lady’s sudden death, Anne stood in rather a precarious position, as + regarded her future subsistence. She was not the best kind of woman for + the scheme; but there was no alternative. One quality of hers was + valuable; she was not a talker. I went to London the very next day, called + at the Hoxton lodging of my wife (the only place at which she had been + known as Mrs. Manston), and found that no great difficulties stood in the + way of a personation. And thus favouring circumstances determined my + course. I visited Anne Seaway, made love to her, and propounded my plan. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + ‘We lived quietly enough until the Sunday before my apprehension. Anne + came home from church that morning, and told me of the suspicious way in + which a young man had looked at her there. Nothing could be done beyond + waiting the issue of events. Then the letter came from Raunham. For the + first time in my life I was half indifferent as to what fate awaited me. + During the succeeding day I thought once or twice of running away, but + could not quite make up my mind. At any rate it would be best to bury the + body of my wife, I thought, for the oven might be opened at any time. I + went to Casterbridge and made some arrangements. In the evening Miss + Aldclyffe (who is united to me by a common secret which I have no right or + wish to disclose) came to my house, and alarmed me still more. She said + that she could tell by Mr. Raunham’s manner that evening, that he kept + back from her a suspicion of more importance even than the one he spoke + of, and that strangers were in his house even then. + </p> + <p> + ‘I guessed what this further suspicion was, and resolved to enlighten her + to a certain extent, and so secure her assistance. I said that I killed my + wife by an accident on the night of the fire, dwelling upon the advantage + to her of the death of the only woman who knew her secret. + </p> + <p> + ‘Her terror, and fears for my fate, led her to watch the rectory that + evening. She saw the detective leave it, and followed him to my residence. + This she told me hurriedly when I perceived her after digging my wife’s + grave in the plantation. She did not suspect what the sack contained. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am now about to enter on my normal condition. For people are almost + always in their graves. When we survey the long race of men, it is strange + and still more strange to find that they are mainly dead men, who have + scarcely ever been otherwise. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘AENEAS MANSTON.’ +</pre> + <p> + The steward’s confession, aided by circumstantial evidence of various + kinds, was the means of freeing both Anne Seaway and Miss Aldclyffe from + all suspicion of complicity with the murderer. + </p> + <p> + 2. SIX O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + It was evening—just at sunset—on the day of Manston’s death. + </p> + <p> + In the cottage at Tolchurch was gathered a group consisting of Cytherea, + her brother, Edward Springrove, and his father. They sat by the window + conversing of the strange events which had just taken place. In Cytherea’s + eye there beamed a hopeful ray, though her face was as white as a lily. + </p> + <p> + Whilst they talked, looking out at the yellow evening light that coated + the hedges, trees, and church tower, a brougham rolled round the corner of + the lane, and came in full view. It reflected the rays of the sun in a + flash from its polished panels as it turned the angle, the spokes of the + wheels bristling in the same light like bayonets. The vehicle came nearer, + and arrived opposite Owen’s door, when the driver pulled the rein and gave + a shout, and the panting and sweating horses stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe’s carriage!’ they all exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Owen went out. ‘Is Miss Graye at home?’ said the man. ‘A note for her, and + I am to wait for an answer.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea read in the handwriting of the Rector of Carriford:— + </p> + <p> + ‘DEAR MISS GRAYE,—Miss Aldclyffe is ill, though not dangerously. She + continually repeats your name, and now wishes very much to see you. If you + possibly can, come in the carriage.—Very sincerely yours, JOHN + RAUNHAM.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How comes she ill?’ Owen inquired of the coachman. + </p> + <p> + ‘She caught a violent cold by standing out of doors in the damp, on the + night the steward ran away. Ever since, till this morning, she complained + of fulness and heat in the chest. This morning the maid ran in and told + her suddenly that Manston had killed himself in gaol—she shrieked—broke + a blood-vessel—and fell upon the floor. Severe internal haemorrhage + continued for some time and then stopped. They say she is sure to get over + it; but she herself says no. She has suffered from it before.’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea was ready in a few moments, and entered the carriage. + </p> + <p> + 3. SEVEN O’CLOCK P.M. + </p> + <p> + Soft as was Cytherea’s motion along the corridors of Knapwater House, the + preternaturally keen intelligence of the suffering woman caught the + maiden’s well-known footfall. She entered the sick-chamber with suspended + breath. + </p> + <p> + In the room everything was so still, and sensation was as it were so + rarefied by solicitude, that thinking seemed acting, and the lady’s weak + act of trying to live a silent wrestling with all the powers of the + universe. Nobody was present but Mr. Raunham, the nurse having left the + room on Cytherea’s entry, and the physician and surgeon being engaged in a + whispered conversation in a side-chamber. Their patient had been + pronounced out of danger. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea went to the bedside, and was instantly recognized. O, what a + change—Miss Aldclyffe dependent upon pillows! And yet not a + forbidding change. With weakness had come softness of aspect: the + haughtiness was extracted from the frail thin countenance, and a sweeter + mild placidity had taken its place. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe signified to Mr. Raunham that she would like to be alone + with Cytherea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea?’ she faintly whispered the instant the door was closed. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea clasped the lady’s weak hand, and sank beside her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe whispered again. ‘They say I am certain to live; but I know + that I am certainly going to die.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They know, I think, and hope.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know best, but we’ll leave that. Cytherea—O Cytherea, can you + forgive me!’ + </p> + <p> + Her companion pressed her hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘But you don’t know yet—you don’t know yet,’ the invalid murmured. + ‘It is forgiveness for that misrepresentation to Edward Springrove that I + implore, and for putting such force upon him—that which caused all + the train of your innumerable ills!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know all—all. And I do forgive you. Not in a hasty impulse that + is revoked when coolness comes, but deliberately and sincerely: as I + myself hope to be forgiven, I accord you my forgiveness now.’ + </p> + <p> + Tears streamed from Miss Aldclyffe’s eyes, and mingled with those of her + young companion, who could not restrain hers for sympathy. Expressions of + strong attachment, interrupted by emotion, burst again and again from the + broken-spirited woman. + </p> + <p> + ‘But you don’t know my motive. O, if you only knew it, how you would pity + me then!’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea did not break the pause which ensued, and the elder woman + appeared now to nerve herself by a superhuman effort. She spoke on in a + voice weak as a summer breeze, and full of intermission, and yet there + pervaded it a steadiness of intention that seemed to demand firm tones to + bear it out worthily. + </p> + <p> + ‘Cytherea,’ she said, ‘listen to me before I die. + </p> + <p> + ‘A long time ago—more than thirty years ago—a young girl of + seventeen was cruelly betrayed by her cousin, a wild officer of + six-and-twenty. He went to India, and died. + </p> + <p> + ‘One night when that miserable girl had just arrived home with her parents + from Germany, where her baby had been born, she took all the money she + possessed, pinned it on her infant’s bosom, together with a letter, + stating, among other things, what she wished the child’s Christian name to + be; wrapped up the little thing, and walked with it to Clapham. Here, in a + retired street, she selected a house. She placed the child on the doorstep + and knocked at the door, then ran away and watched. They took it up and + carried it indoors. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now that her poor baby was gone, the girl blamed herself bitterly for + cruelty towards it, and wished she had adopted her parents’ counsel to + secretly hire a nurse. She longed to see it. She didn’t know what to do. + She wrote in an assumed name to the woman who had taken it in, and asked + her to meet the writer with the infant at certain places she named. These + were hotels or coffee-houses in Chelsea, Pimlico, or Hammersmith. The + woman, being well paid, always came, and asked no questions. At one + meeting—at an inn in Hammersmith—she made her appearance + without the child, and told the girl it was so ill that it would not live + through the night. The news, and fatigue, brought on a fainting-fit....’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe’s sobs choked her utterance, and she became painfully + agitated. Cytherea, pale and amazed at what she heard, wept for her, bent + over her, and begged her not to go on speaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—I must,’ she cried, between her sobs. ‘I will—I must go + on! And I must tell yet more plainly!... you must hear it before I am + gone, Cytherea.’ The sympathizing and astonished girl sat down again. + </p> + <p> + ‘The name of the woman who had taken the child was <i>Manston</i>. She was + the widow of a schoolmaster. She said she had adopted the child of a + relation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Only one man ever found out who the mother was. He was the keeper of the + inn in which she fainted, and his silence she has purchased ever since. + </p> + <p> + ‘A twelvemonth passed—fifteen months—and the saddened girl met + a man at her father’s house named Graye—your father, Cytherea, then + unmarried. Ah, such a man! Inexperience now perceived what it was to be + loved in spirit and in truth! But it was too late. Had he known her secret + he would have cast her out. She withdrew from him by an effort, and pined. + </p> + <p> + ‘Years and years afterwards, when she became mistress of a fortune and + estates by her father’s death, she formed the weak scheme of having near + her the son whom, in her father’s life-time, she had been forbidden to + recognize. Cytherea, you know who that weak woman is. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + ‘By such toilsome labour as this I got him here as my steward. And I + wanted to see him <i>your husband</i>, Cytherea!—the husband of my + true lover’s child. It was a sweet dream to me.... Pity me—O, pity + me! To die unloved is more than I can bear! I loved your father, and I + love him now.’ + </p> + <p> + That was the burden of Cytherea Aldclyffe. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose you must leave me again—you always leave me,’ she said, + after holding the young woman’s hand a long while in silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—indeed I’ll stay always. Do you like me to stay?’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Aldclyffe in the jaws of death was Miss Aldclyffe still, though the + old fire had degenerated to mere phosphorescence now. ‘But you are your + brother’s housekeeper?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, of course you cannot stay with me on a sudden like this.... Go + home, or he will be at a loss for things. And to-morrow morning come + again, won’t you, dearest, come again—we’ll fetch you. But you + mustn’t stay now, and put Owen out. O no—it would be absurd.’ The + absorbing concern about trifles of daily routine, which is so often seen + in very sick people, was present here. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea promised to go home, and come the next morning to stay + continuously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stay till I die then, will you not? Yes, till I die—I shan’t die + till to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We hope for your recovery—all of us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know best. Come at six o’clock, darling.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As soon as ever I can,’ returned Cytherea tenderly. + </p> + <p> + ‘But six is too early—you will have to think of your brother’s + breakfast. Leave Tolchurch at eight, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + Cytherea consented to this. Miss Aldclyffe would never have known had her + companion stayed in the house all night; but the honesty of Cytherea’s + nature rebelled against even the friendly deceit which such a proceeding + would have involved. + </p> + <p> + An arrangement was come to whereby she was to be taken home in the + pony-carriage instead of the brougham that fetched her; the carriage to + put up at Tolchurch farm for the night, and on that account to be in + readiness to bring her back earlier. + </p> + <p> + 4. MARCH THE THIRTIETH. DAYBREAK + </p> + <p> + The third and last instance of Cytherea’s subjection to those periodic + terrors of the night which had emphasized her connection with the + Aldclyffe name and blood occurred at the present date. + </p> + <p> + It was about four o’clock in the morning when Cytherea, though most + probably dreaming, seemed to awake—and instantly was transfixed by a + sort of spell, that had in it more of awe than of affright. At the foot of + her bed, looking her in the face with an expression of entreaty beyond the + power of words to portray, was the form of Miss Aldclyffe—wan and + distinct. No motion was perceptible in her; but longing—earnest + longing—was written in every feature. + </p> + <p> + Cytherea believed she exercised her waking judgment as usual in thinking, + without a shadow of doubt, that Miss Aldclyffe stood before her in flesh + and blood. Reason was not sufficiently alert to lead Cytherea to ask + herself how such a thing could have occurred. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would have remained with you—why would you not allow me to stay!’ + Cytherea exclaimed. The spell was broken: she became broadly awake; and + the figure vanished. + </p> + <p> + It was in the grey time of dawn. She trembled in a sweat of disquiet, and + not being able to endure the thought of her brother being asleep, she went + and tapped at his door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Owen!’ + </p> + <p> + He was not a heavy sleeper, and it was verging upon his time to rise. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you want, Cytherea?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I ought not to have left Knapwater last night. I wish I had not. I really + think I will start at once. She wants me, I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What time is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A few minutes past four.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You had better not. Keep to the time agreed upon. Consider, we should + have such a trouble in rousing the driver, and other things.’ + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole it seemed wiser not to act on a mere fancy. She went to bed + again. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, when Owen was thinking of getting up, a knocking came to + the front door. The next minute something touched the glass of Owen’s + window. He waited—the noise was repeated. A little gravel had been + thrown against it to arouse him. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the room, pulled up the blind, and looked out. A solemn white + face was gazing upwards from the road, expectantly straining to catch the + first glimpse of a person within the panes. It was the face of a Knapwater + man sitting on horseback. + </p> + <p> + Owen saw his errand. There is an unmistakable look in the face of every + man who brings tidings of death. Graye opened the window. + </p> + <p> + ‘Miss Aldclyffe....’ said the messenger, and paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—dead?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—she is dead.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When did she die?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘At ten minutes past four, after another effusion. She knew best, you see, + sir. I started directly, by the rector’s orders.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEQUEL + </h2> + <p> + Fifteen months have passed, and we are brought on to Midsummer Night, + 1867. + </p> + <p> + The picture presented is the interior of the old belfry of Carriford + Church, at ten o’clock in the evening. + </p> + <p> + Six Carriford men and one stranger are gathered there, beneath the light + of a flaring candle stuck on a piece of wood against the wall. The six + Carriford men are the well-known ringers of the fine-toned old bells in + the key of F, which have been music to the ears of Carriford parish and + the outlying districts for the last four hundred years. The stranger is an + assistant, who has appeared from nobody knows where. + </p> + <p> + The six natives—in their shirt-sleeves, and without hats—pull + and catch frantically at the dancing bellropes, the locks of their hair + waving in the breeze created by their quick motions; the stranger, who has + the treble bell, does likewise, but in his right mind and coat. Their + ever-changing shadows mingle on the wall in an endless variety of + kaleidoscopic forms, and the eyes of all the seven are religiously fixed + on a diagram like a large addition sum, which is chalked on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Vividly contrasting with the yellow light of the candle upon the four + unplastered walls of the tower, and upon the faces and clothes of the men, + is the scene discernible through the screen beneath the tower archway. At + the extremity of the long mysterious avenue of the nave and chancel can be + seen shafts of moonlight streaming in at the east window of the church—blue, + phosphoric, and ghostly. + </p> + <p> + A thorough renovation of the bell-ringing machinery and accessories had + taken place in anticipation of an interesting event. New ropes had been + provided; every bell had been carefully shifted from its carriage, and the + pivots lubricated. Bright red ‘sallies’ of woollen texture—soft to + the hands and easily caught—glowed on the ropes in place of the old + ragged knots, all of which newness in small details only rendered more + evident the irrepressible aspect of age in the mass surrounding them. + </p> + <p> + The triple-bob-major was ended, and the ringers wiped their faces and + rolled down their shirt-sleeves, previously to tucking away the ropes and + leaving the place for the night. + </p> + <p> + ‘Piph—h—h—h! A good forty minutes,’ said a man with a + streaming face, and blowing out his breath—one of the pair who had + taken the tenor bell. + </p> + <p> + ‘Our friend here pulled proper well—that ‘a did—seeing he’s + but a stranger,’ said Clerk Crickett, who had just resigned the second + rope, and addressing the man in the black coat. + </p> + <p> + ‘’A did,’ said the rest. + </p> + <p> + ‘I enjoyed it much,’ said the man modestly. + </p> + <p> + ‘What we should ha’ done without you words can’t tell. The man that + d’belong by rights to that there bell is ill o’ two gallons o’ wold + cider.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And now so’s,’ remarked the fifth ringer, as pertaining to the last + allusion, ‘we’ll finish this drop o’ metheglin and cider, and every man + home—along straight as a line.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wi’ all my heart,’ Clerk Crickett replied. ‘And the Lord send if I ha’n’t + done my duty by Master Teddy Springrove—that I have so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And the rest o’ us,’ they said, as the cup was handed round. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay—in ringen—but I was spaken in a spiritual sense o’ + this mornen’s business o’ mine up by the chancel rails there. ‘Twas very + convenient to lug her here and marry her instead o’ doen it at that + twopenny-halfpenny town o’ Budm’th. Very convenient.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very. There was a little fee for Master Crickett.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—well. Money’s money—very much so—very—I always + have said it. But ‘twas a pretty sight for the nation. He coloured up like + any maid, that ‘a did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well enough ‘a mid colour up. ‘Tis no small matter for a man to play wi’ + fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whatever it may be to a woman,’ said the clerk absently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thou’rt thinken o’ thy wife, clerk,’ said Gad Weedy. ‘She’ll play wi’it + again when thou’st got mildewed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—let her, God bless her; for I’m but a poor third man, I. The + Lord have mercy upon the fourth!... Ay, Teddy’s got his own at last. What + little white ears that maid hev, to be sure! choose your wife as you + choose your pig—a small ear and a small tale—that was always + my joke when I was a merry feller, ah—years agone now! But Teddy’s + got her. Poor chap, he was getten as thin as a hermit wi’ grief—so + was she.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Maybe she’ll pick up now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘True—‘tis nater’s law, which no man shall gainsay. Ah, well do I + bear in mind what I said to Pa’son Raunham, about thy mother’s family o’ + seven, Gad, the very first week of his comen here, when I was just in my + prime. “And how many daughters has that poor Weedy got, clerk?” he says. + “Six, sir,” says I, “and every one of ‘em has a brother!” “Poor woman,” + says he, “a dozen children!—give her this half-sovereign from me, + clerk.” ‘A laughed a good five minutes afterwards, when he found out my + merry nater—‘a did. But there, ‘tis over wi’ me now. Enteren the + Church is the ruin of a man’s wit for wit’s nothen without a faint shadder + o’ sin.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If so be Teddy and the lady had been kept apart for life, they’d both ha’ + died,’ said Gad emphatically. + </p> + <p> + ‘But now instead o’ death there’ll be increase o’ life,’ answered the + clerk. + </p> + <p> + ‘It all went proper well,’ said the fifth bell-ringer. ‘They didn’t flee + off to Babylonish places—not they.’ He struck up an attitude—‘Here’s + Master Springrove standen so: here’s the married woman standen likewise; + here they d’walk across to Knapwater House; and there they d’bide in the + chimley corner, hard and fast.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ‘twas a pretty wedden, and well attended,’ added the clerk. ‘Here + was my lady herself—red as scarlet: here was Master Springrove, + looken as if he half wished he’d never a-come—ah, poor souls!—the + men always do! The women do stand it best—the maid was in her glory. + Though she was so shy the glory shone plain through that shy skin. Ah, it + did so’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay,’ said Gad, ‘and there was Tim Tankins and his five journeymen + carpenters, standen on tiptoe and peepen in at the chancel winders. There + was Dairyman Dodman waiten in his new spring-cart to see ‘em come out—whip + in hand—that ‘a was. Then up comes two master tailors. Then there + was Christopher Runt wi’ his pickaxe and shovel. There was wimmen-folk and + there was men-folk traypsen up and down church’ard till they wore a path + wi’ traypsen so—letten the squallen children slip down through their + arms and nearly skinnen o’ em. And these were all over and above the + gentry and Sunday-clothes folk inside. Well, I seed Mr. Graye at last + dressed up quite the dand. “Well, Mr. Graye,” says I from the top o’ + church’ard wall, “how’s yerself?” Mr. Graye never spoke—he’d prided + away his hearen. Seize the man, I didn’ want en to spak. Teddy hears it, + and turns round: “All right, Gad!” says he, and laughed like a boy. + There’s more in Teddy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Clerk Crickett, turning to the man in black, ‘now you’ve been + among us so long, and d’know us so well, won’t ye tell us what ye’ve come + here for, and what your trade is?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am no trade,’ said the thin man, smiling, ‘and I came to see the + wickedness of the land.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I said thou wast one o’ the devil’s brood wi’ thy black clothes,’ replied + a sturdy ringer, who had not spoken before. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, the truth is,’ said the thin man, retracting at this horrible + translation, ‘I came for a walk because it is a fine evening.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now let’s be off, neighbours,’ the clerk interrupted. + </p> + <p> + The candle was inverted in the socket, and the whole party stepped out + into the churchyard. The moon was shining within a day or two of full, and + just overlooked the three or four vast yews that stood on the south-east + side of the church, and rose in unvaried and flat darkness against the + illuminated atmosphere behind them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-night,’ the clerk said to his comrades, when the door was locked. + ‘My nearest way is through the park.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose mine is too?’ said the stranger. ‘I am going to the + railway-station.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course—come on.’ + </p> + <p> + The two men went over a stile to the west, the remainder of the party + going into the road on the opposite side. + </p> + <p> + ‘And so the romance has ended well,’ the clerk’s companion remarked, as + they brushed along through the grass. ‘But what is the truth of the story + about the property?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now look here, neighbour,’ said Clerk Crickett, ‘if so be you’ll tell me + what your line o’ life is, and your purpose in comen here to-day, I’ll + tell you the truth about the wedden particulars.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well—I will when you have done,’ said the other man. + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a bargain; and this is the right o’ the story. When Miss Aldclyffe’s + will was opened, it was found to have been drawn up on the very day that + Manston (her love-child) married Miss Cytherea Graye. And this is what + that deep woman did. Deep? she was as deep as the North Star. She + bequeathed all her property, real and personal, to “THE WIFE OF AENEAS + MANSTON” (with one exception): failen her life to her husband: failen his + life to the heirs of his head—body I would say: failen them to her + absolutely and her heirs for ever: failen these to Pa’son Raunham, and so + on to the end o’ the human race. Now do you see the depth of her scheme? + Why, although upon the surface it appeared her whole property was for Miss + Cytherea, by the word “wife” being used, and not Cytherea’s name, whoever + was the wife o’ Manston would come in for’t. Wasn’t that rale depth? It + was done, of course, that her son AEneas, under any circumstances, should + be master o’ the property, without folk knowen it was her son or + suspecting anything, as they would if it had been left to en straightway.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A clever arrangement! And what was the exception?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The payment of a legacy to her relative, Pa’son Raunham.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And Miss Cytherea was now Manston’s widow and only relative, and + inherited all absolutely.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘True, she did. “Well,” says she, “I shan’t have it” (she didn’t like the + notion o’ getten anything through Manston, naturally enough, pretty dear). + She waived her right in favour o’ Mr. Raunham. Now, if there’s a man in + the world that d’care nothen about land—I don’t say there is, but <i>if</i> + there is—‘tis our pa’son. He’s like a snail. He’s a-growed so to the + shape o’ that there rectory that ‘a wouldn’ think o’ leaven it even in + name. “‘Tis yours, Miss Graye,” says he. “No, ‘tis yours,” says she. + “‘Tis’n’ mine,” says he. The Crown had cast his eyes upon the case, + thinken o’ forfeiture by felony—but ‘twas no such thing, and ‘a gied + it up, too. Did you ever hear such a tale?—three people, a man and a + woman, and a Crown—neither o’ em in a madhouse—flingen an + estate backwards and forwards like an apple or nut? Well, it ended in this + way. Mr. Raunham took it: young Springrove was had as agent and steward, + and put to live in Knapwater House, close here at hand—just as if + ‘twas his own. He does just what he’d like—Mr. Raunham never + interferen—and hither to-day he’s brought his new wife, Cytherea. + And a settlement ha’ been drawn up this very day, whereby their children, + heirs, and cetrer, be to inherit after Mr. Raunham’s death. Good fortune + came at last. Her brother, too, is doen well. He came in first man in some + architectural competition, and is about to move to London. Here’s the + house, look. Stap out from these bushes, and you’ll get a clear sight + o’t.’ + </p> + <p> + They emerged from the shrubbery, breaking off towards the lake, and down + the south slope. When they arrived exactly opposite the centre of the + mansion, they halted. + </p> + <p> + It was a magnificent picture of the English country-house. The whole of + the severe regular front, with its columns and cornices, was built of a + white smoothly-faced freestone, which appeared in the rays of the moon as + pure as Pentelic marble. The sole objects in the scene rivalling the + fairness of the facade were a dozen swans floating upon the lake. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the central door at the top of the steps was opened, and + two figures advanced into the light. Two contrasting figures were they. A + young lithe woman in an airy fairy dress—Cytherea Springrove: a + young man in black stereotype raiment—Edward, her husband. + </p> + <p> + They stood at the top of the steps together, looking at the moon, the + water, and the general loveliness of the prospect. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s the married man and wife—there, I’ve illustrated my story by + rale liven specimens,’ the clerk whispered. + </p> + <p> + ‘To be sure, how close together they do stand! You couldn’ slip a + penny-piece between ‘em—that you couldn’! Beautiful to see it, isn’t + it—beautiful!... But this is a private path, and we won’t let ‘em + see us, as all the ringers be goen there to a supper and dance to-morrow + night.’ + </p> + <p> + The speaker and his companion softly moved on, passed through the wicket, + and into the coach-road. Arrived at the clerk’s house at the further + boundary of the park, they paused to part. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now for your half o’ the bargain,’ said Clerk Crickett. ‘What’s your line + o’ life, and what d’ye come here for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m the reporter to the Casterbridge Chronicle, and I come to pick up the + news. Good-night.’ + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Edward and Cytherea, after lingering on the steps for several + minutes, slowly descended the slope to the lake. The skiff was lying + alongside. + </p> + <p> + ‘O, Edward,’ said Cytherea, ‘you must do something that has just come into + my head!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, dearest—I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—give me one half-minute’s row on the lake here now, just as you + did on Budmouth Bay three years ago.’ + </p> + <p> + He handed her into the boat, and almost noiselessly pulled off from shore. + When they were half-way between the two margins of the lake, he paused and + looked at her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, darling, I remember exactly how I kissed you that first time,’ said + Springrove. ‘You were there as you are now. I unshipped the sculls in this + way. Then I turned round and sat beside you—in this way. Then I put + my hand on the other side of your little neck—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think it was just on my cheek, in this way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, so it was. Then you moved that soft red mouth round to mine—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, dearest—you pressed it round if you remember; and of course I + couldn’t then help letting it come to your mouth without being unkind to + you, and I wouldn’t be that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And then I put my cheek against that cheek, and turned my two lips round + upon those two lips, and kissed them—so.’ + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Desperate Remedies, by Thomas Hardy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPERATE REMEDIES *** + +***** This file should be named 3044-h.htm or 3044-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/4/3044/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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